Last night, following another freakout about me going into the basement (okay, now I know where she got that phrase from)--I guess, for the time being, we'll have to take field trips downstairs to do laundry--she continues to track my movements:
"What are you doing?"
"I'm in my room, Ella."
"Okay. You unpack boxes so we can live here."
(C'est possible?)
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