Rose and I were in the bath this morning. She said, "Let's play I'm the Mommy and you're the daughter. You want to wash your hair your own self. I say if you don't wash in three minutes, I'm going to do it for you. Then you aren't ready and I dump water over your head, and you cry."

R: You have three minutes.
D: I'm not ready.
R: Ok, you can have six minutes, but that's it. You have five more minutes. Ok, that's it.
D: I'm not ready! (out of character, ok, honey go ahead and pour the water)

Rose fills the red plastic watering can with lukewarm water and dumps it over my head six times.

D: (fake crying) I wasn't ready.
R: Well, you needed to get washed.

This exact scenario played out last week when Uncle Dan was in charge of the bath for the three girls. John and I do a ton of negotiating; Dan gives one warning and dumps the water over their heads. At the time, it was no fun—crying child in an echoing bathroom, tired frustrated adults—but, she obviously understood that was the rule when Dan bathed them. I love how she processes this stuff. I also really enjoyed the role reversal she gave me; I got into my whining. And, we both ended up with our hair washed.