A few days after my daughter’s 5 th birthday, I found myself in an intense conversation with her over (what I thought should be) age-appropriate responsibilities. So here I was arguing with a girl barely the height of my knee, eyes blazing at me and small hands sweeping the air in wide arcs to emphasize a point. It took all I had to keep from bursting out in laughter. Me: “You are now 5 years old. Why is your food only half-eaten? A 5 year old is a big girl. You should be able to clear your plate without help!” Her: Staring at me as if she had just discovered a new pimple on my face. “But ‘daad’, even mama Kial helps him finish his food.” Me: “No, Kial is 4 years old! Her: “But ‘daaad’, he is going to be 5 years next year and be just like me! She then tilts her head in that funny way that girls do when they are about to say something incredulous but which they believe to be 100% okay. Sensing danger, I cut her off. Me: “And after you finish your food, get a table-c