Adrielle Hale Pedro is focused on his phone, typing messages. I can't read the conversation or the contact, but it's not something I'm particularly interested in right now. Abby is now finishing her Lego treehouse. "That's it, Grandpa! We did it," he says, smiling, as he assembles the treetop. "Now I want ice cream." "Now you're going to pick up your toys," I remind her. "You said you'd pick them up as soon as you finished yours." Abby focuses her eyes on me and pouts. My expression is serious, firm. I know that if I give in, she'll leave things lying around and her grandparents will have to clean up the mess. "But, Mommy…" "Come on, honey. Help Grandpa put things away," my dad says, as he starts picking up the toys from the floor. Abby, not quite satisfied, starts picking up her things. That's why she likes coming here; she always makes the mess and leaves it for others to clean up. I don't know if I should comment on us moving, but it's a huge step for a child, especially wit
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