text: “All right, honey,” he said. “Are you ready to do this thing?” “Hun-nee,” she replied, smiling. “Good,” he said. “Could you hand me that screwdriver?” “Daddy!” she said, pointing at him happily. “Yes, I’m daddy,” he replied. “And that is a screwdriver--could you hand it to me, please?” “Peas,” she said, picking up the screwdriver. “Fowk.” “No, that’s not a fork,” he said. “Screwdriver.” “Bottow,” she said, handing him the screwdriver. “You don’t get bottles anymore, remember?” he said, twisting a stubborn screw into place. “You get a cup now.” “Cup,” she repeated. “That’s right,” he said. “But you didn’t want a cup, so now we’re down here in daddy’s workshop.” “Bottow?” “No, sweetheart,” he said. “Could you hand me that sifter there?” She picked up the sifter and said, “Boon?” “No, that’s a sifter, not a spoon,” he said, taking the proffered sifter. “Thank you.” “Day-doo,” she giggled--her version of *thank you* always good for a laugh--before suddenly running across the shop. “Take it easy, squirt,” he said, directly before she skidded to a stop in front of a teetering stack of books. “Whoa,” she said, steadying herself with the help of a low-hanging unicorn-bedazzled backpack she had insisted stay in the workshop. “*Whoa*,” she said again, looking beyond the book-stack into the shiny steel box behind. “Careful, now,” he said, swiveling in his seat to face her. “That’s uranium.” “Nanium,” she said. “That’s right,” he said, proudly. “Well done! Now, If you could--” “Nominoes!” she squealed, distracted by the multitude of multicoloured dominoes she had earlier strewn across the shop. “Yes, honey, but right now daddy needs the uranium. Could--” “Nanium,” she said, picking up a purple-dotted domino. “Greem!” “No, that’s purple.” “Purpo,” she said, picking up another, this one both yellow and pink. “Ornange!” “No--that’s yellow and pink.” “Pink!” she said. “And yellow.” “Yeyo,” she said, reverently. “And that’s uranium,” he said, smiling and pointing at said uranium. “Could you bring that to daddy, please?” “Peas,” she repeated, making her way around the books before stopping. “Heaby.” “Heavy, yes it is,” he said. “But you’re *strong*, aren’t you?” “Heaby,” she repeated. “Show me your muscles,” he said, encouragingly. Her face contorted and her arms shot out in front of her, little twigs of effort terminating into acorn-sized clenched fists. “Mussos!” she said, proudly. “Good girl,” he said. “Now, pick up that uranium and bring it to daddy.” “Haew,” she said, showing off her pigtails. “Yes, that’s your hair all right,” he said. “Let’s stay focused here, kiddo: bring daddy the uranium?” “Nanium?” she said, palms raised. “Nanium?” “It’s right behind you, honey.” “Hun-nee,” she said, smiling. “Behind you,” he said, pointing. She turned and looked at the uranium, then turned back. “Nanium?” she asked, palms again raised. “Look, sweetheart,” he said, crouching to her level. “If you’re not going to have a nap, you’re going to have to help daddy with his work, okay?” “Nap,” she said. “Miwk!” “You want some milk?” he asked, thinking she might be persuaded to have a nap after all. “Daddy will get you some milk!” “Nooo!” she yelped playfully. “Nooo! No! No!” she continued, running toward the dominoes. “Purpo.” “That’s green, honey.” “Greem,” she said. “Mommy?” “Mommy’s at work.” “Papa?” she said, raising her palms yet again. “Grandpa’s at home.” “Gamma?” she asked. “Honey,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t we agree that gamma-rays were too unstable to properly configure a bomb of this magnitude? Remember, sweetie? That’s why daddy went and got all this expensive x-ray equipment: because you took one look at the schematic and said *no gamma*.” She frowned. “Gamma?” she asked again, looking around. “I told you,” he said, standing up. “No gamma.” “Papa?” He sighed. “Grandpa’s at his house.” “Gamma?” “Wait,” he said. “Are you saying *grandma*?” “GAMma!” she said, smiling. “Well, grandma’s with grandpa,” he said, absently. “Have you been saying *grandma* this entire time?” “Doggie,” she said, pointing at the stairs. “You mean to tell me that I changed the entire operational system of this bomb based on you looking for grandma?” “DOG-gie!” “Yes, the dogs are upstairs,” he said, brushing a gaggle of crayons off the blueprints. “X-rays aren’t going to work at all, are they?” “UMMMMM,” she said, looking around the shop for something she knows the name of. “And it’s not like I can just trade this stuff back in,” he said, fastening his hands to his hips. “Bwoom,” she said. “Sorry, honey,” he said, sadly. “It doesn’t look like we’re going to be making a boom after all.” “Bwoom!” she said again, pulling on his shirt. “I know,” he said. “I’m disappointed too.” Frowning, she ran off towards the stairs while he glowered at his half-completed bomb. “Bwoom!” she said yet again, returning to jab him in the ribs with something hard. “Yes, dear,” he said, looking at her and her weapon. “That’s a broom.” She handed the broom to him and crouched, patting the floor with an open hand. “Mess,” she said. “Oh, it’s a terrible mess,” he said. “The whole thing’s a terrible, terrible--hold on. Is that what you meant when we first came down here, sweetheart? Broom?” “Mess,” she repeated, jabbing her finger at the floor. “Eew.” “You just wanted me to clean up my workshop?” “Keen,” she said, pulling the broom away from him. “Oh,” he said, watching her manipulate the broom in a vain attempt to clean up daddy’s mess. “Hey, honey?” “Hun-nee,” she said, smiling. “How about we go get some ice cream?” “Ice keem!” she said, clapping and running towards the stairs.