Saturdays are nearly always Daddy Days. Mom works most Saturdays, so it's me and Olivia all day long. We've done it so often we've got a pretty good routine working. But I didn't really know just how ingrained it had gotten until last week.

On Daddy Days the schedule is get up, eat breakfast, watch some shows, get dressed, head to the park, stop by McDonalds for lunch, then hit the sack for nap time. The whole thing takes about five to six hours, which is just enough time for Ellen to get home.

This particular Saturday was beautiful... sunny, breezy, warm enough to not need a coat but cool enough to keep you from frying. Since Ellen's never learned to drive a standard, Olivia and I toodle around in "SpidahCar", going from place to place with the top down and the wind in our hair.

The McDonalds is just down the road from our house, so we went through the drive-thru on the way home. While we waited for our turn, Olivia happily pointed out "McDonahs daddy! Look! Flags! Yellow! Gear shift! Brrumm Brumm! Go home, see Globlin!"*

As we pulled up to the menu board, we got the typical, "hellowelcometomcdonaldsmayitakeyourorderwouldyoulikeacombo?" greeting. Except since everyone who works at McD's seems to have English as a second language, it was more like, "alloellcometomacdonahsmaytakeohdahlikecombo?" I was just opening my mouth to place the order when suddenly from the passenger seat came, in a patented CuteChild^tm voice, "Numbah eight plain hambugr dietcoke."

"What was that?"

This time she shouted, "NUMBAH EIGHT PLAIN HAMBUGR DIET COKE!"

There was a brief pause, then, "That will be $5.65, please drive to the first window"

Whereapon Olivia sat back and beamed at me, lifted up her hand and said, "Hi five, daddy!"

Well, everyone kept saying she'd eventually become useful. Now to teach her "get daddy a beer."

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* It's a kind of mental ju-jitsu, talking to a not-quite-three-year-old. Just trying to keep up will tend to turn your brain into banana yogurt after an hour or so.