Yesterday I spent an hour in the girls' room with a trash can and a front end loader preparing for Grammy to spend the night in there. When I was done, I sent Betsy on an errand for me and told her, "While you're up there, please take note of how neat and tidy your room is." Instead of trotting upstairs to do her job, she stood and looked at me with a quizzical expression. Finally she asked me, "Well, where is it?" "Where is what?" "My note."
No amount of explaining could get her to understand that the phrase "take note" is simply an expression not to be taken literally. At the end of all my explanations she finally went upstairs, seemingly satisfied. A few minutes later I found her at the top of the steps crying and wailing. "What is the matter?" "I don't want to write a note!" she wailed. "I just don't know how and I don't want to!"
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