"I'm a fire chicken!"

Abbie didn’t come running into the dining room this afternoon when I called “lunchtime.” Usually she rushes into the room, eager to grab her spoon, her bowl full of yogurt, and chuck both across the room.

I walked into the playroom to see what had distracted her. She was sitting in front of a toy fire truck with a line of toy figures. I asked what she was doing, and she responded with her trademark garbled speech. Eventually I deducted that her toy figures were working on the fire truck. She had a fire duck, a fire pony, and a fire chicken. I’m not sure how elaborate her fantasy was, but the fire duck was driving the truck.