7 year-old No. One and I were eating dinner after I picked her up from art camp. I’d been out of town on travel for the week, so we were catching up. One filled me in on all of her art projects, then took a moment to quaff a little food—if you’ve ever eaten with a 7 year-old experiencing growth spurts, you know that quaff is in fact the correct word there. As One chewed I said, “So, I got caught jaywalking by the police this week.” One and I frequently jaywalk, and I’ve mentioned before that it’s actually against the law. Her eyes lit up. “Really!?” “Yup.” “What Happened?” “Well, I was standing on the island in the middle of the road watching for cars like one does when they jaywalk when I heard a voice saying, ‘Why are you crossing the street like that?’ I looked behind me, and three cars back there was a cop on a motorcycle.” “What’d you do?” “I shrugged ‘I don’t know’ at him.” “Then what happened?” “He said ‘Come here!’” so I went back to talk to him, and he