A few weeks ago we were driving back from Chicago. Jörg was listening to Robert Earl Keen on the front speakers, Frankie was snoozing, and Annika, having tired of her LeapPad and books, was into a rousing game of "I Spy" with me.
If you have never driven south from Chicago on I-55, you are certainly missing out on the astounding monotony of the middle of the U.S. Annika mostly enjoys playing "I Spy" with objects outside of the car, though, which means that you are seriously limited in your choice of targets. Having bored of the game, but not quite ready to give it up just yet, Annika took to always guessing, no matter what clue I gave, "It's the grass! OK, my turn!" And then she would give her own clue, ignoring any protest I might care to give that, actually, no it wasn't the grass. Truthfully, there wasn't much protest, as I was much too tired and, frankly, happy that I didn't have to expend the mental energy to locate an object when it was my turn to give a clue.
Jörg, though, has a well-developed sense of order, and I noticed him shifting uncomfortably in his seat when Annika announced for the 15th time, "It's grass! OK, my turn!" when the clue given was something like "I spy with my little eye something purple." Finally, Jörg intervened with, "My turn! I spy with my little eye something that is not grass." Dead silence from the back seat. For several long moments. And, then, the grace to admit defeat: "Is it that orange sign?"