It is Friday morning. I have asked several times for Sadie to get her hair brushed. Normally, this isn't an issue for her. Sometime during the summer the light bulb turned on in the personal hygiene department. At least in the visual department of personal hygiene; we are still working on the non-visual like bad breeth and teeth. Brushing her hair is outward, readily seen and relevant to her.
Anyway, this was our conversation:
Me: Sadie, You need to have your hair brushed.
Sadie: I don't need to have it brushed.
Me: Yes, Sadie, you need to brush it. It is looking ratty.
Sadie: No, I don't need anything. I only need God.
And she flashes me that little smirk as she slips into my bathroom for a hairbrush.