CJ loves crushed ice. She’ll come running from two rooms away if she hears me run the ice crusher on the refrigerator.
When she gets up from her nap, she’ll walk into my office and say “Ice!”. And if I’ve finished my ice, she’ll say “Cup!”, take my cup over to the refrigerator, hold it up to the crusher, and again say “Ice!”
I felt the need to intervene. “You have a problem,” I said. “I don’t know where this obsession comes from. Why are you always looking for ice?”
And then I thought: “Why do I always have it?”