This morning as J-F and Helena were on their way out the door to daycare, she turns to him in all seriousness and tells him,
(I paraphrase her French toddler speak here — how natural it's become to smooth out the grammar, fill in the blanks, know exactly what she's trying to say, and how difficult to recreate her actual utterances and to explain how I know the sense of it, the sum of it being so much more than its little garbled parts...)
"Papa, I'm not going to cry. At la garderie. I won't cry. Un bisou, calin, and that'll be that. And I won't kick the back of your seat in the car."
And that's exactly how it was.