Like a wannabe ninja, Antonia stealthily slips her napkin out of her lap, pretends to wipe her lips, and spits broccoli into it. Per the rules of motherhood, I bust her. “Seriously, Antonia. Where did you learn to do that?” Duh! “Never mind, it’s in your nature. You need to eat your broccoli. Tell me how to make it better next time.”

“Bury it in the neighbor’s yard,” she says. The retort is so Donovan-like I let out a snort.