"Hey ma, come here," Husband called from Youngest's bedroom. I looked in on the two of them sitting on Youngest's toddler bed, grinning.
"Tell her," said Husband to Youngest.
Tripping on a giggle, Youngest told me, "The sun is in your eyes on a string."
"Oh!" I said, and looked at Husband for a translation.
"Hold on a second," he said, and cupped his hands around her ear.
Youngest listened to his whispering, with the gleeful look of a co-conspirator. She said, "My mistresses eyes…"
More whispering. "…are nothing," she said, "…like the sun."
Later, he lined up both girls at attention, popped quackers into their mouths and quacked orders at the newly formed Duck Brigade to march – march! – into the living room and pick up any toys they found on the floor.
Not only did they pick up their toys, they brushed their teeth when they were done.
While his methods may be unorthodox, his genius is incontrovertible. And you can quote Shakespeare to me anytime, Cpl. Mallard.