Lori and I were putting up groceries while our 2-year-old grandson, Eli, was making himself at home, sitting there cross-legged on the kitchen cabinet, chomping on a cookie. He reached for a bag of frozen strawberries I had set next to him.
“You can’t have those, Eli,” I smiled. “They’re frozen.”
At the word, “frozen,” he promptly began singing, “Let it go, let it go, let it go.”
Lori laughed; I was confused.