Lizzie learns her limitations

Today, I was driving with Lizzie on a long stretch of straight road.  The sun was shining brightly, and streaming straight in on her face.  Almost immediately she said, "Stop sun.  Turn off sun."

Being the responsible parents that we are, we have one of those window shade things, but Lizzie always rips it off if it is in the window.  Sometimes, though, she'll hold the shade up in front of her face if the sun is bothering her, so I reached back and handed it to her.  She immediately threw it down.  With increasing volume she started to repeatedly yell "STOP SUN!"  I tried to explain that as soon as we turned the sun would be out of her eyes, but sometimes it is hard to reason with a two-year-old. 

Soon, she was crying and through her tears she continued to sob, "Stop sun."  Shortly before we reached the turn she went silent.  As we were waiting for the light to change and give me a green arrow, I looked back and told her we were about to turn and the sun would be out of her eyes.  Her face was turned into the side of her car seat, her shoulders were drooped, and her limbs were limp.  She looked completely defeated.  She had gone from making a request of the sun to stop shining, to defiantly ordering the sun what to do, to begging, to complete silence.  Her will was broken.

And she remained that way for the rest of the trip.  Even after we turned, she didn't move until I stopped the car when we got to Emily's building and I got in the back seat to try and cheer her up.  She had been bested by the sun, and she knew it.  Of course, that's a battle most of us will lose, but from Lizzie's tone early on I think she really thought she could command the sun to stop shining on her.  Lesson learned for Lizzie: you can't tell the sun what to do.