Where's my toast?

One night just before Brianna's bedtime I was fixing myself some toast with jam.

Brianna: "Where's my toast?"
(She didn't emphasize the word "my", as someone might who wants to be recognized or included. She emphasized the word "toast", as if she lost it; or as if she was the Queen and her mere request demanded an answer. Since I was not in the habit of making her toast at night and I didn't feel like playing the butler, I didn't answer at first.)
Brianna: "Where's my toast?" "Where's my toast?"
Jack (unable to ignore her any longer): "I don't know, where *is* your toast?"
Brianna (to Laura this time): "Where's my toast?"
Laura (calmly): "Brianna, would you *like* some toast?"
Brianna: "Um...no thanks."

Brianna's not jumping

Brianna (at 3 1/2 years old) loves to jump off of just about anything: beds, couches, ledges. So we have to tell her not to sometimes.

Brianna (who was standing on the upper step of a two-step step stool): "Brianna's not jumping."
Laura (in the same room with her back to Brianna): "Okay, good."
Brianna: "No turning around. Brianna's not jumping."
Laura (busy with Jason): "Okay, good."
Brianna: (thump!)