I'm thinking my three-year-old daughter, Kate will be an attorney when she grows up.

She not only possess excellent litigation skills, but also seems capable of high-strung courtroom theatrics.

I recently saw her older brother, Drake, commit an infraction.

When I approached Drake, Kate jumped in front of her brother, held out her arms, and screamed, “DON'T PUNISH MY BRUVER!”

I tried to explain the situation to Kate, but she held her ground-screaming “NO, NO!” over and over.

(Defense motion granted.)

“Counselor Kate” can be persistent in a line of querying.

The other day, she wanted to “go to store.”

“What store?” I asked.

“THE STORE!” she said.

I explained to her we wouldn't be able to at that moment, and she unleashed a flurry of quantitative questioning.

“Why not store?” she said.

“We just can't right now,” I responded.

“Not have money?” she asked.

“Well, that's one reason,” I said.

“Daddy...why not have money?” she followed.

“I'm waiting to get paid,” I told her.

“How much money you get paid?” she wondered.

“Hopefully enough to go to the store,” I said.

“You get enough money to go store?” she pressed on.

“Yes, Kate, I hope so,” I replied.

“Then go store now!” she shouted.

“No, Kate,” I began explaining, “we will go when...”

“But you said we go store when get money,” she began, “and you said you get paid...go store now!”

(No further questions, your Honor.)

Kate can be a little, well...

The other day, I noticed she had a tube of eyeliner, or lipliner, or some kind of makeup in her hand.

I then saw scribbles down the wall of the hallway.

“Kate,” I said, “did you mark on the wall?”

She ignored me the first 15-20 times I asked her.

“KATE!” I said, “ Did you mark on the wall?”

“Where?” she asked.

“In the hallway,” I said.“I not in the hallway,” she replied.

“I know, I know,” I said. “You're not in the hallway NOW, but where you earlier?”

“I no wemember,” she said.

“Kate, didn't you have some makeup in your hand earlier, and didn't you have to walk down the hallway to get where you are now?” I questioned.

“Nothing in my hands,” she said-stretching out her arms.

I sighed-then noticed her tiny hands were splotched with the same color appearing on the wall.

“Um, Kate,” I said, “it looks like you have makeup on your hands.”

She shook her head.

“That mommy's makeup,” she said.

(Circumstantial evidence?)

I saw Kate come out of the bathroom one evening last week, then noticed a puddle of water in the floor.

Upon closer inspection, I found quite a bit of toilet paper in the unflushed commode.

I found Kate sitting in a bedroom, playing video games.

“Kate,” I said, “did you use the bathroom, and not flush?”

She looked at me, then looked away.

“KATE!” I sharply said, “is that your mess in the bathroom?”

“I not know, daddy,” she said, while battling Mario. “Does it look like my mess?”

“WHAT?” I asked-exasperated.

“EVERYBODY goes potty,” she said. “Maybe it someone else's.”

(I rest my case...)