"Put the turkey in here," my 2-year-old said while handing me a bathtub.

A unicorn broke through the clouds with fury and flew down the hallway. The grand party was moments away, and the unicorn was on an important mission to deliver the cake. At least that's what my daughter, 5, told me.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't think she has one," she replied.

"No name?" I said. "You should give her a name."

Imagination is highly encouraged around here.

She thought for a moment, searching the deepest recesses of her mind for the greatest unicorn name ever.

Nonchalantly: "Let's just call her Princess Sparkle Glimmer Rose."

At that, she and Princess Sparkle Glimmer Rose looked at me without blinking. I stepped aside. She thanked me and told me that if they were able to make it to the party in time, and if the cake was still intact, and if the bad monsters trying to ruin the party did not ruin the party, I should come over for some cake and punch.

"It's going to be a big a party, everyone will be there," she said. "Princesses, superheroes, babies. Even Ollie."

Ollie is the cat.

With a verbal "whoosh," she flew off.

A few seconds later, my 2-year-old emerged out of her sister's bedroom. She explained that they were having a party. She grabbed my finger, pulled and groaned, and I followed.

Party central was a mess. Princesses still were getting dressed. The tiny plates and silverware had yet to be put on the tiny tables. The tiny refrigerator had no door.

"Did the cake make it?" I asked.

My daughter nodded toward a tiny, red couch where a unicorn and stuffed cupcake shared a drink.

She picked up an Elsa doll and walked her around the carpet.

"Ooh, what adventure is Elsa on?" I asked.

"She's getting ice," she replied.

"That's not very exciting," I said.

"Well, you need ice for a party," she said shaking her head. She gave me a hard look that was inherited from her mother.

Fair point.

I was handed a Rapunzel doll with a ill-fitting dress and told it was our responsibility to make the turkey and to watch out for bad guys trying to ruin the party.

"Put the turkey in here," my 2-year-old said while handing me a bathtub.

The party, I was told, was being hosted by a couple of babies who "wanted to have a party because, since they are babies, they have never been to a party." It would be the rager of the century. Every Disney princess made it. So did Super Girl. There were rumors of Wonder Woman, too, but I didn't see her. Even the cat sat down in the middle of everything. My 2-year-old piled tiny dishes on his head until he shook them off.

And the bad guys, after promising to be good, were invited in, too.

And I presented a fully-cook, plastic turkey in a bathtub with a grand reveal. I admitted that it wasn't as classy as I'd like. "But I couldn't find a top hat," I said.

They both stopped and looked at me.

"A top hat on a turkey," my daughter replied. "That's just ridiculous."

David Manley is a husband, father and an editor at The Canton Repository. Share your stories with him at david.manley@cantonrep.copm. On Twitter: @DaveManley.