“Ray,” I called from the kitchen this morning, as he hustled to get ready for the day, “will you please explain to Sophie why she can’t have an Elmo-themed birthday party?”

“Sophie, it’s way too early to plan your birthday,” her father replied.

“But Daddy, it’s only three months away!”

Months ago (like, the day after her 8th birthday party) I gave up that fight. Sophie loves talking about her birthday, and really, for me, that’s a victimless crime. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been planning her 9th birthday party — which will take place at the end of May — for a while now myself. I even have a Pinterest board devoted to “Sophie’s Purple Pajama Party.” Weeks ago, she agreed to a purple-themed party. Cute, creative, appropriate for all ages. Most, anyway. Phew. Time to look for purple cocktail ideas.

But today Sophie wants an Elmo party.

“I loooooooooooove Elmo!” she said, (literally) stamping her foot and holding up the iPad to show off a beach-themed Elmo cake. This Elmo was on a surfboard, wishing someone named “Katie” a happy birthday.

I bet that Katie was turning 2, tops. But you can’t tell Sophie that. We’ve been having this battle (again, literally) for years. And I’ve grappled with it even longer. I remember throwing Sophie’s Elmo-themed third birthday party and feeling sorry for myself as I perused the offerings on amazon.com and noted that most Elmo birthdays are planned for 1-year-olds.

Don’t get me wrong. We’re all about immature television choices in our family. As I love to remind her, my sister watched Sesame Street til she was 11. Annabelle (almost 11 herself) only recently stopped watching Oswald the octopus on Nick Jr. I fell asleep on the couch last night watching the Disney Channel’s “Shake It Up” — and don’t get me started on some of Ray’s television favorites.

But Annabelle’s not asking for a Backyardigans birthday party. I’m not looking to shake it up for my 46th. Sophie loves Elmo and she has no concept of why her friends might not.

“I’m going to go to school today and tell Sarah I’m having an Elmo birthday party!” she said.

“Oh no, please don’t do that,” I begged. Just the other day I wrote about how well Sophie’s school sticker chart was working, and a couple days later I bragged that she gets along well with her peers. Two days later (of course) the sticker chart came home sticker-less, reporting that Sophie had hit friends at lunch. (!!!!) Yesterday she missed a sticker during math; turns out she locked herself in the bathroom, refusing to come out. None of this is easy and as I’ve written many times, I’m wont to focus on something silly — like the request for an Elmo birthday party — rather than the bigger, impossible-to-solve with retail therapy problem.

I adore my Girl in a Party Hat. I just need to convince her to ditch Elmo. I think I can do it. I’ve got three months, after all.

The forecast called for rain and sun today. “Rainbow weather,” Ray called it. It was also the rare Sunday we were home with no plans (for much of the day, at least).

It was the perfect day for a toy dump. That’s our term around here for the act (art?) of cleaning out the toy room, which is not really a room but the former dining area and a pass through from kitchen to living room.

I like to document things, but I’m actually glad I don’t have a picture to offer up. I’ll paint you one with words: It took four hours and four people to fill the porch with at least 6 Hefty bags, a rocking horse, several plastic doll houses and other items. We also filled the huge garbage can (thank goodness tomorrow’s garbage day).

The best part: We all laughed a lot. “This thing isn’t giving up without a fight!” Ray called out, as a Melissa and Doug wooden castle refused to budge from under a shelf. For some reason, I almost wet my pants over that one.

The rest of the house is still a sty, but that play room looks pretty fabulous. And my nephew is getting two enormous boxes full of Elmo toys, courtesy of Cousin Sophie.

At first, they worked so well, it seemed like a miracle. But I knew it wouldn’t last.

Like most souls, Sophie is very interested in a good bribe. I see nothing wrong with that. Positive reinforcement is what it’s all about, as far as I’m concerned. I do it with myself constantly. (Go for that long walk and you can have a double non-fat latte! Do the dishes and I’ll let you read those back issues of Vogue and Elle you’ve been hoarding! Write a paragraph, shop on etsy.com. Organize your bedroom and as a special treat, you might get to see the floor again!)

You get the idea.

The system with Sophie in kindergarten is a little more intricate. A chart was fashioned with velcro and laminated (someday I will blog about laminating, I promise. Short story: I am afraid of the laminating machine) cut outs of Elmos.

Each morning, Sophie works to “earn” 5 Elmos. Same in the afternoon. The rewards vary, to mix it up and keep her interested: Courtney, the latest Wonder Nanny (we have a team of 5 at the moment!) actually purchased and painted a “treasure box” and filled it at the dollar store. Or Sophie can work for chocolate ice cream with Ms. X or on a very special day, a trip to Chuck E. Cheese.

I think her favorite reward, though, is a chance to stay after school and play teacher. And therein might lie some of the problem: Sophie, not unlike her mother, is a control freak.

So it’s no wonder the bribes aren’t working, the ante must be upped. I have one shoe on and one off, in preparation for that latte-earning walk, so this is To Be Continued.

But if anyone has any ideas for a good bribe, send them my way!

By the end of our Fourth of July celebration last night, Sophie’s face was streaked with red tears, the Elmos face painted on each of her cheeks running down her face.

She couldn’t have been happier.

“Oh, what’s wrong with your little girl?” people ask in the mall or at the grocery store. “Why is she sad?” (Translation: What mean thing did you do to your kid, lady?)

“Nothing,” I always say. Sometimes if I’m feeling magnanimous, I’ll explain. Except for her heart, Sophie’s not afflicted with the serious health problems that can come along with Down syndrome. (Not yet, at least, knock wood.) But she does have very tiny openings, including her tear ducts, which have been blocked forever and refuse any amount of medical Roto-Rootering done to try to open them up.

The third out-patient surgery actually involved placing teeny tiny tubes in her ducts; even that didn’t work. And when the surgeon admitted there’s a chance Sophie will grow out of it some day, we decided to skip any more ioptional procedures that involve general anesthetic.

So Sophie’s eyes are generally teary, if not goopy. It bothers everyone but her, apparently. It does impact the effectiveness of face painting.

That didn’t phase Sophie one bit last night. She still demanded an Elmo on each cheek and when the balloon lady Vera (scrub nurse by day, balloon lady by night) fashioned her the most amazing rubber Elmo any of us had ever seen, she was on cloud nine — even without fireworks, which are apparently too much of a fire hazaard in woodsy, P.C. Flagstaff.

The sparkler on Annabelle’s cheek didn’t fare so well, either, come to think of it. So it’s good we’re going back tonight for more face painting. I hope Vera’s there.