I am the boss of you.
Someone remind me that I love this girl,
please? She stands there, arms akimbo,
and tosses her dark red hair defiantly.
This isn't your house. It's
my house, and Ricki's house, and
my Mommy and Daddy's and not yours. You're not the boss of me. I'M THE BOSS.
Only, her Daddy's laid up in bed with a bad
back, the most mobility he can manage is a
slow shuffle, 2 full minutes to get to the bathroom a mere
8 steps away from his bed. And I am actually the boss. I, the ever loving sister/aunt, am taking care of his daughters, darling, smart, precocious redheads, and (can you tell?) things aren't going to smoothly.
Moose is 4 going on 15, full of ideas and
manipulations and observations. Ricki is 2,
idolizing and snuggly and very easily reduced to
tears. I am 21, tired, and trying awfully hard to
come up with a new game to distract the three of us, testy females.
We're going to play house now. I'm the Mommy,
Ricki is the sister and you can be the baby. Sit
there.
Perfect. Mommy bustles around, bossing
Ricki into homework, playtime, shopping and cleaning.
Don't move, Baby!
Baby doesn't move. I sit on the daybed, delighting in
the verbal exchange between siblings, thinking about
how much I love these girls, glad I'm not actually
in charge of their discipline and I can just enjoy
them as they are.
That's the fun in neices and nephews...
when they get too bossy I can give 'em back.