Scene: Sitting at my parents dining room table and eating dinner with the girls and my parents. We are visiting them for our spring break.
TD: “Mem? Pep is the boss in this house. He is the boss of you. He’s the oldest.”
My parents respond with a series of “Oh, really’s?” and laughter as m father proclaims, that yes, this is indeed true.
TD: “That’s right! Mommy is the boss of our house though. She’s the boss of all of us and Daddy!”
I smile to myself. “Yeah, that’s right! I’m the boss!”
TD: “Uh-huh. She’s old. She’s older than Daddy! That makes her the boss.”
I totally should have seen that one coming. It’s not my time-management skills, ability to save a dime or two and schedule us all in order. Nope. It’s eleven months. That is what makes me the boss.
