WHO’S THE BOSS

Yesterday my two-year-old grandson appeared before me with a cuddly blanket wrapped around his sweet little body.
“Are you naked?” I asked.
He shook his head and gave me the beautiful smile he reserves for when he knows he is being adorable.
I pulled the blanket open and peeked. Technically speaking he wasn’t naked, he was wearing his blanket after all. I found his diaper and clothes and dressed him for the third time that morning.
“You keep your clothes on baby boy.” He smiled and I went back to doing all those non-essential things a woman does that no one notices until she doesn’t do them: laundry, cooking, sandblasting the dried scrambled eggs out of the frying pan.
“Grandma, Mr. T took his diaper off again and pooped on the floor. Gross!”
Rick wouldn’t let me have another dog because he didn’t want to deal with the exactly this and now his adorable grandson was doing the same thing.
I rushed downstairs. Mr. T was happy as sunshine prancing around while he dangled in the breeze. How could I be mad at that?
I cleaned up the mess, dressed him again and we had a little conversation. I talked; he smiled and tried to cuddle.
“No more taking your clothes off.” I growled at him in my best ‘I am the boss’ voice. He raised both arms, pointed his fingers at me and growled back then ran off laughing.
A little bit later, I heard a scream then, “Grandma, Mr. T is peeing on the floor and he sprayed me. Gross.”
A naked little boy was proudly standing by his artwork. “I ‘eed.” Did I mention I’m not a fan of water colors?
“MR. T! Who do you think you are?”
He smiled and it hit me. He didn’t have to think about who he was, he knew. He was the boss.
I am not the type to relinquish my authority without a fight. I came up with a new plan. It involved duct tape and two paper cups.
All right, so I couldn’t exactly go through with it. I may not be the boss but at least I maintained my dignity.