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I recently walked into our living room to find that our 3-year-old granddaughter Grace had given us an odoriferous gift in her pull-ups.
As I stood there assessing the situation, I absentmindedly put my hands on my hips. Gracie looked at me, put her hands on her hips and said, “Gramma, I am the boss.”
I said if she was the boss, she was free to clean up her mess. As I turned and left the room, a very insistent voice followed me: “You are the boss, Gramma, honest, you are the boss!”
