Who's the Boss?

Early on, Julia took care of babies. We never had tons of baby dolls because she had one in particular that made her very happy, aptly named “Baby”. “Baby” has been very loved-so much so that her clothes have been washed from hand grime gray to kind of white so many times that they are falling apart. Well, when Brighton came along, she saw all her dreams within her grasp. For awhile she tried to care for both Brighton and “Baby”, but just couldn’t juggle the double duty with her hectic schedule. So as “Baby” took the back seat to her little brother, I found myself reminding her quite often that I was the Mommy and she was the sister and the helper and THAT she was. Sometimes I felt like she was an octopus handing me so many things to make him happy, to make him smell better, to plug into his mouth etc. Until he was 3, he called me ‘Momm-a’ and Julia ‘Momm-y’.

As the years have passed, Jeff has discouraged her (forbidden may be a better word) to play “baby” with Brighton. You know the drill. Big sister says, “I’m the Mommy and YOU are the baby.” Everyone knows who gets the raw end of that deal. We don’t want Julia to always be in charge of Brighton, something we fight almost every day. We want Brighton to be confident in his desire to lead and for them to learn to work things out without her having the upper hand every time. So as we were patting ourselves on the back for such ingenious, wise and intentional parenting, thinking ahead for our future big boy, Julia was coming up with her own strategic plan. Julia’s plan B: Dog and Owner. Brilliant. Picture: Brighton on all fours, tied with an old scarf at the wrist (threatened the wacker if anything is ever tied around ANYbody’s neck), fetching a shoe, barking and, you won’t believe it, eating Cheerios out of a bowl that sits on the floor. He’s a good doggie. He goes wherever his wrist is pulled. When he is in character, he is also known to lick.

Just yesterday we had a breakthrough, sort of. As she was “owner” and he was “good doggie”, Brighton had had enough. Enough pats on the head, enough fetching, enough “walking” on our brick floors, enough Cheerios. He rose up on his two feet, untied his leash and said as emphatically as a little brother can, “I am NOT the doggie ANYMORE. I am NOT playing with you ANYMORE.” Julia said, “Well, little doggie, I am the boss and we are still playing.” He caught my eye in the kitchen and then looked at Julia and said, “NO! I am the boss……….. because Mommy said I was!” Exactly………..