Just Call Me Auntie Dearest

I am a proud aunt.  I became an aunt instantly the day I got married over ten years ago.  But of the nieces and nephews on my husband's side (that I actually have any sort of contact with) none are children.  (In fact, one of my nieces is older than I am and has a child my son's age-- making me a great aunt).  I never got the chance to endear them to me irrevocably-- to take advantage of their young minds and fool them into believing I was the greatest thing since sliced bread.  I was robbed of my aunt rights!

But, this story does not have a sad ending.  You see, I have a niece and a nephew on my side of the family.  And they are very young-- and very pliable.  Wahahaaaahaaa!  (Yikes, sorry-- sometimes those inadvertent evil giggles just slip out....)  Every now and then, however, I provide day care for these two little cherubs.  And day care services are not altogether conducive to...well, spoiling.  Like, I actually have to take care of them.  Everything from changing poopy diapers (yuck!) to assisting in potty training (ugh!) to...I can barely even say the word...timeouts.  I am not well-equipped for these sorts of things!  My talents lie more in doling out candy, skipping naps, coloring on unscratch paper with real markers, playing the same games over and over and over and over, etc.  You know, your basic fun auntie repertoire.  (I learned from the best!)  

So today as my brother-in-law dropped the two little monkeys off he had a brief chat with his 3-year old (hubby and I have a variety of nicknames for her, "The Bopper" being a favorite) about her expected behavior.  He told her very sternly, "obey Auntie!", to which she echoed, "obey Auntie!" with the same amount of gusto.  Then he made me promise to report any violations of the aforementioned agreement.  And even though sometimes I try to hide The Bopper's mischief from her vigilant parents, she has adopted a very bad habit lately-- she tells on herself.  She is her very own narc.  In fact, the last few times she's gotten in trouble after leaving my home were directly due to the fact that she spewed her guts the moment her folks walked in the door.  "Bopper hit LM!" or "Bopper not bein' nice!" are among the many ways she begins the process of confession.  Of course, then I get in trouble for trying to aid the little criminal by keeping my mouth shut.  What's going to happen when I take her to get her very first tattoo?  Oy, we have a lot of work to do before that can happen, she and I.  

Anyway, the morning began splendidly.  The Bopper informed me that she needed paper to "work on her birthday".  Ah, yes.  Her third birthday is this month and it is never far from her thoughts.  She told me she needed stickers and colors for the paper too.  But pretty soon the paper was all-but-forgotten as the stickers were instead attached to the dog, the aunt, The Bopper's face, the furniture....  I never quite figured out how this was benefitting her birthday, but who am I to question the logic of a preschooler?  The house was quiet and peaceful...and then Mister (Bopper's baby brother) woke up.

Mister is adorable.  Absolutely pinch-his-cheeks-and-gobble-him-up adorable.  And The Bopper is completely in love with him.  But she expresses her love so exuberantly that sometimes...er, well, sometimes she gets timeouts for it.  Today she expressed her joy over his conscious state by playing her brand of "Over The Mister" a few times.  Hmmmm, probably not a good idea?  Redirect!  I needed to change Mister's poopy diaper and so The Bopper jumped in to help.  She grabbed a wipe and before I could say "disgusting" she was working that flimsy thing up and down his poo-smeared booty.  Bring out the Purell!  

The Bopper then got a little bored since my attentions were divided.  And a bored Bopper is...not a pretty sight.  She became increasingly boisterous with Mister and escalated these behaviors quickly until they culminated into every aunt's worst nightmare: a timeout-worthy offense.  I looked at her wondering how I could get out of it.  I asked, "do you need a timeout?" and probably would have let her off the hook had she said, "no".  But what can you do when the child says, "yes"??  I had no other choice!  I sat her down by the front door where she proceeded to plaster a magnificent pout on her face.  I could have squeezed her it was so cute.  But, I maintained self-control-- until she began to bawl.  (Oh, heaven help me!)  I looked at my watch-- it had been about 30 seconds.  If an appropriate timeout for a 3-year old is three minutes, then an appropriate auntie timeout should be about half that-- give or take a minute.  I asked if she was ready to get up and she nodded fervently, repeating the mantra "I sowwy!" enough times to melt me into a mushy puddle.  There.  Nobody can say I don't make her tow the line!

And, yes, the minute The Bopper spoke with her mom later on she confessed her naughty ways.  (After which I assured my sister that I had taken care of the little monster!)  

Oh, aunt-hood is grand!  But I think I should probably play to my strengths more often and stick to babysitting for date nights instead of work days.  After all, my sister and brother-in-law are starting to catch onto me-- and there's no quicker way to put a damper on things than to have a couple-a fuddy-duddy parents on my tail and a niece and nephew who start to think of me as an authority figure.  Now, where's the fun in that?