I am "Auntie" to a number of lovely kids. No, not my brother's kids (as there are none of which I am aware), but kids of cousins, friends, and the like. Note: if you're in the market for an Auntie, I tend to be a good choice as I'm absolutely nuts about kidlets. In fact, my good friends Betta and James have a new baby boy due in the next few weeks, and whether they like it or not, I am appointing myself as Auntie Dan. Prepare to be adored, Baby Wishart; I'm adding you to my Auntie roster.
Apparently I am being used as a force of discipline in some of my chitlins' lives, in absentia. Last week I was on the phone to my cousin Bob while her kids were having lunch. Her little boy Owen, who is 4, decided to "re-arrange" his plate, which meant dumping the contents of his lunch onto his placemat, pouring salad dressing on top of the pile, and then mushing Ritz crackers and sprinkling them over the dish as garnish.
Bob stopped what she had been saying to me mid-sentence and sharply said, "Stop that! You stop that. right. now!"
"What's going on?!" I exclaimed.
She described what O. was doing, indignant. I tried not to laugh as she continued to exhort him to stop right now, or he'd have to go to his room. I think he carried on blithely while she threatened various punishments.
"Auntie Dani thinks that is disgusting," she hissed at him. Of course, I had said no such thing; I tried to giggle away from the receiver, just in case he could hear me. "Auntie says that you will never get to eat lunch with the Queen with manners like that."
The child apparently stopped messing with his plate immediately.
So, I guess I now have to carry on with this apparently already-established illusion that, as I live in London, I am close personal friends with Her Majesty, as it appears to have been a running theme in O's etiquette lessons. I wonder what else I've pontificated on from afar: "Auntie says you MUST wear a jacket. The Queen ALWAYS wears a jacket." "The Queen's guests ALWAYS eat their carrots." "You must use the big-boy potty if you are going with Auntie to the Queen's house."
Hilarious. After he's told the truth about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny I'll let him know I don't actually know the Queen, although I have been to her house, and I think it's safe to say the big-boy potty is an absolute must.
Apparently I am being used as a force of discipline in some of my chitlins' lives, in absentia. Last week I was on the phone to my cousin Bob while her kids were having lunch. Her little boy Owen, who is 4, decided to "re-arrange" his plate, which meant dumping the contents of his lunch onto his placemat, pouring salad dressing on top of the pile, and then mushing Ritz crackers and sprinkling them over the dish as garnish.
Bob stopped what she had been saying to me mid-sentence and sharply said, "Stop that! You stop that. right. now!"
"What's going on?!" I exclaimed.
She described what O. was doing, indignant. I tried not to laugh as she continued to exhort him to stop right now, or he'd have to go to his room. I think he carried on blithely while she threatened various punishments.
"Auntie Dani thinks that is disgusting," she hissed at him. Of course, I had said no such thing; I tried to giggle away from the receiver, just in case he could hear me. "Auntie says that you will never get to eat lunch with the Queen with manners like that."
The child apparently stopped messing with his plate immediately.
So, I guess I now have to carry on with this apparently already-established illusion that, as I live in London, I am close personal friends with Her Majesty, as it appears to have been a running theme in O's etiquette lessons. I wonder what else I've pontificated on from afar: "Auntie says you MUST wear a jacket. The Queen ALWAYS wears a jacket." "The Queen's guests ALWAYS eat their carrots." "You must use the big-boy potty if you are going with Auntie to the Queen's house."
Hilarious. After he's told the truth about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny I'll let him know I don't actually know the Queen, although I have been to her house, and I think it's safe to say the big-boy potty is an absolute must.