The Boss

She goes through her roll call virtually every time we speak on the phone: Raga, JoJo, Papa. It is not a request, so much as it is a command. You see, now having turned one and a half, she is definitely in charge.

"He-he" she says. And though (at least to my ear) her direction to "sit here" does sound remarkably like she is speaking French, she is not. And "he-he" I scurry, sometimes obediently sitting in a tiny chair that was built for a backside decidedly smaller than mine.

She has learned so much about her universe in such a short time. She knows exactly what the Wheels on the Bus and everyone inside it do. She can Row, Row, Row Her Boat while seated in what looks for all the world like a cardboard box. She can translate various body parts into Spanish as well as English. And one must be certain not to curse in her presence, for she can and will repeat most of what comes out of your mouth, both educational and less so.

And when my wife, son and I "babysit", on occasion she will herd us, giving clear instruction for no one to leave the room just in case she wants to focus her attention in any of our directions.

She has become the boss, smart, engaging, energetic, persistent and totally in control of her environment. It is quite an amazing transition, from helpless infant to master of the universe in a blink of an eye.

Happy one and a half to the best thing since sliced bread. And in a slight variation of the old standard, your command is my wish.