We’re in the kitchen, kids at the table, me at the butcher’s block. Atticus announces that he will be unable to do something, as ‘the boss’ won’t let him do it.
Me: “Who’s the boss, sweetheart?”
Atticus: “The boss is my heart!”
Me: (melt, grin)
Antigone: “My brain is my boss!”
Me: (whoa, philosophy starts young in this house, and what debates we’ll be having at this rate!)
Oscar: “Well, I’m the boss of both my brain and my heart!”
(This last is especially typical of Oscar, who actually argued with me in his sleep while camping when he sleep-talked, and I said, “go back to sleep, Darling, you’re dreaming,” to which he responded, still asleep, “no I’m not!” then promptly laid back down and slumbered on.)