Remember that time in first grade when I hid my nightgown in my backpack, wore it all day at school, told everyone that I was a fairy princess and could grant them wishes if they drank water from an old spice bottle, and signed all my homework Rose?
If it's any consolation, I am now trying to raise myself. I tell BookBoy to brush his teeth, and fifteen minutes later, he's still in his room with an old shirt wrapped around his face. Why? He's being a ninja. I tell him to go to bed. He can't because he's a mad scientist and has figured out how to make himself nocturnal. I tell him to get dressed. His shirt and shoes end up backwards because he was thinking about what he would do if he lived 125 million years ago and a dinosaur was chasing him.
So don't worry, folks. There is justice in the world. It's served every night at bedtime, courtesy of your oldest grandson.
(Your now remarkably pragmatic daughter)