Throughout the day, every day, my kids are never shy about telling me what they need from me, how I should be doing something, or pointing out how I can better serve them. It's funny to think that when I quit my nine to five and started working from home I was actually delusional enough to think that I wouldn't have to answer to anyone ever again. Be my own boss, I thought. Ha.

Don't get me wrong, I don't blaze into action every time my little supervisors snap their tiny fingers, but it still strikes me as funny that they think they have that awesome power over me. And, to some degree, they really do. No matter what lessons I try to teach about respect and appreciation, a poopy diaper is still going trump whatever work I'm doing and hungry bellies can stop my in my tracks. And they totally know it and are quite happy to exploit it.

When my youngest dirties his diaper, the satisfaction of his smile isn't one of relief, it's one of control. He even giggles when he announces that my services are required, because he knows that whatever has my attention at the time, from playing cards with his brothers to finishing an article, will be set on pause and I'm totally his. I will be battling a stinker, and that stinker is his.

On the flip side of things, when the tables are turned and I need them to do something, like...say...clean up their toy room, they look at me like I've started growing a second evil head. Apparently what's good for the gosling isn't good for the goose. When they do finally carry out their chores, they always look to me for a reward, as if they were doing me a favor.

I hope with age will come more appreciation for the work I do, clearly under their careful supervision. Until then, I'd sure love a raise. What's 10% of zero again?