“I’m not cut out for this,” I muttered, grabbing my niece by the back of the shirt for the eighth time, pulling her back to my other hand which held her coat.

She squealed gleefully. I tried to remember the last time I had enjoyed such a sensation that I squealed. Too long ago, obviously.

“Izzy, we need to go get your mommy at work. Let’s put on your coat.” None of this was new to her. My sister-in-law’s car had been in the shop for a week.

“Cookie,” she demanded.

“No,” I answered, bristling. “You’re being bad. No cookie.”