Ellery likes to sit at the little coffee table, surrounded by her papers, markers, toys, dishes from snacks, clothes she's changed into and out of and various other bits and pieces. As I was cleaning house, I kept urging her to clean up her little domain. After repeated nagging, Ellery complained, "I don't want to do my job. I don't feel well."
I replied, "I don't feel well either and I still have to do my job."
"Let me guess," she said grumpily, "your job is bossing me."
Ellery was in bed, not asleep, keeping up a running monologue of play talk. I was in the next room, pretty much tuning it out until my ears picked out the rallying cry, "All right everyone--let's get punching!"