"Your father threw out his back," Top Management informs the offspring, as though they hadn't noticed the heavily-medicated daze I'd been in for the previous twenty-four hours, or how I'd been hobbling around like Quasimodo. "So you girls are going to need to be his hands and legs for him."
They look at her blankly. She sighs.
"What I mean is, I need you to do whatever it is he'd normally do at this time of night to get the younger ones ready for bed." She pauses. "What's he normally do at this time of night?"
The Bean grins, a wicked gleam in her eye. She turns to the 3-year-old. "Move it, maggot!" she bellows.