Whose Mommy Are You?

Today, as my sister Brenda and I were heading out with her kids to our brother Derek's house for Easter festivities, I decided (or perhaps was inspired?) to drive a separate car.  This proved wise, as just before pulling into his neighborhood, her middle child threw up out the window of the car. After getting everyone cleaned up, she left the other two with me and took the barfer home.
After a lovely Easter dinner (since our appetites had been worked up cleaning vomit) and an egg hunt, Seth brought over a book to read with me on the couch.  One of the other children, about 3 years old, looked at us, smiled and asked, "Are you his mommy?" I said, "No, I'm his aunt." Looking around the room with a confused expression he finally said:

"Well, whose mommy are you?"

I shrugged and replied, "I'm not a mommy."

His confusion turned to disappointment as he simply said, "Oh," and walked away.  As it usually does when a woman in her late twenties is asked why she doesn't have a family, it made my heart hurt for a few minutes.

Later when I went to "drop off" the boys, I found a frustrated Brenda scrubbing vomit chunks out of the carpet.  I stayed and began cleaning up the kitchen when I heard Seth call from the other room, "Um, Ami?!" in a tone that told me immediately that there would be potty puddle awaiting my arrival. One "tubby time," one emergency laundry load, one sink full of dishes and one runaway puppy later... I was on my way home, but I felt bad leaving Brenda in the chaos.  It was at this moment that I realized:

Aunt = Part-time mommy.

Not such a bad gig.