Dewdrop in September

Once upon a time in September, a dewdrop landed on a blade of grass.  When the first rays of the morning sun touched the dewdrop, it turned into a fragile baby pixie.  Everyone knows that baby pixies touched by human hands never grow wings; nevertheless I caught the fragile baby pixie and gave her to The Precious, Lefty, and Angel Doll to be their pixie sister.
In spite of her wingless teensy fragileness, Pixie makes every effort to rule the family and occasionally the universe with an iron kumquat-sized fist.
Grammie has dubbed her "the little activity director".   The Precious calls her "the little terrorist" (while he's poking her in the side with his finger).  Angel Doll used to come to me sobbing because Pixie had hurt her in the feelings.  It didn't seem to matter that Angel Doll was a year and a half older and three times Pixie's size. Even Hunneypunkin is often left bewildered in Pixie's aftermath.
Lefty, in contrast, simply forgets that Pixie exists due to the vast difference in their heights.  She's just too small to register on his radar.  We constantly have to remind him to watch where he's walking or he'll blaze a trail right over her.
Fortunately, Pixie has not yet figured out that the only being standing between her and ruling the galaxy is, in fact, me.  With each of her birthdays, and there's one coming soon, I fear she may discover this fact, and in my chronically fatigued state I might not have enough reserves against the power of her doubled-up kumquat-irons.  I'm not sure even Jeremy Renner could save me.  My only hope is that I can teach her to always use her powers for good, while she still believes I'm her superior.

How I Got an Angel Doll

Once upon a time, a totally awesome Mama had two little boys.  Heaven looked down on her and said, "That Mama needs help," so they sent her an angel.  When the angel was all done being a kleptomaniac, she was very helpful.
Lefty and The Precious were 14 months and two-and-a-half years old respectively when the angel came.  She was so tiny with such pale skin and dark hair and big eyes that she looked like a china doll, and that name stuck.
Angel Doll absorbed information as quickly as she could, to fit herself to fulfill her heaven-sent mission to be my helper.  She thoroughly examined everything I owned by stealing, touching, squishing, tasting, squeezing, shaking, stretching, tearing, and stomping.  Or, as in the case of her 1-year-old 10x13 portrait, folding.
The Precious took good care of Angel Doll, so much so that she would stand in her crib when she woke up and call for HIM, not me, her own Mama.  Angel Doll and The Precious were inseparable until Angel Doll turned three and became independent of The Precious.  This angered The Precious, whose wrath remains on her to this day.
Now Angel Doll is big enough to steal my clothes, which is a small price to pay for someone who cooks our breakfast, bakes homemade bread, makes me pies, builds me bead jewelry, quilts lovely throws, cleans the house, rubs my shoulders, buys me popcorn at Jeremy Renner movies, sews escapee buttons back on Hunneypunkin's jacket, and looks like a cherub while she's at it.
I'm unsure how heaven gauged me worthy of such an angel, but I'm certain that if everyone on earth had their own angel doll, there would be peace on earth, and sugar would be good for you.