Where I wonder just how much money I’ll be spending on my daughter’s drama lessons

This past weekend, my wife‘s uncle held a St. Patrick’s Day Party — and we were quite happy to attend (because beer family). I made guacamole (because green).

Knowing we would likely be dealing with sleepy (if not asleep) children when leaving the party, we packed pajamas, in the hopes of changing the kids into the PJ’s just as they started to show signs of growing weary. Leila, of course, as soon as she got into the house & saw her Minnie Mouse pajamas (with polka dots!), stripped fully and demanded to be put into her pajamas. I’ll always preach “wear comfortable clothes” to my kids, so, you know, why not! Pajamas for La!

As with most any good party, the food was plentiful and varied. As one point, I was helping CJ make a plate for dinner. He’s four, and he’s not a baby, and he can carry his own plate himself.

Except when he can’t.

So the plate dropped to the ground.

It was just at this moment that Leila came in, threw her arms in the air, looked me in the eyes, and said “uppy.”

If you’ve seen me with my kids, in real life, you know about “uppy” Basically, my kids like to be carted around . . . and I lift weights in order to be able to do this¹. Because I’m a pushover I like to make my kids happy, I oft respond by squatting down, hugging my kids tight about their thighs, and then standing, with them both in my arms, when I hear this “uppy” word.

But there was a mess on the floor that needed to be addressed right then.

So I said “no,” a word that I don’t ever say say very often around my children.

Leila sighed, seemed to deflate in front of me, and sulked out of the room, as did CJ, who was very upset that he couldn’t hold onto the plate.

I cleaned the mess and walked out to make sure my kids were ok.

La, apparently, looked distraught to my wife and then broke into monologue. “Daddy yelled at me. He wouldn’t pick me uppy. He used to love me but now he doesn’t love me anymore.”

Sigh . . .