I was really feeling it on Sunday. I was lying on the floor with Luca, drawing characters from Disney’s “Phineas and Ferb” and giving each other compliments. I really like your Ferb nose. Oooh. I like your use of negative space and sensitive color harmony.
I had also just overspent on several Star Wars toys for the boys. Like, way overspent. So I was feeling pretty good.
I was even feeling good about my temper. Aside from a minor blow up about slamming the door earlier (the sound of a slammed door is like an icepick to my brain), I hadn’t really yelled at the boys over the weekend.
And I wanted conformation. “Luca. I’ve been pretty good about yelling at you guys, haven’t I?”
Luca spoke in the sing-song way he does when he wants to cutely disagree with you. “Da-ad. You yell at us. All. The. Time.”
What? No. Is that what he thinks? That I yell all the time? I’m a yeller? I pressed him for more details.
“Like you are always yelling ‘Guys! Get your PJs on!’”
I was genuinely hurt. “Well. Don’t you think you take a little responsibility when you don’t put your PJs on the first 30 times I tell you?”
“You yell a lot.”
So I just let it go. Just kidding. I obsessed about it all day Monday. I didn’t want them to sit around in their 30’s, laughing about what a bear I was when they were kids. “Remember that time he yelled at us about our PJs? Ha-ha.”
So I did the mature thing and called Elijah.
“Yeah yeah, yeah. Do you think I yell at you a lot?”
“Oh no. I don’t think you yell at us a lot. You yell at us the right amount.”
“I love you. You are my favorite.”
I talked with Diana about it later that night. She told me it was a thing Luca does now. She said he accused her of too much yelling earlier that day. He does it to get under your skin.
I said, “Oh. Well, it doesn’t bother me at all. Not one bit.”