Before I leave for work every morning, I try to muster up a bit of courage and respect by pleading and begging my family to say good-bye to me. By the time my eyes get misty from self-pity, the kids line up to give me a hug and kiss.
After Andrew gave me my hug and kiss, Emma went up to Lisa instead and said, "Mommy, you're the best," and topped it off with a big hug. While still hugging Lisa, Emma turned her head towards me and said, "Daddy is the poo-poo."
Okay, okay. I get it. I'm poo-poo. I've been called a piece of poo-poo by many other people before Emma came along, so I'm used to it. But I figured it's about time to teach the kids that it's not a nice thing to call their dad "the poo-poo."
"Emma," I said. "It is not a nice to call me a poo-poo. It makes me sad so please do not call me that again."
Emma looked at me with sympathetic eyes and said, "Okay, Daddy."
"So," I added. "If Mommy is the best, what is Daddy?"
Emma answered, "Daddy is SECOND best!"
...I think I preferred being called a piece of poo-poo...
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