Danger Monkey, age 10: “Can I have more steak please?”
Me: “Well, we’re all splitting just one steak, so none of us are having very much.”
Little Miss Thing, age 7: “I want more steak, too.”
Me: “You kids are making a Viking dad very proud.”
LMT: “No, I want a bigger piece than that. You need to buy more steak next time.”
DM: “Yeah, this is not enough steak.”
Me: “I think I’m going to tear up.”
(at restaurant with My Oldest, age 15)
(family of four gets seated next to us)
Tiny girl, maybe 3: “I don’t want to sit here.”
Mom: “What’s wrong dear?”
(tiny girl runs around table to her dad)
TG: “That big man is angry! Why does he look so angry?”
Dad: “He’s not angry, honey.”
(I wave at her and smile)
TG: (suspicious stare)
TG: “OK.”
(walks back to her seat, eyeing me warily)
Oldest: (stifling laughter, tears in eyes) “I suddenly need to text all my friends. No reason.”
Someone likes to pretend she’s asleep in the car when we get home.
Someone likes to be carried up to bed.
Someone thinks Dad can’t tell she’s faking.
Someone thinks she’s a pretty good faker.
But Dad knows.
He knows she gets heavier every time.
He knows any day now she won’t want to be carried anymore.
Dad plays along and carries her, heavy, up all those stairs.
Every step, he wonders if this is the last time he’ll get to carry his tiny girl.
She feels like she’s getting away with it.
He feels her getting away.
Very Vocal Viking 