It had been a very long day. Andrea and the kids had picked me up from my office in Anchorage and we had gone to the hospital together to visit our new nephew. We spent 20 minutes trying to find a parking space (the first one we found was for “patients only” and we had reluctantly been forced to back out and find a new space on the other side of the building). Then after visiting for an hour or so, and taking turns holding the baby, we had to drive back across town to get my car.

On the way, we decided to get something to eat, even though it was far too late at night for a family of five to be ordering food. We shambled into a taco place where my children were far too loud and far too wild with exhaustion and the excitement of new life.

So, it was no surprise when 15-minutes later, Gideon was dancing on a wooden chair and it collapsed out from under him and he came crashing onto the tile floor.

He was fine of course, but I had to firmly remind him that he was to sit still and eat his food quietly because I did not want to have to go back to the hospital again tonight after he breaks his arm.

“That’s right,” Clara said, pointing a fork at him, and for some reason acting as if she were the third parent at the table. “We do NOT want to go back there.” But then she tilted her head to the side and thought for a moment, “Of course, then we could hold the baby some more…”

I narrowed my eyes, “Nope.”

And her face lit up, “Oh! And this time we could park in those GOOD parking spots!”

“Clara just stop. Let me handle this.”

I turned back to Gideon, “Do not listen to your sister. There are no pros and cons here. Falling off the chair is bad. Don’t fall off the chair.”