Getting played

After getting the little ones to bed the other night, Colleen asleep and Robert resting, close to sleep, I poked my head in and checked on Elizabeth.

It's been a pretty good few days, and on days where Elizabeth is helpful and I'm in charge, she gets extra privileges out of me, like staying up late, watching a few innings of the World Series, a game of chess.

But it's already a pretty late night. I sat down on the bed next to her and we were talking about Halloween, how I don't usually go out with the kids and what a good time it was. Then I saw she had dirt on her hands and I told her she better not let Nonna see hands that dirty -- she'll think I'm not a good daddy.

"You're a good daddy," she said. (It's remnants from art class, she says.)

I said thanks and smiled. And she continued: "Now you're a daddy who will leave me alone and let me finish my book."

I stopped and looked at her, saying, "I think I just got played!"

She said, "played?"

"Yes," I responded. "Don't you know what that phrase means?"

She said, "Yes, of course, Dad. I was just playing you."

Hmm, yes, at least once.