Our oldest is much older than her younger siblings. For as long as they can remember, she's been the grown-up one. The perfect one. The one who does no wrong. She's put on some pedestal by them.
Tonight, my husband told the younger two the story of Uh-You.
For those who do not recall, C1 had speech issues as a child.
(Still does. Three years of speech therapy. Sigh. Try and get her to say synonym sometime. It is hilarious, trust me.)
When she was 3, my loving spouse was trying to teach her how to say the 23rd letter of the alphabet, which she insisted was pronounced "uh-you."
Scene: Casa Matthews, 1999, West Des Moines, IA. Kitchen.
Spouse: Double.
C1: Double.
Spouse: Double.
C1: Double.
Spouse: Double.
C1: Double.
Spouse: U
C1: U
Spouse: U
C1: U
Spouse: Double-U.
C1, serious look on face, very sincerely: Uh-you.
This story cracked the younger two up.
It is funny. Truly. Even C1 sees the humor in it. But it also proved to them that at least once in their lives, C1 was fallible. She wasn't always perfect. She wasn't always the best. And for today, for C3, she needed that most of all.
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