“Yay!” my youngest shouted. “No school tomorrow. It’s a holiday!”

He bounced on the bed where my wife and I were still trying to wake up.

“Yep,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s called Labor Day,” my wife answered.

“It’s a holiday for us to remember how hard we all work for a living.” I said. Actually, I’m not really sure that’s true, but it sounded pretty close.

“It’s for the workers,” my wife added.

“What are we going to do?” the little guy asked.

“You,” I grumbled as I sat up, “are going to the beach. Not Daddy, though. Daddy has to work. Even on Labor Day, Daddy has to work.” I stretched. “Work, work, work. Always working.”

“Daddy,” he said. “Are you whining?”

My loving wife burst out laughing. “Yes he is.”

I glared at the little traitor.

“No whining, Daddy.” He laughed. “No whining!”

“You like that, don’t you?” I asked.

“What?”

“Telling me not to whine.”

“Yeah,” he laughed again. “No whining, Daddy!” Then he ran out of the room.

Harumph.

You know what? I’m still whining. I’m just not doing it where he can hear.