We were lying in bed freezing this morning.
For some reason neither Tracey nor myself had organized anything today until 9am. This is almost unheard of and we’d both decided, without a word to each other, to use the time not getting up.
If only we’d remembered to tell our youngest child.
“I want milk!” Miss3 bellowed from beside our bed, and both Tracey and I pretended we were in too deep a sleep to have heard her. Not in the hope she’d go away when we didn’t stir, but rather in the hope the other parent would crack first and have to get up. But this morning there was what I can only call divine intervention.
“I’ll get it for her,” came the voice of an angel. Miss11 was obviously up already too.
“No, I want Mummy to get it,” said Miss3.
Is that the best sentence ever?
“I’ll pretend to be your Mummy,” said Miss11.
“Okay,” said Miss3, and obviously left the room.
“What do you say?” I heard Miss11 ask her little sister in the kitchen half a minute later.
Neither Tracey nor I had opened an eye or moved a limb, let alone opened our mouths, but at this point I think we were both considering changing our wills to leave Miss11 the sole beneficiary of the family home.
We continued to pretend to sleep on.
It didn’t last long.
“I went wee wee,” yelled Miss3 – so close to Tracey’s head this time that Tracey actually shot up in bed. Obviously she opened her eyes too.
“Where are your clothes?” Tracey asked our daughter.
“I want to watch Dorwa,” said Miss3, ignoring her Mum’s question and continuing to stand there naked.
“Do you want to jump into bed with us to get warm?”
I might actually have groaned at this juncture in the conversation. I do that in my sleep. It’s an extension of snoring.
“I want Dorwa,” insisted Miss3.
“Well, at least put some clothes on,” said Tracey.
“Can someone put Dora on for your sister?!” Tracey yelled out.
“Okay!” Miss11 called back. Bless her cotton socks. Then she called out to her sister, “I’m starting the Dora DVD now!”
“Dank you!” Miss3 yelled back.
“Alright, Dora is on the television,” said Tracey, collapsing back onto her pillow and, I’m assuming here because I still hadn’t opened mine, closing her eyes, “but go and put some clothes on. Or at least grab a blanky from somewhere so you don’t get cold.”
There was a slight pause here, and I ever so briefly assumed she was finally walking out the door and leaving us to enjoy the warmth of our bed.
“Okay,” said Miss3, from still beside our bed. Then she took hold and dragged our doona off our backs and through the kitchen into the lounge room, remembering to throw a cheery, “Dank you,” over her shoulder as she went.
Which is why it was so very cold in our bed this morning.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”