Blessed bedtime was upon us. Well, not us so much as the kids, which is the blessed bit.
Usually, once the kids are settled under their blankets, I have to hold myself back from racing for the light switch. Given half a chance I can disappear out of the kids’ room so quick they might be forgiven for thinking they were watching some sort of illusion show in Vegas.
I did the rounds one final time, giving out a kiss and a cuddle and a final word of warmth or, depending on the child, warning.
But when I got to Master10 I was feeling playful.
“I’m your favourite, aren’t I?” I asked him.
Tracey wasn’t around so I stood a chance of winning this time. Besides, I love making them choose and squirm.
“You’re both my equal favourite,” he said diplomatically. He’s been caught before.
“I know who my favourite is,” said Miss5 from another bed.
I turned around.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” I asked her.
She frowned. A lot. Then she vigorously shook her head.
Shesh, don’t take my feelings into account or anything.
“But I gave you life,” I told her majestically, my arms spread Messiah-like.
“No, you didn’t,” said Master10, joining in the mix. “Mummy did.”
“I can assure you I was involved.”
“How?” asked Miss5.
I quickly cast aside the temptation to start singing Hot Chocolate’s It Started With A Kiss.
“I don’t think you want to know yet,” I assured her. I figured it was time to abandon this conversation and headed for the door. “Bedtime!” I said, turning out the light.
“I already know,” Master10 called out from the darkness. “And,” he added, his voice full of contempt, “it’s a little disgusting, Dad.”
Next time I’m just going to yell, ‘Vegas, baby!’ and run.