Awkward Questions

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.

“No.”

Shesh, don’t take my feelings into account or anything.

I stood.

“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.