The bedroom door cracked open at 7am with a little voice asking “go downstairs?”. I heard a muffled “yes”, and the door closed once more.
I woke again about an hour later as an elbow prodded my ribs.
“I’d love a cup of tea”
And so Sunday began, walking into the kitchen in my boxer shorts just in time to intervene in our children’s attempts to make their own breakfast. I had promised our eldest a “big breakfast” at bedtime last night, so set about making toast while they jammed cereals into their mouths.
“Do you want chocolate spread and peanut butter on your toast?”
Our eldest nodded her approval with chocolate stars bursting from the corners of her mouth.
“Can I have both too?”
“But you don’t like peanut butter”
The cogs turned for a few moments.
“I meant, can I have half chocolate spread, and half chocolate spread”
I shook my head, and wandered back to the toaster, the boiling kettle, and a hastily prepared “breakfast in bed” for my better half.