The alarm clock went off at exactly 7 this morning, as it always doesexcept for Sundays. I say “exactly” because it has this little badge on it that indicates it’s using some kind of atomic clock radio signal from somewhere or other to remain accurate. I say “except for Sundays” because when we first had it, the instruction book showed you how to only make the alarm go off on particular days. We lost that instruction book years ago.
I rolled over with hopes of a cuddle and discovered I was alone in bed. At 7am?Arriving at the foot of the stairs in my underwear, I heard the inkjet printer working overtime, and followed it’s sound into the studywhere I found W amid one of her typical nests of Macbook, paperwork, printouts, pens, pencils, staplers, folders, bags, and whatever else she had magicked out of thin air.”What’s up?”“I forgot to print the programmes for the School Christmas Bazaar”“Oh. I’m going back to bed”Not long after stumbling back up the stairs in a manner reminiscent of somebody trying out locomotion by legs for the first time, I slumped back into bed and stared at the ceiling.
Oh lookthe light on the mobile phone is blinkingDo you think I could leave it alone? Of course I couldn’t. While reading emails, text messages, instant messages, and whatever else I heard little people yawns from across the landing.
After a few moments “little blonde one” arrived in the bedroom doorwayfully dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt dress.”Go downstairs Dad?”“Only if you give me a cuddle first.”She sidled up the bed and fell on top of me for a few moments, grinning the entire time.”Go downstairs now?”And so it was that I realised that at six years old she already understands exactly how to get her own way.
I rubbed sleepy from my eyes, swung round in bed, and began the search for matching socks. Another Saturday had begun.