Danger Monkey, age 10: “Dad, which are you best at… reading, writing, or math?”
Little Miss Thing, age 7: “He’s really good at reading.”
Me: “Aww, thanks, honey.”
LMT: “Especially reading on his phone at the dinner table even though he tells us it’s wrong, making him a big hypocrite.”
Me: …
Me: “Time for lights out.”
Little Miss Thing, age 7: (keeps reading)
Me: “I can see you reading.”
LMT: (keeps reading)
Me: “Lights out. For real.”
LMT: (keeps reading)
Me: “Time for sleep. Book down now. Go to sleep.”
LMT: (keeps reading)
Me: “It would be nice to be acknowledged.”
LMT: “You know what would be nice? Reading uninterrupted.”
Me: …
Me: (turns off the light, heads downstairs)
Me: “Goodnight, kiddo.”
LMT: “You’re mean!”
Me: “I love you, too.”
I can barely stand the irony of sternly talking to the boy for reading past lights out.
His mother and I both were that kid, always reading past lights out. I honestly believe I needed glasses so early in life purely because of all the hours reading by flashlight.
Son, if you read this some day, we both love that you want to read for a couple extra hours every night, but your sister keeps telling on you.
Please get better at hiding it.
Very Vocal Viking 