Part I:
[at lights-out time]
The Girl: Dad, can you just stay with me a bit longer?
The Australian: I can't, sweetheart, because my mum is visiting us this week and I've got to go downstairs and spend time with her.
The Girl: But Dad, when you were a little boy you spent every single day with your mum. Now it's my turn.
Part II:
[while waiting for the prescribed 15 minutes to pass before I'd take her to the park]
The Girl: Is it 15 minutes yet?
Me: Nope.
The Girl: [ten seconds later] Yet?
Me: No. Go and play.
The Girl: How much do I have to count to for it to be 15 minutes?
Me: It would take me 15 minutes to work that out. Go and do something to distract yourself.
The Girl: [deep sigh] Mum, WHY does time move SO much more slowly when you are a child than when you are an adult?
Me: You are mistaken. Time moves the slowest of all for writers. Then for children. Then for grown-ups. And then for editors, agents, and anyone else involved in the publishing industry.
The Girl: Oh. You're a writer, aren't you, Mum?
Me: A bit.
The Girl: Poor you, Mum.
Me: Aww, thanks, darling.
...
The Girl: So can we go now?
Me: Sure.
3 comments:
You sucker!
Am missing The Girl like crazy so thanks for these lovely updates.
xx
Please write your blog more often. It is one of my life's pleasures, and I am always disappointed when I come for more posts and there are none.
Sasch - you know it.
Sarah - I do apologise. I was waiting until I had something interesting to say, but why change the habit of a lifetime...? Back soon.
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