During the summer, whilst camping, Alice got us up at 5am. Primarily to tell me off for snoring, but also because the early sun had woken her. Later on that day, I made a classic parental mistake and said, “We all need an early night because some lunatic got us up at 5am”.
See what I did there? Well done, Dan. This prompted an outraged six-year-old squawk of “HEY! That’s not very nice!”, with a pause, followed by “What’s a lunatic?”
So I explained. I told her that a lunatic is a mad person. But me, being me, couldn’t leave it there, and I went off on a discourse about lunar cycles and ancient theories on madness, which inevitably led on to discussing werewolves.
In any event, this has rather inevitably come back to bite me on the bum ever since. One day over the half-term holidays being a prime example.
It’s 11.30 in the morning. Alice, it’s time…
…to get dressed…
“NO IT ISN’T!”
…come on, it’s now nearly lunchtime…
“I WANT TO STAY IN MY PYJAMAS
…and you’re still in your pyjamas…
…you’ve had your morning flumping around.
…yes, you ha-
“I’VE ONLY JUST GOT UP!!”
…no, you haven-
And then, she brought out the big guns:
“Daddy, you’re an Ell-Oh-Enn-Tee-Ih-Kuh.”
A… what? A Lontik?
“A LUUUNATIC, Daddy!”
Why are you calling me a lunatic?
“BECAUSE YOU ARE ONE.”
[tired, distracted, not really thinking] Oh Alice, please stop being an idiot.
(Oh, well done, Dan part II. Really superb parenting. Have a fucking cigar…)
“HEY! THAT’S NOT VERY NIIIICE!”
OK, I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t call you an idiot. You’re not an idiot. But nevertheless, would you please go upstairs and get dressed?! Five… four… three…
“ALL RIGHT!!!” [stomps upstairs]
[from top of stairs] “Lunatic!!” [slams door]
I think I might have deserved that. Idiot.