Flea
Flea came bouncing into my bedroom this morning, full of excitement.

“Mummy, guess what?”

“What?”

“At school we are doing something that’s a surprise for our Mummies and Daddies.”

“Really? Well don’t tell me about it, so it stays a secret.”

Flea scoffs snornfully in her patented My-Mum-is-a-Fool mode.

“I know,” she says. “Our teacher said if we talk about it, it won’t be such a special surprise.”

“That’s good, then.”

“I’m just going to talk about it in my head.”

Flea proceeds to roll her eyes, twitch her lips and ‘think’ to herself for a full 30 seconds. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was having some kind of seizure.

“Did you hear that?”

“No.”

“Oh fantastic,” she says, satisfied. “It’s still a secret.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Do you want to know what colour it is?”

“Sure.”

“It’s gold and red.”

“Sounds lovely, darling.”

“Yes, Samuel’s Christmas decoration is going to be silver and Tabitha’s is blue and silver.”

“Right.”

“But I can’t tell you the surprise, though.”

“Okay.”