Me and Flea, we have this amazing bond.
Maybe because it’s just the two of us, but we just click. Honestly. Maybe it's just my natural gift with children, but we have the most brilliant, amazing chats.
Like yesterday, I picked up Flea from school, took her to Karate and then home for dinner. We sat down together at the table and the conversation flowed like – well, I’d say fine wine, but she’s four, so let’s go for orange juice.
Me: So, how was today at school?
Me: Just alright. Did you do anything fun?
Flea looks at the ceiling and scrunches up her face. Time passes. Leaves fall from the trees outside.
Me: Hard question?
Flea: I just can’t remember.
Me: Okay, did you learn some new moves at karate?
Flea (enthusiastically) Yes!
Me: What sort?
Flea: Can’t remember.
Me: Okay, so you don’t remember school or karate. What shall we talk about?
Flea (triumphantly): I remember playtime.
Me: Great, did you play something fun?
Flea: I played dogs with Zara.
Me: Cool. How do you play that?
Flea: I don’t remember.
See? Magical, isn't it? And so, like generations of parents that have gone before me, I ask the one question that I know will elicit a response formed of more than five words.
Me: What was for lunch?