Last night I had the (thankfully) rare priviledge of putting Lila and Joey to bed. It wasn’t the plan. I was coming round so mum could pop out for an hour, after bedtime. She didn’t tell them because they’d get excited. Not because they’re seeing me, no one wants that, but because I would be the cause of their excitement. It’s what I do. What I’m supposed to do. Grandparental duty. Chase them round the lounge, dangle them by their feet and swing them, tickle them mercilessly, it’s all the ‘grandad handbook’. But, ok, not necessarily at bedtime. So I was a secret. Shhhhhh…

But as I crept in they were both at the top of the stairs waiting. However: I was warned: DON’T GET THEM EXCITED!!! My daughter’s always been much much stricter with me than I ever was with her. Though there’s a fair argument that I need it more.

Anyway, we played: oh so gently and quietly and still-ish. And we were calm and tranquil and we barely had any fights which involved screeching or excessive blood. So to bed. Lila jumps in with her t-shirts (one of mummy’s, one of daddy’s, I offered her one of mine and she said she’d use it to clean the windows), and a lovely soft, cuddly panda, and we kiss goodnight.

Joey clambers under the sheets, taking his essentials: about 14 muslins and… an axe. Ok, it’s plastic and only about 18 inches long with a bright orange head. But an axe? I mean, really?? I’m used to seeing Joey in bed with toy cranes, lorries, buses, dumper trucks and so much plastic (sorry, Greta) that there’s no room for his little body. But an axe is different. As he closes his eyes holding it closely, lovingly to his chest. An axe shows intent. It shows a mindset.

I checked online. The preferred bedtime toys of Fred West. Ted Bundy. Jack the Ripper. Peter Sutcliffe. All went to bed with axes. Probably.

This photo shows Lila exactly 6 years ago, according to whatever oh-so-clever phone or app or whatever reminds you of such things. But it’s so wonderful I had to use it.

Happy, slightly concerned Thursday

A xxxx