Four o'clock is the best time of day for me. It's that magical hour when the grind of working in the hustle and bustle of a small town community bank with one branch and no ATM comes to a merciful halt and I head for the refuge of my house, where the 5 most amazing people in all the world eagerly await my arrival. Yes sir, 4:00 is my 5:00 (did I mention the grind?).
Today, as I stepped foot into my back door, instead of being greeted by a chorus of, "Daddy's Home!" followed by the ever dependable ensuing barrage of hugs from my beloved children, I was instead slapped in the face by a stark, "don't mess with me, Daddy, I have things to do." This harsh sentiment emanated from the mouth of my precocious 4 year old, who recently informed me that she's no longer to be called 'Abby', opting instead for the nickname of 'Tiddlywinks'. Shocked and slightly annoyed that my daughter would reject my efforts to play with her before they even manifested, I asked her to repeat herself. (Ever wonder why we do this? The most awful news is almost always greeted with a request that it be repeated. Seems like we would be content to hear the negative stuff once.) Anyway, Abb... er, Tiddlywinks... then delivered the same message, but this time with a noticeable air of irritation, as if I were taking up too much of her time (seems my children enjoy pretending they have a grind as well).
"What kind of 'things to do' do you have to do?" I asked, complete with air quote hand gestures.
"I have homework," she replied with a furrowed brow and a sigh that suggested that life's demands were cramping her style.
"What kind of homework do they give in pre-school?" I asked.
"I have to trace my hand. I just don't have time to play."
Incidentally, 5 minutes later, she was running around the house with her baby sister.
