Millie read to me last night, which was nice.
I happened to be putting the girls to bed because the Lovely Melanie was off to the pub with the mums (what’s the collective noun for a group of mums? Anyone?) so, unusually during the week, I did bedtime.
Millie’s reading Harry Potter for herself now (I believe she’s currently on The Goblet Of Fire) and asked if she could read some of it to me.
My first involuntary thought was “Ohh, really? I’ve got a lot to do tonight, my dinner’s cooking and…”
But then I remembered my last post but one here – the one worrying about being a bad dad – and so I said yes. To hell with everything else, this is my daughter we’re talking about: she’ll be grown up and not wanting to spend time with her old man soon enough – make the most of this!
And so I did. Millie first brought me up to speed with the plot and the characters, then read to me; only a couple of pages, and only for ten minutes, but I watched her doing it, laughed at the funny parts, explained the difficult parts, and was so glad I did.
OK, my dinner was a bit burnt, but it was worth it to see my beautiful daughter growing up before my very eyes.