Daughter is waving a letter at me. She has her I-am-in-pain-I-want-this-so-much face on. "So can I go? Everyone else is going--"
Those words send a chill through my veins. They are rarely a good sign. "Everyone else" has a pair of jeans that cost more than my whole wardrobe; "everyone else" has the latest Apple gadget whenever a new one comes out. And "everyone else" goes to sleepovers where "everyone" gets no sleep and "everyone" gets up to all kinds of mischief. In short "everyone else" has a much better life than my daughter.
The letter is from Daughter's school outlining what trips are being organised for Activities Week in the summer. In the Junior School participation was voluntary, there was no choice of activity and the trip on offer usually had some educational merit. It also did not cost an arm and a leg. Now that she is at Senior School she has the choice between going to Barcelona for a week to go round galleries and shops (yes, really - shops!), going on various walking or climbing activities, learning circus skills at school or going on walks in the countryside near school. It is pretty clear which trip she tells me "everyone else" is going on. It is also pretty clear which trip she therefore is going to put all her efforts into persuading us to say yes to.
I arrange my face into an expression of regret mixed with stern discipline and prepare to launch into a speech about money not growing on trees and the country going through stringent cut-backs and this not being a time for frivolity and--
"I know what you're going to say," says Daughter before I have had chance to draw breath. "But I'll do literally aaaannnnything if you let me go to Barcelona. What jobs can I do? Tell me! Tell me!" She is actually wringing her hands. The I'm-in-pain expression is looking alarmingly real.
Husband walks in on this Oscar-winning performance, so I fill him in.
"What if I said I'd do the gardening?" Daughter says, turning the full force of her charms on her father. "You know how much I hate gardening, so that really is a huge thing to promise to do," she pleads.
I swear she is batting her eyelashes now. How do girls learn how to do this?
Husband struggles to keep a straight face. "Well, I don't see why not." He watches as Daughter's eyes flash and her mouth opens in a wide grin. She is about to throw herself at him and squeeze him in to a bear hug when he adds, "But you'd have to mow the lawn every week through the spring and summer right up until the trip. And in the winter you'd have to do some of the clearing I've started on the bank."
Daughter's forehead creases and her grin morphs into a large disappointed "O".
"Every week?" Daughter repeats incredulously. "But--"
"Every week," Husband says firmly.
I am trying to catch his eye. Surely he doesn't mean this? How could he hold her to such a promise? He knows what she is like about tidying her room, putting her books away, picking up wet towels off the floor. She wouldn't even finish mowing the lawn the first time, let alone repeat the action week after week right through until next July. I stare at him, but he is resolutely refusing to look at me.
"Well," says Daughter finally, pursing her lips in disgust. "I don't think that's fair. Why should I do that much work just to go away for one week?"
"Oh, you don't think it's fair?" says Husband.
"No," says Daughter.
Husband finally looks at me. "That's funny," he says with a twinkle in his eye. "Because everyone else does."
Those words send a chill through my veins. They are rarely a good sign. "Everyone else" has a pair of jeans that cost more than my whole wardrobe; "everyone else" has the latest Apple gadget whenever a new one comes out. And "everyone else" goes to sleepovers where "everyone" gets no sleep and "everyone" gets up to all kinds of mischief. In short "everyone else" has a much better life than my daughter.
The letter is from Daughter's school outlining what trips are being organised for Activities Week in the summer. In the Junior School participation was voluntary, there was no choice of activity and the trip on offer usually had some educational merit. It also did not cost an arm and a leg. Now that she is at Senior School she has the choice between going to Barcelona for a week to go round galleries and shops (yes, really - shops!), going on various walking or climbing activities, learning circus skills at school or going on walks in the countryside near school. It is pretty clear which trip she tells me "everyone else" is going on. It is also pretty clear which trip she therefore is going to put all her efforts into persuading us to say yes to.
I arrange my face into an expression of regret mixed with stern discipline and prepare to launch into a speech about money not growing on trees and the country going through stringent cut-backs and this not being a time for frivolity and--
"I know what you're going to say," says Daughter before I have had chance to draw breath. "But I'll do literally aaaannnnything if you let me go to Barcelona. What jobs can I do? Tell me! Tell me!" She is actually wringing her hands. The I'm-in-pain expression is looking alarmingly real.
Husband walks in on this Oscar-winning performance, so I fill him in.
"What if I said I'd do the gardening?" Daughter says, turning the full force of her charms on her father. "You know how much I hate gardening, so that really is a huge thing to promise to do," she pleads.
I swear she is batting her eyelashes now. How do girls learn how to do this?
Husband struggles to keep a straight face. "Well, I don't see why not." He watches as Daughter's eyes flash and her mouth opens in a wide grin. She is about to throw herself at him and squeeze him in to a bear hug when he adds, "But you'd have to mow the lawn every week through the spring and summer right up until the trip. And in the winter you'd have to do some of the clearing I've started on the bank."
Daughter's forehead creases and her grin morphs into a large disappointed "O".
"Every week?" Daughter repeats incredulously. "But--"
"Every week," Husband says firmly.
I am trying to catch his eye. Surely he doesn't mean this? How could he hold her to such a promise? He knows what she is like about tidying her room, putting her books away, picking up wet towels off the floor. She wouldn't even finish mowing the lawn the first time, let alone repeat the action week after week right through until next July. I stare at him, but he is resolutely refusing to look at me.
"Well," says Daughter finally, pursing her lips in disgust. "I don't think that's fair. Why should I do that much work just to go away for one week?"
"Oh, you don't think it's fair?" says Husband.
"No," says Daughter.
Husband finally looks at me. "That's funny," he says with a twinkle in his eye. "Because everyone else does."
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