Husband and I have been revising our will. Small Boy comes in on the end of a discussion about how much detail we need to include about our possessions.
"What do I get when you die?" he chirps.
"Oh, I - I don't know," I falter. I hadn't banked on him being part of the decision-making process.
"Can I have your saxophone?" he asks. "It should go to me really cos I can get a better sound out of it than my sister. She can have the piano," he adds generously.
"OK," I say.
"And I think I should have the house, cos I am the boy," he says.
"Now hold on a minute!" says Husband. "We're not going anywhere just yet."
"More to the point," I say, "I think you'll find that the 1701 Act of Settlement is to be altered to allow firstborn daughters to inherit."
Small Boy gives me a Paddington stare.
"Yes anyway, I am going to get the house when Dad dies," he continues.
"Oh, and what about me?" I ask.
"You can live in the garage. You're always going on about wanting to convert it."
"Yes, into a writing shed!" I say. "Not a granny annexe."
Daughter walks in. "What are you talking about?"
"Who gets what when they die," says Small Boy. "I'm getting the saxphone and the house."
"WHAT?" says Daughter.
"I think you can handle this," says Husband. "I'm off now."
Daughter corrals me into a corner. "Since when were you two dying?"
"We're not!" I protest. "Not yet, anyway."
"And if you do, what will happen to me?" she demands, hands on hips. "Who will I live with? Have you thought of that?"
"Yes, we have actually--"
"Oh not Grandma and Grandpa!" Small Boy wails. "They're almost dead already!"
"It's OK, I think we might ask your aunts and uncles to be guardians," I say. I am getting a bit flustered.
"Bagsy live with Uncle Charlie!" shouts Small Boy.
"Oh look at that!" I shout, remembering long forgotten distraction techniques from when they were toddlers. "It's time for 'Big Bang Theory'."
"YAY!" shouts Small Boy.
"Bagsy sit in the corner of the sofa!" shouts Daughter, hurtling out of the room.
The dog sidles up to me and looks at me mournfully.
"It's all right," I say. "You're quite probably going to die before me, so you don't need to worry about going to live with Grandma either."
She sighs gratefully and returns to her basket.
"What do I get when you die?" he chirps.
"Oh, I - I don't know," I falter. I hadn't banked on him being part of the decision-making process.
"Can I have your saxophone?" he asks. "It should go to me really cos I can get a better sound out of it than my sister. She can have the piano," he adds generously.
"OK," I say.
"And I think I should have the house, cos I am the boy," he says.
"Now hold on a minute!" says Husband. "We're not going anywhere just yet."
"More to the point," I say, "I think you'll find that the 1701 Act of Settlement is to be altered to allow firstborn daughters to inherit."
Small Boy gives me a Paddington stare.
"Yes anyway, I am going to get the house when Dad dies," he continues.
"Oh, and what about me?" I ask.
"You can live in the garage. You're always going on about wanting to convert it."
"Yes, into a writing shed!" I say. "Not a granny annexe."
Daughter walks in. "What are you talking about?"
"Who gets what when they die," says Small Boy. "I'm getting the saxphone and the house."
"WHAT?" says Daughter.
"I think you can handle this," says Husband. "I'm off now."
Daughter corrals me into a corner. "Since when were you two dying?"
"We're not!" I protest. "Not yet, anyway."
"And if you do, what will happen to me?" she demands, hands on hips. "Who will I live with? Have you thought of that?"
"Yes, we have actually--"
"Oh not Grandma and Grandpa!" Small Boy wails. "They're almost dead already!"
"It's OK, I think we might ask your aunts and uncles to be guardians," I say. I am getting a bit flustered.
"Bagsy live with Uncle Charlie!" shouts Small Boy.
"Oh look at that!" I shout, remembering long forgotten distraction techniques from when they were toddlers. "It's time for 'Big Bang Theory'."
"YAY!" shouts Small Boy.
"Bagsy sit in the corner of the sofa!" shouts Daughter, hurtling out of the room.
The dog sidles up to me and looks at me mournfully.
"It's all right," I say. "You're quite probably going to die before me, so you don't need to worry about going to live with Grandma either."
She sighs gratefully and returns to her basket.
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