Don't Jump Off Haystacks

“Daddy tell us a story!” demands three-year old Rachel sitting on my foot with a death-grip on my leg. I heave her slowly forward – backward for her – towards the bathroom eventually headed to the bedroom that she shares with her sister Andrea. “I can’t tell you a story it’s bedtime” I tell her. But I’m only fooling. I’m pretty sure she knows it. “Yes you can! You always do!” argues Andrea. Andrea is seven and is heading to the bedroom in a much more grown-up way – standing both her feet on my other foot and hanging on to my arm as I drag her slowly forward as well. “Me? I never tell you guys stories. What are you thinking?” Heave. Drag. Heave. A NOISE erupts from the two girls. Something about “Yes you doooo!” and “We want a stooory!” So I tell them they can have a story but only if they both brush their teeth properly and get ready for bed. And they do – but only after I hoist my foot so Rachel sits on the edge of the bathtub. And extract a sharp squeak out of Andrea as I pretend to lift her up towards the slippery tub. A few minutes later the girls are in their beds. And so I begin…