We have managed to convince our oldest that he’s not allowed to get out of his bed until after 6:30 in the morning – which means he’s in our room every morning at exactly 6:30am.

Once he arrives, the negotiations begin. He wants us to get out of bed and play until it’s time to get dressed for school. We want to sleep.

Actually this morning it was just me that wanted to sleep. My wife was out walking the dogs.

“Okay kiddo,” I said. “How about this – you let me sleep until 6:45 and then we’ll get up and play.”

“Great idea, Daddy!” He stretched out on the bed next to me and pulled the covers up. “That way you get what you want and I get what I want.”

“What can I say?” I muttered into my pillow. “I’m a genius”

Our bedroom has a clock that projects the time in faint red numbers on the ceiling. It’s a great clock. During the day, you can’t see the letters and at night, the clock glows less than any other clock we’ve been able to find. And, of course, it means my 6 year old can read the time from my bed.

“It’s 6:34. That means there’s 7, 8, 9, um…11 minutes left.”

“That’s right. Good job with the math.” I mumbled.

“Yeah,”

I rolled to face away from him and tried to remember the dream I’d been having.

“6:38, Daddy!”

I tried to keep my eyes closed. “Okay.”

I couldn’t remember the details of the dream, just that it had been very relaxing.

“It’s 6:40! Only five minutes left! Are you almost ready?”

I levered myself up on the pillows and looked at him. “Is this letting me sleep?”

“Shhh… Just go to sleep. I’ll let you know how much time you have – Oop! 6:41! Better hurry!”

I dropped my head back into my pillow. “Okay, let’s get up.”

“Are you sure? You still have 4 minutes left?”

Yep, I’m sure.