There was a sudden shout from Alex’s room this evening, during his reading time before lights out. I was up there like a shot, not because I was hugely concerned for his well-being (he’s a big boy now), but more because I didn’t want him to wake his sister, who has recently developed an aversion to bedtime. Putting her down to sleep once a evening is quite enough of an ordeal.
As I walked in, I could see that the boy was ready to burst with news.
“Well,” he began. “I was just lying down and then I saw him on the ceiling.”
I looked up to where he was pointing and there was a gravity defying gecko, all of 1½ inches long.
“Are you going to get a ladder?” he asked. (My son, not the gecko.)
“No, I think I can reach if I stand on your bed.”
“He can stay in here if he wants. I don’t mind if he wants to stay in my room and eat stuff.”
As parents, we have instilled into our children the fact that geckos are actually good – they eat flies, mozzies and other irritating flying things.
Geckos aren’t something to be scared of – they are our friends.
I have also instilled the same thing about spiders.
While Mrs 6000 also agrees that spiders eat flies, mozzies and other irritating flying things, she will kill them on sight.
Double the number of legs, double the number of standards.
“I don’t think he’ll want to stay in here, Alex. He belongs outside.”
Mentally, I prepared for the fight and the consequences to his sister’s slumbers and my evening’s plans.
But no. There was a moment of disappointment, then:
“Yeah. He might eat my radio and my clock. That wouldn’t be good.”
I was going to point out that that scenario was very, very unlikely.
But then sensibly, I chose not to.
