AM/PM

“Dad?   Daaaad!” Logan shouted in a whisper through the darkness.

It sounded urgent.

“What is it?  What happened?  Is someone hurt?” I asked, trying to rally from a dead sleep and bring my brain into focus.

“Can we open our stockings now?”

What?  You've got to be kidding me.  You're lucky I can't see you well enough to reach out and strangle you.

“No!” I said, firmly, “Now, go back to bed.”

“But it’s 12:47,” he protested.

WTF?

“AM!” I shouted.

I could only imagine what I was unable to see.  There was undoubtedly an angry, pouting face accompanied by arms thrown down at his sides as he turned and stomped off across the carpeted room trying to make every disapproving noise he could think of without getting into trouble for making actual noise.  I didn't hear from him again until seven.

- 25 December 2017