‘Timmy, get ready please,’ I said in a well-practised tone. ‘We’re going to be late for school.’
‘I am ready!’ he insisted from the kitchen table, head glued to a tablet.
‘Oh, really?’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘I would have thought your feet would be cold, heading out without any shoes.’
‘They’re by the door,’ he rolled his eyes while – somehow – still keeping them staring at the screen.
‘Then you need to be by the door!’ I shooed him, physically lifting him out of the seat and whisking the tablet out of his hands.
‘Mum!’ he protested, but I silenced him with an arched eyebrow. He sighed and trudged off to get his shoes.
Who says you can’t train children? I chuckled to myself.
I glanced down at the tablet as my husband sauntered into the kitchen, reaching past me for the bread.
‘This font is really big,’ I frowned, flashing the screen at him.
‘Well, you are getting older, Kate…’
‘No, idiot, it’s Timmy’s tablet,’ I smacked him on the arm. ‘Should we be concerned?’
‘About what?’
‘His eyes,’ I locked the tablet and tapped my foot nervously. ‘Maybe we need to look into getting him an eye test for children?’
My husband scoffed, dropping his bread into the toaster. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘What?’
‘He’ll never let you sit him in a chair and test his eyes.’
‘He will if both of his parents think it’s a good idea,’ I glared.
‘It’s just the font size!’ he said. ‘He might have changed it by accident and hasn’t figured out how to fix it.’
‘Or there’s something wrong!’ I insisted. ‘Quick, look up who’s the best eye doctor around the Brighton area.’
‘Relax, would you,’ my husband rolled his eyes, reminding me a lot of his son. ‘I promise it’s fine.’
‘Mum!’ Timmy’s voice came from the hallway door. ‘I can’t find my shoes!’
I frowned and walked over to him.
‘They’re next to your feet, son,’ I sighed, with a pointed glance back at my husband.