What can I say? I have been converted.


priorities


Priorities.

She doesn't understand the meaning of the word, let alone how to spell it.

She finds spelling hard. Mummy is better at it than Daddy (better at most things, Mummy says and Daddy agrees), but it's the is and the es and the os. The vowels. Even Mummy can't help with those. They are confusing to her. She doesn't know which way around they should go. And she's not a fan ss either. They took her an age to master when she was even littler than she is now, to form clearly on the page, visible for all to read.

She remembers when she did it the first time. The first time she managed to write an S. A capital one, she had proclaimed. Just like Shelley told me to!

Daddy had been in the kitchen, cooking something yummy tea. Mummy had been on the sofa, just above where she was sprawled out on the floor, playing a game on her tablet. Upon hearing her excited voice, both had stopped what they were doing. They shared a look, walking over to the girl in the denim waistcoat, hair tied neatly in a bobble on either side of her head.

She remembers smiling widely. So proud of her achievement that both of her parents were at a loss for what to say.

"Baby." Daddy spoke first. "Baby, that's amazing. Well done!"

He'd kissed her head before going back to the stove. Mummy had gotten down on to the floor beside her, pushing her fringe back from her face so that she could look at her properly. Her clever baby girl.

"You are amazing," she had said. And she'd meant it; her voice so sure, so strong. "I am so proud of you."

And now, as she attempts to tackle this word, so unfamiliar to her that it causes a slight unease in her tummy, her mother's pride is all she is wanting to obtain.

"Daddy." She prods him. He's half asleep and it's only six o'clock and she giggles at the face he pulls in an attempt to disguise his dozing. "Can you help me?"

He rubs his eyes.

"I can't spell pre-awe-ratties," she tells him.

"You can't spell what?" He is trying so hard not to tease her.

"Pre-awe-ratties."

He sits up, hides a yawn in her hair which he presses a kiss to.

"Mummy should be home soon. She'll be able to help you."

"But I want to surprise Mummy. I want to show her I can spell without her."

She has never looked nor sounded more determined.

Nick's smile is as wide as her frown is deep. He takes the pencil from her hand and watches as she rips a page out of her exercise book for him to write on.

"Priorities," he repeats, making a point of pronouncing the word properly. "P-r-i-o-r-t-i-e-s."

She doesn't notice that he has spelt it incorrectly.