"It ain't nice"Hannes and I took the ferry over to Finland and back last weekend or so. It was just the two of us on the ferry, a real roadtrip (of sorts, I know there are no roads in the sea) with good food, lots of fun and late night Donald Duck cartoons and The Simpsons.
Well, not late night. After all, Hannes is supposed to go to bed at around 9.
Admittedly, there is a one-hour time difference between these two countries, and it may be tricky sometimes. Like, should Hannes go to bed at 9 Swedish time, or Finnish time (which actually is 8 pm Swedish time).
My rule of thumb is to let him stay up an extra hour.
Hence, The Siiiiimpsooooons.
The problem was that we probably had too much fun in that 7-square-meter cell of ours, and Hannes didn't want to sleep.
On our way back, we got into an argument, and yes, there was shouting and yes, things were thrown around and yes, some fingers were pointed.
I am not naming names, but I confess that I was furious. Steaming.
Hannes ran to the door and tried to open it. I told him not to, (that's where I pulled out The Finger) and told him to get back to the bed.
Hannes looked at me, crossed his short little arms across his chest and said: "It ain't nice... it ain't nice to sleep, Dad, it ain't".
And the way he said "it ain't nice" sounded so much like my Mom that I couldn't help but smile.
Besides, I kinda agree. Sleeping's no fun.
