Practice

[intheheart]

Title: Practice
Rating: G.
Summary: The trials of having a conscientious child.
Date: 1989
Notes: I think we've all done this.


Something clattered in the kitchen, and Nathan sat upright before he'd even fully woken up, groping for a weapon. But the cussing that followed was in a distinctly soprano and familiar voice, so he closed his eyes, fell back against his bed, and tried not to cuss himself.

Aaron was much too young to know some of those words. He was going to have to watch his language.

The cursing died down, replaced by a repetitive swishing sound. Nathan wondered if he should get up and investigate. On the one hand, unsupervised six-year-old in the kitchen. On the other, Aaron was a good kid. Whatever he was doing, he probably had it more or less under control. And besides, it was-- he squinted at his bedside clock-- much too early. Not even light out, probably.

Yeah. He closed his eyes again, and snuggled down in his blankets. Aaron was a smart kid as well as a good one. If things got out of control, he knew enough to ask for help, so Nathan had better get some sleep while he could. Any minute now, his bedroom door would open and he'd hear--

"Daddy?"

He heaved a mental sigh, rolled over, and came eye-to-eye with his sheepish-looking son. "Yes?"

"I tried to make breakfast," Aaron said, looking down at his toes. "'cept I'm not very good at it and I dropped the milk and now it's all over the floor."

Nathan eyed him for a moment. "You didn't try and cook anything, did you?"

To his relief, Aaron shook his head emphatically. "No, Daddy. No fire without an adult."

"That's right." He sat up, and rubbed his hands across his eyes. "Need help cleaning up?"

"Yes please," Aaron said, humbly. "Thank you, Daddy."

Nathan smiled down at him, and tousled his hair. "No problem, kiddo."

He hauled a t-shirt over his head and followed his son into the kitchen, which was not really as bad as Aaron had made it sound. True, there was a puddle of milk on the floor, with a smudgy, watery circle swiped out of it, but the tray with a bowl of dry cereal and buttered toast (Aaron was allowed to work the toaster on his own) looked perfectly appetizing. He'd even managed to pour the orange juice without spilling more than a few drops.

"This isn't too bad," Nathan said, and grabbed a towel off the rack. "You just forgot to soak it up a bit first, like this."

Aaron watched solemnly as he began to soak up the milk with the towel, then stood on his tiptoes to get his own towel. "Does it not slosh then?"

"That's the idea." Nathan scrubbed at the floor for a while, then asked, "So why were you making breakfast?"

"For you, Daddy," he said. "Ms. Rothery--" his teacher-- "asked us what we were doing for Father's Day and I didn't know, and she said we should make breakfast in bed, but I didn't know how and she said I should get Mommy to help me, only Mommy..." He fell silent.

Nathan sat back on his heels, and looked at his son. Time to change that subject. "Father's Day isn't until Sunday."

"I know," Aaron said, and went back to scrubbing. "I thought I should practice. Only I dropped the milk."

"That's okay," he said, remembering his own little Father's Day disaster. At least he'd had his mother to help him with that one. "I've done worse."

"I have to think of something else now," Aaron said, sitting up, with a little frown-line between his brows. He'd gotten that from his grandmother, Nathan's mother, who'd acquired it whenever she was thinking seriously. "I dunno what though. What do you want for Father's Day?"

Nathan put his towel down and hauled his son into his arms, hugged him tight, and kissed the top of his head. "Just you, kiddo," he said. "And no more breakfast in bed. I appreciate the thought, but it's much too early."

"Okay," Aaron said, placidly. "Will you eat it today, anyway?"

"Sure," he said, and set his son down. "Let's get this cleaned up first."