Who out smarted who, I ask.

I heard feet struggling heavily on the stairs and suspecting someone was embracing a heavy burden, I opened the second floor door. I was right. There I was met by Emma who had about 6 books encircled tightly in her chubby 4 year old arms.

Her eyes sparkled, belying the fact that she was up TWO hours past her bedtime. Evidence that our whirlwind business trips still throw us off stride despite five years of opportinty to acclimatize to them. With great cheer and energy in her voice she smiled: "Hello Mummy! I has some books foe us to read foe bedtime!"

My energy levels were no where near hers, causing me to dump a huge bucket of ice water on that idea immeadiatly.

"Oh No, Emma! It is way too late to read before bed!"

"Oh Pease, Mummy" she wheedled flashing another brillant smile.

"No, Emma, it's not even open to discussion."

"Awwww, Mummy. Pease. Dust three then. Can we wead dust three."

"No, Emma. It's just too late. We will read them tomorrow for school, okay?"

"Two Mummy, dust two?"

She peered expectantly at me as I picked up some clothes off her floor, and tossed them into the laundry basket.

I steeled myself. "No - It's too late Emma!"

"One den, Mummy, dust one book."

"Okay. BUT I get to pick!" I said, as I snatched the shortest one that, happily, was sitting on the top of her pile.

"Yay!" She hollered in delight as she bounced onto her bed.
"Mummy is going to wead us a tory Befany!" She yelled as she settled into my side.

Now the question I ask you is this.
"Was this a case of a wiley mother who talked her way out of reading six books, or that of a child who managed to wear her mother down into reading at least one book. "