It's a gloat session today I'm afraid. While Mother was away we'd got into a great little routine: baths at around 5pm; kids could watch a bit of telly while I finalised dinner; dinner between 5.30 and six; they'd have a play in the toy box while I did dishes; stories at about 6.20 and lights out by 6.30 ish.
Nanny arrives back from the UK and tells me that 6.30 is much too early for them to go to bed. So, having learned the art of saying nothing after eight weeks with my father, I let her have her way.
Three weeks later and it seems that my routine may not have been as out of whack as nanny first thought. She's finally agreed that no matter what time they go to bed, they wake between six and six thirty and by the end of the week with a bedtime of around seven they're crabby, tired and horrible to live with. Ahhhh sometimes it does feel good to be right.