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nine thirty

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Kenny's learned the meaning of the clock. He knows that 08:00 on a weekday is "It's eight o'clock already? Damnit."

He recognizes the pattern of small hand and little hand - he actually knows how to recognize the time on the clock face. He also knows that 21:30 means he's late for bed. "Nine thirty" is a time he dislikes.

And tonight I caught him doing something about it. When I told him that no he couldn't watch a video because it was nearly "nine thirty", he went to the clock, set it back half an hour, and said, "No, it's not nine thirty."

Cheeky bugger! No wonder the clock's been wrong all the time recently. Mari first reported it a couple of days ago.

We're going to wind up with a high shelf somewhere in the living room, that's got the phone, the clock, any medications, and one or two of my cameras all perched out of reach.