Anticipation

It is good to anticipate.

Aidan knows it's coming now when I walk in such a weight and pace, that is spells a big T for him.

T for Trouble.

When his face is only inches away from the NDS.
When he does not beckon to my call that ends with his surname, or his name in full.
When he threw the last bite of banana into the bin.

I gave him half a banana and told him to eat it. And banana is about the only fresh fruit he will it, unwillingly. There was that familiar twist in that little face, that disapproval look. He knew there was no way out.

A minute or two later, I heard the lid to the bin closed. That only meant one thing. Without asking him, I walked straight to the bin, and opened the lid. With my sideway glance, I saw him putting two hands to his ears, with the 'caught-in-the-act' look.

Very lucky for him, it was only the last bite. I acted annoyed, and he knew he was guilty.

Now it's my turn to anticipate. That he will finish the banana that I will give him next time.