From the moment they are born our obsession with our kids’ teeth begins. All unexplained, irritable and erratic behaviour in babies is attributed to teething. When their first tooth appears we mourn the loss of their gorgeous gummy smiles and celebrate the arrival of an important developmental milestone. Equally when they lose their first milk teeth we make a huge song and dance about it by creating this dramatic, mythical creature known as the Tooth Fairy. And what a pain in the ass she is.

Initially it seems like a good idea to propagate the Tooth Fairy myth. After all, it is a cause for celebration when your child finally gets rid of the wobbly, protruding tooth that has been hanging by a thread at an awkward/ugly angle for weeks. So you consult your friends, work out what the going rate is for a tooth and tell your child that the Tooth Fairy will leave something special for them. Great. Job done. Not quite.

There are many problems that can arise. Firstly there is the pressure to continue forking out money for every single milk tooth that falls out. After the first six teeth, the novelty soon wears off but your child will still expect to be paid.  Having an emergency stash of coins at home is absolutely critical as your kid won’t take it well if you don’t cough up. Trust me, it can get dramatic. Don’t get caught out.

Secondly your kid will try and pull a fast one. They will tell you that inflation has kicked in and that Melanie T, Sarah B and Keira A at school all get £10 per tooth. You won’t believe them, but will feel the need to check with their parents who will promptly tell you they too only dish out £1 or £2 per tooth. Never believe your child when they start talking in monetary terms. They lie.

Then there’s the guilt of being a crap Tooth Fairy. By the time you have sorted out the kids’ school bags/uniforms, washed and tidied up, finished watching late night TV, checked Facebook and eaten dinner, the Tooth Fairy is nowhere to be seen. You collapse into bed forgetting all fairy-related duties only to be rudely awoken at 6am the next morning when your kid runs in sobbing that the Tooth Fairy didn’t turn up. Crap! It happens to the best of us. We all forget to make our magical deposits now and then and have to come up with some lame excuse about the Tooth Fairy getting stuck in traffic or having a busy night and reassure them that she will definitely turn up that night. Big sigh. Who would have thought that a no-show by the Tooth Fairy could cause so much angst for a little person?

Even worse is when you have no choice but to raid your child’s Tooth Fairy stash for parking money. You’re in a rush, you need some coins and the only quick way to get some is to dip into their money box. It’s terrible, it’s unethical, it would send your child into meltdown if they knew, but sometimes it’s the only way. Just remember to put the money back promptly and they will be none the wiser.

All this hassle for the arrival of wonky teeth. All this drama and expense for crooked, oversized, gappy adult teeth?! I miss my girl’s perfectly formed baby teeth and feel like telling the Tooth Fairy to “Do one” when I see what they have been replaced with. In due course the new teeth will straighten out (I hope!) but for now I’m in no mood to entertain the wretched Tooth Fairy.  Unfortunately for me, my kid would be too traumatised if the Tooth Fairy was to suddenly stop coming. So I’m on the slippery slope and will just have to keep going until we run out of teeth or my kid outgrows her. Damn you Tooth Fairy. If only I’d known.

It’s Ramadan, and like many other Muslims around the world, I’m trying my best not to totally flip out whilst fasting for nineteen hours a day and tending to my angelic/monster kids. It’s meant to be a month of spiritual and physical cleansing, a time when you strive to be a better person. But having young kids means I’m normally on course to having some kind of meltdown by 5pm. Trust me, being sleep deprived, hungry, thirsty and all round exhausted is not going to win me mother of the year any time soon, and any mum that tells me she is the epitome of patience and spiritual virtue during Ramadan can do one.

Being “hangry” (hungry and angry) during Ramadan is not ideal. It obviously defeats the purpose of Ramadan if I spend half my day being snappy with my kids (and the Old Git – although he often deserves it, to be fair) and verging on the cusp of hysteria. Whereas I’d normally give the kids multiple chances to comply with my requests/instructions, these days I’m flipping out after request number one. Big sigh. So, in an effort to save my soul and my sanity, I’ve been trying different things to stop me from descending into total crazy mum mode.

Firstly, I stay as far away as possible for as long as possible from my kids. It really helps. I disappear into the bedroom, utility room or toilet and spend as much of my time as possible in there contemplating life, making lists, doing what I normally do.  Of course I emerge at intervals to feed the kids, wash them, help them with their homework etc, but overall I find that staying out of their way reduces the chances of an epic meltdown.

Secondly, I let the kids use electronic devices. During Ramadan anything goes. All my rules about limited screen time go out of the window and my kids turn into screen zombies. TV, iPad, phone, computer – all are fair game during this holy month. In order for me to attain peace of mind, the kids must attain the iPad. End of.

Thirdly, I have to nap. I’m like a baby and have to sleep between the hours of 12-2pm in order to feel refreshed and recharged for the day. Even if I have the kids at home with me I still manage to do it albeit with a lot of background noise. The kids basically run riot in the house and I’m ok with that, as long as I get my two hours kip.

Fourthly, I stock up in the freezer. Not only is it full of samosas, kebabs, pasties and spring rolls, it’s also full of fish fingers, nuggets, pizzas and chips. Admittedly it’s not made with my own fair hands, but keeping things low maintenance during Ramadan makes things so much easier for me, plus the kids love it. You won’t find me slaving over a hot stove during Ramadan unless absolutely necessary. I also have my prized secret stash of chocolate which gives me focus and something to look forward to during the long days of fasting. Nobody is allowed to touch that…ever.

And finally, bribery works. I’ve bought this brilliant chocolate Ramadan calendar which the kids salivate over. In the event of bad behaviour, the threat of forfeiting their chocolate treat immediately rectifies the said bad behaviour and there is peace, calm and harmony in the house again.

Of course this advice is not from any great spiritual authority. It’s not the path to religious enlightenment. No. But if, like me, you struggle with feelings of “hanger” during Ramadan these tips could help save you from yourself. There’s no shame in admitting it’s hard to fast when you have young kids. It’s totally different to fasting pre-kids when you have the space to reflect, read and contemplate.  At least if we are honest and non-judgemental about the challenges we face, we can find solace in sharing our experiences and find ways of helping purge these ghastly, guilt-inducing feelings of “hanger.”

How do I tell my children that there are terrorists on our streets? How can I shatter the beauty and innocence of their youth? Across the world millions of children are faced with war, disaster and tragedy every day, and now here in the UK, after three terrorist attacks in as many months, we are faced with the sad reality of terrorism on our doorstep. I’m not suggesting our lives are in any way comparable to the terrible suffering endured by others elsewhere in the world, but the political climate of the UK is changing. There are increased risks and consequently increased tensions. As much as we’d all like to shield our children from these frightening developments, at what point should we discuss these matters with them and in what way?

Some children are, in my view, too young to have such discussions. Ludoo is only four and would not understand any of it. But my daughter is seven years old and has the capacity to understand and the possibility of exposure to information about it.  I am torn between raising it with her and risk causing anxiety and fear, and leaving her to enjoy her childish vision of the world. As of yet, she is blissfully unaware of the terrorist attacks and I feel almost cruel to burden her mind with it.  But she has older cousins and school friends who are more worldly than her. The chances are she will, at some point, hear about the terrorist attacks, and I know it’s better coming from me than from anybody else.

Whatever we tell our children about these attacks it has to be age appropriate. With an older child approaching their teens it may well be possible to discuss issues surrounding the attacks such as  politics,  religion and extremism but with younger school children this would be confusing and overwhelming. The key, I think, is to explain in very basic terms that there are some bad people who sometimes want to hurt others, but that this is very unusual and that most people are good. For me, the priority has to be to reassure my child that she is safe whilst acknowledging that it is very sad that these things happen. Providing too much detail about the attacks would be frightening but it’s important to give just enough information to equip our kids should it come up in conversation. The objective is to inform and reassure, not to create fear and anxiety.

One way to reassure young children might be to focus on how effective the emergency services are at dealing with the “baddies” and to highlight examples of bravery. Kids love talking about the police and heroes. It makes them feel safe and protected. Another way might be to share positive news stories to illustrate there is more good than bad.

It’s also really important to allow our kids to ask questions and answer them calmly and positively. We can set the tone and framework for the conversation so that it is not scary or hysterical. We can make them feel safe and emphasise how rare these incidents really are.

For me, there is the added complexity that we are from a Muslim background and I worry my child may hear comments about the identity of the terrorists which cause her to feel confused about her own faith background. At some point, I will probably have to take the conversation about these attacks one step further and explain in very basic terms that these terrorists are bad people with crazy ideas and that no religion says it is okay to hurt other people. I don’t think my seven year old is ready to discuss Isis or radicalisation, but I hope by highlighting the importance of kindness and peace in religion, she will understand that these terrorists are of a completely different ilk.

None of this is an easy conversation to have with your child and I’m still assessing when to do it myself. But I know deep down, knowledge is necessary and empowering for our kids as it helps relieve anxiety. Kids can have very vivid imaginations so it’s better to take control of the conversation than leave it to playground whispers.

I started running about two months ago, after my GP told me to sort my lazy ass out at my NHS forty year check up. Running is cheap, instant and effective. WelI, I say it’s running but others would probably describe it as jogging. But that’s just semantics. In any event, its sounds far more impressive to tell people you run rather than jog so we shall stick with that. For somebody who is not naturally sporty, I’ve come a long way since I first started (yes, I’m not shy about congratulating myself). Even the Old Git is shocked by my progress, bearing in mind I could barely run for two minutes when I first started. Running is now part of my routine and I feel much fitter. Being out on the running circuit has opened up a whole new world to me, some good and some bad. Here are my observations about the early morning run:

1) Firstly, people don’t clear up their dog poop. I’ve noticed abnormally high levels of dog poop on the pavement and it’s totally gross. Luckily I’ve not stepped in any yet but dog owners definitely need to up their game.

2) Secondly, runners don’t know how to react to other runners. There’s always that awkward moment as you approach another runner when you waver between acknowledging them  in running solidarity (and risk being snubbed) or avoiding all eye contact. It’s a tough call to make and in my limited experience most people just want to “jog on.”

3) When there is a pedestrian walking ahead, you suddenly feel the need to start sprinting past them full pelt in case their walking pace is faster than your running pace. To be ‘outrun’ by a pedestrian would be too much of a humiliation, so you can only resume your normal running pace once you are out of sight.

4) For some reason every person that sits in the passenger seat of a passing car feels the need to stare at you as they drive by. It’s not ideal as you are sweating profusely, huffing and puffing like an amateur and generally not looking your best. The key to not being overly self-conscious is to avoid eye contact and just focus on how good you will look once you complete your run and your thighs and ass wobble that little bit less.

5) Builders always stop what they are doing and stare at you.  Some make encouraging/patronising remarks like “Keep going!” or “Don’t stop now!” and you have to smile and acknowledge. It would be rude not to. You do wonder what they say about you when you are out of earshot though. Best not to dwell on it.

6) Running is the perfect pastime if you are a bit nosy. I now notice every single new driveway, house extension and property for sale in my area.  I even notice things like nice curtains, front doors and flowerbeds. It’s a great source of inspiration for home improvement ideas and is basically an extension of Neighbourhood Watch.

7) Running uphill sucks. Always.

8) When the end is in sight and you finish your run you feel like a flipping champion. As you run for a bit longer or faster each time and meet certain running goals, you feel a huge sense of achievement. Each week you see improvements and that is incredibly satisfying.

9) After a run, you feel ready to eat a horse. In fact, once you start running in general, your appetite increases and you just want to stuff your face all day. I am constantly hungry and whilst I understand my body needs more energy now, I’m not sure chocolate muffins and apple danishes are part of a good running plan. Something for me to work on.

As a newbie on the running circuit I’m still navigating my way through all the various issues above. But what I love most of all is the ability to just step out of my front door and start running instantly. It clears the mind and helps you get fit fast. There’s definitely less wobble on the thighs these days which is never a bad thing.

Recently a fifteen year old boy went missing in my area and there was a big local campaign to find him. Unfortunately a few days later his body was found close to where I live and naturally there has been a huge outpouring of grief. Sadly, it seems this young school boy took his own life. I don’t know the circumstances of the case but I have seen his school friends, teachers and loved ones leaving flowers at the site where he was found, and it is heartbreaking to see the anguish on their faces and to think of the utter despair this young boy must have felt in his final days. It has made me question to what extent do we really know how our children feel and think? How can we ever be sure that they are not experiencing the darkest feelings of pain and despair?

We try so hard to protect our kids from stranger danger and other external dangers, but how can we protect their emotional health? At every stage of childhood, from the toddler years right through to the teen years, children experience volatile and often extreme emotions. But when they are little they show how they feel through their tantrums and meltdowns. As they get older these emotions can often become masked or suppressed. Issues such as exams, friendships, bullying and relationships all come into play and can create further stress.  What might seem trivial to us can become hugely magnified to a child and impact their emotional wellbeing.

Although my kids are young, I try to nurture an open relationship of trust where they can talk to me. But even then it doesn’t always work. The other day Flump told me she had seen something disturbing on TV that she didn’t want to discuss. She was visibly upset but categorically refused to tell me what it was, despite my best efforts to prise it out of her. I felt like a bit of a failure to be honest as my kid was unwilling to open up to me. It eventually transpired that she had seen a close up shot of a pig’s head on MasterChef which had clearly traumatised her! She was expecting to see mouthwatering cake and linguine..instead she got an unwelcome shock! As trivial as it may sound, I have to say it was a bit of a red flag for me as it highlighted  there may be times when my child will not want to share things with me, and that is a bit of a worry.

So how can we protect our kids and help them process their complex and often extreme emotions? It goes without saying that we have to actively ensure our children feel loved, respected and valued. We have to look out for any signs of depression, such as feeling consistently low, unhappy, teary, disinterested or socially isolated, and not just put it down to teenage moodiness. As parents we can try our best to communicate with and support our kids but we shouldn’t hesitate to seek help from the medical profession, who can refer children for counselling and other therapies.

Mental health is, quite rightly, a huge political issue these days and we need to remember that children too can suffer from depression. None of us ever want our kids to feel so utterly hopeless that they feel there is no way out. Their formative years can be turbulent ones and we have to be mindful of their emotional anxieties. We always talk about how resilient children are, and whilst that might be true of younger children, I believe that as they approach the teenage years that resilience turns into vulnerability. The only way our children can thrive and stay safe is if we treat their emotional health as equally important to their physical health.

Lately I’ve become particularly aware of how quickly my kids are growing up. Flump is seven going on sixteen and now rolls her eyes at me when I speak, as if I’m some sort of ancient, clueless ignoramus. Ludoo starts full time school in September and has gone from watching me like a hawk and demanding my constant attention to telling me he doesn’t love me and wants to throw me in the bin. Charming. It seems the tables have turned and I’m no longer viewed as the centre of their world. And as much as I enjoy my growing sense of freedom, I’ve also been left feeling somewhat bereft. The precious early years of childhood are racing by and I wonder if I’m really making the most of them.

So often I urge my kids to get a move on, dress themselves, feed themselves, wash themselves – you know, basic life skills. Ludoo consistently refuses to feed himself (unless it’s pudding of course in which case he very efficiently polishes off an entire plate). He insists I sit next to him and lovingly feed him each and every spoonful as he takes his sweet time chomping, chatting and chilling. It drives me nuts as it’s painfully slow and I’ve clearly got other things I could be getting on with. But have I got better things to get on with? Why am I willing my boy to grow up so fast when soon he will not need me at all?  As infuriating as it is, soon I will miss my boy not wanting and needing me.

As for Flump she is already fiercely independent and can do most things on her own. In fact she doesn’t even want to hold my hand anymore when we go out as it’s not cool…SOB! If she misbehaves I sometimes find myself lecturing her about the need to act more maturely and set an example to her younger brother. Of course we all need to set boundaries for our children, but why am I urging my little girl to act beyond her years? Why am I forcing her to grow up when soon she will lose her  childish, carefree ways?

At the weekends, I will often pack the kids off with the Old Git so that I can get a bit of time to myself. Sometimes I practically shove them out of the front door, armed with snacks and water bottles, just so that I can get some peace and quiet. We all need a bit of down time to recharge, but I’ve started to wonder if I’m wasting the opportunity to make precious memories with my children. Don’t get me wrong, I spend plenty of time with them but how much of that is quality family time? The early years are short lived and family days out undoubtedly form the basis of many wonderful childhood memories.

As the years hurtle by, I feel a growing sense of panic that the children are getting older and a strong need to appreciate every single moment of their childhood. That’s not to say I’m not looking forward to the years ahead, but the early years have a special sort of magic. This is when they need and want us the most. This is when they yearn to be around us. This is when they want kisses and cuddles. Soon those days will be gone and I will be faced with moody, know-it-all, grunting pre-pubescents. As uncharacteristically sentimental as this post is, I feel I need to let my kids be kids, warts and all, and cherish every single, beautiful, frustrating moment so that it is embedded in my memory for years to come.

Some people are naturally inclined to be sporty, active and fit. Others, like me, are not. For those in my camp, the thought of getting up at the crack of dawn to go to the gym or of going out for a run once the kids are in bed is crazy, unthinkable and, quite frankly,  abnormal. There’s more chance of my kid volunteering to do English comprehension homework or of the Old Git emptying out the bins without prompting than of that happening. However, even for those of us in the “inactive” camp, there comes a point when we realise something needs to change and it’s time to get fit.

Some of us do it soon after having a baby, or after experiencing a health issue or perhaps because we have a special occasion we want to get in shape for. For me, it was the realisation that I’d hit my forties and could not rely on my genetics for too much longer to keep me trim and/or healthy. Turning forty is like a slap in the face that forces you to consider your own health as you never know what could be lurking around the corner. Diabetes, cholesterol and blood pressure checks are all a permanent feature of your life post forty. Depressing, right? So I had my wake up call and announced to the Old Git that I was going to start exercising. He smirked. The kids laughed. Nobody took me seriously.

Two months on and I am now a fitness guru. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating but at least I’ve started exercising a few times a week. That’s a flipping result for me. My friends don’t believe me when I tell them I’ve started running as they’ve all been doing it for about twenty years plus and have failed to enthuse me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t jump out of bed at 5am or ever envisage signing up for the London Marathon but I do feel like I’m the absolute boss after I’ve managed to run for twenty minutes continuously, considering I  could only run for two minutes when I started. I’m high-fiving myself as I type.

I also attend weekly Zumba classes which I LOVE. It’s like going to a  disco on a Monday morning at 9.30 am. Who would have thought? All those years of clubbing pre-marriage/kids have finally come in useful. I am particularly outstanding at the fusion bhangra moves and enjoy lip syncing to every single song. It’s bloody marvellous.

My biggest challenge with my new fitness regime is deciding what to wear. I feel I need to invest in some funky exercise gear as I’m currently wearing fifteen year old tracksuit bottoms and post-pregnancy leggings. It’s not cool, but it’s all I have. The Old Git is hyperventilating at the prospect of a bulk purchase, but has impressively managed to restrain himself from moaning about it. He doesn’t want to piss on my parade, after all.

As for my diet, I’ve been cutting back on the samosas and chicken pasties. In the past I have had an abnormal intake of these deliciously moreish snacks but they aren’t doing me any favours. They have to go. But I can’t seem to make any progress in cutting back on chocolate. In fact, the other day I went for a really good run and decided to celebrate immediately by eating a giant Easter egg. Not ideal. I have zero self-control when it comes to my chocolate intake and have been known to lecture my kids about the damaging effects of too much sugar whilst chomping on a Toblerone.

The critical question is, will I continue with my new fitness regime? What are the chances of me going out for a run in the winter when it’s pissing down with rain, sleet and snow? Fairly slim, I’d say. But at least exercise is on my radar now. I may even have to consider joining a gym. Shudder. Better late than never, I suppose.

We all have an inner circle of friends. People we see and speak to regularly. People we trust and make time for.  Sometimes however, these friendships go through rocky patches. When friends fall out it can just be a temporary phase, at other times it is well and truly stuffed/over/hashtag please don’t call me again EVER. The ultimate kiss of death is to be unfriended on Facebook… we all know there is no coming back from that.

A lot of the time tensions can simmer beneath the surface for a while and then something random will trigger the friendship meltdown. Recently I was out with a group of friends and witnessed the unravelling of various relationships. There was no public showdown but a very visible display of tension, frustration and anger. This was a case of extreme friendship politics. It was like watching tennis at the dinner table..my eyes darting from one person to the next, as they exchanged snappy comments and seething looks at one another. I’d never seen anything quite like it before and sat there with bated breath not knowing what would come next. Thankfully we are a civilised bunch and there was no Jeremy Kyle type confrontation as that would have been beyond the realms of awkward.

When friendships break down there are almost always repercussions for other people. Common friends, partners, siblings. How are they meant to react? Nobody wants to get involved in another person’s friendship war but sometimes they get dragged in kicking and screaming. The parties concerned may have expectations of loyalty and that’s when things get complicated. As a rule of thumb, I say run for the hills when your friends fall out and only emerge once things have settled down. Of course you could try and mediate but we all know how that story ends..with you in the dog house with BOTH parties. Run fast, I say.

What I have found, as I have got older, is that I have less time and tolerance for nonsense from people. Life is complicated enough without having to deal with the uninvited emotional baggage of others. Most people want simple, uncomplicated friendships that uplift and support them. Not ones that drain, confuse and frustrate them. This doesn’t have to lead to a falling out in the friendship but perhaps just a redefining of parameters, staying close to those that enrich your life.

Friendships are to be cherished and celebrated but there are times when they get derailed. It happens to all of us at some point (although the Old Git tells me men don’t experience this level of drama and conflict in their friendships –  discuss). Irrespective of whether the friendship recovers,  there is no point in anguishing over it for too long. After all, who wants to be that person who obsesses over another person’s actions, stalks them on Facebook and talks about nothing else? Not me. It may be that a bit of self-reflection and  compassion can help us process our own feelings about the friendship (or lack thereof) and move on from it either way.  You know……. forgiveness and all that jazz? Apparently it’s good for the soul.

There used to be a time when visiting my parents’ house was a warm, welcoming, familiar sanctuary where I could unwind, kick back and be fed copious amounts of food. It was a retreat from life’s drama where the Old Git and I would be treated like royalty. The oldies LOVED hosting us but since having the kids this scenario has changed somewhat. Now, a visit to grandma and grandpa is nothing short of stressful, with frequent bouts of drama and hysteria. Oh, how times have changed.

Firstly let’s talk about rules. Basically, there are none. The kids act like they own the joint and ignore everything you tell them, safe in the knowledge that grandma and grandpa will undermine you and accommodate their every whim. Anything goes here… if they want to watch TV all day and night, they can. If they want a meal consisting of cheerios and chocolate buttons, no problem! If mummy says “no more!” you may as well be talking to a brick wall.

Then there’s the hysteria (sugar-induced, no doubt). No more peace, no more retreat. When all the grandkids get together (there are six in total from my siblings and I), the noise levels are brutal. There’s screaming, screeching, fighting and laughter all mixed in with a bit of wailing and sobbing (from Ludoo). And let’s not forget the mess. Crumbs everywhere. Food splattered across the floor and table. Ice lollies dripping over the carpet. Toys and puzzles scattered across the house. Shudder. My poor parents just watch on in a dual state of horror and devotion, as my siblings and I tidy up behind our offspring and/or yell at them to tidy up themselves.

And then there is the drama and misfortune that unfolds all too frequently at my parents’ house. Like when Ludoo locked himself in one of the bedrooms. For a good twenty minutes there was chaos in the Khan residence. Grandma was running around frantically looking for a master key whilst shouting instructions, a panic-stricken grandpa was running up and down the street in his slippers looking for someone to help, the other kids were downstairs fighting and screaming over the iPad (completely oblivious to what was going on) and I was irate at being placed in this predicament, whilst comforting a stressed out Ludoo through the keyhole. It was complete and utter mayhem. Needless to say, Ludoo made it out of the room but I needed a strong cup of tea to recover.

Pre-kids my parental home was a peaceful haven where I could escape and recharge. Now, it’s party central where the kids run riot. They’ve well and truly pissed all over that parade and claimed it as their own. Whilst Khan Headquarters will always occupy a special place in my heart, I have to say, I’m rather fond of my own home now and its creature comforts. I believe a person’s sense of calm, wellbeing and security is intrinsically linked to the home they create. Occasionally though, I will secretly visit my parents’ home, without the children, and experience a little bit of  bliss again.

Hi, I’m Ludoo and it’s my fourth birthday today. My day began with my mum doing the Running Man into my bedroom whilst belting out “Happy Birthday” to me. She looked like a complete nutter but I had to play along as she seemed so deranged with excitement. We then went downstairs and my dad stuck the video camera in my face as soon as I entered the living room. I was about to teach him a lesson and start howling, full pelt, but then I saw the mountain of presents on the table and refrained. Some of the gifts were pretty naff, like the clothes and the Disney bed linen set, but the Scalextric car racing set saved the day. Crisis averted.

Normally my big sister ignores me and slams her bedroom door in my face, but today she was actually interested in hanging out with me. We played with my birthday gifts, ate chocolate eggs and laughed together. It was pretty cool. She then snatched one of my cars which sent me into a baby rage, resulting in me pinching her and shoving her across the room. She started screaming hysterically, I started wailing inconsolably and we both got sent to time out.

Next it was my party. People started arriving at 3pm and I was dressed as Spiderman. I was, by far, the best dressed person there. I don’t have many friends yet so it was mainly my cousins and sister’s friends in attendance. There were some people there who I didn’t even know, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was the star attraction and I was getting lots of presents. No gift, no entry.

We ate a lot of cake. My mum thinks I didn’t notice but she actually did not get me a Spiderman cake, as requested. She got me a Star Wars cake with a lame Spiderman figurine and candle stuck on top. Poor show, I say. I still ate it and then proceeded to scoff the chocolate brownies, eclairs and lemon tart that were all on offer.

I found most of the kids at my party annoying. They were all playing with my stuff and walking around my playroom like they owned it. One kid even thought it was acceptable to touch my Winnie the Pooh teddy. What the hell? Don’t these kids know kiddie protocol? You DON’T touch anyone’s favourite toy….ever. I taught him a lesson and screamed in his face with my full fury. He went running to his mum, the cry baby.

The party finished by about 6.30pm and I was pleased to see the back of my guests. Order was restored in the house and there was peace and quiet. At bedtime my mum got a bit overemotional [eye roll] and started reminiscing about the day I was born ..YAWN. She told me I’d always be her baby in her stupid baby voice and practically suffocated me with her needy kisses and cuddles.  I humoured her for a bit but then got vexed and told her to back off by head butting her.

It was a long day and I’m now ready for bed. I’m not quite sure how I feel about being four. I’m on the cusp of starting school but still act and look like a baby. I have complex emotions and have trouble processing them, often resulting in multiple meltdowns. Maybe this is my time to man up and start acting like a boy and not a baby. I feel a change coming on.

Love Ludoo, age 4.