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Sunday, March 09, 2014

As I write this, Toby is crawling past at high speed with a dummy clip attached to the back of his pyjamas, the other end of which is being held by Amelie, who is running him through the flat, throwing a glow stick in front of him, and shouting "Fetch!". She's just told him he's a good dog. I think this is how people end up with psychological problems in later life. It's certainly driving me a bit mad.

I've already had one crushing blow to my confidence this morning. I made Amelie a three-dimensional toast & marmite house for her breakfast, and when I presented it to her on a plate, she looked disdainful and said "I wanted it to have a moat". Presumably to drown peasants in. She'll be asking for a duck house next.

But when she's not unleashing the hounds of hell on those she considers unworthy, she actually looks like an angel...

That was her yesterday afternoon, shortly before leaving for a party on the Whitehawk estate. She's wearing a stab-proof vest under that dress. Fortunately, ten minutes before I was due to drive her over there, Lisa had a text message from one of the other parents, offering to give Amelie a lift, so I didn't have to go there myself.

Judging by the debrief we received afterwards, the party was a great success. The birthday boy, who we've long suspected has a bit of a crush on our daughter, asked Amelie to dance, but apparently she was too busy eating at the time. So she's clearly following her father's example by showing more interest in food than the opposite sex. She did inform us that she did some plate-spinning (having cleared them, presumably), but apparently one of the best bits of the party was when she and a few friends created Ant City on the steps of the community hall. She told us she was in charge of the swimming pool. So I suspect she's now drowning insects in her spare time.

As for today, we're treating Amelie to a trip to the cinema to see 'Tinker Bell and the Pirate Fairy'. Of all the many varieties of fairy, I think pirate ones are my favourite, but I've opted to stay at home and look after Toby instead. He might be a toddling whirlwind of chaos who wrecks everything within a ten metre radius, whilst punching me in the face, biting my legs, and putting everything I own down the toilet, but even when he's permanently screaming in my ear and tipping food on the floor, it's preferable to spending ninety minutes watching Tinker Bell with a hall full of five-year-old girls.