Ohh, that AmberG is a bloomin’ nightmare at the moment.  Just like Millie, she knows her own mind and what she wants and has little patience with fools who don’t know her mind and try to do things she doesn’t like.  Things such as put nappies on her or get her dressed or give her stupid food or the wrong toy.

So mornings are getting to be like a fashion show, what with me pulling some clothes out of the drawer for Amber which, nine times out of ten, she’ll look at, think about, then shake her head and say, most emphatically, “No.”

And this is a one-year old (nearly two) that we’re talking about – what she’s going to be like as a teenager I dread to think.

Oddly, given their relative closeness in age, Amber generally likes Millie’s sartorial choices even less (although I think it’s fair enough: Millie’s choices tend towards the impractical, and usually involve exactly the same choice every day, e.g., I always get asked told to wear my shiny blue trainers, or, these days, my newer, shinier, blue, white and gold trainers).

And if you try to force your stupid choices upon a reluctant AmberG you’ll end up in a whole world of pain!  Tantrums, shouting, arms flailing, toys thrown, wailing – if that’s your idea of a world of pain then believe me, you’re in it!

She is fascinated by Christmas lights, however.  Large, small, bright, dim, fantastic, pathetic – all get the AmberG pointy finger of approval.

Although not as much as advent calendars.  Advent calendars get the AmberG Super Pointy Finger of Approval combined with arms-in-the-air-like-she-just-don’t care AND free bonus shouts of “Chucklet!  Chucklet!” (“chocolate!”)

And finally, Millie surprised me on the bus today by grasping some adult humour (not “adult” adult humour, just grown-up humour).  She’d ambushed me from the other side of the bus with a shouted question about the next time we get a car could it be a silver one (remember, we don’t own a car so we get a “new” – rented – car fairly often).

I said that yes, I would try to get a silver car, but would she not rather have a gold one?

No.

Would she rather have a pink one?

Hmm…  No.

Would she rather have a silver one with diamonds on?

Yes! Yes!

But then she sat and thought about this for a minute before asking, “Daddy, was that a joke?”

And I felt a bit bad at raising her hopes like that, not least because Millie was already a bit sad at the prospect of another evening of after-school club to look forward to (she goes on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays).

Her after-school club is, it must be said, not the idyllic garden of eden the website had promised us; it’s a hall full of children running around with a few half-baked “activities” thrown in to keep the Department of Education happy.  It’s not the maudlin hell on earth that Millie makes it out to be if you ask her about it though.  When asked what her favourite part of after-school club was she replied, melodramatically, “I like snack time because I know it’s almost time for Mummy to come and pick muh up.” *

Twist that emotional knife, girl; go on, twist it!  Twist it!!!

* in our house we say “pick muh up” rather than “pick me up”, for reasons long since lost in the depths of time