TGIF

Hey, remember my other kid?

You know, the one I've not really mentioned for posts and posts because of all the erhmagerd-3-year-old-from-hell type stuff that's been going on here lately?

Well she's still around. And she is just ... adorable. Really truly, 5 has been so very wonderful that I must admit to being a little apprehensive about 6. Surely this high of chatty curious sweet-natured playful fun must precede a low of emo angst?

We're seeing glimpses ... There's been some crying for no particular reason. There was an inexplicable meltdown because I got water on her new strawberry legwarmers (while filling a water balloon for her) because 'Now they're all weeeeeeeeeet!' There are some requests for her sister to leave her alone, some calls for peace and quiet.

But for the most part Friday is my fun, my sanity, my darling. And, in the same way Sunday's delightful baby-ness helped me get through her older sister's Tyrannical Three's, Friday's Fabulous Five is helping me get through them this time round.

She is patient. She is kind. She loves her sister so much. She is always ready with a cuddle, a chat, a song. She says thank you. Her laugh has the power to crack my darkest mood.

We're reading Little House in the Big Woods - an enormously important and precious moment for me, sharing my childhood love with a child of my own.

We're talking about her teacher's gay relationship, Mr Mandela and brand assimilation (she rolls her eyes while I rant about people forcing little girls to think everything they own must be slathered in Barbie).
We listen to the radio and when she notes that 'this guy's not really singing hey Mum, more like talking', and I say it's called 'rap' music she asks, 'Is that because he's talking rapidly?
Wow, maybe it is?

There's some growing up happening, no doubt. Suddenly she knows who Taylor Swift is, and Justin 'Beaver'.  She got a brain worm the other day, saying HannahMontanaHannahMontanaHannahMontana - it does roll off the tongue quite nicely - and she dances gangnam style.

But she'll still romp in the sea in her knickers given half a chance. Collecting plough shells her lips will move as she tells herself some story.
Her eyes will still light up at the first whiff of an 'imagining'. She makes a game out of almost anything.
She'd give her life to David Attenborough if he'd have her.

Basically, in the words of Robert Smith:

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love