Finje celebrated her Big Oh-Five whilst holidaying in Australia. Apparently, the half decade is the pre-schoolers equivalent of The Eighteenth. This momentous anniversary, at least in Finje's mind, indicates her arrival at an important milestone in life.
Since the big day, most sentences begin with, "You know I'm five years old now...", usually followed by a pronouncement of what that means regarding her performance. Mostly failing to provide any practical evidence of such claims, she nonetheless soldiers stoically on. Were she actually capable of such activities, my life would become substantially simpler.
Unfortunately, despite her attempts to convince us to the contrary, she is still unable to:
Tie her own shoe laces (properly)
Read any of my books (or hers for that matter but they are apparently "too easy!")
Cut her own toe nails/hair
Drive the car (reluctantly admitting her legs are still "a bit" too short)
Be a pirate/knight/pilot
Stop on roller-blades without resorting to braking using her bottom
There are however, some indications of her advancing years. And whilst I love the fact that her communication skills are improving and that she can cut up her own sausages without spraying mashed potato all over the table, I'm aware that the baby years are swiftly passing us by.
As if to rest my mind, a recent day out reminded me that five is five and not 18.In the beautiful surroundings of King's Park in Perth, there is a small wishing well. Finje had never seen such a thing and, watching people throw money into it, she was curious. I explained the concept. From that moment on things went somewhat downhill.
By the time the 20 cents coin had splashed into the water deep down in the well, my daughter had her eyes squeezed closed and was wishing for all she was worth. When she opened them, before I could ask her what she wished for, she was running past me peering behind trees, under bushes and sprinting around like Flo-Jo.
It turned out she was looking for the horse she had just wished for.
All the explanations in the world could not calm her. She was truly distraught.
So, at five, old and wise as she may feel, she is still my baby, believing that a 20 cents coin and a puddle of water will bring her a horse.
Thank goodness for that.
Suggested For You
Get top stories and blog posts emailed to me each day. Newsletters may offer personalized content or advertisements. Learn more