So despite our best efforts to distract and divert, our daughter has sadly not forgotten about the blue wings. So, with no small sense of trepidation, I logged on to that great warehouse in the sky and searched the South American river. It was with great relief that an acceptable set was found: A set of floppy, nylon butterfly wings complete with antenna headband. Unfortunately, she also spotted a rigid pair of light up wings that were to fit an adult. Lucky me. 

Sure enough, within 24 hours both sets had dutifully shown up in an oversize brown box and a hopeful little face excitedly donned the wings and headband, then promptly threw herself off the nearest bookcase proclaiming she could fly. No amount of evidence will convince her she can’t, and she has taken to throwing herself off high objects again.

Luckily the flashing lights on the wings she insisted I wear seem to distract her and, when outside, she feels the need to stop and attempt to drink nectar from every flower. This act is impeded by the lack of a proboscis, but it’s safer than the flying attempts, so for the moment I’m not going to dissuade her. 

When her father finished work and found her (happily) and me (grumpily) wearing wings, he was promptly interrogated as to where his wings were. Her brain screeching to a halt was visible when she was told he didn’t have any. She looked from mine to hers, and then back to him, and looked very confused. Then back to me, with big puppy eyes, before asking her father what colour wings he would like? 

So guess who has a nice set of green wings now?

My fae has an imagination that is, at some points, a strange and scary place. I have heard it said that children with autism lack this singular human quality, and I have to say that in our experience, that is total hogwash. Not only does she demonstrate imaginative play, she will insist that we play in whatever world she has created with her. This has the singular disadvantage that while she can see and hear what is going on, we have no idea!

I have often watched in complete bewilderment as toys are moved from the top of her pup tower (see the numerous references to Paw Patrol) to book cases, to the floor and back again. This is accompanied by a continued narrative that makes no sense in her own language apart from the occasional outburst of “No Mummy!” when I get things wrong. 

I spend hours moving various toys around having no idea what I’m doing and hoping that I’m playing the game correctly, I guess I must be because she keeps making me play it. On one memorable occasion, she tried to make the cat play. The cat being infinitely more sensible than I gave her a look of absolute contempt and sauntered out of the play room with her tail held high in the air. 

My husband has it worse, though he did bring it on himself. While I have to shift toys around, he has to continuously lift our daughter in the air while she thrusts one little fist forward proclaiming that she is Superman and that she is needed to rescue a duck in a tree, or a unicorn. This has brought many questions to our minds. Why was a duck in the tree? Why doesn’t it just fly down if it doesn’t want to be in the tree? What’s the problem with the unicorn?? 

The answer to all these questions seems to be “SUPERMAN TO THE RESCUE!!!!!” to be repeated at progressively louder volume until she is ‘flown’ to wherever she has deemed said duck or unicorn is.

Last night, before she would eat dinner (porridge again) I had to spend some time calming her down from a total meltdown caused by her lack of wings. Blue wings. Apparently she has decided that the only impediment to her ability to achieve self-propelled flight is my failure to procure for her a pair of blue wings. I am an asshole. 

Anyone know where you can get blue wings to fit a tall, skinny five year old? Ones that will work

Our fae has a companion. Not a real one, but a stuffed toy which I may have alluded to a time or two in the past. This is a small, plush Dalmatian that goes by the moniker “Tiny Marshall”. This is a Paw Patrol reference (she has been obsessed for the best part of 4 years and it shows no sign of waning). Tiny Marshall is very important to her and, as a consequence, to us as her parents. He is mentioned in her EHCP (it was a point of amusement with her teachers that it was mentioned that we have 5 identical Tiny Marshall’s: 3 in active rotation with similar level of wear and two kept in reserve for when/if the others wear out – he really is that important). 

So, when she woke up one morning and insisted that he had to have breakfast, we shrugged, dumped some stale cereal in a plastic dish, and put it on the table next to her porridge. I guess he’s a slow eater, as he’s had the same cereal for the past few months.

Recently, she announced it was Tiny Marshall’s birthday. This became a point of contention until she was exceptionally well behaved at school and I, for reasons best forgotten, needed to stall going home.

So, we went and got Tiny Marshall a birthday cake. I drew the line at party hats, and had a full on fight over refusing to buy him a present (seriously I’m not buying a toy, a toy; the recursive insanity was too much for me). When we got home, the dreaded and obligatory song was sung, candle lit and dutifully blown out, and cake was eaten. The cake being, I’m sure, the sole purpose for this charade – she really likes cake. 

Two days later, she held up another plush toy and announced it was Baby Shark’s birthday….

So, the forms and signs of how our daughter’s fae tendencies express themselves continue to evolve. This one did take us by surprise, although in hindsight it probably shouldn’t have.

My husband, on a day-to-day basis, only wears white T-shirts. I know that you are not asking for fashion tips, nor would you take them should you ever see either of us in the street – but it is relevant. It is not really by choice, but rather, a necessity that this particular item of apparel exists in abundance in his wardrobe. He is rather tall and broad, and as such struggles to find clothes that fit. These t-shirts fit, but come from Costco, and hence they came in bulk.

So now my daughter is very used to seeing her daddy wearing white T-shirts. To the point that, on Sunday when he came to join us wearing a blue dressing gown, she had a full-on meltdown and refused to accept that he was her daddy. She was so adamant that her daddy wears white t-shirts that she would not look at or talk to him and fought fiercely when he tried to give her a cuddle.

She would not stop until he went and changed. He came back wearing the right t-shirt and a bemused expression, and was welcomed with a big smile and relieved hug from a fae child who had believed that her father had been (briefly) replaced by a blue-dressing-gown-wearing imposter. 

I feel this is an interesting probably as mummy is still mummy regardless of what she wears and whether her hair is brown, blue, or looking like a Smurf vomited skittles on her. 

Who understands the inner workings of the fae mind.

Trying to organise the summer holidays has turned, in my case, into something of a military operation. I have, I admit, begun to panic about all the time I have to fill with a small child who will be expecting to be entertained in the manner to which she has become accustomed since the start of school: Her school has swimming pools, trampoline rooms, soft plays, sensory rooms and sandpits in the classroom. It also has a cycle track in the playground. So this is no small feat. She will also expect to be able to socialise with her friends.

I have approached this as if I was planning a scheme of work for teaching: When in doubt, fall back on what you know. My daughter requires outings in the mornings or she is a nightmare for the entire day. So for 44 days I have to make sure that I (or someone) entertains her. And she needs to have contact with her friends as well. How hard can it be??

Well there are a few objects in the way. Firstly, some of this requires me contacting other adults. Other adults, it seems, don’t necessarily look upon the phone as some sort of hateful invention. I despise making phone calls. I will tolerate (just) the occasional text or social media message. Honestly? I am most happy with my headphones in, listening to an audiobook while following my fae as she bounces around and explores. 

I am building my courage to make the contacts that need to happen and I am hopeful with some planning that we can make it through 6 weeks without too many meltdowns or worries. Everyone else does. In the words of an infamous car journalist “How hard can it be?”