it's DHs birthday tomorrow and so far we've managed to write a card (well, when i say 'write' i mean have a terrific meltdown as the tail on the 'a' in 'Daddy' was too long, the glue on the envelope was licked off 
and then we had to have a time out to finish it) and paint a ceramic piggy bank for him (it was there, OK 
)
we had to abandon the cake making, she couldn't decide which one to make and that led to more tears.
she's managed not to tell him what she's done, and kept it 'in her mouth without letting the words out' but she's jumping about like a demented frog on hot coals.
i thought i'd ask MN to sit down and stop using the furniture like a free-runner as it's having no effect on her whatsoever
(yes, this is my sad attempt to see her in a lighthearted and endearing way)