Battle of wills

Sometimes - ok, most of the time - I wish my children were like the Von Trapps, who wore uniforms, stood to attention and came when whistled for. (Until of course Maria comes along and ruins everything.) It's a case of the terrible twos and the feisty fours...

Scenario 1: Getting Dressed. E insists on wearing clothes 2 sizes too small for her, garments that would be perfectly acceptable on an 18 month old, but on her make her look like a teenager on a bad Saturday night. G changes her costume about 4 times a day, but her preference is nudity.

Scenario 2: I'm bored. Every afternoon around 4pm, after Glory's nap and Emma's "rest time" (fat chance), the cry resounds "what now, Mummy?" Indeed. For it is about now that I too have run out of ideas, we have done colouring, made cards, played on the swing, read stories and avoided anything that involves anything like exceptional creativity and mess (painting, basically.) 4pm is when I frantically phone round everyone I know in Kampala (I am terrible at forward planning) asking if we can come, have tea and trash their house. These days it is more difficult as everyone disappears over the summer. If we don't leave the house there is about an hour of wailing, breast-beating and general naughtiness. And that's just me, ha! ha!

Scenario 3. I'm tired. Emma has given up her nap, but by the third day of no daytime sleep she gets to around 6pm and completely crashes wherever she is: on the floor, standing up, she doesn't discriminate. The safest strategy is just to get her into bed, fully dressed if need be, and retreat noiselessly. Wake her accidentally, and she cries loudly and inconsolably for ages...then decides she would like to stay up late after all.

Help me, Captain. (Don't listen to the nun.)