I returned from work this evening to discover that my perfect poppets had been joined by their little chum Tushar for a play date. The jolly troop were about to embark upon a game of spies, but no agreement could be reached regarding which characters to play:

"My name is Blonde, James Blonde," announced six year old Max (diddums!).

"That is not his name," screeched Tushar, helpfully.

"Do stop procrastinating, or we shall be called for supper, and run out of time for play..." scolded my five year old jewel Freya.

I heard her use the words "nonchalant" and "exuberant" appropriately only yesterday (OHMYGOD!).

I am so confused. I am proud, and yet I fear for all of our futures.

God I need a drink...