“Do you want Grannie to make you a cake for your birthday this year?” the wife asked DS1. Grannie is a cake-maker extraordinaire, but she doesn’t relish the opportunity to make the boy’s birthday cake. She operates under the fear that if it doesn’t quite meet his expectations of whatever design he has requested, the proverbial shit could hit the fan. It never has, but the pressure must be horrendous. The other reason the wife

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The Saturday before DS1’s birthday was a touch fraught. He was anxious about something – getting agitated about the tiniest, seemingly (to us) insignificant thing. He was flitting around, unable to keep still. Preparing teamsheets and recording the score was more important than the actual games of football we were playing. Various items were randomly moved about the house, turning up where least expected – a lone football boot tied to a door handle, for

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“, where’s my USB stick?” “I dunno.” “Well, it was on my desk and it’s not there now.” This wasn’t the first time it had gone missing, so I knew who the likely culprit was. “Are you sure you don’t know anything about it?” “Maybe.” “OK. I’m not cross, I just need to know where it is.” “I dunno.” “So, you’ve hidden it but you can’t remember where?” “Yes.” “Well, can you have a think

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