Sigh! Children are too old for story from mum at bedtime

TOMORROW is World Book Day, a day we celebrate all there is to love about reading and books.

But it also means a mad panic for us less-organised parents who have suddenly realised that the letter about wearing a costume for World Book Day is scrunched up in the bottom of the bag, and we have next to no time to find a suitable outfit.

Don’t worry though. You’re not alone. I’ve written many articles on last-minute costume ideas and supermarket fancy dress deals but does that mean I’ve got the best outfit ever hanging up ready for my nine-year-old to put on tomorrow? Er, no.

So my son will go as one of the following tried-and-tested characters – George, from George’s Marvellous Medicine – because he’s called George and it’s easy to send him to school with a saucepan and big wooden spoon (although having done that twice already, thanks to a lot of persuasion from me, he probably won’t opt for it a THIRD time).

Or he could go as Super Soccer Boy – because all he does is play football and wear football kits anyway. Or Mr Stink – because nearly all of his once pristine white polo shirts are covered in grass/mud/yoghurt stains, so we’re halfway there.

Thinking of costumes for World Book Day got me thinking of all those times I spent reading to my kids.

Oh how I loved those times. Those wonderful moments cwtched up in bed when they were sleepy or sat on the sofa laughing at aliens wearing underpants or making up voices to the characters in The Gruffalo.

And now I just feel depressed. Because those moments are pretty much gone.

One is 13 and reads her Kindle long after I’ve gone to bed, and even the nine-year-old would rather read to himself at night now. Sigh. I think I’ve reached a kind of midparent crisis. I’m not sure whether to rejoice that they are living more independently or crawl into a corner of the old playroom – which is being converted into a sitting room now they don’t “play” any more – and sob. I think it might be the sob option. The early years were wonderful yet tough, exhausting yet exhilarating and when I was knee-deep in nappies, Lego and googly eyes from the arts and crafts box, I did look ahead and wonder what it would be like when they grew up.

When I was folding mountains of tiny tops, crawling around the floor looking for missing jigsaw pieces, taking the nappy bins out, sterilising bottles, scraping Weetabix off the high chair or reading Charlie and Lola for the 700th time, it was hard to ever imagine them as individuals with their own thoughts and opinions.

Now, rightly so, they are far less needy. But what I wouldn’t give to again see those toothless grins, those wobbly toddler legs, and those outstretched arms for a cuddle.

There are so many things I miss and perhaps didn’t really appreciate enough at the time: like sitting at the table sculpting masterpieces with Playdoh; like watching lovely programmes such as Balamory rather than YouTubers; like holding their hand in public.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m lucky because my kids seem to like me. Even the teenager seems to think I’m OK and hasn’t given me any of the troubles I imagined or had been warned she might when she turned 13.

But, oh, how I miss singing nursery rhymes with her in the car even though, at the time, I thought I might go stir crazy when I had to sing Polly Put the Kettle On for the 45th time. And how I miss my son bringing home a piece of clay from nursery that he’d styled into a dragon or watching him build a tower with blocks in the bath. So to all those with kids in the early years, take my advice: appreciate the little things. Read and cuddle. Make and laugh. Play and play and play again. Build Lego, make sandcastles, bake cookies. Read them the books you loved as a child, tell them jokes that only they will find funny and delight in every smile.

Tell them you love them, tell them you are proud of them and tell them that they are fantastic little people.

And then, when they become fantastic slightly older people, tell them again.

Because, who knows? They may even let you hover a little longer at bedtime, even if they are not keen on reading Room on the Broom with you anymore. Fingers crossed.