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This weekend we stopped by a church in Hove. We hadn’t found God, the sign outside said they were selling pancakes, and we were hungry. Inside was a soft play area with a bouncy castle, and a café. “Perfect” I said to the husband. “The kids can go and play and we can sit and have a lovely brunch.” I sighed with pleasure and waved the kids off. “Yeah, I don’t think so” the oldest one said as she kicked the chair leg; “bouncy castles are for babies.” “Yeah mum, what she said” my youngest one agreed, scowling at the scene around her in disgust before popping the collar of her ‘pleather’ jacket and looking like a T-Bird from Grease.

The only one who joined in was my husband. He found some five-year olds to play football with and was genuinely upset when it was time to leave. I wasn’t. I loved that the sessions were being held to raise money for the homeless, but people kept talking to me about Jesus and how it was all good news.

I love good news, but I’ve been involved in a cult before and I’m not going down that rabbit hole again. When I was 15 I joined the local Baptist youth club because I fancied a boy I’d seen hanging about outside. Before I knew it, I was sat holding hands with twenty-strangers in a field begging for a message from God. One girl even started speaking in tongues. When I admitted I’d used a Ouija board they all laid their hands on me and cried. I went home single and smelling of patchouli oil. How is that good news?

Needless to say, I ate my pancakes and left, using the excuse the youngest had a party to go to. When the husband went to collect her up, a mum told him how our darling daughter had started a club called ‘the penis’ gang and all the girls wanted to be in it.

To finish off a bad weekend, my husband pulled her wobbly tooth out over the Easter dinner and my eldest offered to pretend to be the tooth fairy. I said “Why would you write the letter? The tooth fairy does it.” She just looked at me like I was stupid and said, “I was just saving you a job mum. You always go on about how I should help out more.”

The dinner ended with me sobbing that my last baby was growing up too soon, and my eldest no longer believed in fairies while the husband searched through the Eton Mess looking for a tiny tooth among crushed meringue. I’m still not convinced he found it. He won’t let me touch it.

This is the second time he’s knocked one of the girl’s teeth out. Gracie’s lost her when he dragged her through the parent and child race. “Why are you crying?” he asked her at the end, as she stood bloody and missing her front tooth “We won the race!!”

I dreamed of the days the girls got more independent and now it’s here I’m not ready. They’ve started watching Bloggers on YouTube and using words I don’t understand. When I ask the eldest if she wants a cuddle she says “No thanks.”

I have to wait till she’s asleep to hold and sniff her, even then she thrashes about and kicks me. I’ll never pick her up again, how sad is that? I wish I’d know the last time I hoisted her on my hip it would never happen again.

A friend came round with her sons to walk the dogs and the girls lurked by the door, simpering and giggling. Well, two of them did, the youngest locked one of them in the dog cage and asked if we could keep him for her Penis gang. She asked so sweetly as well, with that cute little gap in her front teeth on display.

She is the naughtiest one. Her head is too big for her body and she’s constantly covered in bruises. Last week she came out of school with a lump on her head. When I asked her what happened she shrugged and said “I ran into a hat.” When I asked what was in the hat she shrugged again and said “Maisy’s head.”

The husband is very upset about the penis gang and the simpering. He keeps asking if we can adopt a boy so he can have someone to play football with. Based on the above, I don’t think the authorities would allow us to adopt any children. If they came to inspect the house, they may well take away the children we already have. I’m amazed the RSPCA let us keep the cat after they came round to do an inspection.