THERE are many benefits to having children.

Sure, kids cost a lot of money and time. And yes, they can be hard work and demand a super-human amount of patience. They also have no respect for the extra hour in bed their parents should be entitled to when the clocks go back.

But leaving all that aside, they really are the most joyful wee things.

For me, one of the best bits about having a young daughter is the excuse it gives me to indulge in all the silly activities that adults are meant to give up when they start paying tax.

Halloween heralds the arrival of the fun months. Between now and New Year, it is socially acceptable to engage in all manner of tactile and sparkly crafts and cooking.

This Halloween, my daughter decided that she wanted to go out guising for the first time. Usually we have a party, where I arrange spooky games and terrifying scavenger hunts with the same gusto and attention to detail that Hollywood bigwigs put into organising the Oscars ceremony.

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I always get a lot of undue praise whenever I do one of these themed events or parties for my daughter.That’s because when people see me obsessing over constructing the perfect cotton candy tree or magical fairy fort, they assume I’m a dedicated mum busting a gut to try and make happy memories for my wee girl. In truth, only some of the effort is for the look of excitement on her face. The majority is just because I enjoy messing about. I love having an excuse to paint, stick, sprinkle and make a mess.

What I’m really trying to say is that being in nursery was the best time of my life and I miss it dearly.

This Halloween, as has become tradition, I picked a ridiculously difficult costume to make from scratch. Ursula, the sea witch from The Little Mermaid, necessitated the creation of eight plump tentacles, stuffed, glued (I can’t sew) and fixed with Velcro to a voluminous organza tutu. I needed purple body paint. Lots of it. And I needed to apply it without fretting about the delicate parts of my body that would remain a startling lavender colour for days after.

With Halloween over, our Christmas crafting will soon begin.

Please don’t let my use of the word “crafting” trick you into imagining scenes of middle-class domestic bliss. Kirstie Allsopp and I might share a first name, but that’s where the similarities end. I don’t sew, knit or bake particularly well. Nothing I make in the run-up to Christmas will be tied with a neat bow and gifted to the vicar.

From the moment I put up my Christmas tree (which usually happens in early November) until Christmas Day, I will keep adding more and more shit homemade decorations to every corner of the house until our wee flat can’t fit any more. Last year, my Christmas crafting obsessions were pom poms and snowflakes. I hung so many wonky pom poms around the house that it started to resemble something that might come to Dr Suess in a nightmare.

Most of the snowflakes didn’t work. They looked more like occult symbols than glittering frost. I hung them up anyway.

One year, I made a giant fake brick fireplace out of a cardboard box and hung wee pretend stockings on it. We used to do saltdough decorations for the tree but then one year we discovered a mushy pile of them decaying at the bottom of the Christmas box and quickly ditched that tradition.

A few weeks ago, I saw a photo of a giant bauble garland on Instagram. I’ve already started calculating how many trips to the charity shop I’d need to make before I’d have enough baubles to construct something similar for the door of our close.

I’ve also decided that this year, I’ll give some people a homemade advent calendar, stuffed with treats and trinkets, rather than a Christmas present. My younger sister refused this offer, claiming it would contain “tat”, but I’m sure others will be delighted with the idea.

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Through my life-long commitment to not using my time productively, I think I have discovered the secret to happiness.

There’s a reason why kids are less crabbit than grown-ups. Granted, they don’t have bills to pay and they don’t fully understand how disastrous Brexit has been.

They don’t have washing to fold and it’s not their responsibility to remember when to put the bins out. But aside from that, when children play, it’s for the sake of playing.

They paint brightly coloured pictures of cats and dragons and don’t care that both are more identifiable as squirrels. They build big towers out of blocks before triumphantly smashing them to the ground.

The process is the main motivation for the activity, not the end result.

I’m not suggesting that we starting smashing stuff. But taking some time every now and then to make something – however inexpertly – is always time well spent.