The bright sunlight beams through my window, assaulting my sleep ridden eyes as they open to see my cream coloured roof. I turn my head a little, so I can see the pale, forest green walls over my white duvet. I stretch, and yawn, then jump when a loud voice shouts through my door. 

   "Upsies, Zal! It's time to get up, up, up! Today's your special day, day, day!"

   Uh, really, little bro? What I want today really is a nice sleep in and... Oh my goodness! He's right! It's my birthday! 

   "Kay, Abe, I'm getting up!"

   I jump out of bed, pulling my long, red hair out of it's tangle with the wooden bedposts, as it always is in the mornings. My pillows and blankets are rumpled, but I only have time to straighten them a little before Abe is in my room, jumping all over me and singing Happy Birthday like a crazy wizard or something. Just like him.

   "Hi little bro! How are you on this, lovely, sunny morning?" 

   "Birthday, birthday, happy, happy birthday!" He sings, out of tune.

   "Good morning to you too," I say, with a small smile pulling at my lips, "Okay, now get out so I can change."

   He accepts my request with good-will, singing his version of "Happy Birthday" all the way along the hallway and down the stairs, probably waking up the whole household along the way. 

   Sure enough, as I pull off my pyjamas and pull on some knee-lengh jean shorts and a pale green tank, I hear the roar of my father's early morning yawn, followed systematically by the sound of my mother's sweet, quiet voice echoing from along the hall. 

   Of course, they're not my real parents. But today is not the day to think about that.

   I rush down the stairs to the ground floor, trying, but failing, not to run. My arrival in the kitchen is not alone, my mother and father, obviously just out of bed, look like they have just arrived as well, judging by their rumpled hair and dressing gowns. 

   "Zali! Zali! It's your birthday! Mommy, Daddy, it's Zali's birthday!" Abe jumps around, waving his arms and smiling like he's trying to make his face fall off. 

   "Yuan Aberforth Crane, you know her name is Scarlett..." My adopted mother starts, but I interrupt.

   "Yup Abey! It's my birthday! Do you remember how old I am?" 

   "Scarlett, his name is..."

   "Leven, leven, leven!" He shouts, at the top of his voice. I grin at my mother, who looks a bit put out, but also glad that Abe, or Yuey, as she likes to call him, remembers how old I am. Abe has always had trouble remembering numbers, though for a four year old, he is very good at math. 

   "That's right, Abe! I'm eleven," I agree with him, "Definitely!" 

   "Four plus seven, equals leven!" Abe sings.

   "Really you two! Call each other by your real..."

   "How about we have breakfast," My dad says to stop the argument, "Pancakes, anyone?" 

   A general chorus sings "Yes, please!" 

   We all scramble to the table, and my mouth-waters as the delicious smelling blueberry pancakes are lifted out of the oven by my father's oven mitt sheathed hands. Mmm. My favourite!