Parents, step away from the bookshelf. Log off Big W, put down the panic wine and get up off the floor, slowly, and with assistance if necessary, because we both know your knees aren’t what they used to be. Stop rifling through your child’s books with growing panic, desperately searching for a character who wears a Minecraft T-shirt and trackpants.

I am here.

This is my 15th Book Week. My children have finally aged out, which means after a decade and a half in the Book Week trenches, I have survived and I am free. But I refuse to leave you behind.

So forget Pinterest, forget the craft mums, and forget staying up until midnight hot-gluing 400 individually cut feathers onto a pair of wings your child will refuse to wear once they get to school. I’ve done my time, I’ve learned some things, and as my final act of service to exhausted parents everywhere, I’m passing that wisdom on.

This is the only Book Week costume guide you need!

The Melbourne Cup fascinator

First, stop looking at it like that. Whatever happened at Towac in 2023 is between you, Derrick from Accounts, and the poor bastard who had to clean behind the stables. The fascinator had nothing to do with it.

You bought that thing from Fiona Schofield, goddammit. It is millinery. It deserves another chance. So dab at the vomit stain, straighten the feathers, and pair it with the fanciest dress in your daughter’s wardrobe. Congratulations. She’s Fancy Nancy.

And try not to project. The fascinator doesn’t have PTSD. You do.

The 30-can Coke Zero box

If, if your child still fits inside a 30-can Coke Zero box, your options are endless. Plus, that thing is so expensive these days it deserves a second life.

First option: the wardrobe from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Not an actual character? Ignore the criticism. Nobody at that parade has read it recently enough to have a valid opinion anyway.

Second option: turn it into one of those Minecraft monster things. Look, we haven’t read the book, and we only watched the movie because of Jason Momoa. Guess what? So did all the other parents. There will be at least 40 Minecraft-themed costumes at the parade, so relax.

Third option: a robot. Foil, some of those squeezy yoghurt lids you have because you bought reusable pouches and used them once before giving up; and a couple of pipe cleaners stuck in a colander for a helmet. Perfect. No notes.

Bring a Coke Zero along if it’s going to be a warm day.

A white sheet

You have one because you retired it almost immediately in favour of the charcoal set that doesn’t show the mess from eating in bed. But don’t limit yourself to Casper. Think conceptually. Dear Zoo, but you’re protesting animals in captivity. The Book with No Pictures: The Audio Version. Where Is the Green Sheep? For the colourblind.

The possibilities are endless. Just make sure the child underneath doesn’t have a high ponytail. We do not want the finished product looking remotely hooded.

No costume? No problem

Steal the duty teacher’s high-vis vest and clipboard and bam. The Very Cranky Bear now works in construction after accumulating some gambling debt. Add a Big M choccy milk and a Four’N Twenty pie for authenticity.

Recycle their 100th day of school costume.

Congratulations, they’re now one of the deadbeat grandparents from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, who lie around in bed, weirdly, with another couple, until someone flashes a Golden Ticket and suddenly they’re capable of getting up and drinking from a chocolate fountain.

Because apparently that is worth getting out of bed for, but living a productive life and contributing to the household you live in is not.

Have a maid costume hidden in the bedroom somewhere?

Pop your kid in it, add a lemon meringue pie and you have my childhood hero, Amelia Bedelia. Take the pie home immediately after the parade for “safekeeping” and you’ve got an awesome afternoon tea too. Redirect all questions about the origin of said costume.

And with that, my work here is done. After 15 Book Weeks, I’m hanging up the hot-glue gun and raising my overpriced, lukewarm coffee to the parents still in the trenches, the teachers who publicly humiliate themselves for nowhere near enough pay, and, of course, the real winners: the kids.

Because for all my complaining, Book Week is pretty bloody wonderful. Who wouldn’t want to spend a day dressed as a tiger, parading proudly in front of family and enjoying the loudest, wildest day of the school year? The playground is full of witches, superheroes, Very Cranky Bears with gambling problems, and at least 40 Minecraft monster things — and the kids get to step inside the stories they love.