Late

So this week the kids are at school and I’m not which gives me the pleasure of dropping them off and picking them up while my partner crams in more work – a fuller day than usually allows. 

You might think that I’m being sarcastic when I say ‘pleasure’ especially after what I’m about to tell you but no, dear reader, I am not.

Ok, I might, just perhaps, maybe, imagine the joy of being a ‘proper’ mum, (that is not a full time working mum) a little differently than it actually is, but it is a treat to drop them at school, be part of that most normal of routines and kiss them gently on their heads for protection against the busy school day ahead.

This morning, after 45 minutes of the youngest toilet time and a very late breakfast we flew out of the house with me, well let’s not say screaming, rather urging them to:

“Run, run, RUN, we are late!”

No time to even watch their normal ‘Ace of Cakes’ on the morning cookery channel,

“Look Mum, it’s shaped like a hot dog, coke bottle, dying Marie Antoinette!”

We got to school, me smiling and saying a cheery, ‘Good morning!’ to all the parents walking back to the cars, pushing prams back home or rushing to work themselves, whilst simultaneously trying a power walk down the ‘toddler on scooter’ ridden pavement.

It was no surprise then that the doors were shut when we arrived. The dreaded late mark.

But, no!

As the office staff buzzed in a casual supply, I (again let’s say) urged the eldest to run through the electronic doors. Which he did with a style and grace only matched by Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom. All the kid needed was a hat to grab and it would have been a perfect re-enactment.

At that split second a range of thoughts buzzed through my head... Surely in a school there will be a safety device, the doors would not crush him, surely if they touch the precious flesh of my first born they will jerk open again, yes? Surely!

YES!

One down, one to go.

We ran around to the year 1 block – little one in the lead and me power sprinting behind.

“The doors are shut” he said in a resigned tone.

“Aha!” I said “Check the door!”

I had noticed that on occasion the doors appear shut but that the teaching assistant sometimes forgets to locks them, an instant Ofsted fail but could it work in our favour...

No. Locked shut.

“Can you see the teacher?” surely that cute face peering in the window, would not need a late mark?

I waved at his lovely, heavily pregnant teacher – she has a toddler too, she knows, she must know that the morning drama is not punishable but normal.

She smiles and lets us in,

“They’re struggling to get up this week.” I offer.

“Don’t worry.” She says.

I see all those mutual eye-rolling about government policy and bottles of wine at Christmas have not been in vain, I have an ally!

Winning!

I return home to find the front door left wide open...

Lost in a Good Book

My six year old has discovered reading – I’m so happy! I don’t mean the Biff and Chip kind of force yourself reading. I mean actual reading for pleasure. I am so delighted! This morning he came into bed with my husband and I, snuggled between us and read whilst we both read…bliss! (And certainly beats hands down the Ma, ma, me, me ma, ma, me, me more milkshake days!)

My nine year old took a little longer to catch the reading bug. He had always loved listening to (and sometimes telling!) complex and elaborate stories but for him reading did not come easily. The phonic de-coding just didn’t come and so he has to painstakingly learn almost every word he comes to. He does love reading now though and is spookily working his way through the Goosebumps series a kind of ‘Tales of the Unexpected’ meets the ‘X Files’ for kids.

Now yesterday the six year old went to a party that I had forgot to RSVP too and today he missed a party I had put in the new shared ‘this’ll make our lives easier ‘deluxe super online calendar at the wrong time… human malfunction, human malfunction, modern life is complicated and all that. (Argh!)

Anyway the party yesterday was in a soft play centre, in fact the biggest play centre I have come across. All frames and ladders and spiral slides and bright colours and karaoke disco a real full on senses assault adored by most sugared up kids.

My husband went to pick him up as I taxied the big one home from drama, we had managed to fit in an Asda shop in between the glamour, the glamour!

(Star purchase a ceramic plated, steam iron – we left our last one in the house we moved out of… ahem… seven months ago, crinkles are fashionable n’est pas?)

As he got there he chatted to the mums and dads and kinda waited, party bags were given out, kisses goodbye received and ‘thank you for having me’ said until finally it was only my husband and the birthday boy’s family left.

‘So, I guess he’s still playing?’

Calmly at first, but with ever increasing panic he began to search this mammoth play centre, not failing to bang on all toilet doors, bravely squeezing through mangle rollers (thank heaven for his snake hips!), masterfully climbing netting despite his slight fear of heights and even diving in ball ponds all assisted by the now worried but calm exterior family.

If he had been wearing a heart monitor, I believe it would have been approaching an ‘A’ bomb type boom when finally after half an hour of the most scared a grown man can ever be he found him.

Squidged into the dead end of a tunnel with a perspex window, legs crossed, Tom Gates book on his lap, absent mindedly flicking the book mark between his fingers totally engrossed. Lost in the adventure, the world of this character Tom, Uncle Kevin and best friend Derek.