(published today on Mad Manic Mamas)
8.15 this morning, I manage to shove my 13 year old out the door, wave at the window then breathe. I fasten my dressing gown belt a bit tighter, pull up a chair and decide to treat myself to some blog reading.
Five minutes later my mobile rings. It’s the boy.
Him: “I’m on my way home. It’s non-uniform day for Haiti. Get some clothes ready for me”
Me: “Oh right. Will do”.
I run upstairs, pulling off dressing gown and kicking off slippers as I go, race into his room to find jeans, different socks, suitable T-shirt. Then it dawns on me there is no way he is going to get changed in time to go back out and walk to the bus stop again. So run into my room, yank pyjamas off, find knickers, pull them on, inside out, discover they’re from yesterday. Bugger. Find jeans, jumper, look in mirror, shriek, boy yells up the stairs, changes into clothes. I get car keys, find boots, coat, get car out of garage, yell at boy who is rearranging his hair and deciding which trainers look best. Swear. Order him to the car. Drive to bus-stop. Bus already gone. Swear again. Drive 20 minutes through heavy traffic into town, hoping I’m not recognised. Get to school, late and frazzled.
Me: “So was it really that important for you to change into non-uniform?”
Him: “Yeah….I joined a Facebook group yesterday called ‘Don’t you always laugh at the kid who turns up in uniform on non-uniform day’.