Praise be! The kids have finally gone back to school! I’m actually crying tears of joy.
For another year, or at least until the weekend, I get a respite from all the “Mam” whines and having to sit through CBeebies.
As expected though Facebook was inundated with pictures of little trolls in their George, Teflon school pants smiling menacingly.
I’m sure they’re preparing for some sort of Children of the Corn- esque uprising.
My little fella was a bit nervous about going back to school.
I don’t know if it was the fact that he was going to have a new teacher or that I’d cut the toe caps off his old shoes so that they fit him better. “Ey! Come summer everyone’s gonna be well jealous of them sandals!” I encouraged him.
He asked me for some new shoes but I assured him that toeless flats and three-quarter-length trousers were going to be huge in winter 2018.
Finally my little dude succumbed to his role as a trend-setting fashionista and we intended to make all the preparations on Sunday night for his return to school on Monday.
We were going to have an early night but somehow we ended staying up til 11pm watching Game of Thrones, series eight spoilers.
The next morning was, predictably, absolute chaos.
We all slept in until about quarter past 8 and I was having to iron clothes, make breakfast, see to the dog and answer queries regarding Jon Snow’s true lineage.
I was getting extremely flustered and trying not to drop any fag ash into the kids’ Weetos.
I’m surprised I got through the morning without acquiring any third degree burns.
Eventually we all managed to leave the house at quarter to nine, perfectly on time for a 20 to nine start at school.
We loaded ourselves into the car and I breathed a sigh of relief – in a few minutes I could relax and enjoy a good six hours of child-free bliss.
We pulled onto the street where the child prison was housed and I was amazed by how easy it was to get a parking space.
My son started asking questions about why it seemed so quiet at the school but I reassured him that we were just running a bit late.
I encouraged him to use his ‘my Mam had a nervous breakdown’ excuse should any teacher question his tardiness on the first day of term.
We approached the school and I was puzzled to find the gates closed, lights off and curtains drawn. “Wrong day, Mam!” my son squealed, excitedly. “It’s shut!”
I refused to accept his explanation and hopped the fence and began to bang furiously on the office door.
I observed a few bemused parents driving past, accompanying appropriately dressed school children (obviously guilty of making the same mistake as me), shaking their heads at my act of desperation. “Mam! We can go McDonald’s if I’m off!”he laughed, clearly in a state of euphoria.
“Noooooooooo!” I fell to my knees, collapsing in a muddy, leaf-filled puddle, defeated.
The last time I felt this disappointed was when I realised I was using euros to try and buy 20 Players.
I suppose it was only one extra day of hell. I’m not going to risk this again though. Next year they’re getting sent to summer camp. In Australia.