Back to school

Here I am, bloodied but unbowed by another holiday ….. and realising that, as far as Child One goes, I don’t have all that many more to stagger through. Gone are the days when she was attached to my leg, screaming for things to cut and stick together very gloopily. Nowadays, she’s up in her room, cutting and sticking all on her own for her Art GCSE ….. She’s still quite messy, though, as I discovered this morning, following a trail of white acrylic paint footprints down from her room, armed with my trusty Vanish high-traffic express carpet spray. I think they should deliver a gross of these amazing shocking pink aerosols to every parent with a child doing GCSE Art.

But I digress. Two more Easters, and she’ll be out there, at university, doing things I’d much rather not think about with people neither of us have yet met. That’s if I don’t manage to infiltrate her uni as a very, very mature student and hang around her door, deterring suitors. But wait, I can’t do that – I’ve still got Child Two to embarrass right here at home. Not to mention Child Three and Child Four, TL’s progeny, who are only just starting the upward ascent through academe, aged seven and five. If only it was all as easy to sort out as Child Four’s project on Sweden, which he told us about yesterday evening and which was amply covered by making a batch of Swedish-ish cinnamon buns big enough for the class. He dropped them all twice on the way to school this morning, but TL said it was fine. ‘Luckily we glazed them thoroughly.’ Which meant the grit brushed off quite easily. Yum.

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