Amaia came home today with Hamish McHaggis and his diary to fill in.
We've all been there as parents: you get home some stuffed toy for the weekend or even the week and your child/it (aka you) needs to keep a diary and do a photoshoot of what it gets up to. The teacher then reads your account aloud to the kids when it returns to its place of origin. Of course, its diary has often been filled out by the most competitive parent in town. And when town is East Ren, it can be a hoot! The toy has been to NY shopping for the weekend, had a three course meal at Cameron House and accompanied junior to skiing and tennis lessons, a swimming championship and several parties. Your mood darkens. When you have five kids, you don't go to NY for the weekend anymore, you teach your own kid to swim, dance and cycle because you still only have two jobs but you need to pay for a five bedroom house, not a three. Maybe I've done it too often, maybe I'm just getting too old for it all but I got this terrible urge to write something inappropriate. Ranting over dinner that I was going to say he'd been to a pole dancing club and then passed out naked and drunk on the carpet, Charlotte looked a bit panicked and took over. I came back from a trip to ASDA to find Lots and Amaia had filled it out without me. My kids think I'm a batty old woman already!
Amaia's teacher was sweet. As we were only having him one night, she said she didn't expect photos or a fun-filled agenda, but Charlotte saved me from myself, this time at least!
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