One of those days where my plans all collapse.
These days, having my plans collapse effects little more than a gentle wave of relief around the house. Now we have a fortnightly timetable from which we must hoik out a chemistry assignment, a completed physics worksheet, and a finished Latin homework in neatest handwriting. Meanwhile, I have another photo album to stitch.
We all feel quietly glad for the sudden given hours we can freely go about our various studies.
This is the difference, I am discovering, with age. When the children were aged three, frankly it felt like being trapped in a life sentence. A day of collapsed planning meant I'd better pull
something out of my pocket pretty sharpish - maybe a walking-talking
fish or a harp-playing kangaroo - otherwise my nerves would be flayed
out like raw wires come tea-time.
Now the offspring are aged thirteen, on exam courses and with a timetable, I find myself looking at them taking more control over what they do with a quiet independence. Hopefully they will pursue what matters to them through college or other FE option, and create that adult place where they want to be.
And then what? In years to come (if I am still alive), I plan to maintain a neat and tidy parlour, of the type that ladies keep, should the vicar call.
Possibly that, or go on week-long benders and hook up with easy men. I have not yet decided which.