We have taken Oliver back to school.
He got in our bed this morning and was so sorry for himself that in the end we pointed out that he was behaving like Eeyore.
He considered this for a few minutes, and eventually agreed. After some thought we decided that Tigger would make a better role model, and he put the Tigger Movie on the DVD, which made him laugh, and reminded us of Lucy’s long-ago childhood, when she called it the Tigger Moolie, and watched it until we all knew all of the songs.
Mark gave him a shower, because I didn’t trust him to scrub himself sufficiently without supervision. We trimmed his nails and poked things in his ears, and in the end he was fairly presentable, and doing his best to be bouncy.
At almost the very last minute before we set off Mark discovered his new socks scrunched up in the packaging for his wellies, and I sewed the names in them hastily. This fortuitous discovery meant that I could return him to school with a beautifully clear conscience, knowing myself to be a Good-Enough Parent, which was reassuring.
We were early for school, because he had to go and be fitted for his new games kit, which I have brought away with me for still more name labelling. This turned out to be a good thing, because it was very quiet without the cacophony of boys, and we got his bed made and everything put tidily in his drawers without lots of other people bouncing on things and yelling. He is Dorm Captain this term, which pleased him very much.
Of course in the end we had put his wellies in the welly store, and his dressing gown on its hook, and his homework in his locker, and his rugby kit on its peg, and it was time to abandon him to his fate.
Everybody is so nice there, Matron swept him up into an enormous hug and told him that she just needed his help for a few minutes after we had gone, so would he please make his way upstairs and report for helpfulness duties as soon as he had said goodbye. Of course this helped him get over the terrible moment of separation quite quickly, and he buzzed off quite bravely, still doing his best to bounce.
We left him behind, relieved rather than sad, actually, because it is awful to say goodbye and we were glad to have it over. In any case I had saddled us with a terrifically long drive once we had dropped him off.
I had bought some new seats on eBay for the cab of the camper van from a bloke in Lincoln. They are not the sort of thing that can be easily posted, so we had resolved to go and collect them once Oliver was safely deposited at school, after which rather than trail all the way home we had arranged to head out to meet my father, who is enjoying a short midweek break.
He is in Blackpool.
I feel terribly guilty, what sort of parent abandons her children to Latin and netball and physics and geography and buzzes off for a midweek break in Blackpool?
Me. I am that parent.
As I write we are in the Hilton and somewhat intoxicated.
I am a bad person.
