Of Obsessive Compulsion July 6, 2007
Posted by Jen in : Journal , trackbackNumber 2 son. Induction Day at Secondary School. Number 2 son has a few questions and concerns.
‘It says to meet in the hall. Do I actually go into the hall or do I stand outside the hall until someone comes along and tells me to go into the hall?’
‘It says take one pound sixty-five for lunch. I don’t think I’ll like any of their lunch so what will happen if I just take a packed lunch as usual and not take the one pound sixty-five they say I have to take to buy lunch?’
‘What if I am separated from the crowd and left alone by accident and accidentally spend the whole day in the car park eating my packed lunch instead of school dinners because nobody has noticed I’m lost?’
That was yesterday. Today? Nice and easy, back at primary school.
‘Are you sure it’s a non-uniform day? What if I get there and everyone is wearing uniform?’
‘It’s a non-uniform day. I put it in Outlook. See? Stop asking me!’
I drop him off in his jeans and footie top. I drive to work. I see all the other children walking to school. In their uniform.
I phone the school. ‘Hello, I just wanted to check that it’s a non-uniform day today?’
‘Um, can I ask who’s calling?’ asks the school secretary cruelly.
‘I am an anonymous but disorganised caller,’ I reply, cunningly.
‘Oh, hello Mrs Maltby. Your son is actually standing right in front of me, looking rather distraught. Perhaps you might pop his uniform in for him?’
I drive home. I drive back to school to ‘pop’ the uniform in. There is nowhere to park. The road is all clogged up with cars. Cars belonging to the bastard parents who have remembered that it is the class assembly I have been reminded about approximately seventeen times. I am late for work. I am due to run a training session for a bunch of Retail Hell oddbods in 15 minutes. It’s a half hour drive.
I scowl.
I swear. I swear quite a lot, actually.
I must make a decision.
I am a rubbish mother.
Comments»
hee hee - sounds exactly like my obsessive compulsive, anal retentive, absolute rule-following son number 1! If he accidently does something wrong at school he is DISTRAUGHT
I have no children Jen but I just know I would be sooo bad at it. You can’t be that bad at least they are still asking your opinion!
Oh the trouble I have with mufti days. I have to write everything on the calendar as soon as I get yet another bit of paper from the school or I forget, (even if I put the letters “somewhere safe” I inevitably lose them). And now with the Brownies to contend with as well, I’m constantly asking the Owl lady for replacement letters/information. I pretend it’s because we’ve just moved house and everything’s a muddle, but in truth I’ve always been like it: it may actually be that the event permission letters and I cannot exist in the same time & space.
Hi Jen,
I’m not meant to be here: I’m having a break. But. When daughter was in nursery school they had ‘colour days’ when you had to dress your child head to toe in a chosen colour, to help the children learn their colours. Well, I forgot. But coincidentally, she was head to toe in one colour: red. It was a terrible shame because the colour they’d chosen was blue! I was sure I’d scarred her for life!
Rebecca: Sounds as if we’re on the same wavelength here. It would drive me bananas if I weren’t the same myself
Karen: Sigh. They talk about university with such longing! I will be cast aside before I know it. Apart from pants. They have vowed to go to a uni close enough to bring their stinkiness home for washing!
Hippernicus: I can’t even blame moving anymore. I am hopelessly crap. Simple, shameful but, alas, true.
JJ: Red is the new black. Or blue. Or something. Oh, I don’t know! Dress them as a Victorian peasant and shrug your shoulders. Then hide. They’ll get us back anyway when we’re old and mental
Hi Jen,
I just thought I’d print out your ‘taster’, read it and if it wasn’t for me, I wouldn’t comment but….I loved it! (for what its worth!). It’s very, very funny and - the mark of great writing - it sucks you in without you realising it.
My favourite is Laura. She wasn’t until she shouted at the cows which is just the sort of thing I’d do.
How far along are you? When will you finish it so that I can read it?
Get on with it woman!
Seriously, I think it is excellent and I wish you loads of luck with it. It struck a cord too as I am also writing about three women.
Fiona
Oh Jen… nightmare! Has number 2 son forgiven you yet? If it makes you feel any better, my mum accidentally dragged me along the ground using the car outside my school once (my coat had got caught in the door and she drove off!). Not only that but she after whisking me home to patch me up, she took me straight back to school. And I still think she is a GREAT mum. So your kids will too.
ps sorry if I have told you that story already - it feels like I have!
Oh give me sheep any day, now you may have to remind me I said that next time they go missing!!!!!
Fiona, hello! Crumbs, thank you - how sweet of you to read it all
I’ve got a progress meter at the top of this page so you can keep and eye on it and shout at me when I don’t work hard enough!! I’m looking forward to reading yours now…
Kate: No, you haven’t told me that before… blimey, being a parent is really quite a hazardous business. The image of you being dragged along is awful!
Sheepish: I think your sheep probably smell considerably better than my grubby twosome. The sheep, I suspect, answer back less too!
Jen, I can only laugh about it now - I wasn’t hurt and I was really more bothered by the fact that I didn’t even get a half day off!
Oh honey. If you’re a rubish parent then I am too. It’s bloody hard this parenting thing! Your honesty warms my inner cockles.
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