Mummy was told off.
A very exciting morning as X and I went to the school she'll be going to in September. She's only three and a half but as it is full time if feels as if it's reception not nursery and her days as a school girl are about to start. Part of me feels excited for her and part of me feels sorry for her- all those exams and homework. But I enjoyed school immensely until my father was called to explain why my handwriting was so poor. I thought then that this was rather a joke, given the fact that my father's writing was so bad that we could never read any of the postcards he sent us when he was away at sea for months on end. Now I think it was a bit of a joke as he was paying heavy school fees you'd have thought that it would have been him asking the questions about my performance, not the school. Anyway he told them it was because I was left handed rather than just lazy and careless, and I remember it as it was one of the few times he got personally involved in my education. After that I got an inkling that times tables and stuff like that was getting to be drearily more important than making up the names of mad monsters (slug- a toad was my contribution|) with the fabulously mad Miss Vine and her ginger falling down hair that looked as if a plate of spaghetti in tomato sauce had been thrown over her head.
X and I had a peak around the door of what we imagined might be X's classroom -to- be and, as we were going out of the car park, three little 'big' girls enthusiastically called out her name. We realised that we already knew them from church and that made me feel a bit better.
When we got into the car X was uncharacteristically quiet. I asked her what was up, wondering if the prospect of school had scared her, that maybe she might be worried about missing me or something.
'You held my hand,' she said resentfully.
Just three and she's already embarrassed by me in front of her peers....