I was talking to my son while he was on the loo, as you do, and he said,
“I’ve decided Jay isn’t my friend any more.”
“Why’s that then?”
“He doesn’t know how to play Dodge Ball.”
I don’t even know what Dodge Ball is, so does that mean he’s decided I’m not his mother any more?
That’s what I think. But what I say is,
“That’s no reason to decide he’s not your friend, can’t you teach him how to play?”
“And he tore up my work. I had to start again. So I haven’t finished your Mothers’ Day card.”
Aha, so that’s where we’re going. And there’s more.
“I thought we had to do our seascape then finish our Mother’s Day cards, but by the time I’d finished my seascape I had no time to finish my card. I didn’t know we were supposed to finish our Mother’s Day cards and then do our seascapes.”
Well, at least the school has its priorities right, even if my son hasn’t.
Never mind,” I say, light heartedly, “you’ve still got a day to finish it off before Mothers’ Day.”
And he looks at me all squiffy-eyed. He’s either dealing with a problem poo or he’s about to say something he thinks is funny.
“I think your card’s going to have to come from a shop this year.”
I return the squiffy smile. There are worse things than a shop-bought card, and I’m sure we’ll find out what they are in the years to come.
