The one where she actually goes to school.

YAY!

What? I’m allowed to be excited.

Her eyelid is the right size, if a little red, the minibus turned up, after a couple of ‘phone calls to check it was coming and off she went.

Now to ponder how someone can say the number they gave you is right when the automated message from the landline says it isn’t recognised. Still, if the WANT to give me the wrong number why should I care, it just means I can never let them know in advance if 13 is sick and unable to go to school, they will have to come to the house every day in hopeful anticipation.

Or give me the right number. That would seem easier to me.

Trust me, your ‘phone number is safe with me, I have no desire to use it to speak often to people I love, I am not going to torment people I barely know.

Now that is out of the way, time to boil the kettle, make a pot of coffee and write up this ever-loving essay before the frustration of it brings me out in hives.

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Tagged as: childhood, children, daughter, education, family, parenting, school, study