|Boy One escapes his evil mother|
I stand accused of crimes against my children. The most recent of which was earlier this week and I fear I’m guilty.
Boy One isn’t at home this week. He’s at an outdoor pursuit centre with his classmates. I hope he’s having a ball. He’s supposed to be climbing, canoeing, orienteering, cliff walking or otherwise getting wet. I really hope, it’s going well for him. A good week like this and he’ll cherish it for the rest of his life.
It didn’t start well, though. We were at school, the Boy and I and his huge suitcase (six pairs of tracksuit bottoms, if you please). His nerves started to give way to excitement and he joined his friends. I spied another mum I wanted to speak to. So, I went over to let him know where I’d be while we waited for the bus and the Big Wave Off.
I called him his pet name.
Oh no. The moment I’d uttered it I knew. His friends – nice fellows all – had barely noticed, but my Boy had gone red and curled up like a slug with salt on it. His hands were covering his blushing cheeks. “How could you mum?” I so wish I could take it back.
It’s not my first crime, nor, likely my last, just the most recent. Clearly, I’ve sent the boys to school in uniform on come as you please days, failed totally to bake anything when I was supposed to, not given them money when I was supposed to, forgotten about early pick-ups and left them sitting on the doorstep and a host of other dreadful deeds. But Monday’s mistake will take quite a lot of popcorn in front of the telly time to redeem myself.