Yet again I have completely forgotten that they had 'singing group' after school and I'm supposed to pick them up later.
And yes, I have completely and utterly forgotten what time bloody later is, so yes, I have spent what is supposed to be otherwise awesome child-free time wrestling a crotchety toddler in and out of his car seat and frantically hunting for the bastarding bit of paper with the pick up times on which I am SURE I kept, but actually, probably chucked out with all the other 'important information' which gets barrelled in from the school on a daily basis.
I am no good at school life mumming.
I love a good bit of admin. I do. I really, really do. In fact, I love all aspects of paperwork - it makes me feel so good getting out that black biro and ticking boxes, signing forms and perfecting letters on the crisp white sheets.
It's the only time I feel like a half-decent person.
I have nice handwriting. While I am writing something for work or school or in a group situation, I'm always very proudly rounding my letters and making sure my letters are neat and uniform.
They betray my true character (messy, unorganised bastard) and portray the best version of me - neat and diligent.
I get compliments on my writing "oh, how neat and lovely" and am pretty sure (and optimistic) that my writing will get me discovered one day and I can just do lovely writing as a profession, and everyone will know me as the lady with the gorgeous handwriting and will ask me to do all manner of important things for them.
Which I will do. Gladly, and flawlessly, eager to share my one true talent.
(Except it's not my one true talent. Oh no. Through my writing they will also discover I have an eye for fine detail, am good at drawing and also have a knack for watercolour. As time progresses, I also become famous for my man craft abilities, great cake decoration, amazing cooking skills and pretty sound general knowledge. Oh and, I am also an amazing singer too. "Sings like a nightingale")
So, I shall keep hand-writing the forms and filling out the letters and perfecting my swirly 'G' in the hope that it gets me noticed. You know, by the school secretary. Of the tiny village school.
Well, you never know, right?
Dare to dream...
In the meantime, I suppose I had better to remember to fill out the bastarding school dinner forms so that middle son can leave it in his bag for another 4 weeks.