Today at school pick-up my teacher headed out into the playground. We all stopped and watched because this can sometimes be a bad sign. With a mounting sense of fear I realised she was heading for my mummy. I knew I had not had a bad bump today, so this could mean one of two things: either I was in trouble, or mummy was (she helps out in school and sometimes gets the sticking-in wrong).
Turns out it was both of us, and this was the reason:
Oh, and this, of course: Mummy’s cyberfriend Tara at Sticky Fingers recently wrote a post about schools banning our favourite things and managed to provoke a very heated berate. Mummy has been giggling in the schoolyard about the prospect of a ban on leggingless handstands, but she sure has egg on her face now! Jewellery and nail-polish are not allowed in school, but nowhere in the rules are facial tattoos mentioned. Still, as the Head handed over my latest certificate in Celebration Assembly, I’m sure I saw her wince. And when the ban on tattoos was unveiled, we knew it was down to me. There is not another child in school with such a work of art.
Part of me wonders if Mummy enjoyed this foray into the world of metaphorical ‘time-outs’. She is not a rule-breaker; Daddy despairs at her inability to leave a single dirty dish until morning, and struggles with her refusal to take us on holiday during term-time. She knew as we got handy with the tattoos that she was taking a flier; but we were happy playing tattoo shops, and the lure of an extra hour in the garden over a chilled sauvignon had her turning a blind eye. As she savoured the peace, she convinced herself that school would be lenient. There are only 8 more sleeps until the end of term.
There were tears before bedtime in our house, but the tattoos duly came off. But Mrs W, could you pop your head round the door of the Nursery class tomorrow and tackle my brother? His face may be clean, but under his cardi he looks like a Hell’s Angel 😡