After Monkey Boy’s vague attempts at communicating this morning’s needs last night, I had the joy and pleasure of ensuring everyone was up, fed, clothed and lunches made in order for Monkey Boy to be at school by 8.00a.m.
“Nah, I told you 8.30,” he says after my fifteeth Hurry up, you need to leave in 23 seconds!
I do love it when one of my children is randomly struck by a bolt of Common Sense, and was pleasantly surprised when Godzilla suggests that Monkey Boy walk and I just leave at my normal time with the remaining two children.
Oh, yeah. I do that.
I still have no idea what is going on, only that he needs to be at school early, for the performance of the play the drama class have put together, and that parents can come.
All the information, including my invitation to the said event is located in his school diary, located in his locker. At school.
I am to attend, but I have no idea when, what time or what the dress code is.
I leave home later than I would like to and as I’m attempting to get an Unwilling For The Sake of Unwillingness pre-schooler out of the car at kinder drop off time, he rings me to advise of these pertinent details.
I even have time to get home and shower, before making my way to this invitation only play, for which I never actually received an invitation to.
It was somewhat enjoyable, given the actors involved and the time in which they had to prepare the production … assuming it is also socially acceptable to say it was somewhat enjoyable watching your twelve year old son’s be decapitated and dragged off to the lady’s loos at the airport …