Thursday, May 17, 2012

title pic Class Lists

Posted by dulwichmum on Wed 4 July 2007

The class lists are out!

I took my munchkins to school this morning and immediately noticed the other mummies swarming about in front of the notice board in the hall. It seems that it is far too late to make any special requests regarding the class into which my darling boy will be placed in September when he moves up from the nursery to pre-prep.

Once again, my career is interfering with family life and I have let one of my poppets down…(Sniff) My best friend Vashi had advised me over a month ago that it was best to slip a note to the class teacher outlining any special friendships which I considered essential for the continued emotional well being of the boy wonder, and she had indicated to me that she would do the same for Ameer. Both of us work full-time, and both of us forgot. Our boys met on the first day of nursery two years ago and we have been firm friends ever since. It appears that the school has decided that the poppets should be placed in separate classes in order to discourage dependence – discourage true friendship more like.

Vashi and I wept openly and stood clinging to each other in the head teacher’s office. The boys didn’t seem to give two hoots. Vashi can usually be depended upon to remind me of the sports day, sponsorship forms or special costume days, I can be counted on to come up with special short cuts like fake home bakes for cake sales and Harvest Festival, or a credible alibi when Vashi goes to Reigate for her Botox and filler injections.

I am devastated, this is simply barbaric… (Sniff). We don’t want to leave nursery school and go up to the big school…

Pass the gin.

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title pic Lost childhood

Posted by dulwichmum on Mon 2 July 2007

James so wanted a chopper when he was a boy. He was indeed a much luckier boy than most – he had a pony, but all he really wanted was a bicycle just like the ones his friends had. ‘Silver’ his pony was stabled at home while James was away at boarding school. The boys in his class all had their bicycles at school, but James’ younger brother could not master the skill of cycling a bike, and so James never received one, despite regular requests at Christmas and birthdays. He has told me this story several times with tears in his eyes – my calm unemotional man…

Just a couple of weeks ago Max learned to cycle his bicycle without stabilisers – it took him just 3 days when he set his mind to it. James promised the poppet a bicycle with gears when he could cycle unaided.

On Saturday morning, when I had just returned with my spoils from The Dulwich Trader sale James was all ready to take mini me to the bicycle shop in the middle of Dulwich Park. He had already made several fact finding trips, measured Max’s inside leg and come home with a stack of brochures. Saturday was to be the final trip so that Max could choose between two models himself.

“It is not Max’s birthday, it is not Christmas, he should wait for an occasion for bigger gifts like this,” I tried to insist. James was deaf to my reasoning. “The munchkin will never understand the value of money if you indulge him throughout the year like this” I pleaded to no avail, while obscuring the super Lulu Guinness, shoe box from his view (at half price the heels were only £100!).

“I shall come to the bicycle shop if you buy me an ice cream from the van,” bargained Max. Eventually, a crestfallen James realised that Max does not care a jot for a new bicycle, and the subject was dropped.

Max was transfixed by the television and a DVD my Monster in Law (thanks Babysteps) has sent him. He wants a pony…

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