First Day

It was the first day of school – the night before I had been all prepared: school uniforms laid out, lunches in the fridge. So how did I find myself standing in a yellow high-vis vest, road-side while Miss Seven’s new stationary and school shorts hung sodden from the clothesline?

The kids were just walking up the drive and I was locking up when all hell broke loose.

“Mum, (Miss Seven) has wet her pants,” cried twin bro.

Sure enough, her shorts were soaking wet.

“How did that happen?” I asked, amidst the teasing.

She was just as baffled but, upon further inspection, it turned out her drink bottle had leaked through her bag and out the bottom, rendering her new stationary drenched in the process.

I hauled us back upstairs to change into another pair of school uniform pants but discovered that, during the course of the summer holidays, they had gone awol.

I eventually dug out an old pair of tights with holes in the butt, careful not to bring this to her or her brothers’ attention, strung her other pair and stationary to the line and we started up the drive again a tad more stressed than the previous attempt.

At school we were met at the gate by Master Nine’s classmate informing him they were on road patrol duty together. Oops – I seemed to remember reluctantly putting my name down for that at Master Nine’s insistence.

Checking the kids into their new classes and meeting the teachers would have to wait for another day as off we went to don our vests, only 20-minutes late for the first day of duty. Luckily the kids were clued up as it was a case of learning on the job for me.

I returned home for a nice mochaccino, re-writing the start to the school year in my head and ignoring the sorry state of the already dry but misshapen books bedraggling from the line.

The next week’s road patrol was more of a success (I’d watched the dvd for parents and shown up on time). However, Master Nine wasn’t as switched on.

“Sign’s Ouuut,” sung his companion, swinging out his sign into the stifling afternoon heat.

No movement from Master Nine across the road. 

“Siiigns Ouuut!” he repeated.

Still he didn’t budge.

We shouted at him to hurry up and finally he launched his sign out, allowing people to cross. 

“What was up with you before?” I asked on the way home. “Why didn’t you hear us?”

“I did hear you but my jandal was stuck to this sticky black stuff on the road and I couldn’t move,” he answered.

Ahhh, that explains it!

I relayed the story of The Twits when the boys were glued to the tree branch and climbed out of their pants to escape and suggested next time, albeit with his jandals, he follow suit.