Today I have mainly been an unhappy bunny. I should have seen this morning's breakfast stop and the lack of a sausage sandwich for me as some sort of sign. The seemingly innocuous cinnamon swirl replacement was clearly a portent of doom. The boy was fine; he got some cheap white bread and patisserie goods en route to nursery where he launched into Sarah's arms.
I have mainly been Mrs Intolerant (for intolerant, read: knackered and coming down with a cold). I tried to explain to a group of 'missing homework' offenders that the constant reminders, detentions, slips, phone calls home, etc is a tad wearing for me to administer. Granted, I could just slack off from such measures and let things slide, but it's not how I roll. I figure good teaching has a lot in common with good parenting: it's a bit of a war of attrition, and the key is fairness, boundaries and consistency. As I also explained to my forgetful (but sweet) little bunch of miscreants, I have one child of my own, but sometimes feel I have a couple of hundred to deal with.
My black mood was not lifted when I went to collect the boy from nursery. He took one look at me, and instead of his usual beaming smile, he cried and reached out to Sarah. A tiny part of my heart chipped away.
I got into bed fully clothed, aching and freezing cold, shortly after I had put Dexter to bed. He awoke at midnight, utterly distressed with sore gums and a tummy ache. He needed his mummy; the chip got repaired.