I have, from time to time, written on this blog about being a bad Mum.
It’s true that we rarely eat breakfast at the table, preferring to bolt something down in the car. We don’t do homework. I don’t iron. In fact, the first time Flea saw an ironing board at my brother’s house, she gasped, in tones of wonder: “Uncle Jim, what is THAT?”
But today I think maybe, just maybe, we’re doing okay.
Flea’s taken to writing stories and diaries recently. She’s decided she’d like to be an author or a screenwriter when she grows up (she told me last night her favourite thing about The Muppets movie was that it ‘breaks the fourth wall’).
Anyway, this morning I found “The Story of My Life, by Flea” on the dining table when I came home from the school run.
The story of Flea’s life includes vivid descriptions of our trips to Germany and New York, her most recent sleepover, the jumping game at Stagecoach this weekend, and this – possibly the best closing line to a story EVER:
In case you’re not able to decipher 6-year-old writing, Flea’s life story ends with:
“Life is great. I love everything about it. But still there are more surprises to come.”
So, yeah, my child might be a bit late, and just a bit crumpled. She may sometimes have toast crumbs down the front of her blazer. But she’s basically just really happy. How cool is that?
