I’d only made it part way through lesson 1 this morning when the dreaded phone call came.

You know the one. The sympathetic voice on the other end of the phone dropping the bombshell that one of your children is sick and please can you come and collect them, because they’re vomiting so much it’s like the River Ouse in flood times. So I dropped my classes in the lap of my long-suffering student teacher (who’s joining my dept next year) and charged across the city to collect Little Nutter who was sitting staring pathetically at some jungle animals.

We came home, only to be phoned and reminded that because he’s been sick we can’t take him back to school for 48 hours after the last vomit. Oh joy! So I plonked him on the sofa with some water, and plugged him into Peppa Pig, whilst I tried to get on with the vast bags of work I’d had to bring home with me.

Much moaning from Little Nutter and demands for attention. Much grumbling from Mummy. Finally he perked up, ate a load of cereal and started bouncing again. I love DFS and their 5 year guarantee on parts - I don’t think they were thinking about Autism demolition when they offered us that one!

Work, cuddle Nutter, Work, cuddle Nutter…

Finally the phone rings again at 3.30pm. It’s Little Madam’s school. Did I realise that no one had come to pick her up?

ARGH!

I feel like such a useless mother. Particularly when aforementioned 8 year-old (when I confess I’d forgotten all about her) shrugs and tells me it’s ok because I’d have been worried about her brother. Gah!