Tuesday 5 January 2010
Thursday 3rd September. We three went to the uniform shop. The four year old starts in Reception and will be forced to wear grey shorts till he is eight, summer and winter! The six year is restricted to skirts and pinafores. She is unhappy as she wore trousers in Oxfordshire. The shop resides permanently in a room at school, handy for the boarders. I met lots of mothers and carefully wrote all their telephone numbers down on the back of my cheque book alongside their daughter or son's name. Didn't actually need the chequebook as everything goes on your account, carefully written out by a Grace Brothers employee. Clearly the shock comes later.
Everyone seems really nice. The six year old's teacher is really cool, very feisty, probably my age. I instantly like her. She wore leopard skin or zebra-stripe reading glasses and displayed the body I wanted. Can't wait to deliver my babies to school on Monday. Freedom!
I have been contemplating not being me at school. I tend to gush and a very good friend, The Entrepreneur, has previously described me as 'giddy:' Aged 43 this is possibly a bad thing. I will hang back, assess the other mothers. I will be cool, always brush my hair and wear makeup (if I ever find it) so as not to frighten them off. Good plan.