Today, when I picked my son up from school I received the dreaded “curly finger” from his class teacher beckoning me over for a quick chat. This is always accompanied by three things.
- The feeling of utter dread in the pit of your stomach as you wonder exactly what your little darling has done this time.
- The hastily assembled excuses you attempt to come up with in your head to counteract said deed.
- The side eyes from the other Mummies on the playground that are all secretly high fiving themselves, just glad that its not them today.
Off I trot and I end up having yet another one of those conversations where I am in constant amazement, bewilderment and disbelief at the intricate, or otherwise, workings of my five year olds tiny, crazy mind.
Kids have active imaginations, we all know that. Mine though manages to find that fine line of “active”, take a javelin and leap waaaaaayyy over that line until he crosses into the territory I like to call “bloody bonkers”. Today’s news was that he announced to his teacher that Daddy was going to be working away for a while. In Japan. For fifty days. And not only would Mummy miss him terribly, so would his five brothers.
This is from a child whose Daddy is most definitely not popping to Japan anytime soon, definitely not for fifty days and who has no brothers or sisters. I have enough on my plate with one, let alone six of the little darlings.
Strange, yes. Comical, definitely. Perhaps not quite as bad though as the time he told his reception teacher that I was going to move to Paris and leave Daddy and him at home. God knows what I was going to be doing in Paris, it wasn’t ascertained, sounded fun though. I’m not going to lie, there have been more than a few times when the thought of escaping to Paris to drink wine and eat croissants all day sounds pretty appealing. Or the time he told his friends about a brother (yes, another one) who met a sticky end in a race car. That one took some explaining to the teacher and resulted in a chat about “appropriate stories”.
Or the time when he came downstairs to tell me we had a family of squirrels who had recently moved into the loft and advised me that they needed an iPad and a large packet of biscuits to make their stay more enjoyable.
Oh and that he’s suddenly allergic to bees. Again, utter fabrication. “This one time” (I have to stop myself from adding “at band camp”) he was rushed to hospital and had to stay for several days after being stung, developing an enormous arm which also happened to have superpowers, with which he would entertain the rest of the ward, the nurses and possibly any other siblings he’d created.
Yes, my son doesn’t so much embellish the truth, he likes to wrap it all up in a big sheet of gold lame, add a gigantic bow and sprinkle a barrel load of glitter on it. Simple questions such as “what did you have for lunch today sweetheart” can be met with answers such as “snails with jelly” or “we didn’t have lunch today, we went out to the fairground down the road instead.”
On a family trip out to a theme park he announced that he’d “been here before Mummy, on a school trip.” Got really cross when I said no darling, this definitely would be something Mummy would have had to give permission for. No, no, it was true, it happened and he went on to describe rides that didn’t exist, presumably made up of all the best and obviously THE most dangerous and thrilling fun a five year old can possibly imagine.
I suppose I do have to hold myself partly responsible for these shenanigans mind you. Who’s not going to encourage a little imaginative play here and there, although I suppose telling him the boiler works because there’s a baby dragon in there who breathes fire when we need heat is only going to fuel the fire. So to speak.
I suppose all this will come in useful whenever he has to do any creative writing at school, or he could perhaps put it to use in a future career – hmmm, tall tales, out and out lies – Politician? Estate agent? Editor of the Daily Mail??
Right, I’m off to feed those squirrels………