203. Exams strain

Maths-Head has been in her room for the last week or so. Or maybe the last month. We have all lost count as we rejoice in the end of a very strenuous (for the parents) academic year.

We have therefore been free to pamper Baby. We had no choice. She was getting really fed up with being number 4. Really fed up with her parents having the 'been there, done that' attitude. So she was starting to rebel. And we did not want that. So we reverted to the parent-of-child-number-1 style and literally drove her back and forth to school, tennis, shop and I even kept wanting to pack her back for the exam days.

'OK ... so would 5 correction tape rolls be enough? How about a sandwich? Water? ... Have you got colour pencils? Do you want me to buy a new set? 62 be enough?'

Until she got fed up and started rebelling. We can't seem to get anything right these days.

'Stop fussing! 3 hours! I can survive without food for three hours! And I can pack my own bag. Just drop me off at 8:30 and pick me up at 4:00. Please. Thank you.'

That was us told. She stormed off and we were left sulking, trying to find an other child to over-parent so we could restore our bruised ego. My husband decided the dog was easier to satisfy and took him for a walk. I said I would stay in just in case a child requested my parenting skills.

A loud clatter was heard down the stairs and I thought maybe thunder, maybe Miss Organiser coming down with her infamous suitcase again. Then I thought someone must be crashing down the stairs and was going to get seriously hurt so I ran towards the bottom of the stairs and nearly collided with Maths-Head as she performed her well-rehearsed leap into the air over the banister and landed on the spot on the rug. I said nothing. Just grinned a mechanical fixed grin, the kind that is easy to put on but hard to get rid of. A kind of setting you know is hard to change. She ignores me anyway and starts to speak. But Math-Head doesn't not speak, she utters words at 100 mile an hour. 

'Sorry. What was that?' I say as I am still taking stock of  correction-tape rolls and colour pencils while registering the leap over the banister and the fact that I haven't even tried to prevent it. 

She stands on the spot on the rug as a gymnast who has finished her stunt as she speaks. 

'Two things: one, I need you to drive me to H station so I get to my exam on time and 2, I need to borrow a jacket.'

'No, I can't drop you off, it's Baby's final exam day. Two is easy: go to your sister's bedroom, it is like H&M in there.'

'One: I'll deal with Baby. Two: OK.'

And she runs back up the stairs.

I wonder why we are speaking in weird codes like this but she is already back down the stairs with the same leap and swing and thud and land on the spot. After raiding her sister's and her mother's cupboard for the exact shade of white shirt and the exact shade of black jacket, she is ready to go.

'We're late! Come on, let's go! ... Baby is cool. She said no worries. She wants to hang around with the crowds anyway.'

I am speechless. Baby? Hang around? With a crowd? But before I start to tremble and shake the car keys are shoved in my hands and I am behind the wheel of my car. As I drive off I am wondering if I should get a chauffeur's uniform.