212. Desert heat (2)

The following morning when I wake up I am still angry. Even the cup of coffee brought up to me cannot release the frown from my face. I sip my hot beverage while my husband gets ready and walks around: from bedroom to bathroom and back to bedroom, from wife to kids and back to wife as he is trying to keep his wife happy and his kids in order. I know he will be in work mode shortly and so I have a last moan.

'You know they refused him? Honestly! They say he did not meet the requirements for a school with a very demanding curriculum!'

I take a sip.

'Honestly! Can you believe that?'

I take an other sip.

'Can you?'

'Get those cars out of the passage. Thank you very much. I nearly tripped over that!' Then he turns to me. 'Can I what?'

'Believe that he failed the test. Actually, tests, plural. One for each area of the curriculum.'

I quote the words with a silly sing-song voice and make what I think looks like the silly face to go with it but I don't think he notices. 

'What nonsense.' Is all he says. I wish he would get angry.

He is now almost on full work-mode. I am going to be left alone with the problem soon.

'We've got to get him in that school. Got too.'

'Go there. Ask to speak with the person responsible for the admissions of small brats and vent your anger on him/her instead of me. Surely they will give you a discount for the now 6th test. Got to go. Good luck!'

I get a peck on the cheek and he leaves me with my empty cup of coffee. As he makes his way down the stairs I can hear him shouting at the kids.

'No, I don't know where your shin pads are. And get these cars out of the way.'

This is when I take over. And this is when I normally despair. 

'Mum! I can't find my shin pads. I think (name of sibling) has stolen them from me.'

'That's so disgusting!' An other one is shouting loudly and making a very convincing face to go with it.

I make my way down the stairs and head to the kitchen for a refill of coffee, trying to ignore the situation. Sometimes it does go away. But not today, little steps are following me and someone is tugging at my clothes.

'Mum! Isn't it really disgusting to do that?' The look on the face matches the intensity of the word.

Absent-mindedly I ask 'What is?' because sometimes just by asking the tricky situation sorts itself out. Today is not one of those days. As I pour the coffee I get a detailed report.

'He took a shirt out of the dirty laundry basket and now he's ironing it!' I want to laugh! That look is so convincing. But if I do laugh I will trigger an other crisis.

'That is disgusting, you're right.' This simple utterance has an unexpected result: Little Miss Reporter goes away to tell her brother that this is indeed disgusting. 

I refill my cup. Look at the time. As usual I am going to run late if I have a real breakfast so I shove whatever is lying around in my lunch bag and give the last call.

'Time to go!'

Amazingly they do come out from four different corners of the house, the garden, the neighbours yards .... and they pile into the car dragging along their bric-à-brac of school bags, P-E bags, lunch boxes, water bottles, cricket bats, weird modern art projects with bits sticking out everywhere and today a bag full of stones ... Not even nice ones, just rough rocks swimming in a pool of dust and dirt. 

'Science. We're starting geology today.' 

The proud owner of the plastic bag tells me. Which is lucky because it gets me back on the important topic of EDUCATION. And my son. 

'All right kids? All strapped in? Let's go!'

And I am back on track. Mr Admissions of Small Brats, here I come!