A couple of weeks ago, my wife and I were informed, through one of those parent bothering nursery email newsletter thingies, that the nursery were to hold a parents evening for my daughters preschool class.
Upon reading this notice, a few thoughts crossed my mind.
Firstly I was rather surprised that the nursery had utilised the newsletter to deliver actual news to us parents. Usually this media is set aside to helpfully inform us that next Friday is International Walk like a Chicken Day, or that the fruit of the week is Carambola. I also questioned what the purpose of a parents evening for a 3 year old nursery child could possibly be. As long as she wasn’t biting Timmy, or freely urinating in the sandpit, it was happy days surely?
I bet there’s a bloody game on that night, and the only time slot we’ll get will be bang on kick-off. I thought.
How do I get out of this? Fake sickness? Or perhaps a non-fatal fall from a couple of rungs up the ladder whilst obeying orders and sorting that bloody damp patch in the bedroom for the 100th time?
But alas, my thoughts were interrupted by a text from ‘the boss’ informing me that the nursery had already been emailed, and our 6.00pm time slot had been booked. Bugger.
Knowing that any hint of complaint would set off a Trump style military response from the boss, off I went, with a clenched smile and the one shred of hope I had left in my head. We were the first parents to be seen so this should be quick at least.
After looking around my daughters nursery room, and pretending to take interest in a wall display that I believe was supposed to be some kind of mutant pond arrangement, we were eventually summoned at twenty passed six, palms sweaty from the 40 degree heat. (I understand that kids need to be kept warm, but to bake them slowly throughout the day just seems crazy with today’s energy prices).
We were invited to take a seat at a table, but I noticed no chairs. The boss then pointed out that the tiny bright red plastic things in front of me were to be sat on, and so like a giraffe climbing into a Mini I took my seat.
The next 15 minutes were spent looking through my daughter’s pictures and letter and number work and we were given a photocopy of her development chart. Thankfully she was on track, and there was no mention of biting or urinating.
My daughter starts school in September and I can only imagine the number of these I will clock up over the coming years. I’m hoping they improve with age!