December 2nd 2011
She does look like a girl, she was even wearing a skirt today. Pretty as a picture really with her angelic blonde curls, clips holding back the more unruly locks, stripey tights and pink t-bar shoes, smart, double breasted baby blue coat and pushing her doll’s pram – sweet. And yet she is a thug, a wolf, in sheep’s clothing.
We set off for school, somewhat ambitiously, without Rachel’s buggy. She was pushing her pram and her friend Toby was proudly carrying his “suitcase” – an old box once of Milk Tray now stuffed with his papers – his morning’s work at nursery. Ah yes...all because the lady loves Milk Tray...but not as much as Toby clearly, who would not be parted with it, anymore than Rachel could be persuaded to leave her doll’s pram behind.
Once round the corner from the house Rachel announces ‘I tired, want cuddle.’ Now I know exactly where this is going – me carrying her most of the way. I momentarily considered putting Rachel in the dolls pram (even giving it a go) before establishing that wasn’t going to work. I concede defeat and after collaring a fellow parent to watch the little ones, I sprint home to get her pushchair and hurry back with it. Rachel, of course, then proceeds not to make use of it.
She lovingly pushes her pram, which contains not a sweet baby doll, but a hard plastic Buzz Lightyear and dismembered Woody, whose limbs are rolling round in the carry cot along with the toys and her now pulled-out hairclips.
After negotiating the curbs crossing the road, she stops at the top of the hill and with a loud “Ready, Set Go and an almighty shove sends the pram hurtling downhill to end up careering of the pavement and into the tyre of a parked car.
Her attention is now caught by the bare twigged plants on the grass verge. “Want stick Mummy, want stick.”
Having rescued the pram, I fish out a couple sticks from the undergrowth for her and Toby and they begin to duel with them. So feminine.
By the time we’ve got a little further she has taken Toby’s stick and run away with it, a gleeful look on her face. While I find him another one (his stick broke as I tried to extract it from her) she, totally unperturbed, busies herself putting all the broken pieces of his stick in her pocket.
Once at school we fetch Patrick and his bike and wait for the older ones. Emilia and her friend Max are dressed as Vikings, so bring out with them an assortment of discarded costume, leather, fur, two helmets and weapons, a couple of axes, a dagger, shields, and two handmade Viking Longboats. I also get handed a coat and a book bag and various other things despite the fact they are all wearing their own rucksacks. By now, I also have Toby’s ‘suitcase’ and Rachel’s pram and toys, and the now raided, biscuit box I always carry. To top it all off we also have Eddie/Freddie, the stuffed toy mascot of Willow class that Max has been assigned for the weekend.
So, six kids, a 2,4, and 5 year old, two 7 year olds and a 10 year old to herd home. They too all delight in sending the pram down the hill with Everard the monkey/raccoon mascot thing perched precariously on top of Buzz. Patrick who was on his bike, has now swopped with Max, (aaahh - child who isn’t mine riding bike with no helmet!) Rachel has gone the secret passageway behind the bushes and has yet to emerge. A couple in front, a couple behind. Toby holding my hand (always prioritise the children in your care, who don’t actually belong to you in these situations) and a buggy loaded with awkwardly shaped and fragile items. Yet amazingly the tom-boy, the pack horse, brothers and sister and friends all made it home in one piece.
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