My par­ents were, if noth­ing else, organ­ised at all times. I don’t recall at any point real­is­ing that they had no idea what was going on, or that they weren’t absolutely in charge of what we did. In con­trast, Eric and I mud­dle through day-to-day, just about keep­ing it together — some­times we for­get to brush Joseph’s teeth, or can’t be both­ered to wash up, or leave the laun­dry sit­ting in the wash­ing machine for a bit too long.

Which is why the fact that Joseph is start­ing pre-school next week is all the more scary. We’re used to a life where, assum­ing it’s not a work day, what we do just doesn’t mat­ter. If Joseph doesn’t wake up until 9am, no prob­lem! If we can’t be both­ered to get dressed before lunchtime, nobody cares!

But as of next week, Joseph has to be places. Reg­u­larly, on time, washed and break­fasted and bussed across town by the same time, three days a week. And picked up at a cer­tain time, no mat­ter what else might be hap­pen­ing. It’s a wee bit scary.

I won­der if hav­ing a school-age child will sud­denly grant us pow­ers of organ­i­sa­tion — but I doubt it. I once hoped that hav­ing a child at all would do that, and clearly it hasn’t.

Hope­fully being a dis­or­gan­ised par­ent is okay, because I don’t seem likely to turn into my par­ents any­time soon.