Last term, Flea enjoyed a Spanish day where she went to school and ate Spanish food. How cool is that?
She also learned about Spanish culture and can now count to 10 in Spanish. At least, I assume she’s counting – I don’t speak Spanish. She could be cursing my lack of parenting skills, for all I know.
Anyway, this week, the class is having a French day. Since Flea’s favourite things in life include croissants and brioche, she’s pretty excited. What’s more, she doesn’t have to wear her uniform – instead, she’s to wear either something French, or something in the colours of the French flag.
After an hour of trying to argue with Flea that the French flag isn’t black so she can’t wear her Darth Vader t-shirt, we agreed that she could wear her blue jeans and her red and white stripy pirate t-shirt to school on Wednesday, with her red, racing car trainers. Settled.
Or so I imagined.
This Saturday we were at a party for one of Flea’s school friends and I was chatting with a couple of the other parents. “All set for Wednesday?” Mrs S asked me, brightly.
“What?” It’s responses like this that make me such a hit at the school gate, I think.
“French day, silly! All set?”
“Oh right.” I tell Mrs S about Flea’s outfit, enjoying a little glow of pride that – for once – I’ve planned a school activity in advance. This is real progress considering I sent Flea to Harvest Festival carrying a cereal bar I found in the car’s glove compartment.
“How lovely,” smiled Mrs H. “I’ve got Thomas a Musketeer outfit. There’s a costume shop in [nearby town] that’s selling them; they’re only £15.”
“Great,” I managed to choke out.
I didn’t think about it any more until we were in the car on the way home, and a little voice in the back of the car piped up: “Mummy, you’ll never guess what! Thomas isn’t wearing a t-shirt to school on Wednesday, he’s going to be a muppeteer with a SWORD. Please may I be a Muppeteer, too?”
Great. Anyone know any French muppets that use swords?