Next time you think you're a bad mother, I invite you to come back to read this post. No, really. Because I think I can guarantee you've never had THIS conversation in the car after collecting your precious, beloved offspring from school.
Me: Hey, Flea, you didn’t tell me there was a class photo in your bag. When was this taken?
Flea: I don’t remember.
Me: Oh you’re not in it. That’s a shame. Were we on holiday?
Flea: Don’t know. Please may I have sandwiches for dinner?
Me: Maybe. Oh, I think we were in London. There’s Charlie. And George. And who’s this, next to them?
Flea: That’s Samuel. I think I’ve got raisins in my snack box.
Me: Oh yes, I know Samuel. And look there’s Natasha and Zara. Is that Darcy?
Flea: Yes. [Flea starts rummaging in the glove box]
Me: Hmm. Who’s this girl here? Is she new?
Flea: Can I have this biscuit?
Me: Sure. Hmm. She’s got a yellow badge, she must be in your house. Who is she? Have a look. What’s that little girl’s name?
Flea: It’s me, Mummy.
Me: It doesn’t look like you. Are you sure?
Flea: [looks at me like I'm a moron] Yes.
Me: What happened to your hair?
Flea: My teacher brushed it.
That'll be another sterling parenting moment, then.