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: Flea

Me: Eh?

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.