Another morning, another mad rush. I don't think it will ever change because I know I can get away with it. Sam is old enough to sort himself out and catch the bus with no input from yours truly. Rowan (who admittedly is useless at getting ready for school - this morning at 8am she was still lying in bed casually reading a book!) can when encouraged loudly (ie. shouting) be ready in ten and on the bus with a crushed jam sandwich thrust in her hand.

Murron though is always late for pre school and it's always my fault. No matter how hard I try we are always the last to arrive and yes, I am always correspondingly the last to pick up. You'd think that the sight of my daughter in coat and boots sitting alone in the cloakroom waiting for me would make me vow to never be late again and it does and I still am. Today Murron asked if she should take a book with her, when I asked why she replied that she could look at it whilst waiting for me to arrive!

What is it with windy days and chlidren too? Murron went wild in the playground, whooping and running madly as the wind whipped her hair all over.