I Know, I Need To Stop Talking

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My blog. Contains swearing and scenes of mild peril.

I Know, I Need To Stop Talking

I Know, I Need To Stop Talking

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And the Parent of the Year Award goes to... . #SOproud 🤦🤦🤦 #sexeducation #parenting

Timehop: reminding me on a daily basis how absolutely batshit my kids are . #parenting

Hi, how's your Saturday? . 🤦🤦🤦🤦🤦 . #parenting

This is Mrs May. . Mrs May has just staggered through SATS week, a week which has been roughly spent: . 20% invigilating SATS papers. . 20% calming various histrionic members of her class down. . 20% reminding Fluoride how to spell her own name, and Aspartame that a modal verb is not a verb made out of plasticine, and Phelaychioh - a name which Mrs May is still too afraid to try and pronounce out loud - that it really is preferable if we sit our SATS without one hand down our trousers. . 20% trotting out meaningless platitudes to the crowds of parents who congregate at her classroom door at the start and end of each day, desperate to know how little Constipation has done, in a TOTALLY POINTLESS AND FUCKING STUPID TEST THAT LITERALLY NO ONE IN LIFE OTHER THAN OUR BACKWARDS GOVERNMENT WILL EVER GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT. . 20% drinking gin. . Now, at last, SATS are over, and Mrs May staggers home, looking forward to doing nothing more for the remaining week and a bit of term than laying face down on her kitchen floor feigning her own death. That, and the circa 300 hours of marking she needs to complete by the end of half term. . When Mrs May arrives home, she has a voicemail. . The voicemail is from the Head of Mrs May's school. . "Ofsted are in tomorrow!" says the disembodied voice of the Head of Mrs May's school. . "Fuck my actual fucking life," is what Mrs May would have said, had she not been too busy screaming into a cushion and pouring neat gin down her throat, which it turns down, makes it remarkably difficult to clearly articulate profanities. . #SATS

#beachbodyready

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