MY BEST FAMILY STORY

As a disorganised and occasionally crazy parent, nothing chills you to the bone more than hearing your child announce they are entering a public speaking competition where they have to write their own speech.

“So the topics are: One, My favourite animals; Two; My special adventure; Or three, My best family story,” Miss Eight announces.

I take a deep breath and attempt to use my special “Mum Mind Tricks,” a mix of distraction, positive reinforcement and suggestion.

“Oh that sounds great! What are your favourite animals?” I try optimistically.

“Dingoes, for my dingo army obviously,” she begins, “but I’m not writing about animals.”

“You love adventures!” I try in vain.

“Sure, but I’m going to write about the time you got my sister breathalysed at the RBT you were pulled over at,” she declares like that’s a perfectly appropriate topic for the CWA primary public speaking competition.

I panic, and text my friend group chat where it’s immediately pointed out to me that she’s voluntarily doing extra credit homework… and that’s amazing… apparently.

I cling to (misguided) optimism and chalk this one up as a win and move on, choosing not to ask any follow-up questions about her dingo army.

“Any homework or assignments for you yet?” I ask Miss 14. She looks up from her phone and somehow manages to roll her eyes and look happy at the same moment, using “Teenage Mind Tricks” perhaps.

“Yes, maths… and, ugh. But also you need to pick me up and drop me in town on Monday afternoon because I’ve decided it’s my turn to get my hair done at Tangled,” says the child who last week flat out refused to attend the haircut I’d booked for her during the holidays at a time that was convenient to me.

“It’s at 3.30pm on Monday afternoon,” she adds. I open my mouth to remind her I’m at work until 5pm on Monday, but she cuts me off.

“I used your credit card to pay the non-

refundable booking fee…”

And so, on Monday afternoon I leave early, pick both kids up and somehow make it to Kite Street by 3.30pm.

Miss 14 dashes in alone, but with my credit card, and I find myself alone in the car with Miss 8, who immediately demands to know what snacks I’ve brought.

“You can eat anything that’s left in your lunchbox,” I helpfully remind her.

The look of horror and disgust tells me there’s only fruit left, which she loves, mind you, but parked so close to the doughnut shop, she has other ideas at the moment.

“We can walk to the doughnut shop… they sell coffee, Mum!” she starts.

I say no, but what she hears is a debate adjudicator announcing “Affirmative team, first rebuttal.”

“They sell dinosaur doughnuts!” she continues. I say no, but what she hears is the debate adjudicator announcing “Affirmative teamsecond rebuttal.”

“Are you sure? You look particularly tired and haggard today.”

I say no again, somewhat less nicely than before, but what she hears is the debate adjudicator announcing “Affirmative team, final argument!”

“Okay, fine… I’ll just hang out in my seat and beatbox. Want to hear me perform Baby Shark?”

I spend the next 20 minutes watching Miss 14 through the window of Tangled get 3mm trimmed from her hair as her sister beatboxes Baby Shark out of spite. Although to be fair, she’s honestly pretty good at it.

Haircut done, debate lost and one stylishlooking teen smothered with compliments about how lovely she looks and I’m driving home to the relaxing sounds of children arguing about the front seat/beatboxing/whose haircut is better/ whether or not it’s worth invading Wales if you are taking over the UK with your dingo army… I remind myself that one day my car will be empty and I’ll miss this!