I had an epiphany over night. I’m 41 not 42.
Obviously some hideous mix up with dates. Good.
Only I’m not. Perimenopausal night sweats must have confused me. Am indeed 42.
Either way I still had a seventies childhood. Raising children back then seemed a bit like owning a cat. Let the buggers roam free all day. Call them in when the street lights go on. Job done. Grand time had by all.
I’ve read it produced a generation of free thinking, risk-takers. That’s me.
This is what I do every morning:
- Strap children securely in car
- Drive 2 miles to school
- Battle for space with sturdy 4X4s
- Walk eight year old to the door
- Wait until she is safely inside
- Feel bad I’ve forgotten sunscreen
When I pick her up, she’ll spend the evening on her trampoline. Full safety enclosure. Took 3 years to buy. I was worried she would injure herself.