You know those moments when something other that you- normal, functioning, everyday you – takes over your body and before you know it you are doing something you had no intention of doing? Something you didn’t even know you were going to do?

I had one last week.

As I drove to the mortgage-the-cat  school to collect my child, I chanced to drive along the quiet back street shortcut lined with family homes. Past a very large child kicking a soccer ball across the road to his sister, who would throw it back. I could see them ahead along the straight stretch, so slowed to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything kid-like and kick his ball in front of my car.

He didn’t, but he did do something else. He very clearly yelled ‘hurry up woman’ as I drove past.

After collecting geek boy I head home the same way, and there is soccer kid again. As I drive closer I can feel little prickles running along my arms, fingers and toes – prickles I get when I think something is going to happen. As I slowed, I heard  again “hurry up woman”.

I truly don’t know who that woman was that stopped her car in the middle of the street. I don’t know who that woman was that rolled down her window and gave soccer boy a finger pointing lecture about mouthing off at drivers, speed limits of 40 k an hour that are set to save lives such as his, and how-would-his-mother-feel-after-he-was-squashed-on-the-road because he had either infuriated someone with his yelling, or because he was jumping out in front of cars? I don’t know who that woman was that asked him whose fault it would be if he were squashed on the road beside his ball (to his credit, he did reply in a small voice ‘mine’- the only word I heard him say during my finger pointing tirade. Mind you, that woman wasn’t letting him get a word in edge-ways anyhow). As his sister fell about laughing that woman finished up her trouncing lecture with a sound  ”watch yourself, kid” and drove off up the street leaving 3 kids open mouthed in her wake and 2 kids open mouthed in the back seat.

As I pulled in to my own driveway it struck me that *I* was that woman. I  had no restraint or control over what I did, I just acted impulsively out of anger and concern and protectiveness and fully let out on this soccer ball kid. I turned to my son and said “Sorry about that. I am not sure why I did that, I hope I didn’t embarrass you”.  ”No”, he shrugged, ”you did the right thing. It was pretty awesome, mum, you had  your teacher voice on and your don’t mess with  me right now voice on too and the kid should appreciate that someone was worried about where he was.”

I wonder if he’ll go inside and tell his mother” I mused.

“I was wondering that too!” said geek boy. “He should, he should tell her someone was worried about where he was and what he was doing. He should tell her he was being stupid”

I decided that was a lesson in itself for the day, (for both of us!) and nodded at my own child’s good grace and common sense.

Until he said “It’s not like in your day though mum, is it, when you could play on the road all you wanted and there were no such thing as cars around on the roads”…

Like many schools in Australia, the school my son attends holds an annual chocolate drive to raise funds. It matters not that the school is private and we already mortgage the cat to send him there, they need more funds so we are expected to fund raise or pay a levy. Last year, the evil of choice was a chocolate drive. We were duly presented with 2 boxes of calories.

And whilst we are generalising, lets say that like most families we tolerate this expectation, fork out the moolah for the boxes under the pretext we will sell them to neighbours and friends *after we have eaten all the good ones ourselves and promptly forget about the ones we didn’t eat until we discover them shoved right up the back of the pantry and six months out of date.

So last year I was very diligent, as well as magnanimously generous, and paid for my two boxes as well as 2 boxes meant for someone else.  (Still not sure how that actually came about). Which left me with a LOT of chocolate.

Another money sucking fund raising event held annually at his school is a super-size-me fete.  More than a few stalls and craft displays, this annual event is huge. They have big Royal Show style rides and concludes with a massive fireworks display on the oval (no wonder they need to fund raise).

This year we also received a note home, asking us to “contribute confectionery for show bags . A few items from every family, if you please, for lolly style show bags to be sold on side show alley“. OK, I can do that! I have 100 bars of chocolate *that no one likes, I’ll happily send them along. Better still, they are still within use by date. Since I bought them from the school, and donate them back to the school, I am feeling quite virtuous.

The next day, I receive another note home. This time, handwritten.

“Dear Mrs Rhubarb,
we regret to inform you we are unable to accept your donation of chocolates for our show bags. These chocolates clearly state on the wrapper ‘May contain traces of nuts’.  Since they are being sold to children, the school wishes to ensure each child’s safety is not compromised in any way, and allergies must be taken into consideration so to show we provide due and utmost care. Please send other types of confectionery instead.
Signed, someone in charge.”

Hmmmm – hell-llo?

Did you forget about the cake stall?
You ask every family from prep through year 3 to supply a home baked cake. You accept all cakes and cookies without question – something I have always found ironic.

Did you forget about the food court?
You ask every family from year 7 through 12 to supply savoury dishes, casseroles and finger food to sell at the food court – again without question.

Did you forget that you send home these very same chocolates to every child in the school to onsell ?

At least the chocolates have a warning on the wrpper, unlike pies, cakes, curry puffs and egg sandwiches in the food court.

“Dear someone in charge,
I am afraid we have no other confectionery.  We ate the good stuff.  I regret to inform we will be otherwise engaged on the day of the fete and will not be attending. We have to wash the cat, he is heavily mortgaged and therefore requires due and utmost care.
Next year I will pay the levy.
You know what you can do with your chocolates.
Signed, Mrs Rhubarb”.

The finals for Geek boy’s chess thing were held this week. After the debacle of actually arriving at the place of competition for the last round, master 11 was  dead set that he would not, under any circumstances, miss the bus or be late. He was dressed and ready to leave at 5.30 AM.

Since designated driver (me) was teaching today, the sparky had the honours. He made it – to both the bus and the competitions. Phew!

There was no chess cake as a celebration. It didn’t matter.  Last night he could choose anything he wanted for dinner. His choice?  A double whopper meal from HJ’s and a place to hang this.

4th place in the QLD Interschools Team Chess Comps.

The look on his face was the best mother’s day  gift I could receive.

Well done little man!