Diary Of A Bad Dad
Well that’s that, Preschooler T, formerly known as Toddler T and Baby T is no more. As I write this, my little girl is experiencing her first day at school. I hope she’s coping better than me and her mum.
I’m sure she will be. Certainly in the run-up she was as unfazed by the prospect of ‘big school’ as she is of two scoops of chocolate ice cream.
Unlike Mrs T, whose bottom lip has been on the point of complete collapse for the last few months. Me, I’ve just had Pink Floyd’s Another Brick In The Wall on repeat.
It’s a momentous occasion (although I can’t remember my first day at school) and I keep feeling I should mark it in some special way.
Maybe a “personalised’’ gift that half the population possess? Or a season ticket to Elland Road? Did I ever tell you I wanted to call her Ellen Rose? I got the red card from mum on that one.
I suggested that I could pass on all my worldly wisdom as she sets out on a new part of her life journey. But as MrsT pointed out we don’t smoke and therefore don’t have the back of a fag packet.
In the end I settled for giving Schoolgirl T an extra big hug while whispering in her ear: “Whatever you do, don’t eat the semolina.’’