And the award for worst mother goes to….

Yep, me.

Here’s what happened: we’ve just had a weekend in London, tramping round the National History Museum and eating overpriced sandwiches in the rain. The only problem with the whole weekend flat thing is that I barely sleep there. I have no idea why – perhaps it’s the muffled sounds of sirens and muggers footsteps echoing outside, or perhaps it’s the weird memory foam pillows on Hubby’s bed. Anyhow, I always come back exhausted and mildly stressed. This morning we were up early with Twin 2 crying because nobody believed she was ill, and Twin 1 crying because she had to wear the ‘horrible’ school cardigan (no, I have no idea what’s wrong with it – it’s exactly the same as all the other school cardigans). I had to teach this morning, which was fine, but I was slightly distracted by the chest pains I had throughout the lesson. When I got home I phoned NHS who reassured me (again) that I’m not having a cardiac arrest, and then I thought that maybe, instead of going to circuits and doing my lesson planning, maybe today, just for once, I could have a teensy little nap.

I woke up at 3.40. School finishes at 3.20.

The school probably now have me on a list of possible drug users/alcoholics/generally unfit mothers. I am expecting a call from social services any time now.

What’s worse is that because I’m rubbish at lying, I didn’t even claim to have been at the hospital or stuck in traffic, I just ‘fessed up to sleeping through school pick up time.

Yours in embarrassment and utter mortification xxx