Going the extra 5000 miles

OK, so, I’m hesitant to let you into the full extent of my madness, but here goes (blame my Catholic upbringing – I need to confess).

So, you know how some middle class parents are absolutely nuts? They’ll lie about where they live to get little Tarquin into the best school, have a panic attack if someone offers him a non-organic carrot stick. These are the type of people I used to have a good old laugh at when I was a (childless) teacher. Well, I’m one of them now, in fact, I’m practically their queen.

Since Max was born in 2008, I have, for example, known that there was a possible impending crisis* for the schools in Ealing, with a massive shortfall of primary school places for his school year. I may, have dug around on the internet quite a bit and read the minutes of council meetings about this, and all of the Ofsted reports (60 of them) of the schools in Ealing), and possibly, might have observed which schools had increased the number of forms…

It should come as no surprise then, that I made it a condition of us moving to America that we move back in time to get in on the first round of getting our son a primary school place. Why we had to live in Ealing is a completely other story*. I would have gone into the council and elbowed old ladies out of my way, or bribed people, but seemingly that’s not how its done and you just have to live near the school a full 9 months before the child attends.

When it turned out (pretty fucking late in the day, I may add) that Mr Catherine couldn’t come back at the appointed time, I had to decide what to do. All my OCD planning had gone to pot.

In the end we decided to split & have a long distance marriage for 6 months, so that the boy would have a good chance of getting into a decent school that was near where we lived. I think this possibly qualified as the single most ridiculous thing I have ever done. I got the application in on time, double checked that they had put it in the right pile (They hadn’t – always worth being mega paranoid when you are dealing with the council – they simply don’t care about your middle class concerns). They fixed it and then obviously I triple and quadruple checked.

What was the result of my endeavors? Did little Tarquin (Ahem, Max) get into one of the three schools of my choice? Yes he did. I fucking rock at being middle class, my kids don’t even like sliced white bread. Not sure if that is WIN or a massive own goal. Max requested “that nice Iranian bread” today. Can’t get that in our corner shop.

Obviously when he starts school he is duty bound to hate the place. More on that in September.

This is a crisis entirely in my mind. Leave real crisis for the news, I say.
  • And not very interesting.

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