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Friday, 6 March 2015

Book Day Nightmares....

(An edited version of this column appeared in Good Taste Magazine, Dubai in September 2012)

Thing 1:My creativity knows no bounds
Are you going to be doing that all night?’ whines my husband from the sofa. It’s 11pm on a school night, and I’m sitting on the floor surrounded by bits of cardboard, glue, crepe-paper and scissors. I've been here for over three hours and have so far produced: a one-foot-high, red and white striped hat for my seven-year-old ‘Cat in the hat’; a t-shirt with a ‘Diary of a wimpy kid’ design painted onto it, for my nine-year-old Greg Heffley wannabe; a blue wig which has been fashioned from the insides of a scatter cushion dipped in blue paint, and glued to a rubber swimming hat, for ‘Thing One’ aka the five-year-old. 

Yes, it’s Book Day tomorrow, and like any good school event, the real work is done at home - long into the night – by us, the hapless parents. And any plans for an evening spent, glass in hand, sitting in front of ‘Colin and Justin’s Home Heist’ on the Lifestyle channel now lay in tatters alongside the discarded crepe paper and the polyester cushion-stuffing.

Diary of a Wimpy Kid...lame I know...
Prior to this effusion of creativity, I spent thirty minutes painstakingly winding three dozen bendy curlers around the tweenager’s hair, in an effort to recreate Tracy Beaker in the flesh. Cautiously I suggest she considers sticking a sign on her back with the words ‘I’m Tracy Beaker’ – to avoid being confused with bass-guitarist with Queen, Brian May – but am silenced by a scowl. I suppose I should be relieved she settled on a Jacqueline Wilson character; her initial plan to go as the patient with locked-in syndrome from ‘The Diving Bell and the Butterfly’ was not, I felt, something that would be necessarily understood by her peers.

I admire teachers, it’s not a job I would relish, but I’m pretty certain that they come up with these events as revenge on us parents who regularly send our children to school minus their library book/piece of fruit/uniform (it has happened); I can picture them sitting at their desks in their empty classrooms, sniggering maniacally and rubbing their hands together over tepid cups of tea, as they compose those blasted notes for home -

Tomorrow we are celebrating Native American Indians, so parents please ensure your child comes dressed in appropriate costume. And please, costumes must be of the Chickasaw tribe ONLY. And a plate of something traditional from the 1890s for the picnic afterwards would be appreciated!’.

Aladdin, Cat in a Hat, Kratos God of War...
Now other than ensuring the children actually get there most days, I generally struggle to meet the regular demands made by the school. But for some reason Book Day stirs me up a little, and brings out a largely dormant competitive edge. And unlike some parents (you know who you are!) I am not content to merely send them in wearing a Spiderman or princess costume - just because we had them handy in the toy box - whilst weakly protesting that the ‘Spiderman Annual, 2010’ is a real book. For me, Book Day is about celebrating books, and I like to ensure my children dress as characters they love and have actually read about. And yes, in proper books!

Harry Potter grows his hair...
Cat in a Hat crops up most years...
It’s genetic I reckon, this little spark of competitiveness with costumes. Here I am at four-years-old, singing in the chorus of my first school play. It’s a song about a cowgirl that we’re enthusiastically murdering – ‘All the cowboys want to marry Harriet!’ All around me are children dressed in their dads’ old shirts (as the note home requested), with cardboard cut-out cowboy hats atop their heads. In the middle of this is me, decked out in a tailor-made cowgirl outfit, complete with waistcoat, matching skirt, and contrasting neckerchief, topped off with a mini Stetson. My cheeks burn with shame - I stand out like a clown at a funeral – and I can see my mother sitting, poker-straight, in the audience, pride radiating from her face.


It’s midnight, and the costumes are complete, it’s time for bed. I switch off the light and make my way towards the stairs. My daughter appears sleepily at the top - "I just remembered, I need to make a horse's head for assembly tomorrow". Turning around, I switch the light back on and reach for the crepe paper...

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