Last night I had a dream.
It wasn't a dream about the end of racial inequality and all people being treated as equals.
Instead it was a dream in which I was in the headmaster's office (which I've never seen) having some sort of Parents' Evening type chat (which is not what happens at LittleBear's school). As we approached the end of a perfectly amicable chat, the headmaster produced a scrap of paper, on which he'd jotted a few notes down. They were quotes from this blog that he wished to ask me a few questions about, so that he could clarify a few things.
That's right. I got carpeted by my son's headmaster over what I've been writing here.
I'm pretty certain I say nice things about the school. I think it's an awesome and lovely school, with delightful teachers and a really nurturing environment. And LittleBear loves it. So I have absolutely no idea why I'm worried about being told off by the headmaster. Well, obviously, I have a deep-seated fear of doing something wrong and being told off for it, which taints my every choice and action in life. And that deep-seated fear tends to mean I assume that I am going to get told off, no matter whether I've done anything wrong. And it means that inside I perpetually feel a little bit like a six year old child who's used pen to do her maths schoolwork when the rules state that we have to use pencils (true story). I'm just waiting to be told off.
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