I would love to waken up on a school day without the feeling of dread. This morning it was justified. I come downstairs to my youngest son screaming at me. He wasn’t going to school unless I found his ‘right’ school shirt. What the fuck is a right school shirt I wonder. I go downstairs & find what I hope is his ‘right’ school shirt. Hidden in a sea of ironed shirts it had been crushed & looked a mess. How did I know it was the ‘right’ one? It had a pen mark on the right cuff. I re-ironed it & brought it upstairs. He smirked as he called me a good dog. If any one else called me that I would be seriously pissed. Him trying to get a rise out of me on a Monday morning is always going to fail. I answered him back with a ‘I know your shirt is mega important to you sweetie’. Conversation over & he’s gone. We didn’t exchange another word before his friends came to get him. How the fuck he manages to keep friends is beyond me. He’s a know it all with a seriously bad attitude. It may only be 8am but I’m about ready to go back to bed.