The offspring are safely back at University and I am back at school. As I prepare my Year 11s and Year 13s for their exams, I think about my own children cramming.
During exam periods I used to try to provide some small treat for our children to look forward to – chocolate biscuits when they got in. Watching telly in front of the fire at the end of the evening.
But now, long distance, I can’t create a sanctuary any more.
Even if I posted chocolate biscuits, and even if they survived the journey, the welcome would be a tad tepid.
“Don’t you know they’re bad for you, Mum?”
At least we can use texts and WhatsApp to jolly one another along. True, it is banter rather than a deep sharing of empathy. But at least it’s communication.
Although, it can go wrong.
Last night, Perran and I had each been out with friends for a curry and, I suspect, a drink, and we were comparing notes by text. I asked him how his thali had been.
“What on earth do you mean, Mum?”
I checked my text. Autocorrect had changed it to “thalidomide”.
Come to think of it, Autocorrect is clearly ignorant of curries, as over Easter I accidentally asked Nigel to order an “organ josh” for me.
“I thought you were vegetarian, Clare!”
Even in spite of the biscuit deficiency, I hope their Mum’s silly mistakes keep the kids grinning through their revision.