While the potential cost of getting the loft converted continues to escalate into silly amounts of money (though I’m not laughing) my poor son (aged five) is getting heaps of homework from school. He needs to read every day, go on some weird new learning website regularly, write stuff, do maths, etc. Basically, all work and no play makes Jack* a five year old.
When I was five years old I was playing, or watching cartoons, or poking peas up my nose, not sitting studiously and writing loads of stuff.
My wife and I saw his teacher yesterday and she says he’s one of the brighter kids in the class, thankfully. It probably helps a lot at this stage that he’s one of the eldest in the class. My wife’s friend has a son who’s a little bit older than ours, and consequently is in the year above. He’s really struggling – in part because he’s one of the youngest. His mum also says that she’s struggling to help him because she doesn’t understand the homework either.
An Inspector Calls (sorry if you’re sick of it) has now been republished in a larger dyslexia-friendly format. Hopefully the cover for the large print edition will be ready later this week and the book will be released next week.
And then I’ll shut up about An I********* C****. I promise.
Conversation of the week:
Me: Careful – dead bees can still sting.
Son: Can they make honey?
*My son is not actually called Jack