“Who knows which kid drives the black BMW? Someone’s complained they’ve been speeding.”

 “A kid drives a BMW to school???!”

 “Several do. There are a couple of  kids that drive white BMW’s, but I’m looking for the one that drives a black one.”

 “Oh.”

Suddenly, my ten year old Nissan seems a little bit shabby. Pay rise, please?

There are some days when it’s just not worth getting out of bed.

Today was one of those days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m normally a positive person. But as I was being walloped in the head by a six year old with a stuffed angry bird toy, I was really wishing I was still tucked under the covers, in a darkened room.

How did it all get so crazy?

At 7am, Adrian raced into the bathroom, where I was getting ready for work.

“Get out of the shower, the dogs are gone!”

Panic stations, people!

We own two loveable fur-babies: Charlie, a gorgeous, snuggly Labrador x golden retriever, and Holly, a loving, albeit not-so-bright, boxer.  They have a strong 6ft high solid timber fence. Unless they had grown wings overnight, there was no way they could escape the yard.

Safe to say, they had not grown wings. (Although personally, I think we could have made a lot of money if they had.) Our gate was swinging open; some nutcase had let out scores of neighborhood dogs. It was dog city up and down our local streets. I even noticed a guinea-pig hutch had been open as I drove around, calling out for my fur-babies (And good luck getting those little rodents back when there’s dozens of hungry hounds roaming the streets). Thankfully, it appeared most of the freed pooches were staying close to home.

Not mine though. There were no sightings. Adrian and I both called our workplaces to say we’d be running late. We called the council, the pound, two vets, the animal hospital…

Finally, we got word they’d been found. Our adventuring canine friends had marched through the main street of Buderim, past all of the shops in the village, and onto the BMSS school oval, where they joined a group of people doing a bootcamp session.

I went to work, Adrian went to retrieve the dogs, and all was right with the world again.

Or so I thought.

Come lunchtime, I remembered I’d offered to help with the Teddy Bear Picnic. Now, I should add, I am a high school teacher. To me, kids in year 7 are as cute and small as they get. But hey, how bad can 150 year one and two students be?

I’ve got a black nose and whiskers painted on my face.

I’ve discovered pass-the-parcel is a very political game, and it is bad, very, very bad, if not everyone gets a turn.

I’ve learned an hour in the sun with 150 five and six year olds causes nasty headaches.

And nowhere is safe, even if you’re minding your own business, snacking on a ham-and-cheese sanga cut into the shape of a bear. Because, suddenly, they can turn vicious. Before you know it, a six year old yells out, “Hay lady!” and hurls a stuffed angry bird at your head.

Now I only have two parent meetings to get through, complete with my whiskery-bear face, and then I can go home and curl back up under the doona for the duration of the weekend.

Wish me luck.

Lauren xo