|Money cannot buy the boy's happiness here|
(but a manky soft toy can)
I am no stranger to this kind of thing, having had three children go through infant school already, so you may think that I was prepared, but no.
In fact, I'm a little fed up of the whole class bear scenario. There seems to be more work for me than the boy. Taking photos, printing them (oh, that's another thing, the printer has run out of ink so Elvis's visit has so far cost me £42 in new ink cartridges - £42!! You can only assume that they make them out of actual rainbows or something), finding fun things for DS3 to do with Elvis etc. The pressure is immense.
In addition to that as I have twins, I have not one but two visits to plan, because this was DS3's turn and DD2 will have her turn another weekend. You can imagine how that has gone down with her - she has been incandescent with rage - she was not allowed to play with or touch Elvis as her twin wouldn't let her. I felt rather like a peacekeeper for the United Nations for most of Elvis's visit. I know that as a parent of twins it is up to me to manage this but still, someone might have warned me first.
DD1 exclaimed "get that thing away from me, it's probably got fleas" as soon as she saw it. DH gave a withering look. As you can tell the whole family had nothing but contempt for this godforsaken object.
And all I wanted to do was...
GIVE IT A REALLY LONG HOT WASH
so that I could properly sanitise it. It is most likely the culprit for the spread of about 80% of the recent bugs and viruses in that class. The only thing that stopped me was that if I did and it fell apart in my washing machine, I would crush the spirits of 31 small children. Bollocks.
And so, instead I decided to vent my frustrations on Elvis himself.
I am sure there are many parents of primary school aged children who feel or have felt this way in the past.
So, this is for you, the mums (and dads) who do the majority of the work while your children have all the fun.
What really happened when the class mascot came to stay...
It was all going so well at the start. Elvis appeared to be the perfect house guest.
He and DS3 played together.
|Just look at the love in the boy's eyes here|
They slept together (which reminds me, I must strip and wash his bed today).
And then I decided that Elvis has had his fair share of visits to birthday parties, bedtime stories and many many trips to Aldi over the course of the last half term and so he might like to go and watch Manchester City play at the Etihad on Saturday. He couldn't go and see United as they were playing away this weekend and tbh Elvis is more of a blue than a red...
|Elvis joins the crowds outside the stadium on Saturday|
I then thought that with all the Chicken Dippers and Spaghetti Hoops he'd been fed at other people's houses (of which there was plenty of evidence in his diary) he'd probably welcome a change and so I sent him to one of the best restaurants in town.
|More dippers or a 10 course tasting menu at Rogan's gaff? I know which I'd prefer|
And later, on to check out some of the nightlife in the city centre too...
That was where things started to go downhill (I knew he'd be trouble, ask any parent who has had to host a class toy over the weekend and I'm sure they'll tell you the same).
|Actually, I have no words...|
After that there was no stopping him. Not only did he gamble away DS3's pocket money...
But when he rolled home to our house in the small hours, he proceeded to drink all my gin...
|Yeh, I know, cheap gin but we're still recovering from Christmas...|
The following day, when DS3 wanted to play, Elvis was looking decidedly worse for wear.
|Again, the boy and the look on his face!|
I was rather glad when Monday morning came round and Elvis finally left the building.
No toys were harmed during the writing of this blog post. Oh, but Mrs H if you are reading this then can Elvis have a wash before he comes back to ours next time? If not then next time I'll have to take matters into my own hands, and should the pupils get washed off his eyeballs during the 90 degree hot cycle then my husband says he will draw in some slightly horrifying versions in their place. You have been warned.