Now that I'm pretty much happily ensconced in my new two bedroom flat, it would be nice to get the social services off my case (I only ever wanted them with help with housing after all and that didn't work..)
Anyway, I hope I haven't landed myself deeper in their books by being honest about the week my son's had.
Briefly, I'll try and be brief...
Yesterday he came home saying that three of his best friends "kicked" him "in the willy". It was at playtime and his friends only stopped laughing at him writhing in pain on the ground when two year six's came over and told them to stop.
His friends apologised after that, my son told me and I asked him what he'd said to that.
"I wanted to forget about it mummy, so I said 'it's alright'."
"That's good, but next time, if there is a next time, there will not be a next time, say "It's alright. DON'T DO IT AGAIN. Next time, if there is a next time, there will not be a next time, tell a teacher, tell
(Housing Association rang the door bell at this point, an hour early so I saved the draft to carry on with it. Sorry, it might have been one of the more interesting posts for some of the mummy bloggers who sometimes read this but I've got to go outside and rage.
"I'm doing the best I can for my son," is what I tried to say to the social worker in my defence. My defence.. fuck
The word that was going to follow "tell" was "me"
Games that get out of hand, I told the social worker, games that get out of hand, that's all
RRRRRRRRRRAAAAARGH
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