A short burst of blogging energy that suddenly tails off.

There was a big old traffic jam this evening as I tried to get to a meeting at my son's potential nursery. Apparently a motor home was burning at a roundabout, and the area had to be closed as the vehicle was carrying a gas cylinder. For non-nefarious purposes, such as cooking, I assume. This caused traffic to be diverted here there and everywhere, much of it ending up in my way. Don't they know who I am?!

If they listened to my children in the back of the car, who crow triumphantly "We made it!" during journeys, they might want to reconsider getting in my way. I'm hoping that it's more about passing other vehicles in an imaginary racing game than comment on my skills, although when I missed a gear this afternoon, T announced "Crash!" in delighted tones. No, just a jerk, thankfully! I always apologise to my car when I do that. Which is a bit strange really, now I come to think about it.

Which traffic nonsense meant I entered the room late and everyone noticed, sadly. Start as I mean to go on, eh?

I'm really not sure about T starting nursery, even if it is only five half-days a week. He just seems so little. I didn't have this problem with S; as I recall, I was quite heartless about sending her off. (Although my memory isn't that great at times, maybe I was angst-ridden then too.) So why the difference (assuming there is one)? I guess she was closer to four when she went, while T will only just be three.