the Great Frog Incident of Twenty Sixteen
I spot Eldest from across the school car park and beckon to her. The diminutive figure of my eight-year-old precariously picks her bare-footed way along the gravel path towards the car, backpack shouldered and shoes in hand. This is normal because she attends a Montessori institution nestled against a mountain on the property of a wine farm. The children are surrounded by nature and happily for me this means that school pick up involves the collection of wild-haired and dirty children; sometimes bleeding but always grinning from ear to ear. Today, however, she’s carrying a box. And the box has holes poked in the lid.Read More