“Look mummy, it looks like a square word,” my eldest shouted at me as I’m bent over trying to disentangle a dog from a bush.
“It looks like a what?” I mutter, distractedly still not looking up.
“This stick. It looks like a square word.”
I stand up and look at the stick and my daughter, brow furrowed, trying to work out what she’s attempting to tell me. And then it dawns. Just a moment too late.
She’s already sticking two fingers up at me as an explanation.
Oh the joys of school and other people’s children.