On Saturday, Miss M and I attended another working bee at her school. Although a large part of me thinks “I don’t want to go to the damn working bee”, another part of me loves the digging, wheelbarrowing, and various other demented things you get to do at a working bee. Also, I can’t help feeling proud as my pink cheeked child works industriously out in the fresh air. Plus this week there was cake!

As I was chatting to one of the other parents over a piece of the aforementioned cake, it suddenly dawned on me I couldn’t see Miss M anywhere. I knew she’d been demolishing sandwiches moments beforehand, but she’d totally disappeared. I tamped down the terror rising in my chest and asked a few people if they’d seen her. After the chorus of “no’s”, I hop, stepped and jumped into full blown panic. An announcement went out over the PA for her to come to the staffroom door, but still nothing.

I started to wonder what the hell I should do. What’s the protocol when your child goes missing from their own school, surrounded by people who know them? Do you call 000, the local police … and what do you tell the other parent? I was quite proud of myself because I’d managed not to burst into tears (something I’m not in control of most of the time), but I was almost unable to speak to anyone properly because my throat had closed over with a freaky lump of hideous emotion.

Finally, I walked through the gate to the neighbourhood house next door to the school. I could see some small children in the playground, and as I got closer, I saw Miss M climbing up a slide meant for toddlers. The freaky lump of emotion was suddenly replaced with murderous rage, but I managed to keep my temper in check as I walked over to the safety fence. I calmly told her that I’d thought she’d been stolen or kidnapped, and next time she was going to go somewhere out of my sight, she needed to tell me. Just in case she didn’t get it, I also mentioned I’d been extremely upset. Then I put my sunglasses back on and wept a few quiet tears of relief.

This incident brought back many memories of my parents at various stages of my life being furious at me for disappearing without telling them where I’d gone. From six to sixteen, I think these were the only times they got really, really angry with me. Boy, did I get an insight into why. I suppose this perspective can only change with time. When you’re young, this kind of thing seems like no big deal - and why would it?

Afterwards, I expended my energy by digging huge wheelbarrows full of wonderful loamy soil until my brother rang from outside our house where he was waiting to take us to inspect yet another property. Which was good.

Today I’m loving: Michael, who dug beside me and probably did way more work than I did. And he’s only seven.