Homework!!

Thursday was Day Three of Reception.

For most children, Day Three involved learning where the toilets were, remembering which peg was theirs and discovering that glue sticks were not, in fact, lip balm.

For Barry Brand, Day Three involved accidentally triggering a full-scale parental homework emergency.

It began innocently enough.

Mrs Brand was walking home from school with Barry and his best friend Marmaduke, who lived a few doors away. Alfie, aged eight, was walking slightly ahead, because he had already learned that being near Barry during moments of uncertainty was rather like standing next to a recently shake bottle of fizzy drink.

Something was bound to happen.

Barry was swinging his book bag around by its strap.

“Barry,” said Mrs Brand, “please stop doing that before you hit somebody.”

Barry stopped.

For approximately three seconds.

“Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve got homework.”

Mrs Brand slowed down.

“What?”

“Homework.”

“What homework?”

Barry shrugged.

“The homework.”

Mrs Brand looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

Barry looked at the sky.

It was the sort of silence that usually meant someone had just remembered something extremely important approximately three days too late.

“When did you get homework?” asked Mrs Brand.

“Yesterday.”

“And when is it due?”

“Tomorrow.”

Mrs Brand stopped walking.

Alfie, who had been listening from several yards ahead, turned around.

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” said Barry.

Mrs Brand stared at him.

Barry smiled.

It was not a guilty smile.

It was the smile of a small child who had just announced that the house was on fire but was quite pleased with himself for remembering.

“Why,” Mrs Brand asked carefully, “are you only telling me now?”

Barry thought about this.

“Because I remembered.”

“Excellent.”

Mrs Brand took a deep breath.

“What homework?”

Barry shrugged again.

“A booklet.”

“What booklet?”

“The About Me booklet.”

Mrs Brand closed her eyes.

Of course.

An About Me booklet.

Because nothing says welcome to school quite like giving a four-year-old a booklet, expecting them to remember it exists, expecting them to take it home, and then expecting an adult to produce a fully functioning printer, photographer, writer, editor and graphic designer at approximately six o’clock on a Thursday evening.

Mrs Brand looked at Marmaduke.

“Do you have one?”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Where?”

“In my bag.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Mrs Brand opened his bag.

Inside was a water bottle.

A jumper.

A banana.

A sock.

Three pieces of paper covered in what appeared to be green paint.

A small stone.

And approximately seventeen things that could possibly have been glue.

No booklet.

She opened Barry’s bag.

The contents were similar, except Barry also had a stick.

“Where is the booklet?” Mrs Brand asked.

Barry thought hard.

“In school.”

Mrs Brand stared at him.

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Barry looked genuinely puzzled.

“Because that’s where it is.”

Mrs Brand looked at the sky.

There are moments in parenting when you have to decide whether to laugh, cry or quietly walk into a hedge.

This was one of them.

“Right,” she said. “We’re going back.”

“To school?” asked Barry.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To get your homework.”

“Oh.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Good idea.”

And so the entire party turned around and jogged back towards school.

Barry and Marmaduke thought this was hilarious.

Mrs Brand did not.

Alfie, meanwhile, had sensibly stayed at the back.

“I told you I always bring my homework home,” he said.

“Yes, Alfie,” said Mrs Brand.

“I think it’s important to be organised.”

“Yes, Alfie.”

“I’ve got my reading book too.”

“Yes, Alfie.”

“And my spelling book.”

“Yes, Alfie.”

There was a pause.

“Are you cross?”

“No.”

“You sound cross.”

“I am not cross.”

“You look cross.”

“Thank you, Alfie.”

They reached the school.

The doors were locked, because it was now well past home time.

Mrs Brand explained the situation to the receptionist via an intercom on the front gate, who sounded entirely unsurprised.

“Ah yes,” she said. “The About Me booklets.”

Mrs Brand nodded.

“Apparently they’ve been sitting in their trays.”

“Yes.”

“Since yesterday.”

He had learned that if you forget your homework until Thursday evening, Mummy becomes extremely efficient.

“Yes.”

The receptionist smiled.

“Don’t worry. You’re not the first.”

Mrs Brand’s eyebrows rose.

That was not reassuring.

A few minutes later, two booklets appeared.

Barry’s had his name on it.

Marmaduke’s had his name on it.

Everyone returned home.

The emergency was now under control.

Or so Mrs Brand thought.

At home, Mrs Brand made the only sensible decision available to her.

She fed everyone.

A hungry four-year-old is already a challenging creature.

A hungry four-year-old who has just discovered homework is due tomorrow is a public safety concern.

Dinner was served.

Barry ate three mouthfuls.

Marmaduke ate slightly more.

Alfie ate properly, because Alfie believed meals were not an optional activity.

Mrs Brand looked at the clock.

5:42pm.

The booklets were due in approximately fifteen hours.

She opened Barry’s.

The first page said:

ALL ABOUT ME

Barry had to write his name.

Easy.

He wrote:

BARRY

Then he had to write his age.

“How old are you?” asked Mrs Brand.

“Four.”

“Write four.”

Barry wrote something that looked rather like a backwards duck.

“Is that a four?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Next question.

My favourite thing to do is…

Barry immediately said, “Digging.”

“Digging?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you find things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Things.”

Fair enough.

Mrs Brand wrote down his answer very faintly and Barry copied it. 

Then came:

My favourite food is…

“Chocolate.”

“You can’t have chocolate as every answer.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not made of chocolate.”

Barry considered this.

“Can I be?”

“No.”

Marmaduke had reached the same question.

“Pizza,” he announced.

“Good.”

“My favourite animal is…”

“Dinosaur,” said Barry.

“Elephant,” said Marmaduke.

“My favourite colour is…”

“Brown.”

“Why brown?”

“Because mud is brown.”

Naturally.

Then came the section for parents.

Mrs Brand began writing.

Barry watched her.

“What are you writing?”

“Nice things about you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s an About Me project.”

Barry looked suspicious.

“Are you allowed to write lies?”

Mrs Brand paused.

“I’m not writing lies.”

“Can I check?”

“No.”

The booklet asked:

What makes your child special?

Mrs Brand stared at the question.

Barry was special.

That was undeniable.

The difficult part was deciding whether “an alarming willingness to climb things without checking how to get down” was appropriate for a school document.

She settled on something about his curiosity, enthusiasm, kindness and sense of adventure.

This was broadly true.

It was simply missing several important footnotes.

Marmaduke’s booklet was progressing similarly.

Marjory Jackson arrived at about 6:30pm.

She opened the front door and found the Brand family gathered around the kitchen table.

Barry had a pencil behind one ear.

Marmaduke was holding a rubber.

Alfie was reading a book.

Mrs Brand was writing.

Mr Brand was on his laptop.

“What are you all doing?” asked Marjory.

“Homework,” said Mrs Brand.

Marjory looked at the clock.

“Homework?”

“Due tomorrow.”

Marjory looked at Marmaduke.

“You didn’t tell me.”

Marmaduke shrugged.

“I forgot.”

Marjory looked at Mrs Brand.

Mrs Brand looked at Marjory.

Two experienced parents stared at each other with the exhausted recognition of people who had both been ambushed by small children.

“About Me booklet,” said Mrs Brand.

“Oh yes.”

“We need writing.”

“Yes.”

“And photos.”

“Yes.”

“And we’re supposed to show them doing interesting things.”

Marjory nodded.

“At least you have a working printer…”

Those were, as it turned out, Marjory Jackson’s famous last words.

At 7:04pm, Mrs Brand pressed PRINT.

The printer made a noise.

A terrible noise.

It sounded like a washing machine trying to swallow a saucepan.

Nothing happened.

She pressed PRINT again.

The printer flashed.

Then it displayed:

ERROR

Mrs Brand stared at it.

“What does that mean?” asked Barry.

“It means it’s broken.”

“Can we fix it?”

“Probably.”

Mr Brand came over.

He pressed a button.

The printer made another noise.

The screen now said:

PAPER JAM

“There isn’t any paper jam,” said Mrs Brand.

Mr Brand opened the printer.

There was no paper.

He closed it.

The printer now said:

INK ERROR

“What does that mean?” asked Marmaduke.

“It means the printer hates us,” said Mr Brand.

Alfie looked up from his book.

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

Everyone stared at him.

“Very helpful,” said Mrs Brand.

They tried it.

Nothing.

They tried unplugging it.

Nothing.

They tried changing the paper.

Nothing.

They tried threatening it.

Nothing.

Finally, Mrs Brand opened her laptop and searched for somewhere that printed photographs early in the morning.

Tesco.

The plan was simple.

Wake up.

Drive to Tesco.

Print photographs.

Return home.

Stick photographs into booklets.

Go to school.

Easy.

Except they needed to decide which photographs.

Mrs Brand opened her phone.

The first photograph was Barry standing in a pond at Hampstead Heath.

He was wearing shorts.

He was covered in mud.

He looked delighted.

“No,” said Mrs Brand.

“Why?” asked Barry.

“Because you’re supposed to look well-rounded.”

“I am round.”

“Yes, Barry.”

Next photograph.

Barry at the Gladiator Experience.

He was standing next to a very large man in uniform.

Barry looked terrified.

“No.”

“That’s a good one!” said Barry.

“You’re being returned to Daddy by security.”

“Oh.”

Another photograph.

Marmaduke climbing a tree.

Another of him eating ice cream.

Another of both boys covered in sand.

Another of Barry lying face-down in a paddling pool.

Mrs Brand scrolled.

“Do we have anything where they look… normal?”

Marjory laughed.

“No.”

Eventually they found some reasonable pictures.

Barry planting something.

Marmaduke at a museum.

The boys together at a restaurant, doing a cheers.

Alfie wandered past.

“I have a photograph of me reading.”

“No,” said Barry.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s boring.”

“It demonstrates that I read.”

“Exactly.”

Mrs Brand decided that Alfie had made his point.

At 10:15pm, the booklets were nearly complete.

The photographs would have to wait.

Everyone went to bed.

At 6:15am on Friday morning, Mrs Brand was standing outside Tesco with two sleepy four-year-olds.

Marjory had arrived five minutes earlier.

Nobody was entirely sure how she had got there.

Nobody cared.

They were all too tired.

The photographs were printed. Success! Marjory disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

At 8:23am, the boys were sitting in school reception.

Glue sticks were everywhere.

“That’s me.”

“Yes.”

Marmaduke pointed.

“That’s me.”

“Yes.”

Barry picked up a photograph.

“That’s Marmaduke.”

“Yes.”

Marmaduke picked up another.

“That’s Barry.”

“Yes.”

Mrs Brand took a sip of coffee from a travel mug.

“Excellent. We’re making progress.”

Then she noticed Barry had stuck a photograph of Marmaduke into his own booklet.

“Marmaduke!”

Barry froze.

“What?”

“That’s Marmaduke.”

“Yes.”

“This is your booklet.”

“Yes.”

“So why have you put Marmaduke in it?”

Barry shrugged.

“Because he’s my best friend.”

Mrs Brand paused.

“Well…”

That was actually quite sweet.

Then she noticed Marmaduke had put a photograph of Barry into his own booklet.

One photograph remained in the wrong booklet.

Nobody noticed.

Mrs Brand applied the final emergency blob of glue.

Barry was trying to peel one photograph off his jumper.

Marmaduke had glue on his nose.

Alfie had strolled into school early, looking fresh, organised and annoyingly well prepared.

The school bell rang.

Barry and Marmaduke stood up.

Mrs Brand looked at the booklets.

They were complete.

The writing was done.

The parent sections were done.

The photographs were in.

Mostly.

The glue was drying.

Mostly.

Barry’s photograph of him planting seeds was actually in Marmaduke’s booklet.

Marmaduke’s photograph at the museum was in Barry’s.

And one photograph of Barry in the pond at Hampstead Heath had somehow survived the selection process and was sitting proudly on page two.

Mrs Brand stared at it.

She decided it showed character.

“Ready?” she asked.

Barry nodded.

Marmaduke nodded.

They marched into Reception Class.

Mrs Brand watched them disappear.

Then her phone buzzed.

An email from school.

Reminder: Please bring PE kits on Monday. (It didn’t specify which Year group needed the PE kit!)

Mrs Brand stared at the screen.

She slowly looked towards the classroom.

Barry was already sitting on the carpet.

Marmaduke was beside him.

Mrs Brand took a deep breath.

“Not today,” she whispered.

Then she smiled.

Because, despite the forgotten homework, the broken printer, the early-morning Tesco expedition, the glue, the photographs of the wrong children and one muddy pond-related incident, Barry and Marmaduke had made it.

Their first proper school project was complete.

The take-home message: Always take your homework home.

Unfortunately, he had not learned this from the experience.

Which, as Barry later explained to Marmaduke, was probably much more useful.