The cat's farts

I am finding this whole school malarkey quite hard.  Betty (and Dolly) having chicken pox was really horrible, but despite her ailing, I was secretly thrilled about having her at home with me for a week, and not having our time together taken away by her education.  

When Betty was better I had that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, and desperately didn't want her to go back.  It sort of felt like the end of a holiday, but instead of happy frolics and the smell of sun-cream, we had had grumpiness and the smell of calamine.  It was a week I still cherished though.

Betty went back to school.  In the morning she protested a little about going on the school bus, and said that she didn't like the bus any more.  This really upset me.  I wondered why she no longer liked the bus, and I worried about it on and off all day.

The whole school went on a trip to the theatre.  Betty sat next to a girl who she said tickled her all the way back.  She said she asked the girl to stop but the girl didn't stop, and that it wasn't 'gentle tickling'. 'I just wanted to chill out on the coach,' Betty informed me.   This really upset me.  How dare an older girl tickle my daughter against her will?

Both my husband and my mum told me to get a grip.  

And after not seeing Betty all day (they didn't get back from the theatre until 5.30pm), I desperately wanted to chat with her and find out about her day.  'I just want to play on granny's iPad now mummy' Betty told me.  A disgruntled two year old Dolly, who was busy looking on eBay at mens' shoes at the time, handed the iPad over with a deep sigh.

The only information I managed to extract from Betty before she went to bed (apart from the whole barbaric tickling incident) was this:

'The cat in the theatre did loads of farts, and do you know mummy, cats fart much louder than me, and you, and daddy, and Dolly and granny...'