Tough Love. It's a hard act to follow

This morning, the school run. Oh, how I love to drop my little 'cherub' off to school every morning at 8.45 am prompt. But not today. No. The said little 'cherub' decides he does not want to get out of bed today. Certainly not to go to school. Not now that Christmas is coming. Never mind missing out on his acting debut for his class nativity play, he is far too tired to attend school today.

The remonstrations begin. And despite knowing what I ought not to do, I go ahead and do it anyway. The idle threats, the bribery until finally....

"If you don't get down here now young man, Christmas will be cancelled!"

Of course, it does the trick (for now), and slowly but surely, down the stairs trundles my beloved little man, complete with tatty bear, mis-matched pyjamas and seriously bad bed hair. But that's not the end of it by any means, because then I have to brace myself for round two of this battle- to get some decent breakfast down him. His choice? Chocolate from the advent calender and a strawberry flavoured jelly vitamin. Not the ideal start to the day.

Time is ticking....my eldest has already left for school, and my young little 'cherub' appears to be avoiding me. Stupidly, I presume he is getting himself dressed, and at 8.25 am, I am standing by the front door, coat in hand waiting to leave. 'Where are you?' I ask. No response. 'Come on, we are going to be late'. Again, no response. 'Do I have to come up there and get you? Are you choosing a toy to take to school? What are you doing?'.

And slowly but surely, I hear the shuffle of stroppy(!) feet, as my beloved little man trundles down the stairs complete with tatty bear, mis-matched pyjama's and seriously bad bed hair.

My reaction -Not good. My son's reaction -Guilt trip.

At 8.50 am I am in my son's classroom, helping him to get ready for his acting debut. He's on a go-slow, and if I leave it to him, he won't be ready until lunchtime. He shows me where he has found the gloves that went missing weeks ago. 'That's good', I say,  ' But can we please get on with the task in hand?'.

'The what?' he says.

Minutes later, its done. He's ready. Costume assembled and intact. I stand back to admire my handy work. He makes a remarkably handsome looking sheep.

He heads for the mat, where the children sit when they are ready. I sigh, and in doing so, take the first deep breath I have been able to manage since those dreaded words 'Time to get up boys'. I feel surprisingly calm for a moment, and for a second or two, I pause to reflect.... I have won the battle. I have managed to mobilise the little 'cherub'. Success against a six year old.

And as I attempt to leave the classroom, secretly pleased with my triumph, I note the teacher making her way towards me. She speaks quietly but confidently just two little words. Two words that have haunted me since my very first parent teacher consultation, when I was kindly but firmly advised that I needed to use more of it.

'Tough Love Mrs S', she says. 'Tough Love'.