End of an era

Today marks a historic moment: my youngest has officially left education, and with that… I’m handing in my resignation as Mum Taxi (and also for my Mum as Grandma taxi).

That’s right—after 21.5 years of early mornings, questionable car snacks, and rush-hour traffic, we are finally off duty.

To put it into perspective:

• We've clocked 8600 school runs, which is basically the equivalent of driving a fifth of the way to the moon—with a boot full of forgotten lunchboxes and musical instruments.

• That’s 45,800 miles of backseat bickering and suspicious smells.

• I’ve prepared 25,800 packed lunches and fruit snacks, and frankly, I deserve a Michelin star (or at least a break from ever seeing a ham sandwich again).

• I've washed 2580 sets of PE kits—most of them discovered in the bottom of bags the night before.

• I've endured 129 parents' evenings, nodding politely while teachers sugar-coated chaos.

• I estimate there have been 63 Book Days. That’s 63 times I’ve frantically turned cardboard into Hogwarts, a mop into a lion’s mane, and a tea towel into Narnia. I've lost count on how many perfectly good bedsheets I sacrificed so the kids could march into school looking like The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

• And don't even get me started on the 48 sets of school uniforms, all of which mysteriously disappeared by half term.

It’s been a ride—literally. To all the parents (and grandparents) still in the trenches: may your coffee be strong, your car crumbs be few, and your PE kits be washed on time.