Mum Overboard

Not all super heroes wear their knickers over their tights, gloat about x-ray vision, parade their web-shooting powers in public. Not all super heroes flex their guns, frolic about on city roof tops, iron their capes to make sure they flutter 'just so'. The super-est of all heroes can serve up breakfast whilst getting a two year old dressed, magic away tears and the monster under the bed, shape-shift between doctor, teacher and Sergeant Major . The super-est of all heroes is easy to spot; you'll find her waiting at the school gate.  She needn't flash her pants to draw attention to herself. "Honour her for all that her hands have done,      and let her works bring her praise at the city gate." Proverbs 31

I'm quite organised really.  In fact, scrap that, I'm as organised as a Filofax in its heyday.  On my long, long maternity leave (the era I will refer to as pre-Elias) I sorted everything from my teaching folders to my jewellery box; even Zane's socks found themselves in neat pairs. After about three weeks of determined sorting, I was ready; it was officially time for baby Duxbury to make a grand entrance. I borrowed a birthing ball to help him along...and we went for a curry...two curries...and I committed to stair climbing and long walks. In the end we drove to far away places like Horsey and Fakenham daring my little squatter to pack up and leave.  Needless to say, baby Duxbury was reluctant to fit to my schedule; he would not be sorted.  This, in the world of a woman who lives her life in accordance with a school bell, spelt disaster.  I realised God had a lesson for me to learn pre-Elias. It's confession time friends: I'm a dirty, dirty control freak. I w