The meeting - personally instigated in order to further discuss the recent injuries suffered by Luca - began with a face to face with both the manager and main staff member from Luca's section. Both women were already bright red and nervous even as we sat down, very obviously expecting a hard time. I wasn't going to disappoint.
Knowing how defensive they would likely be, I began by quickly listing Luca's faults and past problems in order to ensure none were used further into the meeting to divert from the main issues. Once covered, I was able to let go.
For the next 20 minutes I angrily remonstrated with them over the lack of care afforded to Luca of late, and how furious I was at having to collect him in such states. They were made aware how unacceptable it was, strongly questioning their techniques from every angle. Although I ensured I never lost control of my anger, a certain proportion of this section was about me blowing off steam.
To be fair they took it well. Susan (the staff member) was rarely able to lift her eyes from her shoes, but Loretta (the manager), although very flustered, kept herself professional and reasonable throughout.
Knowing they legally couldn't discuss the offending child (although Max, the perpetrator, is clearly less child and more demon spawn), I kept the latter part of the meeting concentrated primarily on future plans of actions and corrective procedures. Clearly anticipating this, they outlined a large number of tasks they will now implement, among them:-
Shadowing Max indefinitely
Sectioning rooms clearly
Limiting use of items (such as building blocks) to their specific area
On top of this, they've assured there'll be another meeting with Max's parents. Although predictably uncomfortable discussing the juncture they are presently at with them, Loretta outlined the basic procedures. Following discussions if the improvements aren't met they'll initially sit down and propose that alternative care is provided to him (such as a nanny) before the final step of exclusion. Additionally, they're having a full staff meeting on this issue on 10th May to discuss any further improvements that could be made on their own procedures.
I've also insisted on being kept up to date of any incidents, and will reconvene with a follow up meeting in 3 weeks time (the 17th) to discuss progress.
I just read that back. I sound like an ogre. Oh well.
In all seriousness, I have absolutely no doubt such incidents won't occur again. I think the point was made. Luca enjoys the nursery, I'm just ensuring he continues to do so and never feels anxious or worried about attending.
Is anyone still reading? Sorry, I wasn't sure how much detail I should divulge. Too much I think, as clearly demonstrated by having stretched it into a ten paragraph opus!
How did I find the time to write such a lengthy blog tonight? I'm alone again. I drove Carole and Gail (who I mistakenly called Claire - ooops!) into Westhill tonight for another Hen Night. I know, another one. We have so many weddings to attend this year the whole idea off such ceremonies will have us bored to tears by the time ours come round.
Tonight's Hen Night has an Abba theme, and as such Carole and Gail were attired in particularly dodgy 70's threads when I returned home from work with Luca. This didn't impress him, and he buried his head in my shoulder. I quickly realised he simply didn't recognise his own Mummy in a blond wig and brought him inside as they gossiped outside with a cigarette (I know, filthy habit isn't it?)
"Who's that?" I queried as I pointed to Carole through the kitchen window. "I don't know" he sobbed. "It's Mummy" I advised, and his bobble head raised upward while his brown eyes squinted at the figures through the glass. "No" he said firmly as he grasped my cheeks, "that's not my Mummy"
Thankfully, he'd recognised his Mum by the time we clambered into my car and happily ate a plate of chips - sharing them with Gail - as we sped through the evening sun to the Westhill Hotel.
However, on route home we stopped at the supermarket to pick up some food for my tea. Nothing out of the ordinary there, yet it brought about a first. Luca was clearly weary (it was around 7pm at this point) so I walked through the store with him in my arms. We shortly reached the checkout with our basketful of food, only for the checkout girl to let out an involuntary "awwwww".
Quickly realising it wasn't my masculine charms she was overcome by (even in my heyday circa 1997 that was not a common occurrence) I glanced down at my toddlers face to realise it was lent against my chest with eyes closed in the deepest of sleeps.
Very cute, but by God my arm ached by the time we got back to the car. Imagine carrying a 35lb bag of potatoes under one arm for 20 minutes and you'll get the picture.
Speaking of carrying heavy things, I've been back to the weight gym again. Yes, I am in agony. Yes, my biceps still resemble a knot tied in a piece of thread.
For those of you who frequent gyms, am I alone in noticing the bodybuilding guys (or the "Muscle Marys" as more accurately depicted) don't actually seem to do much exercising? Every time I go in these guys never actually appear to lift anything, seemingly preferring to stand in front of the mirrors just looking at themselves.
Am I missing something obvious? How do they get muscly? Do they exercise at home, then come to the gym just to look at the results in the big mirrors? Or do they stare in the mirrors hard enough to bulk up through willpower alone? Answers on a postcard please.
However, I digress. I have a few final random photo's for you, taken over the last couple of days:-
Luca has become enamoured with the bright flowers on the tree in our front garden. Here he insisted on posing beside it. "I like the flowers. They very pink"
With his milky moustache this photo looks like one of those "drink milk" advertising campaigns from the 70's and 80's.
That's the back of Luca's head. Yes, he's driving the car. Kind of.
We'd unbuckled him from his seat in the back upon entering our cul de sac street, and he bounced into the front and onto my knee to steer us home. "I driving Daddy!" he squeals, "Luca's very good at driving"
**Useless fact of the day - At the age of 12 Louis Crane became the youngest ever university graduate**
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