Tween is Y6 and is being subjected to SATs (Stuffitupyour Arse Tests) next week. But after that, the class will go on a five-day residential to what looks like a glorious 4 * hotel in the middle of Devon. The hotel has a pool and wonderful grounds, and they only share two to a room (not the normal 34 squeezed into ranks of bunks, dorm-stylee).
How do I know about the hotel? Because the school organised a meeting for parents about it. But here's the thing: I almost didn't go, because as Teen had done the same trip two years before, I thought I knew all about it.
It was only when I sat in the meeting, I realised I knew nothing. That I'd missed Teen's meeting. That I hadn't known anything about where he was going. That I hadn't really cared.
Because he went two years ago, when the unhappiness of my marriage was tightening round my neck.
At the time, I thought I was functioning pretty well. That I was holding things together, getting kids to school on time, filling in paperwork -I was on it. I knew that I was struggling internally, that things were coming to a head, and that I couldn't seem to concentrate properly on the smallest thing, but I thought that I was still a caring mother, and that my boys were coming first.
They weren't. I don't suffer from depression, but I guess this is the closest I've ever got. With the clarity of hindsight, I can see that a sort of madness had taken over; a new logical order (that was never really logical). The priority for me was to find a way to make my own life liveable again. I became very selfish. And shamefully, my own children took a back seat.
I was shocked when I realised all this, in a lightbulb moment, the other day. Ashamed that I can't remember the Teen doing his SATs tests at all. Hopeful that I was sympathetic and encouraging. Teen did extraordinarily well in the tests, but now I'm wondering - was that despite me, rather than with my help?
And this train of thought led me on to my own experiences as the child of a broken marriage. My parents split up when I was 14 and, although I always felt loved by them both, the sense of direction that they had given me up to that point immediately vanished. They were taken up with trying to make a success of their own lives, and I was left to find my own way in the world.
It's taken me two years to work this out (I don't have a therapist but boy, if our cat could talk...) and I feel that I'm almost back on track to being a proper parent again. Priorities have changed; finding a man to lavish me with pretty things (and buy me a plane) will have to take a back seat - for now. I was offered more hours at work recently and, although I could really do with the money, I think it's right that I should work shorter days so I'm there for the boys at the end of the day.
I feel I've wasted that precious time with them. I won't make the same mistake again.