There are horror stories and then there is the end of term party.
In essence a brilliant idea. The children can run around in the playground with all their mates. The parents bring along some food and everyone shares.
This coming a few weeks after the sleep-in means that there has been an enormous amount of bonding. I missed the sleep-in because I was too tired. No really.
The sleep-in came just after Roland Garros and besides I didn't want to get too up close and personal with people I only see in the mornings and evenings.
Perhaps I was being too British then. But I can loosen up for an end of term thang.
The girls got manically excited. Nigh on maniacal. But that's understandable. There's only one week to go before the end of term.
And since the whole end of term bash was due to wind down at 9.30pm. The teacher of the eldest told the class that school was optional on Saturday.
The teacher of the middle child told them she wasn't going to be there.
The misrule has kicked in.
Now given the chance to sleep in on Saturday, the eldest has decided that she wants to go to school. I have told her I'm exercising my option.
However in the interests of intra mural equity, I've said if she gets up, has her shower and feeds herself (the Muesli has been laid out), then she can wake me up five minutes before and I'll take her to school.
But here I am in the middle of the night paying the price of the early evening when they all run round on crisps and fizzy drinks.
The boy entered into the spirit. He charged off to a stand and came back mid way through a cup of an orange substance.
He went to bed relatively easily but rose at 3.30am to implement his pre motion motions.
This entailed walking around the flat, going from cot to bed to sofa. It ended up with him on all fours under the kitchen table making sounds like something from a tennis court at Roland Garros.
I almost expected a clenched fist at the end.
But when he tried to get back into bed, his mother summarily rejected him. Cue pappy with the nappy.
Well they're all sleeping and I am well and truly awake. Not even BBC World Service could get me back to my slumbers.
But am listening to Miles Davis's Bag's Groove and am feeling chilled.
I ought to try and get some sleep. Knowing my luck just as I drop off there'll be a tap on my shoulder and an expectant look.
You can't deny a child her education can you?