Little Dinosaur sidled up to me this morning, perching herself on my lap and nonchalantly draping an arm around my shoulders. “So, Mama,” she says in a casual voice, “my teacher told me that I don’t have to go to school in uniform today.”

I raise my eyebrows.

She nods. “All the kids will not be in uniform. A friend of mine is coming as a princess! With a big dress. And a crown. We can wear whatever we want.”

“Today?”

“Uh-huh.” She starts looking hopeful.

“And do you have a note from school to say that you don’t have to wear a uniform?”

I’ll give her that much, she thinks quickly on her feet and can already see the trap set for her. Deciding that even false legitimacy is better than none, she says falteringly, “Y-es.”

“Then could I have that note?”

She laughs. “Oh, Mama. I lost it.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I need a note from school. If I can’t see the note, then I can’t do what it says.”

If I’m already having these kinds of conversations with her when she’s six, can you imagine what it’s going to be like in seven years’ time?

(J dropped the kids off at school and confirmed that every single child was in uniform. To be honest, I did have a wavering doubt. I see I’m going to have to do something about that.)