Racing into adulthood

While his parents scrimp and save in the unlikely event of him going to university, it seems he has other designs on the cash.

If he had his way, we would be using it to buy a stock car as my little speed demon wants to be a racing car driver.

It should come as no surprise, as we can’t walk into any shop without purchasing yet another Matchbox car and, despite his array of toys, his favourite game remains pushing any vehicle that comes to hand around our lounge carpet.

He proudly announced his intention to become the next Lewis Hamilton to the next door neighbour the other day.

She was taking the bins out – much to his alarm, as clearly he had never seen his own mother undertake the task.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just taking the bins out,” she replied. “You’ll do it when you’re grown up.”

“I won’t,”he said indignantly, “I’m going to be a racing car driver.”

Clearly, he will have staff to carry out such mundane tasks.

Once back inside, Ben posed another question.

“Mummy, what are you going to be when you grow up?”

I wasn’t entirely sure how to take this, as clearly I wasn’t excelling in my current role of motherhood.

I pondered about enlightening him about my professional life, how I had worked hard to get were I was and how it had been put on hold so I could attend his every whim, but in the end I went for “astronaut”.

Nodding his approval, Ben proceeded to his car box to select who would be contesting the first of many races that day.

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