You may not be the perfect parent but so long as you look after the little things, the great apes will look after themselves 

I am sorting my children’s sports bags for the return to school after half-term.

Tying knots in the end of frayed laces to stop the spread. Ironing little PE tops, knowing they’ll be in a sweaty knot at the bottom of the bag in a few days’ time. Pairing white socks, expecting them to come home muddy brown.

I’ve made a deal with my three. No new school shoes until after the summer holidays when their feet will be twice the size. Until then we’ll polish, glue and scrunch our toes until the end of term.

I heard the 911 phone call of a delinquent mother, screaming because her son has somehow fallen into a gorilla enclosure at Cincinnati Zoo, and now she needs someone else to care, because she didn’t

It’s not just the cost, or the fact I loathe the surly shoe-pushers at Clarks. (Especially the woman with the headset or the ticket that makes me feel like I am at a meat counter)

It’s that I want them to learn that we have to value the things we work hard to afford.

They know they don’t leave swim club until they have thanked the teacher properly. They pay for their own lost uniform. And if they don’t put a party invite on the family calendar or cookery ingredients on the list, it isn’t happening.

Some days I hear myself nagging away and wonder if I am quite mad.

Why not make life easy? Buy the shoes. Scrabble in their school bags like a detective looking for clues for what they might need in their lives.

Do I always need to stay true to my core belief that as long as we have health, happiness and each other, everything else matters less?

Maybe I shouldn’t sweat the small stuff.

And then I listen to my kitchen radio.

A man and a woman arrested on suspicion of the murder of a two-year-old in their care. 

A Japanese seven-year-old boy whom his parents abandoned in bear-infested woods to ‘teach him a lesson’ rescued dehydrated, exhausted and distraught.

The 911 phone call of a delinquent mother, screaming because her son has somehow fallen into a gorilla enclosure, and now she needs someone else to care, because she didn’t.

A Japanese seven-year-old boy whom his parents abandoned in bear-infested woods to ‘teach him a lesson’ rescued dehydrated, exhausted and distraught

Then there’s my Twitter feed, full of outrage because I suggested the great ape Harambe would have been more valuable to the greater gene pool than the offspring of two feckless parents.

And instead of questioning my own efforts over the little things, I am suddenly struck by the utter lunacy of other parents.

I can say with some certainty; my kids would not have fallen into a gorilla pit.

And they might be sent to their room, but they will never be sent out into the woods alone.

And they will never suffer because of something I failed to do.

Believe me, I know I am far from a perfect parent. There are plenty of those sorts about without me breastfeeding almond milk in Waitrose as well.

Trying to reason with little Theodora when she is clearly a spoiled brat. Being dictated to by a five-year-old over what they will and won’t eat.

Buying phones for their kids because they were unable to say no to a ten year old. (You are supposed to be a parent, not a friend with funds)

Telling me their child’s dietary requirements when I have invited them for tea. (Breaking news: we don’t do fussy at my house. You’d probably best stay home.)

As a mother, I am deeply flawed. I’ve been reported to social services by a stranger concerned about the ferocity of my life online.

My Twitter feed is full of outrage because I suggested the great ape Harambe would have been more valuable to the greater gene pool than the offspring of two feckless parents

I’ve missed parents evenings and sports days because of work, sending my own parents in my place.

And I have singularly failed to teach my children we are all equal, because we are not.

I’ve banned any more school trips to the mosque because I don’t buy into multiculturalism.

But these flaws of mine are a world apart from being so negligent as to expect the emergency services to pick up the pieces for my catastrophic failings.

So desperate for the attention of men you let your boyfriend pull your baby’s fingernails out with pliers for entertainment.

(Because you are a monster and your Baby, Baby P, fell into your lethal enclosure.)

So evil, you went to teach your kid a lesson when she cried. Stamping down on your baby so hard, emergency responders described her injuries as similar to those resulting from a car crash.

So perversely caught up in a culture which values compliance above all else that you taught your little son a lesson in obedience by abandoning him in a place of monsters and shadows.

These are not the lessons children need to learn. Some parents make terrible teachers.

You know, I still believe in the big ideas of life.

Baby P: The parents went to teach their kid a lesson when she cried. Stamping down on their baby so hard, emergency responders described her injuries as similar to those resulting from a car crash

That when your husband walks out on you and your two tiny children, your parents will remind you that we all still have each other.

That you can find the fun in the insults of strangers because they don’t know you like your five friends who matter.

That even when your luck seems to have run out and your life hangs in the balance, you can still find comfort in knowing the life of your children matters infinitely more.

But underneath all these thumping big beliefs, is a quieter thought.

As I get the Kiwi boot polish out and plead with my children’s shoes to hang in there, it’s the little moments of mothering that matter.

The clothes peg that keeps their cereals fresh, or putting their baby toys in the middle of their pillow each morning, to be tossed to the floor each night.

Making them eat three more bits of chicken before they have their pudding. Or a banana before they watch TV.

These monsters harming their own children, allowing harm to be put in their way - they are the stuff fear is made of. Dark. Malevolent. Terrifying.

But for most of us packing our kids’ school bags for Monday there is comfort in the small stuff. Protecting your child, one hand-made ham sandwich at a time.

I want my children to know the big things in life are what matter: health, happiness and each other.

But as for me, I’ve come to see that real mothering is in the minutiae.