The mum guilt hit me like a physical blow yesterday morning at 5:00 AM.

My daughter was standing by my bed, her face a mask of silent, crumbling disappointment. "Mum, Jasmine hasn’t been."

Jasmine is the Tooth Fairy. Two teeth had fallen out just before bed the night before, but I was so bone deep exhausted from a gruelling day at school that I’d simply crashed. I had let the magic slip right through my fingers.

"Don't be silly," I whispered, keeping my voice steady while my brain was screaming: Fix this. Fix this now.

I scrambled. I improvised. I found a gold envelope and scribbled a frantic note, hiding it on her window ledge, right where she’d be sure to find it. I sat there in my pjs on her bedroom floor, heart hammering, as she found it and read it out loud:

"I’m sorry I didn’t take your teeth! I tried to get into your room last night, but Wilson the cat chased me. He is so scary that I had to run away and hide. I'll be back tonight for both of them!"

The reaction was instant. She didn't just smile; she started doing those tiny, rapid little jumps she only does when the joy is too big for her body to hold. She was vibrating with the relief that the world was still magical. "Mum, she didn't forget! Wilson chased her!"

I sat on that carpet and just watched her. I realised in that moment how lucky I am. Her world was only "broken" because a fairy was late for her two teeth. But I also knew, with a heavy sort of clarity, that she’s in Year 6. This is the end of the magic. These are the final, fleeting moments of that innocent belief.

A few hours later, the magic was gone. I walked out for break duty and noticed a Year 7 girl sat on the floor.

I walked toward her with my usual "Good morning," but the silence that met me was heavy. I knelt down in the fresh air, getting right down on the concrete and I saw the first tear hit her blazer.

"I’m sorry, Miss," she whispered, her voice a fragile, broken thread. "I’m just so sad. I'm just so, so sad."

The Power of the "Good Morning"

We often underestimate the weight of a greeting. For many of our students, the "Good morning" they hear at the school gate might be the first time since they woke up that another human has acknowledged their existence.

A real, eye-to-eye "Good morning" isn't a formality; it is a validation. It signals to the child that they have been noticed and that they matter. When we pair that with a genuine smile, we are triggering a biological response. A smile is contagious. It is the simplest tool we have to speak joy.

The 180-Second Bridge to Achievement

I gave this girl three minutes on that concrete. For those 180 seconds, nothing else existed.

In school we talk about "academic progress," but we must not forget that emotional safety is the bridge that leads there. A child whose mind is consumed by sadness or a sense of being invisible cannot solve an equation or analyse a poem. Their cognitive energy is entirely spent on just staying upright.

In those three minutes, as I knelt there and she began to borrow my nervous system, we were doing the most important "lesson prep" of her day. As her breathing deepened and her heart rate settled, her brain was shifting out of "survival mode" and back into "learning mode." By tethering herself to my calm, she found the footing she needed to stand up.

When a child walks into a lesson feeling seen and valued, they walk in with a brain that is open to instruction. Those three minutes of kindness weren't a distraction from the work; they were the catalyst for it.

Kindness as a Core Value

This is the "Gold Envelope" for the children who don’t have magic at home. Some arrive feeling anchored they’ve had the gold note and the love they need. But many live in relational poverty. They arrive feeling erased.

By showing kindness on the concrete, we are putting our values into action. We are proving that Kindness is a rigorous professional standard. It’s the act of professional love that says: I see you, I hear you, and I will hold this weight with you until you are strong enough to carry it.

Checking the Practice:

Did my "Good mornings" today carry eye contact and a genuine smile, or were they just part of the background noise?

What was the last 'Gold Envelope' moment I created for a child who doesn't have that magic at home?

Mission 700: Magic in the Manic

As part of my mission to connect with all 700 of our students, I am constantly looking for these pockets of time in between the manic rush of school leadership.

There is a key part of this work that is very important: We don’t remove children to offices or pull them out of lessons to do this work.

The learning is the aim. Always. The best gift we can give young people is the education that allows them to dream big. Our kindness and professional love aren't soft options; they are the fuel that helps them reach those dreams.

While you are on duty today, think about how many real smiles you can deliver. In just 180 seconds, you can achieve so much. You can listen, you can offer a steady nervous system, you can provide an opportunity to practice responsibility, and most importantly you can give a child the permission to dream big again.

We are the keepers of the Gold Envelopes. Whether it’s a letter on a window ledge at or a 3-minute conversation, the mission is the same.

Prove to them they haven't been forgotten.

I’ve just spent two incredible days at Carlyon Bay, immersed in the vibrant world of Holywell Bay Surf Life Saving Club. My role was simple: to coach and champion a remarkable group of 10 and 11 year-old girls.

Their days unfolded in a ceaseless rhythm between water and land, sprinting across sun-baked sand, diving into the cool embrace of the sea and expertly navigating waves. Their faces, kissed by the sun, bore the visible marks of effort; sand adhered stubbornly to every crevice, salt-crusted hair framed bright, eager eyes, and bellies fluttered with a nervous anticipation before each race. My own daughter was among them, which amplified every moment for me personally.

This weekend amidst the spirited chaos, I observed a mastery most adults rarely attain: the innate capacity to utter, “You did amazing,” to the one who crossed the line last; to embrace a friend and whisper, “I’m so proud of you,” and to cheer for others with a fervor that eclipsed their own aspirations. This wasn’t learned behaviour; it was an instinctive, radiant expression of selflessness.

Surf Life Saving is forging superhumans: spirits fortified by empathy, kindness that burns with a fierce intensity, and loyalty that remains unyielding, an anchor in the shifting currents of competition.

Resilience Forged in Salt and Sting

One of the swims proved particularly challenging, with many girls emerging with the tell-tale stories of jellyfish stings across their arms, legs, and necks. They were visibly shaken, raw, and tinged with fear.

A commentator’s voice, amplified across the beach, warned: “Be careful out there, we’ve had a few jellyfish stings today.” A tangible ripple of apprehension moved through the group; some even shed tears.

Yet, they returned to the starting line. They entered the water again, not because desire compelled them, but because their team needed them. Even trembling from the stings, they refused to abandon one another.

This transcended the pursuit of medals. It was about an unbreakable pact of loyalty, a quiet, resolute courage, and the unspoken, profound promise: “I’ve got you.”

The Symphony of Shared Joy

Between the intensity of the races, their collective spirit found expression in unrestrained joy. They rode waves, spun intricate tales, and spontaneously choreographed chants and dance routines. Their movements were always synchronized, a singular, sun-kissed flock.

Before each event, they gathered, cross-legged, on the tent floor, giggling as they drew on each other with Sharpie art: curving waves, tiny hearts, playful declarations like “Eat my bubbles” and “GO FAST.” This was more than mere decoration; it was a form of armor, a sacred team ritual, a silent affirmation that in this space, they were utterly, unequivocally, never alone.

Snow cone ice slushy drinks, melting rapidly in the warmth, stained fingers and tongues a brilliant blue. Sandy crisps and crumbled biscuits were shared without a second thought. Their joy was a palpable force, radiating outwards, echoing from the shoreline to the vast expanse of the sea.

One of the most enchanting moments occurred when they spontaneously became a choir. It began as a tentative hum, then another voice intertwined, then another, until they were a full, unstoppable chorus, singing song after song, their young voices soaring, unburdened, above the rhythmic crash of the waves. Spectators paused, drawing closer, forming an impromptu circle around them. You could not only see but feel the pure joy spilling from their very souls.

An Enduring Imprint: More Than Medals

Undoubtedly, some of these girls possess the raw talent, the competitive fire, and the relentless drive that heralds future podium finishes. I witnessed athletes in the making this weekend, and that trajectory is, of course, magnificent.

I also observed the spectrum of parental approaches: the assertive, the apprehensive, the gentle “just do your best and have fun” types. I hold no judgment on which path is “right.” They are simply varied expressions of love, each contributing in its unique way to the tapestry of this wild, sandy, wonderful community.

But many of these girls will carry something far more significant, far more enduring: an intrinsic, unshakable understanding that they belong.

They have learned that true strength resides not merely in the power of arms or legs, but in the quiet courage of rising after a fall, in the generosity of sharing your last biscuit, in the profound gesture of stopping mid-race to grasp a teammate’s hand and affirm, “We’ve got this.”

They have absorbed the vital lesson that it is profoundly human to be scared, and yet to be brave. That the most resonant victories are found not in personal triumph, but in simply showing up, in cheering on another with a heart pounding in shared anticipation, and in the unspoken bonds forged through chants, through shared scribbles, through blue-stained tongues — all fragments of a deeper, more profound victory that transcends any single race.

They will carry these lessons forward into classrooms, new friendships, future teams, and one day, into their own families. Long after the sand has been washed from their hair, these tiny moments, the kindness, the songs, the whispered “well done,” will remain, like small seashell treasures kept safe in their hearts.

It all comes back to my ‘why’, because everyone has one.

For me, school was hard. As a pupil premium student with less than 60% attendance throughout my school years, I know firsthand how challenging it can be. That lived experience shaped my journey into education and fuels the urgency I bring to attendance work.

As a school leader, I consciously draw on that experience. The two things that matter most to me are:

1. Attendance because if children aren’t in school, they simply can’t learn.

2. Dreaming big for all children, no matter their background.

I’m living proof that when you dream big, you can achieve whatever you want.

In one academic year, our school attendance rose by 4.5% and is now above the national average. Our SEND attendance increased by 8.5%. Here’s how we did it, fast.

This blog isn’t about escalation systems, attendance warning letters or fines. We need those too, they have their place, but that’s not what this is about. This is about people. It’s about connection.

Acting with Urgency, Leading with Heart

Before we go on it’s important to talk about urgency around attendance. These children don’t have years. Their time is now. Every absence chips away at their chance to succeed, and for many, school isn’t just a place to learn, it’s a lifeline. It’s an emergency, not a problem we can afford to put off.

I treated attendance like the emergency it truly is. I spent countless hours in September digging deep into the cases of every student in persistent absence across their entire school life. I reviewed safeguarding files, external agency notes, behaviour reports, and progress data. I met with each of these children personally. This wasn’t a series of casual corridor chats; it was a carefully planned, strategic mission. And here’s the key: I didn’t talk about attendance at all. 

I started with just one question: “What is your dream?”

And then I recorded it.

We talked about dreams, hobbies, silly facts, who they’d invite to a dinner party (I love it when kids say “my mum” or “my gran”), what pets they had, their favourite shows, games, foods they hate, what they’d do if they won the lottery.

Building Bridges Before Tough Conversations

Before tackling attendance challenges head-on, I knew I had to create something far more powerful than mere compliance: genuine trust. Trust from students, trust from families. Without it, no amount of data or meetings would make a lasting difference.

So, I started simple. I reached out to parents with one heartfelt question, a way to open the door and show that I wasn’t just another face in the system. Because building trust isn’t about pressure or blame; it’s about connection. And that connection became the foundation for everything that followed.

I contacted parents with one simple question:

“How is little Johnny getting on so far?”

And because I’d met their child, I had something personal to share, a story, an observation, a fun fact. Straight away, the parent thought: “Wow, she really knows my child.”

That connection was never an accident. It was deliberate, strategic and always rooted in genuine kindness and warmth. My purpose is deeply rooted in my ‘why’: no attendance means no learning, which limits life chances.

This wasn’t manipulation. It was about building genuine trust that I could draw on later. Because when little Johnny had his first day off, I was in, like a detective in a Netflix drama.

I immediately directed Heads of Year to contact home. I told them what to say. For our most entrenched cases and SEN/PP students, I stepped in myself armed with everything I’d learned.

The trust I’d built with students and families wasn’t a bonus. It was the key. It meant when I needed to challenge, I could and it would land.

Behind Every Absence Is a Family Story

Parents are key partners in addressing attendance issues. It’s crucial to understand their challenges and work collaboratively to find solutions. In my experience, many attendance problems are rooted in deeper family issues. Often, parents themselves need support, as their own stress and anxiety can significantly impact their children’s ability to attend school regularly.

I then spent hours engaging with parents, listening to their worries, anxieties, and stresses. Some might argue that this isn’t traditionally a teacher’s role, but if we truly want to get a child back into school, we must also work with them. When schools take the time to truly understand and respond to these wider circumstances, we can offer far more targeted and meaningful support.

In my role, I’ve supported families with housing applications and council housing bids, offered job advice and help with CVs, guided applications for free school meals, and connected parents with mental health support through external agencies. These are not “extras”—they’re essential if we want to create the conditions for regular attendance and genuine engagement in school life.

This kind of work takes time, empathy, and persistence. But it makes a real difference.

These conversations build trust. They help create a supportive environment where we can address not just the attendance issue, but the root causes behind it. A holistic approach supporting both students and their families leads to more sustainable improvements in attendance and overall well-being. (And yes, sometimes that means being part social worker, part cheerleader, and part therapist, without the fancy degrees.)

Cut the Crap: Real Talk Conversations with Parents

One of the most practical ways parents can support their child’s well-being and by extension, their school attendance is by establishing consistent daily routines. I often suggest setting regular bedtimes and wake-up times, even on weekends, to help keep the child’s body clock steady. It’s a simple step, but one that can have a big impact on energy levels, mood, and readiness for school.

When it comes to screen time, I’ll often ask the child directly (with the parent present), “How long do you spend on your phone each day?” Nine times out of ten, the child will admit it’s quite a lot and will often reveal that their phone isn’t taken away at night. That’s usually my opening to explain the importance of boundaries around phone use. I offer clear, practical suggestions tailored to the family’s situation things like setting a cut-off time, using parental controls, or removing phones from bedrooms at night.

How far I go in these conversations depends heavily on the relationship I’ve built with the family. If there’s strong trust, I can be quite direct and challenge things more openly. But it’s a balancing act. Some parents genuinely don’t know what to do and that’s where suggesting a parenting course can be helpful. That said, the way you say it matters. If you’re too blunt or misread the moment, you can undo months of relationship-building in seconds.

That’s why reading the room is so important. I often approach this part of the conversation with care, empathy, and a clear understanding of the parent’s current capacity. Some of the most effective lines I’ve used in these situations include:

• “You’re not alone in this—lots of parents are struggling with exactly the same thing.”

• “There’s no rule book, but there is support out there if you want it.”

• “Would it be helpful if I sent you something to look at in your own time?”

These small touches can make a big difference. It’s not just about giving advice—it’s about empowering parents without making them feel judged.

Here are the top four bold questions I ask parents to drive real change, plus how I guide the conversation with care and clarity:

1. “Every day your child misses school is a day they fall behind—this isn’t just about attendance, it’s about their future.” This helps parents see the urgency and long-term impact clearly.

2. “Why aren’t you setting any consequences for your child not going to bed on time or refusing school?” This cuts through excuses and highlights the problem

3. What’s really stopping you from making these changes right now?” This pushes for honest reflection on obstacles and readiness to act.

4. “We believe in your child’s potential. How can I help you? This ends on a hopeful note, emphasising teamwork and shared goals.

Summary

Making attendance an absolute priority isn’t about ticking boxes or chasing targets, it’s about changing lives. Every step I’ve shared here is rooted in one simple truth: when children show up, they have the chance to learn, grow, and dream bigger than their circumstances.