At university they teach you attachment theory, systems theory and the legal framework. They do not teach you what to put in your bag. This is an oversight, and I am correcting it.
The essentials
A notebook and two pens. Two, because one will be borrowed by a four-year-old and returned as a drawing.
Your badge. On your person. Not in the car. You will only make that mistake once, on a doorstep, in the rain.
A phone charger. Your phone will die at ten past four outside a house with no signal. It knows.
Tissues. For them. For you. For the pool car windscreen.
Hand gel. I will say no more.
The ones you learn
Slip-on shoes. Some families would like you to take your shoes off, and you should. You do not want to be unlacing boots in a hallway while a toddler examines you. Wear decent socks. Assume they will be seen.
Something to eat that does not melt, crumble or smell. You will not get lunch. You will eat this at a red light.
A bottle of water. See above. Also for the conference that overruns, where the only drink is a jug that has been there since the last one.
A spare top. Babies. That is the whole explanation.
Stickers. The small ones. Worth more than any qualification you hold.
Paper and a few crayons. A child who will not talk to you will often draw next to you. Let them keep the crayons.
The ones nobody admits to
A hat, a scarf, or a hood. So you can sit in the car for five minutes afterwards without being recognised by anybody from the street.
Mints. Because you have had four coffees and you are about to sit very close to somebody on a small sofa.
A carrier bag. You do not yet know what for. You will.
A pound coin. Hospital car parks. Trolleys. Once, a bus, when the pool car would not start.
What not to bring
A clipboard. Nobody has ever been reassured by a clipboard.
A lanyard you cannot take off quickly. Tuck it in before you knock. The whole street does not need to know who is visiting number 14.
Your own worries. Leave them in the glove box. They will still be there when you get back.
Certainty. You think you know what you are going to find. Put that down before you go in.
The thing that is not in the bag
Ten minutes.
Ten minutes after the visit, before you drive, to write down what you saw while you can still see it. What the child said, in the words they used. What the room was like. What you felt, which is information too.
You will think you can do it later. Later you will have three more visits in your head and it will be soup.
Ten minutes. In the car. With the mints.
Maisie x
Next in the notebook: The car park