So it’s happening.
My youngest is going to
school in September.
Don’t get me wrong, this
isn’t a total surprise.
I didn’t wake up this
morning and think, ‘fuck, I forgot to fill out the forms.’
But it has crept up on me
a bit.
I don’t work on Fridays and
the day that my son and I spend together whilst my eldest is at school has
become quite precious.
He’s good
company.
We went to a lido with
friends last Friday. It was an absolute scorcher and after running around in
the fountains for a while he spotted the big lane swimming pool, divided from
the children’s area with a Perspex fence.
Too much info?
Just bear with me.
Uncomfortable in his all-in-one swimming suit, he whipped it off.
(I checked the label as he
stripped off as we’ve had it for a while, turns out it’s for 12-18 month olds
so no wonder it was a bit snug as he’s now four and a half.)
He went to investigate the
big pool.
Unfortunately at that
moment, a class from the neighbouring secondary school also turned up to celebrate
the end of their GCSE’s.
Coordinated by one of
their teachers, they stood on the side of the pool and doing their best
‘American-Pie-esque’ impression, all the students jumped in with their school
uniforms on as the staff took pictures.
One for the school album.
That is until they zoom in
and see there’s a delighted naked boy and his best friend pressed up against
the transparent fence right in the middle of their picture.
But those days are soon to
end.
I went to pick up his pack
from the school with all the new starter information.
It hadn’t dawned on me
that it would be a big deal.
Nancy’s at school.
She loves it.
She’s got all her buddies,
and some weekends is genuinely disappointed when she realises she’s got to
spend the day with her family instead of at school.
So this is just going to
be the same, right?
We sat on tiny school
chairs in the hall listening to all the practical stuff.
The uniforms.
The lunches.
The impossible-to-navigate-as-a-working-family
settling in dates, when you drop your child off for about 4 minutes at the
school for the first two weeks and then have to somehow fit a working day
around that.
I was prepared for that.
Expecting it almost,
unlike some of the parents of first time school children who looked understandably
anxious.
I was waiting to finish,
to meet the teachers and then catch the second half of the England game.
But then it happened.
The head teacher read out
a poem, Dear Teacher*, about your child starting school.
The concerns you may have
about who is going to look after them, play with them, to help them if they’re
worried, to change their clothes if they’re dirty, to dry their tears when they
cry.
And I could feel it
bubbling up.
I tried to swallow it back
down.
But then she read the
final verse:
I know as I give him one more
kiss
And watch him walk away,
That he’ll never again be wholly mine
As he was before today.
And watch him walk away,
That he’ll never again be wholly mine
As he was before today.
And
that was it.
Broken.
It
wasn’t an elegant cry, or a weep.
It
was a proper shoulder-shaking, wipe your nose on your sleeve full on beal.
How
had I not realised?
In a
couple of months the little boy who’s favourite thing at the minute is to dance
around the front room with me to 80s Heart FM is going to be starting a whole
new chapter of his life.
And
once he’s started.
That’s
it.
Two
children at school.
They’re
off.
They’ve
both on their next adventure.
Don’t
get me wrong, I’m not about to keep him back for a year and attempt to home
school him with my poor grasp on geography, understanding of the natural world
or lack of all round patience.
But
my best little buddy is not going to be hanging out with me as much soon.
It’s
the end of an era.
And let’s
face it, it’s not as much fun to dance around in the front room to Bros on your
own.
* you
can find the full poem and response from a teacher here. Tissues at the
ready.
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