First Day at School

Today was the first day of the school year in Queensland. On my way back from breakfast with my running friends I had to drive past a primary school and I just had to smile and get quite nostalgic. There were all these bright shiny faces. Hair combed neatly, up in pigtails or braids. Backpacks that were so big that they almost hung down to the knees of the wearer. There was a sense of excitement and anticipation and wonder at being in a hallowed place of learning. It made me wonder how long it would take for that excitement/anticipation/wonder to disappear - never to return again.

I remember so well Sam's first week at school. He went off so happily, excited to be so grown up. When I picked him up that afternoon I, in the time-honoured tradition of Mothers, asked him what he'd learnt. He proudly put his middle finger in the air and told me he'd learnt what the rude finger was. The following day he came home and asked if he was a poofer. I was horrified but told him firmly if he couldn't pronounce it he probably wasn't one. I'd sent off my poor innocent baby to learn to read and write not this sort of stuff. So the next day I marched up to his teacher and demanded she protect my little darling from the mean big boys. Mrs Grandy almost rolled her eyes at me and said there was very little she could do. It was me who learnt a big lesson that day - I can't protect my children from life. They just have to learn to live it the best way that they can.

Josh's first week at school was a breeze. He marched off to school proudly for five days then decided that he'd rather be back at pre-school with Mrs Morgan. He cried every morning for the next six months and almost broke me. We both survived and now he's in his last year of university.

Luke was my easiest. No tears or tantrums and, thanks to his older brothers, he was a lot worldlier than they had both been. It's easy to look back fondly but I'm glad I don't have to do those years again.