The First Day of The Rest of Their Lives

Every time I saw a magazine displaying the tag line “First Day at School – How to Make it Easier,” I bought it; utterly convinced I was going to read something of worth, hoping there would be a nugget of information within I hadn’t read before or thought of myself.  But it was yet another advice piece that didn’t deliver.

More common sense wrapped up as counsel about leaving out the child’s uniform the night before, getting everyone up a little bit early so there is no mad rush out the door at the last minute and giving your child a nice piece of fruit to ease them into their new experience.

Come on!   

I wanted information on how to deal with the child who makes like an ostrich and sticks his head firmly in the sand and blocks out the New Experience. I wanted guidance on how to discreetly and politely intercept people before they asked, “are you looking forward to big school?” when I know the thumb being shoved into his mouth is not only his way of self-soothing but it is also a stopper; his method of holding everything in. 

How do you prepare a child for going from just 10 people in his class to 30 when he won’t know any of them?  What about the playground?  There will be no swings and slides in this one.  How was I going to tell him and watch him deal with the disappointment of it? 

I knew he was stressed about Big School.  He hadn’t said as much but subconsciously he was fretting about it.   

I had done everything the magazine article was suggesting.  He’d been to his open afternoon.  He had not one but two school bags to choose from.  He also selected his own “easy open” lunch box. 

He was aware that his new school books would be arriving any day and he would get a chance to look at them. Then we would try on his uniform and get his very much coveted new runners and boring old black shoes. 

I wanted my money back! 

It’s almost a form of sensory over load and when it becomes too much for him, he removes himself from the situation.  He wouldn’t be able to do that in Big School.   I was dreading the inevitable day he would come home in the horrors because a class mate or even his teacher, commented on his thumb sucking.  He would be embarrassed and retire into himself.  He does not like it when people draw attention to him.

So I was thrilled when he asked me to tell him a story about school.   It was the perfect opportunity to describe everything to him. Big brother was present and all set to offer his two pence worth. 

When I stopped him he insisted he had something of great importance to impart, something I neglected to tell him on his big day. 

This was to wait until your teacher tells you it is time to eat and don’t just start eating your lunch yourself.    “Because you never told me that.”   See how they remember even the tiniest little thing? 

So for Ways to Ease Them into Big School, sometimes it can be as simple as talking about it.  Don’t assume they know what to expect. 

Make sure they know where the bathroom is.  What happens if there are three Spiderman bags?  Maybe stick a key-ring onto his.  What about their gorgeous new coat and shoes with the lovely laces?  It’s not a bad idea that they are able to manage their coat and maybe stick to the Velcro-ed shoes until they master the art of lace tying. 

Yogurts?  I can still remember spilling the contents of mine and was left sitting in it all day.  What if they are too shy to approach the person they will come to call Teacher when they can’t open their brand new cartoon character emblazoned lunch box?

I think one of the most important ones is plenty of reassurance that you will be back to collect them.   

And make sure you are not late. 

There are lots of different ways to help ease them into their new environment and very hard to remember it all.

Every child is different.  Our oldest boy had nary a problem or worry about his place of education and indeed has gone on to make a very wide and varied circle of friends. Looking back, I had similar concerns when he started.  

 
Like every other event I was apprehensive about, I found the reality of it easier than the perception and with a little dollop of luck, Big School for your child, won’t be any different.

Temporarily Tuned Out

Anyone can give advice but not everybody has good advice. 

I have maybe half a dozen little gems that stayed with me over the years in relation to motherhood. 

My mother in law once told me to pick my battles.  At the time I was suffering from a severe case of first time mother-itis and mentally scoffed at that one.  I wanted and intended to win them all!

A doctor told me to never doubt myself as a mother; if I feel something isn’t right; always get it checked out.  He also said boys can be labelled as trouble makers in school when in actual fact, they are hard of hearing and cannot hear an instruction.

I took special note of that one, especially having four boys.  Two of which have had grommets already inserted for glue ear. 

Now we are going down the same road for a third time.

Lovely Liam has been hard of hearing for a while.  In the beginning it was funny and cute when he told the dog to “shit” when he meant sit. 

After a while our ears became attuned to his particular language and we translated for others.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I hadn’t a clue what he was saying.  His words ran together without a beginning or an end, just a mad jumble of nonsense, making perfect sense to no-one except him.

I became frustrated at times as did he. 

This week I notice I seem to be talking to him like he is an overseas visitor who doesn’t speak the language.  Or a bit slow.  It’s not on.

He is such a jolly, sociable, trusting little soul he deserves not to be spoken to like that. It is not respectful.

I hate it.

But I like that he is not due to start school for another year so he will be “fixed” well before then.

Lovely Liam is booked in to get his “new ears” Wednesday week.  We have had a little chat about how he is not actually going to have his existing ones removed (chopped off) and new ones attached in their place.

I’d better stop threatening to Cut The Legs Off Them I think.

Letter to Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature (MN)

I am one of your biggest fans.  Sincerely, I am in awe of you.  I think you rock.  You are a force to be reckoned with and you sure know your shit.

I love how you arrange for our bodies to prepare for nurturing our child before we even suspect that we may be pregnant.

I love how, if left to your devices, our pregnancies will come to their own natural conclusion, be that 38 or 42 weeks and we go into labour.

I love how you hang around for a few days to ensure we stay on that natural high and enjoy all of those feel good endorphins you gift to us on the birth of our baby.

Not loving, however, the minute you leave to attend the next lady in waiting.  You bring with you your warm and fuzzy gift, leaving the new mother in a bit of a snotty snivelling mess.

Can you tell where I’m going with this?

I think you’re marvellous, I really do.  I love that you’ve given women the multi-tasking gene because god knows we need it.

I think it’s great how you have seen to it we are finely attuned to our baby’s needs; even the tiniest murmur will rouse us from sleep.

Not liking though how you seem to have failed to install that same alarm system in our menfolk.   Particularly at night time.  Just a little something to remember for future generations.  You know, for when it’s time to evolve again.

And as I have mentioned evolution, I think teething could be revisited too.  Surely if one child can sail through this, every child can.  A little tweaking there would be greatly appreciated down the line.  For everyone.

Staying on the pain issue.  Chicken pox.  Why?  Just why?

I acknowledge there are parents out there who would consider teething and chicken pox small fry compared to what their kids have gone through. 

But when it comes to the silly beggar stuff, maybe you could see to it that those kinds of things are eradicated altogether.

And what about this boundless energy thing?  It all seems a bit unfair to me.  I’d like it to be 50/50.  At the moment it seems to be 70/30.  To them.  If it must stay at 70/30, could the parents have the larger timeshare? Please.  At least until they are teenagers.

I know, in your infinite wisdom, there is a reason for all of the above.  Damned if I know what at the moment but I am looking forward to purchasing my very own pair of rose tinted spectacles in the future.

For now, whilst I am still stuck in the zone, I feel the need to question these things. 

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for my four gifts.  And I do realise they are my gifts.   

One day they will release their moorings and sail away from me; to drift towards and onto the next stage in their lives.    

Until this time, I ask for them to be kept safe.  And for me to get some uninterrupted sleep maybe twice a week.

That’s all.

For now.

Thanking you in advance.

Sunday Miscellany. Ag Rith

Today I strapped on my running shoes for the first time in five weeks.

Since the school holidays started, I seem to have even less time than usual.   

That plus a combination of the recent searing heat and a minor toe injury, meant I couldn’t run.

But today I did.

Not very fast but that wasn’t my aim.

 

Nice and easy does it. 

And that’ll do me just fine until I’m back in full form.

Letters I never Send

This is a lovely therapeutic one.  I’ve done it loads of times without even realising it was called something and better still, had a purpose.

It does exactly as it says on the tin; write letters but don’t send them.

Or to be more exact and 21^st century, write emails, blog posts or Facebook replies.  I have written tomes, thousands of words and deleted them all without sending any.

Why?

Well, for a couple of reasons. 

The first one mainly is because once it’s written and I read over it, I always think jesus, I can’t send that! 

I am afraid I will upset or offend someone if I’ve been too honest or too contrary and so I delete the message. 

But I feel great.  It’s very therapeutic.  I’ve gotten a grievance off my chest and no matter that it was sent to cyber space; it’s achieved its purpose.

Try it sometime.

It’s great.

You can write it out longhand and then rip it up afterwards.  All that aggressive shredding.   

Great altogether. 

Or if you’re of a mind to, set it on fire.  Burn the shit out of it.  Set fire to your anger, hurt or upset and then rid yourself of it in a cleansing fire ritual.

Take the 21^st century approach and type it all up on Microsoft Word, highlight it and hit the delete button. 

This is the way I do it but I have to admit it doesn’t sound half as satisfying as lighting a fire.

I might try that next time.