By the time this column comes out, both of my children will be in school. This fact alone is not particularly remarkable, but bear with me.
My children are starting their prospective school years at opposite ends of the primary school continuum, which is a lot for one mother to stomach emotionally. The differing timelines mean the tears will come for different reasons. (And already have).
Maia is going into her final year of primary school and Leo is just starting. (He’s only just turned four, so I’m using this to justify my anxieties when actually I’d probably be just as nervous should he be turning five next week.)
He had his last day of nursery last week, which was far more emotional than I’d ever anticipated it to be. Joel and I walked him to the front door, slightly watery-eyed, and it only took a moment of eye contact with his former key-worker (also watery-eyed) for the tears to start flowing. I hugged her, thanking her for being so brilliant with our little boy. We’d had a final goodbye with his most recent key-worker the day before, which also warranted a hug and big thank yous, all with a giant lump in my throat.
How do you even begin to thank someone for looking after your child so beautifully? I don’t feel the “thank you” cards I wrote quite did my level of gratitude justice. For every cuddle, every word of support and encouragement, every time they’ve calmed him or laughed with him or guided him in some way. Every moment of joy where they’ve genuinely enjoyed his presence. (I could go on and write a whole separate column on how those working in childcare help form the bedrock of our society and should be valued as such.) I hope they know they are simply remarkable.
We acknowledged it had been a “journey”. There’d been mornings he hadn’t wanted to go in and his key-worker would have to pick him up and cuddle him before launching into a fun activity, an all-encompassing distraction.
“Thirty seconds, it took thirty seconds and he was absolutely fine!” They’d say when I went to pick him up, always reassuring me.
So, when his last day came around, I wanted to shower the place in my eternal “thank yous”. I walked away feeling both happy and sad. Happy that Leo had had such a positive nursery experience with such a brilliant team of staff, and sad that this chapter was ending. You grow attached to the people who take care of your child.
It’s not quite the same, but I feel this every time Maia finishes another school year, that I will miss the familiar face of her teacher. (Next July is going to be interesting; going by how I’ve felt watching previous year sixes walk out of primary school on their final day, I’ll be a teary mess on Maia’s.)
Whilst she is ten (soon to be eleven) going on fifteen, and has a better skincare routine than me, I can’t quite believe secondary school applications are just days away. It is a time of endings and beginnings.
For now though, two very exciting beginnings.
