Hey - they were serving BEER and WINE. It was practically a date.
Sure I might have teared up a bit watching my biggest little one walk into her classroom for the first time but the 55 hours between my induction and her delivery by emergency c-section are still so fresh in my mind that it seems impossible she is wearing a uniform and singing 'Happy Fartday' to her dad and thinking it the most hilarious thing EVAH!
People are very kind when your child starts school, checking how you are feeling and generally being lovely about the 4,156 photos you insist on showing them from their first day. Because obviously no child has ever looked as adorable in their school uniform as yours. EVAH!
And it's all gone quite smoothly except for me discovering I had to hand write a note to the teacher. HAND WRITE. Blimey, it was like I was back at school or something.
But we've done it. We've begun the process of letting our child go. She's going to make new friends, learn stuff that we've forgotten and start negotiating the Darwinian environment of every school playground in the history of the world. She's going to be a great friend sometimes, a bad friend sometimes and the kid that did the silent but stinky fart sometimes. She'll learn the National Anthem and cheeky rhymes with swear words in them.
|Day six and dancing to her own tune.|
She'll love some days and hate others. She'll be exposed to different ideas, different opinions, different approaches. We will love some of them and others will be vehemently rejected over wine at dinner parties with friends. She will learn to read and the early signs are good she'll be better at maths by tomorrow than I ever was in 12 years of schooling.
She's going to have stories and memories that aren't emailed to me at the end of the day and that I will try to extract from her by asking questions at the end of the day that are generally answered with "I dunno".
There is even a terrifying chance that somebody might convince her to like team sports and we'll find ourselves on the side of a field on several chilly winters morning pretending we're excited to be there. (If you see us there - we're totally faking it. We're keen for both our daughters to be musically inclined, start bands and need chaperoning to perform gigs in pubs at nights rather than taking turns cutting up oranges at sparrow's fart on a Saturday morning.)
And while she's doing all this, I'm going to see if the school hasn't heard of email.
I mean handwritten notes. Honestly. Next they'll be asking for a landline number.
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