He loved nursery. It was only for half a day, and so he'd come home for lunch and play in the afternoon after a morning of playing and learning and having fun in nursery.
This morning, I woke Littleboy1 up at 7am. For nursery, it would be 8, as there wouldn't be much preparation - all I'd need to do was dress him and then I'd just take him, but today I had to do lots more. I woke him up, and after about 10 minutes of arguing, he finally gave in and went downstairs for his breakfast. Although he kept insisting on pancakes, I finally persuaded him to have the coco pops I'd placed in front of him on the table.
"Mummy, I'm scared," he said as I helped him with his tie and helped him fasten his shoes (he didn't quite get the hang of Velcro).
"Why? You've been excited all week."
"I'm scared now Mummy!"
I sighed. Oh, no. This was the part I was dreading. I knew his great feelings were too good to be true - should have expected it.
"Don't be, darling," I said. "You just feel nervous. It's just like nursery, but with a bit more learning and a little longer. Your friends will be there!"
Littleboy1's face lit up. I think he honestly thought he'd be either all alone, or thrown into a classroom full of strangers who'd possibly (I don't really know what goes on in that imaginative mind) be pelting him with rock-hard crayons and sharp pencils.
"My friends?"
"Yes, your friends."
He suddenly leaped in the air and sung (what I think was) the Teletubbies theme tune while finding his backpack and practically yanking the front door off it's hinges. At least I now know that if I ever want him to do something he won't do, I only have to utter the word 'friends'. Bonus!
The day was quite a bore. I didn't have Littleboy1 or Hubby around to help me tend to Littleboy2's every needs. Sure, he's my responsibility, but I just wanted a break. He cries every minute, and his cot is upstairs, while my television fix is downstairs. That, my friends, means I have to run upstairs, on average, 60 times per hour, and so about 360 times before I had to gather my car keys (and my screaming baby) to pick Littleboy1 up from his first day.
When I got to the school, the bell rung. I was just in time - that's good. He won't be coming out of the doors to find nobody but strangers - I'd be there, as well as the huge pram. He'll recognise me, I think to myself.
The doors open (right on time - I had my watch with me) and piles of kids flood out onto the already almost full playground, making the whole place a sea of laughing and chatting kids and parents.
"Mummy!" Littleboy1 shouts as he races towards me at high speed.
I open my arms and embrace him as he flies into my arms, backpack in one hand, some sort of macaroni creation in the other.
"What's this, then?" I asked as I juggled his new reading folder and spelling record.
"Pasta art," he said, adding this creation to my collection of random things in my arms.
"It's lovely," I said, truthfully. It was certainly something - a skew-whiff attempt at a cardboard box, with random drawings scrawled onto it with permanent marker in a variety of colours, with various pasta types stuck onto it with both Pritt-stick and Sellotape. If I'm right, it contains macaroni, short straw-looking pieces of spaghetti and a bit of penne. Beautiful!
Seriously, I do love it. I love it so much it is on my window ledge as I write, and I keep looking at it (mainly for the fact I'm trying to figure out what it is...) - it is certainly wonderful.
And I promise I won't eat it. No matter how hungry I am.
2 comments:
Sounds like a great day!
I'm nervous about mine starting school and it's still a year away!
Oh, believe me, it was!
And so was I, before he was even born I was like "oh, God, school... yikes!" but don't worry, it's great :)
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