So the Diva (4) started school today. She’s been excited since the trial morning session in July. She thinks her teacher is minor celebrity and over the course of the summer holidays, Mrs Thomas has been spoken about with the level of awe, fear and respect usually reserved for Father Christmas.
She has been asking me how many sleeps until school starts for weeks. She literally couldn’t wait to go. Sadly she has the memory of a goldfish so when she woke up this morning and I asked her what exciting thing was going to happen today, she couldn’t remember and suggested that I might let her try coco-pops. Nice try, no cigar. When I told her it was the first day of school she literally threw herself down the stairs in excitement and asked to get her uniform on.
For the first time ever, she got dressed in the time it took me to cook my porridge and then moan about it being too hot. This is astonishing. I usually have to ask her about 13 times just to put her pants on. We were fully dressed with breakfast eaten by 7.45am (I called Norris McWhirter to inform him of our family record breaking attempt, but sadly he died in 2004 so seemed disinterested)
So by 8.30am she was sat on the doormat waiting to go to school. We detoured via my sisters house for something to do, and then galloped to school. We arrive. We spot some of her nursery friends also waiting to go in. She tells them its the first day of school (because they didn’t know…) and she wriggles around like she needs a wee – she probably does but is less likely to admit it, than my husband is to a lift fart. Everyone is looking nervous. Kids, parents, teachers. No-one really knows what the day will hold. It’s the Divas turn to go in, she kindly notifies her teacher that today is the first day of school, and we go to put the PE bag on the peg. I follow her in. She looks at me like I don’t belong. Other children are crying. The Diva is confused by my presence. I tell her I’m going to go. She clearly wonders why I haven’t already. She hugs me and quickly turns her back. There is Minions colouring in, she has important business and there is no use for me anymore.
While a part of me is delighted by her independence, and feels proud of her for being so level headed and well adjusted, the other part of me is slightly concerned that I have been so easily replaced in her affections. She might as well have shouted – “Laters Mummy” in my face and flicked me the bird. I think she wishes she was Mrs Thomas’s daughter. I feel a bit gutted but I don’t cry – (I’m double hard, me). I go to work. I don’t get to pick her up from school which makes me a bit sad, but my lovely sister fills me in on the immediate school collection conversation. This is just as well as by the time I get her at 5.30pm she has completely forgotten everything she has done that day.
I feel a bit sad about missing out on some of the important parts of the day. Just before bed as I’m tucking her in, I ask her if she’s happy that Mrs Thomas is her teacher. She says the following “I love Mrs Thomas, she is kind and nice. But she’s not as good as you Mummy. You’re my favourite.” I leave her room with a tear in my eye, then proceed to run up and down the stairs punching the air in scenes reminiscent of Rocky. Then I eat some biscuits. This Mummy business is right emotional.