Uniform – tick
Cheesy ‘back to school’ haircut – tick
Confirmation of school hours (trust me; I nearly screwed this obvious one up) – tick
First drop off/parking debacle in peak traffic – tick
It seems things are going along OK.
My son has just started Year 1 at a new school, in a new state. Despite the gnawing anxiety about whether we have ‘done the right thing’ by moving the family back down to Melbourne, our sensitive little 6 year old has been glowing with joy every day at pick up. He has a few friends, his teacher high fives him when he arrives, and he comes home most days and enthusiastically tries to teach his 4 year old sister some crafty activity he learnt that day. (Mind you, she lasts all of 2 minutes, but his patience astounds me!).
We have…transitioned.
Or have we?
It’s just that, well…what about me?
This year I am not a new Prep mum with all the important (and much needed) entitlements and exemptions, sadly I missed all the information sessions and tours as we were interstate, and I do not know a single soul in that school. Week 3 is now underway, and I am embarrassed at all the ridiculous questions I have had to ask the office ladies. Somehow I missed an email list, I didn’t have the school app downloaded and it feels like all the other Yr 1 parents seem to know the drill. All except me. I am that sad and rare specimen who is hanging out for the information evening set out for parents this week.
In the meantime, this is how I’m rolling.
I am smiling. A lot. Achingly so. I am nodding and hello’ing and trying to look like I belong. I am trying to be brave and remembering my manners, just like I told my son to be. I am waiting for the people to realise that in this tiny school, we are one of those few ‘new’ families who were welcomed on the first newsletter. I am missing the ease of my beautiful friends at our last school. I am trying to be patient, as I know this stuff takes time and everyone is simply getting used to their own routines and settling their kids into a new school year. I am scanning my emails with every ‘ping’ waiting for a class parent rep to suggest a play in the park or a Year Group picnic with parents. Nothing as yet.
I feel a bit stalkerish when I see my son smile at a kid standing with his Mum at drop-off, and I oh so (not) smoothly steal a quick glance and wonder…will it be her? Will she be my new Gate Mate? Could she be my new ‘go to’ emergency ‘running late’ hero? Could she handle my distracted morning chats, whilst my impatient 4 yo pulls on my arm, pants, anything and whines about ‘hurrying up’ and ‘going home’ or that she is apparently ‘HUNGRY NOW”? Might she invite us over for Friday arvo ‘knock off’ drinks? Could she be my new source of knowledge? Where do I get canteen bags? When is the uniform shop open? Is there a social parent night? If not, why not? Will she save me from the besieged look of fear I am starting to receive as I approach the reception desk…..???
As for the new teacher? Seriously, from the outset, I am excited. He seems fantastic and incredibly positive and my son has taken a real liking to him. But, well…I do miss my Mary Poppins. I miss the Preppy teacher who gave out hugs and calmed all of our fears and loved our babies fiercely. I am sure every parent has a special place in their heart for the very first teacher of their child, and it is difficult for most moving on, but I didn’t quite realise just how incredibly special she was.
It would seem, just like everybody told me, my son is much more resilient than I gave him credit for.
For that, I am incredibly grateful.
I am excited to read back on this piece in a few months and laugh at myself; maybe even share it with my new school mum friend and laugh at how silly I was being.
But for now, I will simply go back to smiling and nodding and hello’ing.
