Chippie’s venture into primary school commenced formally today with his first school orientation.
That’s he’s been at the school quite a lot since he was born, becoming a Show and Tell item at ten-days-old and dragged along to Parent-Teacher interviews and Student Led Conferences, LEGO Club and all the other stuff we’ve been up to the school helping out with I hoped would put him in comfortable stead for this transition.
I was all organised and had my day well planned out to ensure I was at kinder by a certain time to pick him up so I could take him to school a little earlier than required and he would be relaxed and calm for the introduction and distribution to class groups.
Taking in my little boy with my eyes as he sat on the floor, playing happily, I felt a little sad about his growing up and excited about his next year of adventure and mischief. I also noticed he still had pen on his forehead, courtesy of a moment or two of boredom what with having been dragged along to parkour last night, and his hair was starting to dreadlock. Again. There was also a partial segment of a toilet roll tube stuck in his hair.
This was a result of rolling around the floor where a craft project was under way, not a disorder or fashion statement.
I placed him in the bath so I was more able to deal with the pen-artistry and dreadlock issues at hand.
Redressed, our morning was going well, and I dropped him off at kindergarten with a reminder I’d grab him early for school.
Instead, I was on the phone, to the high school counsellor, discussing a crises, unshowered after my late morning walk in 30 degree heat, sweaty, smelly and stressed.
Despite this, I manage to leave the house at 2.00p.m.; the time I needed to be gone by to ensure the afternoon stuff went smoothly and unrushed. I was rather pleased with myself.
Well, I was until I remembered that the 2.00p.m. time I had in my head was the time I needed to be at kinder, not leaving home. I was rather less than impressed and slightly more stressed.
I race into kinder at three minutes before the time I needed to be at the school. The kids had been making pasta that afternoon. Chippie had just been served his bowl of pasta. Chippie and pasta cannot be separated.
I raced him out the door, his freshly made fettucine napoli in his hands, grabbed his bag and hat, raced back to grab his lunchbox and drink bottles, and stuffed him in the car.
Aside from a little sweaty from play at kinder, he was dreadlock free, face-art free, we were running late, but we were ok. We could do this.
We, surprisingly, find a really good car park at the school, I smile and I turn to undo his seatbelt.