When They're All You've Got.

Yesterday marked the end of an era, that by which eight and a half years of being a full time, stay at home mum to two young boys has come to a close.  The littlest started full time school.

Initially, we hoped that this would occur last September, however it wasn't possible to admit him into the same one as his brother, so much prevaricating has occurred instead - we are out of its catchment area.

The place offered to him nearby presented a logistical scenario that Houdini himself wouldn't manage so he stayed at his local, lovely and wonderful Montessori nursery where he would get plenty of individual, child led attention and continue to thrive. 

There was nothing wrong with this - it's never been anything shorter than excellent.  The teaching and nurturing are second to none and I was perfectly happy with the decision to keep him on there until a space either came up or something else workable could be achieved.

But all his friends had left.  He was the big boy - a perfect opportunity for him to not be the littlest, as he is in the family - and discovering his gentle consideration for those much younger than him has been a worthwhile joy for us all, but watching him with them one day made me realise:

He was ready to move on.

Would I ever be?  Did I want to keep him little for ever?  Would he ever let me, anyhow?

No, no and no, but you can't blame a woman for trying when they're virtually all you've got, can you?

Having kicked out his father when six months pregnant with him, and his brother was just four, younger than he is now, it's been the team of the three of us since, and it has been hard.  How I survived those early days with a young baby and child alone, Heaven only knows.  Sometimes it was simply too scary to go to sleep, afraid of the frequent disturbances which would inevitably come, knowing that morning and the eldest's school run would arrive before I could possibly believe it, that when I cleaned my teeth it would feel like I had only just done them and hadn't actually been to bed, yet the day would begin.

I would shake with fatigue, but plaster on a brave face - eye make up and lippy - and go out into the world.  Occasionally he'd still be in his babygrow, but I didn't care.  He was warm and loved and we'd take the second breakfast that he still wants out with us.

It was difficult to face going straight home. We always went for a cuppa somewhere - sometimes with others, sometimes just us and he has always been fantastic company - funny and so lively he occasionally alienated other mothers, but I wouldn't change a thing - apart from when the eldest had to be rushed to the Eye hospital because of it and perhaps when he nearly killed me with a badminton racquet recently - but those accidents are probably down to me being too soft on him because he's such a charmer.

Ever the Comedian!

His first morning, he entered his classroom, jumping like a rabbit, making all his new peers laugh. He has been excited about this new start since we decided on it just a couple of weeks ago.  And that's it.  It's over.  We made it.

This is in no small part due to a few fine girlfriends who have stepped in, when circumstances or illness - the boys' or mine - have finally broken me and you all know who you are, thank you ladies.  We're lucky to have you.

As bereft as it'll make me to no longer be lunching with Batman or playing playdough with Iron Man and not to be being regularly wrestled by a mini John Cena to boot, because the little man who insisted on wearing superhero suits now embraces his school uniform equally enthusiastically (Phew!), there is an enormous sense of pride that permeates our home right now.

But just as I was managing to hold it all together, accomplishing the letting go, being less clingy and feeling too frightened to, this was played on the radio and it all came undone.  

Although it was written for a girl, inspired by the seven year old daughter of Abba's Bjorn and Agnetha, for one of their Albums, it is featured in the film Mamma Mia and the sentiments, sung so movingly by Meryl Streep, truly say it all.  If you have children and they're growing up a tad too quickly for your liking, you might join me in bawling at this.

Go on, show me some solidarity!  'School bag in hand....' she sings.... *Passes tissues.*  

Prepared Parenting: Back to School, A Quick Guide to Getting It Right.

With my little one starting school in September I honestly lay awake the other night wondering how early I could get away with buying his and his brother's new uniform.  Those of us in the know i.e. those with older children, have learned the hard way that there's such a scrum at the outset of the Summer Holidays that people like me who leave it until the last minute will find nothing left in the shops whatsoever! 

First timers, rightfully, think it's best to see what will fit their little ones nearer the time - because kids do shoot up in the sunnier weather, but do so at their peril because that sweet time when you're full of pride and pulled heartstrings soon descends into a desperate panic to find all the right gear.  I've taken to guessing, but here's a great article with some truly top tips which cover much more than that:

Guest Content.
It’s all right for those who manage to find a few spare weeks off work during the summer holidays to get everything organised, but for us mere mortal mothers rallying up the troops before they go back in September can feel like mission impossible.

A trip out for uniform is definitely not what you need during the last weeks of August. Nothing is less relaxing that trawling through the racks for size 8 grey trousers in a shop heaving with manic mothers and irritable kids. 

This is where an online school uniform shop can come in handy! Click away, from the comfort of your own home, with a glass of wine in hand. Who said the six week break was stressful?

·  Don’t spend a fortune. Look at what’s on offer at the online school uniform shop from George at ASDA. Pick up trousers for as little as £3, and sweatshirts from £2. You know that you’ll be replacing it all within a few months anyway, thanks to never-ending growth spurts, so blowing your July wage on designer school attire really isn’t the most cost efficient plan.

· Browse online and buy as much as you can from the online school uniform shop. All uniform will be available, however you may need to trek into town if your child’s school requires specialist attire such as badged clothing or school ties. Underwear including socks, pants and vests can also be purchased on the Web, as can additional uniform items such as PE kits.

·  Stock up on healthy snacks. Schools are now quite strict with regards to what food items can be consumed on the premises. Make good food choices for your children’s break times and packed lunches. Dried fruits, clip dishes of fresh fruit, and wholegrain snacks are preferred. For the very young ones, Organix do a good range of cereal bars and organic treats. Don’t forget the lunchbox too!

· Buy stationery in bulk. While a pencil case might not go missing, it is inevitable that pencils, crayons and pens will get lost throughout the year. Value packs are fantastic for keeping at home, ready to replace any items that go astray at school. Write your child’s name on little pieces of paper and stick them onto their property with tape or sticky back plastic.

· While it may not be on the top of your checklist, having a supply of medicines, vitamins and other health products at home is wise. Children’s paracetamol medicines, nit combs and tissues are just three handy items which will definitely be useful, and will save a late night rush to the supermarket should your child catch the standard school sniffle.

Don’t let the back to school rush daunt you. Get on the Internet and purchase all the essentials from George at ASDA online school uniform shop. As that first week in September arrives, you’ll be feeling rather savvy and will undoubtedly be glad you were one step ahead of the game.  Prepared parenting - it’s the way forward!

[Disclosure - I have received compensation for this post]. 

Come September...

 Source: afearlessriot.tumblr.com

'But come September....'

These are words emanating from my mouth pretty regularly lately.  They are filled with fatigue, hope and longing, accompanied by echoes of my heart breaking just a tiny bit too.

I feel guilty about the relief that my second - and last - child starting school might bring, but I want to hold on to him simultaneously, to these precious moments while he is still little, because, all too soon, he will be bigger, like his brother.

It's four years since the eldest first started, about which I wrote in my diaries - 'It was a profound and moving time and having counted down our last days as things were, I would hold him close to me, sobbing behind his back, so, so, sorry for every moment he had been shouted at or moaned to.  We would all miss each other.  Things would never be the same.' 

But relief soon took over.  Those days became normal much more quickly than it would have been possible for a first time mum to envisage.  Sobbing aroung the local supermarket didn't last that long *cough.*

There was a baby in tow, and, being a single parent, there was plenty to keep me occupied.  Daily pick up would appear swiftly enough.

By the time this September comes, I hope to be able to work, to spend more time on Social Media - ideally, perhaps, to purposefully combine the two, to write for longer stretches, give more attention to books that were begun years ago, and, dare I say it, to be free.

Yet, the heart yearns to be mum again, even though it exhausts me entirely, to be pulled to those baby, toddler, crawling, dawdling days, to be needed, to switch my brain off, but its call is larger, louder, heartfelt even, too.

Many women have longer stretches than I - take Mammasaurus - she is saying good-bye to her having kids at home days after twenty years, eight children down the road!  For some it is their first and last (only) child starting school this year - the mixed emotions must be unbearable.  Mine are but mild in comparison.  I know I will miss my young one.  And I won't.  Nursery prepares us as well as them!  

He is not leaving home (let's not even go THERE), he will just be out a few hours longer and things will be easier. 

My heart will ache, but my soul sing, perhaps, my songs and try to remember the person underneath the eight years of squabbles and battles and domestic drudgery and Cbeebies and jigsaws, football and cricket, catching and colouring, painting and play dough.

He will be happy.  And yet, but yet... if it were possible to choose to keep our little ones at home....
would you?  Could you?  I've a funny feeling it's less scary.

Are you saying 'Come September,' too?  How does it make you feel?

Diaries.

By popular demand here is the next in the series of extracts / eventual book from my 'Diaries of an Older Single Mum!'  It is interesting, encouraging and enlightening to look back at those days.  I feel for those women still going through them whether alone and anguished or happy and exhausted, with a young baby in tow.  To them, I say this: Things will only get better.  To those with children starting school, I say: 'You won't know yourself shortly.  Enjoy!'

No longer getting away with ASDA..!

September 2009.

Column 4 - ROBSON STARTS SCHOOL.

Well it was the shoes that did it.  He looked so grown up.  Big boy black trousers, polo shirt with collar over his sweatshirt – all nice and casual, then you spot the polished formal footwear.  My little boy was starting school.

They break you in gently round here – a couple of taster sessions in the few weeks leading up to their first half week or so , then just mornings for a term being a May baby.  This must be more for the parents than the children i.e. to get us used to the idea.  Robson thought the whole thing was a hoot and ‘brilliant.’  Good old Montessori Nursery had set him up nicely.  He was confident and strutted in happily, all independent and never looked back.  I howled my way around the local Co-op for those days before relief finally took over.  Things were definitely easier now and there was so much pride running through my veins, any one of them could have burst.  It was a profound and moving time and having counted down our last days as things were, I would hold him close to me, sobbing behind his back, so, so, sorry for every moment he had been shouted at or moaned to.  We would all miss each other.  Things would never be the same. 

My heart lurches each time Baby Aiden and I see a train or when driving through a local  tunnel.  He is not as interested as his brother was, presently, but, you see, as a parent, we are trained to become over zealous about such matters and there is a great deal of fun to be had discussing and pretending who we are choo-choo-chooing to be – Thomas, Gordon, Percy etc. It’s also too tempting to not be able to help myself still sometimes diverting a journey in order to bump over a nearby level crossing, just for Robson, even when he is no longer a passenger because his days are spent elsewhere, without me, without us, now.

Not arguing about what we are going to listen to is a plus.  Radio 2 is my preference over the Nursery Rhymes and ‘Action Songs’ which have been endured and, shortly, probably will be again, so there is now peace in the car and joy for the lack of bossiness about to compete with my own.  He once told me not to gulp a glass of water or it might make me wet the bed!  He also once said he loves me with all his love.

Peaceful Puppy..!

Robson has been a Puppy dog since he was three.  Good Puppy, Naughty Puppy, Brilliant or Excellent Puppy, even, or especially, Rude Puppy sometimes.  Rather late down the road addressing him as ‘Puppy Dog’ has proved useful to dispel the more negative aspects of his personality, allowing the more gentle, kinder, generous ones to form positive bonds with Baby Puppy.  I am Mummy Dog. Daddy dog still comes almost every other week-end and ‘phones most evenings.  All of our adult friends are ‘Dogs,’ obviously, in the nicest sense of the word, while his friends are so and so ‘Puppy.’ This has remarkably held steady for so long, it escapes me how it all started.  Lately, he is being called ‘Verruca Puppy’ a great deal after his seemingly spoilt behaviour just like the girl from Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.  Not popular with said Puppy dog, but richly deserved and hopefully helpful in the never ending battle which has begun since he ventured from my apron strings further afield into those school gates.  We had a great laugh when someone remarked what a cool cat he looks in his uniform.  'I'm not a cat, Mummy, I'm a Puppy!'  He thought it was truly hilarious.

Oh My Lord.  They say you might ‘lose them’ when they go and, indeed, it is another child who comes home.  Not to mention the table manners.  Where do they go?  All those years of ‘Sit to the table nicely.  Don’t gulp your dinner / Do eat your dinner.  Elbows off the table. Don’t talk with your mouth full etc…’ have to be started again.  Someone should make a recording on a CD that parents can play every meal time.  I should make one.        

Sometimes my body and soul ache for some back up.  It is not easy being a lone parent.  The simplest things require a magnitude of patience and, although developing, it has never been and never will be a virtue of mine.  I long to be held occasionally and cuddle up at the end of a particularly trying time, however it is simply not to be at present.  The silence of the evenings is a joy, instead of Estranged Husband’s shouting at the television and incessant moaning, boring me to death about his day and anything and everything else he brought to ‘us.’  Although he is good in lots of ways, there was no peace and I let it envelope me now when possible.  It is going to take time to recover and with Robson at school, the process can start.  In the meanwhile my electric blanket is my comfort, together with the children, naturally and that will have to be sufficient, because time will heal and, as my little boy has shown me in his posh black shoes, it will pass for evermore quickly. 

Read Diary 1 HERE.

Read Diary 2 HERE.

Read Diary 3 HERE.