The astute among you might notice that school went back last week but my post about it all is this week. I decided to give it a few days for the dust to settle. I’m good like that.
The boy, understandably didn’t want to go back to school after what can only be described as a summer holiday out of fiction. A week at Butlins, a 4 day camping trip with friends, a long weekend at the Wilderness Festival and a week in Norfolk was punctuated with lots of organised activities inbetween.
School was “rubbish” and he didn’t want to go back. Fortunately though, after a day with his new teacher (who is also new to the school and therefore unpolluted by all the ills it would seem), he’d changed his mind. Whether this is because his new teacher is young, blonde and tall is up in the air. I’ve heard she’s pretty but can’t comment as I’ve not met her, but the boy certainly channels both his grandads when it comes to pretty ladies. He is one smooth operator, and I’m sad because it obviously skipped a generation as far as I was concerned.
Everything stopped being rubbish but he is suffering from his inflexibility. Everything usually has to be just so, and this is impacting on his playing. Rather than taking turns to be the goodies and baddies, he’s adamant that he has to be the goodie all the time, and a lot of his little mates are wandering off because they want a turn. He’ll learn. Hopefully.
Fifi started nursery at the school and seemed to take it fully in her stride. No tears, no escaping from the compund, and no fuss. She is annoyed that she can’t stay for lunch of course but you can’t have everything. Fifi is suffering from the eternal bane of our school- parent helpers. She seems to be giving her attention to the parent helpers she knows, rather than focusing on playing with the other 3 year olds. Part of this is very much in Fifi’s make up, she’s used to playing with the boy and his older friends and indeed used to burst into tears when forced to play with other little kids of her own age. Wanting to be like her big brother saw her walk at 11 months, compared to the 15 it took her big brother. She was that determined not to be left behind.
Still, the school continues to excel itself at being a bit crap for no discernable reason. Take for example the mystery of the missing jumper. The boy, displaying extreme boy like tendancies, managed to lose a jumper last week after football. Another mum pointed out to wifey she’d seen it in lost property this morning, a whole week later. How did she know it was the boys? It had a large label with his name in it. Ours is not a large school. Aside from the boys year, there is but one class per year. Is it easier for dozens of parents to go and look in lost property or is it easier for the lost property office to redistribute clothing based on labels? Not asking too much is it? The faff of dealing with the endless stream of parents must take as much or more time in the long run.
Anyway, after the debacle with the school report at the end of last year, I’m filled with a tiny modicum of more optimism this year, the new teacher for the boy hasn’t had a chance to be ruined by the school administration, and he seems to have a small degree of enthusiasm. I think perhaps the fatalism has been replaced with pessimism. I wonder how far away optimism is.