By the time this column comes out, we’ll have just over a week of school left. I am both counting down to the holidays, and a tad apprehensive of the numerous “What are we doing today?” queries to come.
Leo will be in nursery throughout the summer, before starting school in September. I know, I can’t believe it either. It doesn’t feel like too long ago I was writing a column about giving birth to him. Now I’m ordering uniform and meeting his new teachers.
There’ve been some panic-messages to friends asking “Did you order shirts in age 3-4 years or 5-6 years?” As always I ask myself why exactly they do not do a 4-5 years?!
An August baby, Leo will be one of the youngest in his year. (Though I seem to keep meeting mothers of other August children, weeks younger than him.) At this stage, the gap between four and five seems so huge, but it doesn’t take long before it all evens out. Or so I keep telling myself.
Is he “ready” for school? I’m not really sure what the criteria is. He can wash his hands and put his shoes on. He can do all the things on the “Can your child do these things?” sheet that came from the school.
He can write the beginning and end of a basic greetings card: “Dear Daddy, Love Leo”. (This was not on the list from school.) He’s got “Maia”, “mummy” and “daddy” down. (Not always sure about his pen-in-hand positioning but that’s a technique to be mastered later.) And he loves to learn. Learning new words whilst reading brings the little man so much joy. As does being with his best friends at nursery.
Maia, thankfully, still has another year of primary school left, giving me more time to adjust to the truth that she is no longer a little girl. Tonight should help, we’ll be heading to an open evening at what will most likely be her new secondary school.
Of course we have a whole summer before the big change that is Leo starting school. A summer packed with birthday parties (the babies of my NCT group were all born between July and September so it’s soft-play and bouncy castle season), a holiday to Devon, and a wedding, amongst other things.
As well as all the parties, Maia and I will be going with cousins to see Frozen the musical, which is nearing the end of it’s run. My only hope is that I’m sat far far away from any child with a potentially dodgy stomach. I’d prefer not to have a repeat of Matilda the musical, earlier this year, where I was projectile-vomit-sprayed on ever so lightly.
From magical live performances, to quieter not-so-live ones, I went to my first silent disco recently, at the Reading Abbey Ruins, and absolutely loved it. Whilst the music did not boom from the stage, it did in all our ears. With three different 90s music channels to choose from (pop, rock and R&B/Hip-Hop) you could change songs whenever and have your own private dance party. The Macarena got most of the crowd moving as one and they closed the night (at 10:30pm; excellent) with Wonderwall, which is always a winner. Would I go again next summer? Oh yes. Silent discos are glorious.
By Angela Garwood
