Not On A School Night

As I said, we moved house on the 9th of September. But, far more importantly, our eldest started primary school the same day. The main reason for moving was to be near this particular school, and we fell extremely lucky to have got one on the same street. I am determined that I won't get lazy, and be "That Mum" who takes their kids to school whilst wearing pyjamas. I don't judge these people. I applaud them. If I had the confidence to wear pyjamas in the street, I would. And so would you, so don't lie.

So we took him in on his first day, and he was his usual shy self at first. He seemed to settle ok, and didn't seem upset when we left him to it. Ava did, because she wanted to stay and play with the big children (I say "big" children, she towered over a few of the younger ones in uniform, even at just two years old). When we picked him up, he was happy. He had had a good day, made a friend and had no complaints about anything. All was well.

Over the next few days, he had better and better days. He was chosen for the "Top Table" at dinner time, his pictures lined the classroom walls (with his name scrawled on them, better with each attempt) and his friends were always happy to see him arrive. I could not be happier about his start to school, and neither could he.

But the long days were tiring him more than either of us thought. As a treat, I took him to his Nanan and Gramps' after school a few times, which messes around with usual routine and bedtimes. So it's a little later that usual, and he's had a few extra treats than he needs, but the old saying "Not on a school night" is exactly that, an old saying. He'll be fine.

He wasn't fine. And I wasn't fine. The next day, he was sleepy before we even set off. I assumed he'd have a good day anyway, and he could have a relaxing evening at home to counter the hectic chaos of the previous one. But no. He came down the path, as he usually did, carrying boxes and "models" of ovens and washing "shamines" and he looked happy. I gave him his dolly that I'd promised to bring and he asked "Are we going to Nanan's again? Are we??"

"Not tonight, maybe tomorrow."
"Why not?!"
"Because we went yesterday, and we can go tomorrow. But tonight we're going home."

This lit the firework.

"HOME?! I don't want to go home!"
"What? Why not?"
"I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!"

Uh-oh. Meltdown imminent. I know that tone. And sure enough, the meltdown came. Right there, in the middle of the schoolyard, surrounded by all the other parents that I've tried so hard to get along with so far (smiley eye-contact and "oh I know!" small-talk, mainly, but it's early days). He threw his dolly across the yard before he threw himself to the ground, clung on to the fence and screamed "I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME WITH YOU!"

This led my brain to unravel slightly. Too much was happening. Ava was running freely in the yard, blissfully unaware of the coming chaos. I could not worry myself with this for now, so I rounded her up quickly by holding her hand. She hates holding hands, she's very independent like that, so she started crying. It didn't look good for me, but that was nothing on what was to come from her brother. Firstly, there was what my brain wanted me to do with him, which was revert back to play centre and toy shop tactics of the old "Lift-Carry-Ignore". Sometimes, strangers would tut, with the rare chance that the odd mother would give me the knowing nod of "Been there, the ol' Lift-Carry-Ignore. Good luck, sister." But these people were strangers. I could leave Toys'R'Us with my screaming child over my shoulder, silently seething until we got back to the car and not bat an eyelid at what Old-Woman-With-Perfect-Grandchild thought. But that was not this day.

So secondly, my brain decided to scan the playground for disproving looks. Why, I do not know. Again, they normally don't bother me, but these people were my peers. I needed to look like Mum Of The Year if I ever wanted to get invited to a coffee morning (which I would never dream of going to, but it's nice to be asked). And the fact that my child was screaming that he didn't want to go home with me wasn't even going to put me as a runner up. I had to think quick. I tried a variation on the "Lift-Carry-Ignore" by trying to help him up from the ground. He clung even harder to the fence, and screamed even louder. Now he was crying. I'm sure many parents thought "that kid is tired, and he's had a long day at school. They all do this at some point, poor mother". But my brain automatically assumed they were all looking at me and thinking "That poor boy! I wonder what his mother does to him so badly that he doesn't want to go home! I must ring Ester Rantzen immediately!"

Nobody thought that, I realise that now after getting home and having a good think. But at that moment in time, I felt like I was in the dock, my own child pointing me out as the criminal and the people I have to spend the next decade making small talk with as my jury. Eventually, I managed to pull him away from the fence, still screaming that I'm a "bad mummy!" Whilst attempting to sooth him with "We can go to Nanan's tomorrow, ok? Let's get you home, you're so so tired, aren't you?"

Luckily, we live a 2 minute walk from the school, so the torture didn't last too long. The crying and screaming carried on for a while, and when it stopped I tried to get to the root of the problem. It turns out he doesn't hate me, or the house, but he does like going to Nanan's after school more than going home. Well, obviously! He has Quavers for tea and "just one more" biscuit, coupled with being allowed to run and shout and play, knowing he won't be told off as much because "It's Nanan's House". But that is as a treat, not a daily routine. He couldn't grasp this in his tired state, and the meltdown proved it. I promised myself there and then that he wouldn't have another late school night. I doubt I'll stick to it, but hopefully future meltdowns will be more manageable. I should know by now that when Cbeebies sing the goodnight song, it's bedtime. Don't be tricked into changing over to NickJr, or even the overly-soothing BabyTV. When Charlie Bear waves goodbye, put them to bed.

If only I could listen to my own advice, I might have avoided having to finish off the rest of the bottle of rosè that night. Which, I found out the next morning, is something else you shouldn't do on a school night. Who knew?