I've got a lot on my plate right now, and no, I don't mean the ultimate Pizza Hut buffet for once. My sister is getting married next week and all the family are flying out to Vatican City for the festivities. Now take into account that 3 of the 6 of us have never been on a plane, and one of the remaining 3 that has only did it once, as a teenager, and didn't have the responsibility of getting my lovely but bonkers father across the continent. Now add in a pinch of strikes and possible flight cancellations, a 6 year old who is "terrified" that the plane will crash and kill everyone he loves and holds dear, the bride being an actual grown-up and wanting her bridesmaids to have "normal, human hair" (which apparently does not include blonde and pastel pink ombré) and the general anxiety of knowing that at any moment, anything could go wrong, and you've got the makings of a wine-induced coma just to cope with the next 7 days. But wait, there's more! Last week, the youngest started school. A stressful time for any parent, but add in the factor that my youngest is in fact feral and you've got yourself a headache that only screaming into a pillow for approximately 3 hours a day will help with. Or so I thought...
I used to take Dylan to school when he was in FS2 and often Ava was along for the ride. Many, many mornings were spent with me prising her off the beanbag chairs or bribing her with a hot chocolate because she wanted to stay and play. Then there was that one time where she just whole-heartedly sat on the carpet and expected to be able to join in, ignored every one of my gritted-teeth threats and had to be carried away screaming in front of my fellow parents and peers. At the end of the day when it was time for a second dreaded school run, she would leap around the yard like one of the Lost Boys, howling and calling to her fellow preschoolers to join her gang of insanity. Let's just say she got a name for herself early on, and that name was The Wild Child.
Fast forward two full years of wrangling, bribing, screaming and pleading (all from me) and she is ready to ditch the muddy knees, don the striped tie and occasionally let me brush her hair. "This is going to be an absolute nightmare." I would ponder throughout the six week holidays. "She's going to be dirty by the time the 8.55am bell rings, and won't want to leave the yard. She's going to walk into the classroom and think she owns the place, because she's been there before and because she is a full foot taller than her peers. She is going to be the bossy kid with muddy cheeks that no parent will want their child associating with."
I never had these concerns with Dylan. Even from nursery age, he would make friends and influence people. He had a younger, more demanding sibling, so he knew that sharing and saying nice things were the key to an easy life. He would be fine at school, and I don't have much time to think otherwise because I am too busy coaxing Ava from inside the playdoh cupboard. He will be fine.
And he was fine. Fine and dandy. He never once cried that I was leaving him at school, and never once complained that all of the attention was directed towards his more feral sibling. He knew that Ava was a creature you couldn't possibly ignore, and he had found his place as a wallflower and liked it. And all was well.
So here we are, two years later. Did Ava cause a fuss and Dylan had to simply shrug it off and deal with it? Did Ava climb the wall on the first day and accidentally maim a smaller 4 year old whilst showing everyone her Taekwondo moves? Did Dylan simply shrink into the background when the spotlight fully fixed on Ava on her first week at school?
Absolutely not.
Ava really surprised me this last week. Sure, she was giddy and excited on her first day, but she said "Good morning" to her teachers and lined up nicely behind the small children waiting to put their coats on their pegs. She kissed me goodbye and waved me away, telling me to have a nice day as her dad and I watched on. She sat nicely beside another child at the computer table and said hello to them, before playing on her own computer she had chosen. When I picked her up a few hours later, expecting at least one child to have come out with a bandaged head or at least tears and an accusing look at my daughter, she skipped through the doors holding a painting, smiling and giving us both a huge hug. She held our hands and skipped home, recounting her day and answering the barrage of questions we had for her. She was... Normal. Well, not normal, because she is my daughter and therefore extraordinary, but she wasn't muddy, or bloodied up. She was as mature and prepared as Dylan had been two years previously, and I felt a twinge of guilt for ever thinking otherwise.
Meanwhile, how did Dylan take this? Well let's just say that if Ava surprised me, Dylan pulled out his secret weapon. Every morning since that first day, Dylan has stood in the line, silently as always, until the time comes for me to take Ava to her classroom. His grip gets tighter onto my hand, his eyes get wetter. "YOU CANT LEAVE ME!"
Wait, what? You're the big boy, the almost-7 year old. You shouldn't be having attachment issues now! You certainly didn't at 3 years old when I stood in the nursery room doorway, holding back tears as you ran off without so much as a backwards glance at the woman you hadn't been away from for more than a few hours since birth. You're going to choose now - right now - to have an emotional breakdown?
He has done the same every single morning since Ava's first day. He clings to me so tightly I wonder if I should check the family tree for traces of someone having bred with a koala (I suspect my husband's side, personally) and there is only so long I can pass it off as "he's tired". No doubt some of the other Yard Mums are starting to think "well put him to bed before midnight then you irresponsible hooligan!"
I worry about him all day, but needn't, as he reliably informs me that he has had a "great day" every day. So why the amateur dramatics come the AM then son? Because I can only threaten you through gritted teeth and bribe you with hot chocolate so many times before I feel like history is repeating itself and he has had a complete role reversal with Ava.
Whilst all this wailing and gnashing of teeth is going on, however, Ava is halfway up the path to her classroom, shouting "BYE MUM!" over her shoulder as she runs to her new life in FS2. I am bewildered. Do I follow her and leave a sobbing, hysterical 6 year old in the yard so that everyone looks on in amazement as I abandon him in his hour of need? Or do I wave back to Ava, shout "BE GOOD!" back and tend to the over emotional antics of the Y2, making everyone look on in even further amazement as I let my 4 year old essentially bring herself up?
"No wonder she's feral." Is all I will hear. Not out loud, because everyone is too polite to ever say what they actually think - as is the rule with school yards across the world. Be nice, be robotic. The mantra all us parents say as we sigh, unlock the door and head out onto the daily school run. But I will hear it internally, because that is exactly what I would think to myself as an onlooker.
The only way this could be worse is if I flit off to another country for a few days and leave my husband to deal with the school run...
Oooh that reminds me! I'd better get packing for Rome...
