T is now 5. A September baby who has been bored at nursery and I think ready for a new environment and exciting new activities. T disagrees. He hated nursery for the last year but knew it so well that it was comforting to go twice a week.
We have been slowly trying to get T school ready. He thinks that means reading and holding a pen and cutting with scissors. For me it’s actually, go to the toilet when you first need to go, flush the toilet and can you do the zipper up on your coat.
There have been so many shouting moments about poos, about putting his shoes on himself and trying on his uniform.
We went to Clarks for his shoes. He really enjoys the process of having his feet measured, the tablet with the character and the trying on of the shoes. T also likes chatting to the fitter. He has never had black shoes thou and i was trying to suggest a red pair. “Nonono….mummy these black shoes are great” I’m growing a goth.
The rest of the uniform has sat, untried on, in a drawer in his bedroom. He would not entertain popping on a polo to check it’s fit.
“I don’t want to. They are not nice.”
Trousers with reinforced knees have been thrown across the room when he has been asked to try them on. Not wear them for the day, just try them on.
The idea of uniform has been challenging. Well, the big day rolled around. It was 7am. T was washed, dry and ready to get dressed. I had lain his uniform out on his bed. I came in and found him in tears. Sobbing.
“What’s the matter, Pie?”
“YOU HAVE KIDNAPPED MY REAL CLOTHES. WHERE ARE MY REAL CLOTHES?!!”
“….T, this uniform is only for when you goto school; you never have to wear this at any other point; only people who go to your school are able to wear it, no one else.”
He got dressed but would have happily gone to school in his black shoes and denim shorts, bright t shirt and hoodie. His suggestion.
Poor T. We got to school. We were early, which was my fault. He tried to leave the playground as it got louder and louder and more and more people arrived. We retreated towards his classroom which we quieter. Bit better. Running around and chatting to a boy from his old nursery. Then it’s time to go in.
“No. I’m not”
“Come on T. Let’s go in and try lots of new things”
He eventually went in. G and I were the last people to leave the playground area. We walked back onto the main road and bumped into a close friend and I just cried on her. She came with G and I to playgroup, even thou her wee one was at school too! Everyone at playgroup was lovely. Asking if T was ok, asking if I was ok, telling me what it was like dropping their kids off for the first time 5years ago or last year or 40 years in one of the ladies cases. I felt rotten all day but I was gladden by the lovely messages and offers of company and support. Playgroups are not just for your kids! I’ve carried T out of that playgroup kicking and screaming more times then I would like to mention but he and I have always been welcomed back. If you are not in a playgroup, join one. If you already are, speak to a new member today. Be the welcoming difference.
As for T’s first day. He ran out and we had a huge bear hug. He told me he didn’t eat or talk. Hmmmmmm. The teacher didn’t stop me to tell me anything terrible so we are left trying to coax more information out of him. Which is hard. Let’s see what day 2 brings. I can’t imagine he didn’t talk.