An End and A Beginning

An End and A Beginning

Samuel starts school in three months. The enormity of that statement keeps hitting me like an express train.  At the moment, it still feels a long way away; the rapid flicking of the calendar over into new month after new month, tells a different story.  I have such conflicting emotions about the whole thing.  When Benjamin started school it was different – a new adventure for us and him. He was well and truly ready.  Now, three years on, facing the impending start of “big school” for my smallest boy, carries with it quite different sentiments. It is a turning point, a rubber stamp on a page in my passport, declaring that I am now entering a different and completely foreign land, from which there is no return.

For precisely seven years (Benjamin celebrated his seventh birthday less than a fortnight ago), I have had small children at home. There have been seasons when I have stayed at home with them full time, and seasons where I have worked part time, away from the home.  I have spent time with them both – a lot of time – and time away from them.  I have met the most wonderful friends, done the rounds of baby music, swimming, toddler groups, toddler gym, soft play, the park. I have had wonderful moments where, resisting the urge (mine and theirs) for yet more television, I have baked muffins, got the paints or play dough out, played a board game, attempted (usually unsuccessfully!) a craft activity of some description or bounced on the trampoline, one or both of them giggling around me. I will miss these moments.

This week, as an example, has unfolded as follows: Monday, food shopping  (“Mummy I need some pens to write a list on the way…We don’t need your list, I’ve written one!”).  Tuesday, soft play and chips at the seaside with friends (“I want the big bowl, not the small one you’ve put chips in for me!”).  Wednesday, Bouncies Toddler Group, after a brief run to Sainsbury’s for emergency shorts-buying for the run of warmer weather (“I’m going to try them all on when we get home!” – he did!).  Thursday was work, school and pre-school, everyone away from everyone else for a time.  Friday, paddling-pool-buying, with eyes shining as he took his ticket to the counter in Argos, then Little Lambs Toddler Group - puzzles , snacks and singing, including “crazy rowing” in “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” as has become our custom.

So here we are at Friday afternoon, with one at school and one at preschool, leaving me to reflect on the week, and life, and what it will be like all too soon, when this occasional ‘treat’ of time alone will become a daily event.

I will very much miss all of the things I have described.  But for all the beautiful, “Facebook post” moments, there have been a multitude of others that have made some of the days feel long, hard and draining.  There’s the out-of-the-ordinary, huge-and-hard-to-deal-with stuff that knocks you off your feet (baby loss, home moves, new jobs, marital disputes, cancer diagnoses for someone you love), all of which are half-faced, half attended to, whilst trying to maintain the right level of love and attention to the needs of the small people in my care.

Then there’s the more ordinary stuff, familiar to so many. Sickness (blessedly infrequent), where you are sleep-deprived, wondering how you will pass the endless hours ahead, stuck on the sofa with a floppy toddler.  Chaos and mess – not just your average kind, but the kind that starts to mess with your head and make you wonder how on earth you will get it all straight and where you will even start. Cold, wet, winter days with lively boys, who you fear will break the sofa or each other if you don’t get them out to run, and soon! Times where the frenetic pace of life makes you want to stop and take a long, hot bath and read a book and actually find a place of rest and peace, but you can’t because someone needs a meal, a drink, a bottom-wipe, a cuddle, an arbitrator in a dispute over a Lego figure.

I am looking forward to being able to think, pray, reflect, write, chat and do years of overdue chores, without interruption or guilt.  I am looking forward to time where (on non-work days) I can arrange my days around my own plans, not those of a four-year-old.  I will treasure newly-found peace-filled moments.  Yet, for quite some time, I imagine, the house will resound, between the hours of nine and three, with distant echoes of the demands, requests, jokes, and laughter of a little person who has been my constant companion for so long.  I will miss his grin, his giggle and his stroppiness. I will probably shed some tears the first time I drop him at school in his new uniform, and walk back home, alone, without him chattering and holding my hand.

I read recently that “the days are long but the years are short.”  I can’t think of anything more true right now.  So, for the final few weeks of having a pre-schooler in the house, I will be making memories, enjoying the chaos, breathing in each moment and storing it in my soul.  And, when September comes, I will hold the happy memories tightly, let the regrets fly free and embrace a new season and all the freshness and adventure it holds.

And, at 3:15 each day, at weekends and throughout every holiday, let the chaos of baking, craft, trampolining, board games, Lego and laughter recommence!