Six weeks off; amazing, great!
It’s only the last five you’ll fucking hate.
You’ve done everything in week one, you filled your days,
With crafting and baking, it was gone in a haze.
The house is a tip now and you can’t see the floor,
But it’ll soon pass, there’s only five more.
Week two draws in and you wake filled with dread,
What do we do now? My head is a shed.
A family day out, a lovely idea!
It pisses it down with rain, pass me a beer.
Three weeks in and you’re going mad,
You didn’t think finding shit to do would be so bad.
You’re nagged and you’re moaned at more and more,
Can we? Can we? Can we? It’s becoming a bore.
Week four can fuck off, this is the worst,
Just over half way and an empty purse.
You’ve been uniform shopping and you’ve spent all your cash,
And all you want is a night on the lash.
Week five is strop week, you’ve heard and seen it all,
Get them in bed so you can stare at the wall.
Week six and more moaning that there’s nothing to do,
And you hide behind the fridge door mouthing ‘fuck you’.
But inside you’re smug, smug as can be,
Because it’s back to school next week, you’ve survived – yippee!!
It’s a big week for Leo this week. On Friday he will have his final day at nursery before he has the summer off in preparation for big school. He’s totally ready for it, because, as he keeps telling me, he can count to 23, wipe his own bum and write L-E-O, what else does he possibly need to know?
I’m not ready though. I feel panicked that time is running out. How is he already four and going to school? When did that happen? I feel like I blinked and he went from being a gargling, bouncing baby to a mass of long limbs and attitude. My baby boy is no more. He went for a trial day at school last week and buggered off without even waving bye. I went back to school to have my dinner with him (actual school dinner, on a plastic tray, with a ball of mashed potato and pudding with custard) and he sat with his new-found friends, came and told me he’d finished and once again, buggered off. I felt like screaming ‘WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING NEED ME ANY MORE?!?!’ and crumpling into a weeping heap on the floor, but I didn’t think it was appropriate in a school hall full of under 11s.
Leo has gone to nursery since he was nine months old. When I first took him I had to take baby milk and he didn’t even wear shoes. He still had two naps a day and two teeth. Now, when I pick him up, he’s usually racing around the garden on a bike or a scooter, giggling and covered in whatever he’s eaten that day (do nurseries just feed them orange stuff that stains?)
Come September I’ll be dropping him off at school each morning and we can’t even be late (we are ALWAYS late for nursery). Leo is adamant that we must be there ‘at the dot’. He’s so excited and I’m excited for him, but at the same time I want to hang onto my baby boy forever.
I recently asked Leo his thoughts on going to big school as part of a magazine feature.
Here it is:
What are you most excited about?
When I get to go in the big garden where the older children are because there is a balance beam. I am looking forward to wearing my uniform because I think it might be cool.
What do you think you’ll do in your classroom?
I’m going to do the register, which is when you make sure everyone’s here, like at nursery. After register we have to go and play. I will play mums and dads and Paw Patrol. I will be a boy Skye off Paw Patrol, with wings. In mums and dads I am the dog. I’m always the dog. We will do history which is what happened in the olden days and we’ll learn about Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom.
What else will you learn about?
I will learn everything. My favourite thing to learn about is dinosaurs and ears.
What will you have for your lunch?
Mashed potato and nothing else. I don’t like mashed potato.
Is there anything you’re not looking forward to?
Nothing. I am looking forward to everything at school because there is nothing to be afraid about.
And there we have it. I’ll blink again and he’ll be a stroppy teenager. The joy.
Ever taken the kids to a holiday park? We did, this weekend. If you’ve ventured into this dangerous territory, you’ll know the following to be true:
1. People with shit tattoos go to holiday parks.
2. There’s loads of kids called Chardonnay, and they always get told to ‘fucking pack it in’ by their parents.
3. The people doing actual camping in actual tents are really aggressive. ‘Yes, I’m wearing a fucking towel on my head to the restaurant, I’m fucking camping, you prick.’
4. The kids entertainers are all either wannabe actresses with overly backcombed hair or overweight 20-something men that should have considered a different career path.
5. It always rains, but who gives a shit? Just stick on your anorak and shut up moaning.
6. There’s loads of people with dogs, just standing around.
7. It’s London prices for a pint of beer. Dick Turpin wore a mask, not a fucking elephant costume.
8. The kids have an amazing ability to stay awake until way past their usual bedtime, giving you time to relax with a double g&t (which you took out a small mortgage for) and the evening’s entertainment (ego-maniacs pratting about in costumes).
9. There’s loads of horny teenagers, who have been dragged there by their parents because they are too young to stay home alone. They meet with other horny teenagers in the arcade to lie about how many times they’ve had sex and other cool stuff.
10. If an activity is free, it’s going to be rammed, and you’re going to get pissed off.
BUT… the kids think it’s AWESOME and, in the days leading up, it is a spot on bribing/ threatening tool to make them behave, so we’ll continue to go each year.