Monday, 10 September 2012

Bringing up Boys – when they don’t want to kiss you at the school gate


The First Day At School
It has finally come to pass the day when my eldest squirms out of my embrace hastily muttering: “Mummm! Not here.”
And then scampers off to class on his own.
I should have seen it coming; I’ve spent all Summer banging on at him to grow up and get with the programme. It shouldn’t have come as a big surprise.
But it did.
And off he went to his new class, a school new year and I wasn’t with him. As I look after him walking away on his own, school bag slung across his back, hands in pockets, feet already scuffing the ground, I remember so vividly that first day at school.
Everything was so stiff and shiny, new and invariably way too large. I recall my enforced jolliness as I tried not to cry lest I start him off, not that he seemed that bothered then if I remember rightly. He was just too excited. I took photos of all of his class that day. And looking now at the photograph they seem so small and young and yet at the time I thought the exact opposite. I thought gone is my toddler and in front of me a fresh faced schoolboy already years older than I remembered him from only the day before.
And now six years later a big part of me wants to hurtle after him and grab his hand so we can march in together but it’s not a very cool (sorry he hates me using that word as it’s SO last year) good thing to do is it?
The whole point of my mithering him all over the holidays was just so he could be like this – independent, confident, grown-up.
A separate entity.
Someone who can stand up for himself without needing an adult by him in order to get on with his life.
I have succeeded in my goal. All that hard work over the Summer has paid off.
So why do I feel so bereft?

8 comments:

Potty Mummy said...

I am dreading the day that happens. Something tells me it's not too far off... x

Tattie Weasle said...

Potty - It was horrid until I picked them up and he gave me a great BIG hug!

Rob-bear said...

The younguns don't stay little forever. When until he turns 13.

Blessings, Bear hugs, and chocolate, in the meantime!

Expat mum said...

My 9 year old and I were walking home today and when we came to the lights, he took hold of my hand - like he used to when he was a bit younger. I didn't say anything and just relished it for as long as it would last. About thirty seconds later he caught on, looked at me and just laughed as he put his hand into his pocket. Sigh!

Tattie Weasle said...

Rob-Bear - I am NOT looking forward to their teenage years..they'll be far too independent!
Expat Mum - Oh that brought a lump to my throat!

janerowena said...

I was lucky - hand-holding lasted until he was 11, and then it came to a halt when someone from school spotted him. He's just 17 now and I still want to hold his hand at times! The good news is - he will carry heavy bags for you. That is just lovely. And I still get hugs - even in public. I wonder if all mothers are like me - I look at my children and see them at all ages and stages of life, sort of mentally superimposed images of them throughout the years.

Jane Batt said...

Up until now I've always had a younger son in reserve for cuddles but my three year old starts nursery at big school next week so I suppose public affection is on borrowed time. I'll make the most of it for now!!

Tattie Weasle said...

janerowena - I live for the day they carry the bags for me! Maybe them growing up isn't such a bad idea...
janebatt - Yep PDA is on borrowed time but I still get cuddles at bedtime...

Go on you know you want to...

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