This morning my middle girl started school. She's been quiet, pensive, most of this week, making feints at declaring herself not ready, but without any real conviction - her nervousness at war with her curiosity and excitement. This morning, though, there were no signs of hesitation, with her and her 7-year-old sister (who's in grade 2 this year) up, breakfasted, beds made and dressed, by 8am and waiting impatiently at the door to go.
It was an eventful first morning for her - I was summoned to the school at 11am to bring her a change of clothes, as she'd been inadvertently pushed in a puddle and was soaking wet, with two injured knees. I hustled up to the school in trepidation, expecting to find her distraught and wanting to come home, but instead I found her sitting in the office with her two best friends from kinder on each side of her, animatedly holding court with the office staff as she described her summer holidays. Through the glass door I could see another four or five little kids - "Her posse", one of the office staff noted drily. "They all wanted to come in with her, but we limited it to two." The girl herself greeted me cheerfully, proudly showed off her banged-up knees ("Look, Mum! There's actual blood seeping out from under the bandage!") and chattered about what she'd been doing as I executed a quick-change for her in the sick bay. She was impatient to be done, especially once the bell had rung for returning to class. "Come on, Mummy," she urged me. "I don't want to miss the story!"
When she got home at 1:30, collected by my husband, she was full of confidence, bubbling over with things to tell us, and declared that school was better than kinder "by a LOT." I think she'll be OK.
7 minutes ago