The Paroking Diaries: Blog 22: Back to Skool InIt
Sod’s law goes like this: The kids go back to school, and Bo Jo announces a new six-person rule to stop the weary parents getting together. Luckily the ‘against all odds’ daughter and I struggle with maths, so I go for the baker’s version when I calculate my half a dozen and I’m also into rounding up numbers so that’s all good.
The teacher of the ‘against all odds’ daughter emails us before the start of term to ask if we have any anxieties about the return. I promptly reply, “I’m wondering how loud I can crank up the music when I do my handbrake turn out of the carpark and I am ever so slightly worried that the pub won’t be open at 8.35am.” I am sure that is the line that most of the parents went for.
The ‘middle child’ has joined the ‘teenager’ at big school. The preparations for this big occasion began at least four weeks ago. In contrast the ‘teenager’ is clearing out the detritus from his rucksack, including a few 2019 Christmas cards (the ill-fated ones that wished us a happy 2020), the eve before school. The compliant ‘middle child’ appears at our door at around 5.30 fully dressed for the big morning in his shiny new uniform which is his brother’s hand-me-downs with the name crossed out and his put on. The ‘teenager’ grunts in his bed when I suggest he gets up an hour after the ‘middle child’ has and tells his brother ‘It will never last’. The tech-savvy school they attend is taking on its own COVID war by declaring pens, pencils and any other Victorian items including actual paper banned. We are therefore instructed to buy an expensive digital pen. The ‘husband’ who appears predictably disgusted by the prices that Apple are asking for the boys’ pens, rebels and buys a cheaper version because he also makes me shop at supermarkets that are not Waitrose, Tesco or Sainsbury’s because every penny counts in these Covid-times, he says. Pre-empting the loss of the digital pens, the ‘husband’ acquires a pen holder attachment for the ipads. It’s like a baby sling for pens. He tests their validity by shaking them up and down several times and declares them ‘toddler proof’.
The ‘middle child’ arrives home after the first day, which he declares a stunning success mainly due to the pineapple at lunchtime and the pool table back at house. I peek in his bag because I am his mum and therefore, I need to understand his life by examining the contents of his school rucksack. I find the digital pen holder is empty. ‘Where is the pen?’ I ask. The ‘middle child’ looks up briefly from his new ipad in which the teachers ask if he wants to attend cycling club or the gospel choir. He says, ‘In the pen holder.’ ‘No it’s not,’ I say, as my heart quickens and I dig around the bag, dodge the fruit winder packet and the clear, wipeable pencil case which is regulation along with the bus face mask and the new maths book with some teacher’s name on that I don’t recognise but is now slightly soggy at the corner because the ‘middle child’ whilst compliant is not trained that water bottles even when empty always contain a few drops and therefore if you mix that in with your school books something will get wet. ‘Come and see I say,’ my face the same colour as the puce fruit winder. ‘Oh’, he says, ‘I used it on the bus. I was sure I put it back in.’ I am deleting the expletives that went off in my head like a hand grenade at that moment. The ‘husband’ who is turn right up the stairs in his home office, or his ‘ivory tower’ as the ‘against all odds’ daughter has dubbed it, which she dutifully delivers with a truckload of sarcasm, shouts, ‘He hasn’t lost has he?’ ‘Yes, I say,’ and the ‘middle child’ immediately, no longer looks so shiny. The ‘teenager’ seizes his moment, glances up from his Instagram and says, ‘See, I knew he would slip up.’ Cue some crying and inner angst as some ‘told you so’s’ goes back and forth resulting in the ‘middle child’ wailing whilst putting his soggy maths book on the radiator.
‘Never mind,’ I say through many, many gritted teeth. ‘These things happen,’ (well they don’t or only to my children’. ‘We’ll just have to get a new one,’ making a note to get the very cheapest on offer because now I know that digital pens are like swimming goggles and gum shields and you can actually pay for a holiday home with the frequent replacements. It’s a ‘learning curve, isn’t it,’ I say, tucking up the ‘middle child’ into bed, ‘There’s just so much to remember,’ he says, ‘I know,’ I say because I read somewhere you have to let them learn by mistakes or something like that. I close the door, go downstairs and down two glasses of wine and everything in digital pen land seems better. It’s Monday, the only way is up.
Meanwhile, the ‘against all odds’ daughter develops a cold having not had one for the entire time during lockdown which is another definition of ‘sod’s law’ and I ask the lovely class teacher who worries about the returning darlings and their anxiety, if she can stay at school despite the cold or if we have to march to a testing centre because the runny nose is out of control. She explains about temperatures and regulations and in my head, I automatically switch off and think ‘Oh my god, is this seriously happening, just go to school, stay at school, please I have had enough.’ At this point I don’t actually care if they learn nothing or do anything or lose everything, just go to the building marked school for a few hours so I can have some time to order another expensive piece of kit, buy spot cream for the ‘teenager’ and sit in a chair and quietly rock for a few hours. Anyone want to join me?
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