On the school run

Only another 15 years to go.

When I read Toby Young’s piece about how his fourth and final child had finished his A-levels meaning Young will soon have no children at school at all, I thought that’s interesting. Young, “My son Charlie sat his final A-level paper last week and the significance of this has only just sunk in. It’s not simply that he has finished his schooling; he’s the last of my children to do so. No more PTA meetings, no more parents’ evenings, no more school runs. My kids are all grown up. I’ve fulfilled my biological duty, raising four of them to adulthood, and can now disappear over the horizon into the sunset – or, rather, the Sunset Care Home.”

Young has the added boast that he actually set up his son’s school: the West London Free School under the Gove-Cameron reforms. He’s a man that gets the job done. I can’t make that claim, but it caught my eye as I am at the other end of the spectrum. In September I will drop off my fourth and final child to junior infants – the Irish equivalent of reception.

I dropped my first child off to reception about 13, maybe 14 years ago. Now I get to do it all again. There will be more PTA meetings, on top of the PTA meetings of the other three, and school runs and school gate gossip. I am honestly looking forward to teaching John to read as teaching a child to read is one of the greatest things you can do. I have yet more Biff and Chip to come, and my favourite, Bob Bug. The story about when the Red Man and the Green Man from the traffic lights went on a trip together is a work of literary genius.

I am also looking forward to the slightly longer ‘me time’ hours which I can make a little longer if I choose to add on an extra hour of ‘childcare’ provided by the school. This means John can go home with his older sister. I am somewhat concerned however, that this final child at big school situation may trigger a world wide pandemic.

The last time my youngest child (as Emma then was) started school full-time Covid and then lockdown hit within months. I swiftly ended up with all three children at home again full-time. That was not what I had bargained for. You have been warned.

(Annabelle drops Emma to school. The school has since closed because of Labour’s evil VAT raid.)

The big question will be, will the Irish school gates differ much from the English school gates? Most readers should know that Motherland and indeed Amandaland are two of my favourite programmes. Motherland is so accurate it hurts, and was written by two Irish peeps, Sharon Horgan and Graham Linehan. It depicts the ferocious school receptionist, ironically called Mrs Lamb, perfectly, the madness of having a swimming birthday party and the stress of World Book Day perfectly. If they made that programme today they have to update it with all the WhatsApp groups which I mostly ignore.

I made some of my best friends at the school gates in London, it shall be interesting to see how the Irish experience works out.

The truth is I will miss John when he goes to school. He was my mummy’s boy, and in the afternoon after nursery we would watch Octonauts together or sometimes Paw Patrol. I learned all about sinkholes and sea snakes from Octonauts which is heavy on the climate change theme.

Now, I’m quite looking forward to fitting in an afternoon nap before they all come through the door. Or perhaps I will do ‘absolutely nothing.’ Hope springs eternal.