The summer holidays always end the same way for us – too fast, and with a small human who has very strong opinions about waking up early again. School reopened this week, and our mornings are back to their familiar shape: my alarm going off, a gentle (and then less gentle) round of nudging, and Little Miss burrowing deeper into her blanket like the school bell can somehow be negotiated with. Frankly, I don’t disagree with her. If I had my way I would snuggle back inside my blanket for a little more.
I won’t pretend the first morning was easy. There was a moment, eyes still closed, when she got off the bed and sunk down on the floor ready to fall asleep there. I’ve learned not to lose my patience in such situations. Instead, we do our slow shuffle: I coax her back on her feet, we brush teeth, eat two bites of breakfast, get distracted by the dog, eat two more bites, find the will to do our hair. It’s chaotic, it’s a little late most days, and it works for us.
What I love is what happens next. The moment we turn into the school lane, something shifts. The drowsy, dragging-her-feet child from twenty minutes ago straightens up. She starts giggling, looks at me and gives me a hug. By the time we reach the gate, she’s practically pulling me along instead of the other way around. It’s such a small transformation, but I never get tired of watching it happen.
This year she has a new classroom, a new teacher, and a slightly intimidating number of new rules to learn. And yet, the excitement underneath it all is exactly the same as last year. The same flutter of nerves mixed with anticipation. The same squeals of joy, hug and kisses when I get there to pick her up. Children don’t really change how they feel about new beginnings; they just get a little more articulate about it each year.
I think that’s the part I find most reassuring as a parent. We worry, going into a new school year, about all the things that are different, new faces, new expectations, new routines to settle into. But underneath the newness, the core of who she is stays steady. She’s still the girl who needs five extra minutes in the morning and then turns into someone entirely more confident the second she’s within sight of her classroom door.
If your mornings currently look like ours – slow, slightly chaotic, occasionally turning our face away from the breakfast – I would say don’t fight it too hard. We’ve found that prepping her bag and laying out clothes the night before saves us at least ten minutes of running around, and building in a five-minute buffer for my inevitable “I forgot something” and “Did I shut the gas” keeps things from spiralling. But honestly, even on the days we are rushing out the door, the moment she sees the school gate, all that morning grumpiness disappears.
New class. New teacher. Same old excitement. I’ll take it.
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