Skip to main content

Firstborn cuts the apron strings

It's been an emotional morning. Firstborn has gone off on her first ever overnight camp.

As we gathered in the school hall for the pre-departure pep talk, I looked over at my daughter as she huddled with her friends, drinking in everything the teacher was saying and occasionally glancing over in my direction. I kept a brave face on it, grinning manically at her in an attempt to communicate "Fun! Yeah! This is great! Yay!", but I felt a little more flat inside as each minute passed.

Firstborn is a mere eight years young and today she looked tiny. Outside she was full of bravado but her big owl eyes and slightly pinched mouth indicated otherwise. I probably looked exactly the same.

Last night we picked out Firstborn's clothes (many were dismissed as being way too naff - how did she get fashion sense this young?), raided the store room for torches and a sleeping bag, then I gave myself repetitive strain injury by sewing on name tags while she chatted away about the sort of stuff that looms large in the eight-year-old mind. As I kissed her goodnight, I felt a warm surge of pride for this brave little girl who is trying so so hard to be all grown-up.

I'm not ashamed to admit that as the bus drove away this morning a few tears were shed. I squashed the urge to jump in my car and give chase, clamped my largest and darkest sunglasses firmly onto my face and swallowed hard. I obviously wasn't fooling anyone though, as a few of the kinder mums felt moved to pat my shoulder gently and mutter comforting words.

Then I went home for a major self-indulgent pity-party in the company of The Belly who, at nine months old, doesn't yet have the ability to find me embarrassing (that's the brilliant thing about babies - however rubbish you are, they still think you're just great).

I so need to toughen up. 

Comments

Wooly said…
That would have been a lovely experience for Amanda. She would have loved to be with her much loved friends no matter how daunting and scary the experience seem to be :-)
Anonymous said…
She is stepping out. You are experiencing Mother Pain! Better get used to it. It gets worse!
juicyfatkin said…
did you really sew on all the name labels or did you have a little helper to help you?
Anonymous said…
Awwwwwh! Poor babies! F.B. will probably suffer homesickness tonight - and you can emphasise sickness, it's like physically being sick.
Kate S. said…
Hi Wooly, I know, Firstborn was just saying the other day that she wishes Amanda was still here. :-( Love to you all.

Anon - Mother Pain sucks.

Juicy - yes, I did! Hard to believe I know, since I am so utterly slummy, but sewing is one of my secret talents. I am a fab label sewer-oner.

Anon - really looking forward to her coming home. Brilliant school has been sending texts so we know what the kids are up to but really want to give her a hug (in the car though, in secret, as otherwise she acts like I am the most embarrassing person to have ever walked the earth and wrestles me off her) sigh.

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…

Champix

Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …