“Good afternoon this is the school, I am a year six pupil how may I help you?” I heard Mini Son answer assuredly. He took a very important message and wrote it on a sheet of paper I had placed strategically in front of him, then; probably as I was around he gave it to me.
Full of pride I watched my baby now looking after the school office at lunchtimes. A responsibility all year six children take on for a week at a time. It gives them a significant role and allows the poor office staff a quick half hour to grab some food. The children are unknowingly supervised from the staffroom and have training from the previous week’s monitors.
Standing at the counter was a small boy crying hysterically with two children either side of him.
“Jimmy fell over and hurt his head”
Calmly and confidently Mini Son took the boy into the medical room, asked him where it hurt and what happened. Reassuring the lad he went across to the kitchen to get a cold pack. His co-year six helper Olivia checked the first aid rota and went to call the staff member on duty.
Olivia returned to tell me the teacher on duty was dealing with a child and who should she call. Although officially I had already finished for the day, I stepped in to sort Jimmy and the bumped head. Mini Son already in control had the cold pack round the sore head and was chatting animatedly to a now laughing Jimmy.
We do have a strong first aid procedure in school and had the child been seriously hurt a teacher or mid-day assistant would have brought him in. Sending him with friends was a code to the inside staff; he was hurt but TLC was required more than anything, a commodity Midday Assistants could not currently afford whilst watching the other 203 children playing. Staff, also know; inside I have magic wipes to wipe all the pain away. Opening slowly we can watch the enchantment captivating the sad faces as it starts to work its magic on their tiny cuts and bumps. I have my big brave stickers for all those brave little soldiers who have need of my medical room and leave without their heads or limbs falling apart. It is often just a mother’s kiss and rub they need but all we can lavish is attention to focus on them being special rather than the hurt.
It was later in the week that I was dealing with a lady on the phone who again had been passed to me following her initial enquiry at lunchtime.
“I have to just tell you that the boy who dealt with me before was so efficient and good. He said he was year six but I expect he meant 6th form did he, doing a YTS type thing?”
“No”, I explained our office duty role for the 10 and 11 year olds.
“Please pass on my congratulations to the teachers, he was very good”
“I will” I assured her. My heart swelling, pushing at my tight ribcage, a warm feeling spread from within till I could feel my skin glowing. I felt so expanded with love and pride I thought I might really burst. Wait till I tell Sexy Sporty Dad, he will be so proud as well.
It was later that day I realised that had it been any other child in the class I would have rushed down and told their teacher, but I had taken all the glory and not passed on the message. Slightly embarrassed I saw Mini Son’s teacher at the end of the day and passed on the caller’s message.
“I am not surprised, he is a lovely child; a very capable role model” she told me as the internal explosion erupted and tears of pure pride pressed their way out.
Unfortunately Sexy Sporty Dad is away at the moment, missed by all of us particularly me. I know it is only short lived but I don’t actually remember us being apart for three whole nights in all our 21 years together. Even in the confusing days of him working away before we moved to join him, he would only be gone for two nights at a time. He returned home to a house of crises and chaos twice a week, before going back to being an important cog in his wheel of governance.
This time, left at home with my three boys to look after me it is most definitely Mini Son who is taking on the protective Alpha male role. His love of spiders and creepy crawlies has always allowed me to depend on his Arthurian knight skills when met with a hostile eight legged enemy. A little hug here and there to make sure I am ok. Little jobs are being done without me even asking and his homework is not a battle of wills, he even asked if he could lay the table.
Why oh why does all this change as they go through the grumpy grunting teen years?
If only I could bottle Mini Son’s innocence and youthful willingness now. I know like his brothers before him he will always make us proud; I also know he will go through a change and lose some of the sporadic spontaneity of his eager enthusiasm. Before I realise it he will be coming in with
“whatever”
“dunno”
Or just a shrug with a grunt!
To encapsulate these years of growing up would be every mother’s
Preserving for Posterity
dream.
So far the only way I have found is to write the stories down in my blog. Not all my tales will be saved but there will be a flavour of past years for me to look back on when these children of mine leave me for families of their own.
I, in my memory laden dotage can relive this passing of time and enjoy these special moments again and again and again.
Tiggy
Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy