End of term | writermummy

The picture shows an array of cut flowers, including lilies, daisies, sunflowers, in hues of white, yellow and orange, ready to be made into bouquets.

So it was Award Day at school today.

Such a difficult time, as most of the end of term is, for many neurodivergent children and their parents. Social media posts from friends and family are full of academic achievements, reward events, first day/last day photos, smiling faces, holiday plans.

For families whose children do not thrive in school, it’s a time of sadness and exclusion. No attendance reward treat for a girl with 33%, no certificates, no photos. Certainly no firm holiday plans for a girl too broken by school to leave the house without me.

But as I dropped my daughter off for what may be her penultimate day at that school, any school, since the LA have not secured provision for her final year, I was beyond proud.

She clutched a bag of flower bouquets she had made herself, with hand written cards and thoughtfully chosen gifts. Gifts for the three ladies who have made the 33% possible, have made toast, made safe spaces, made an effort. They’re not teachers. They’re TAs. Unsung, under-resourced, over worked sticking plasters, holding SEND children together in a place that feels about as safe as a burning building.

School wants children to have good attitude to learning (they score it), resilience, grit. Who scores the school, scores the teachers? Turning up to a school that has let you down again and again, studying subjects no-one is teaching you, aiming for exams you don’t know you’ll ever sit. Well, if that isn’t the definition of all these traits, tell me what is.

So yes, awards are great. I’m as proud of my son’s academic and sporting certificates, his resilience, his attitude to learning. He copes with school, just about, so he gets his moment to shine, he gets his special treats and pats on the back. He also gets expectations and ‘but he’s doing so well, despite being autistic’ when I suggest he might be heading for burnout. Yes, until he isn’t. What then?

My kids are both amazing, both worth celebrating. But in the eyes of our school system, one is a success and one is an uneconomic use of resources.

Both just need to survive school, to finally be free to start living the lives they deserve.

Thank You cards

Eleven months ago, my little girl put on her red gingham summer dress, shiny shoes and a huge smile, and went to school for the first time. Today, wearing a bigger red gingham dress, and her second pair of shiny shoes, she held my hand and skipped with me to her last day of Reception.

I am a proud Mummy today. She has had an amazing year. Helped by brilliant, caring teachers, and some how surviving my rages and tears and inability to tie a plait or remember to always order her school lunches, she has flourished. From barely knowing her alphabet she can now read and write and loves nothing more than to spend her free time doing both, when she isn’t doing sums or making robots out of cardboard boxes.

She started the year clinging to one friend and now she has a dozen or more. Although she spent her last morning, like her first, standing by the teaching assistant, there were no tears and I walked out with a happy smile.

It’s hard for a parent to relinquish their child to school. There is difference of opinion, there is letting go. There is dealing with, “but Mummy you’re not a teacher, so you don’t know anything” and “teacher says we have to do this…” There are constant rules, about uniform and behaviour, hair clips and pack lunches, but, frustrating as they are sometimes, the rules are what make it work. It’s about becoming part of a community, working towards a common goal. No wonder it feels new.

First Day at School

I have also started my school journey this year, and I found it as hard. Many times I wanted to relinquish my responsibility and let go, to enrol in breakfast club, after school club, to go back to the world of suits and coffee breaks and feeling like I know stuff, (instead of, “no, Mummy, you’re wrong!”) But I signed up to be a school run mum. It is important to me.

That isn’t a judgement. If I had an office job that I loved, even if that didn’t let me do the school run, that would be amazing too. My daughter has asked to go to breakfast club, and next year possibly she will. But there are few ‘achievements’ for a stay-at-home-writer-mummy. Dropping a happy child in her classroom this morning, skipping the last 100 yards (to applause from a random stranger, which made the knee pain worthwhile), even though I forgot the beautiful handmade cards for the other teachers my daughter wants to thank, made me feel like I’d earned my own gold star.

The summer will fly by, and before long we’ll be getting more shiny shoes and trying on new gingham dresses. But this time I’ll be excited, for her and for me. I think about the Dr Seuss story, ‘Oh the places you’ll go,’ and I know that school is giving her, and me, the ability to move mountains.