When the August bank holiday weekend arrived this year, I didn’t feel the pre-school anxiety erupt in my stomach. There were no books waiting to be covered or uniforms to be pressed. The reason being that I had prepared my last class for First Holy Communion and my youngest child had flown the nest.
Yes, I’ve retired and look forward to the future with a childlike anticipation as I step into the unknown. This gives me a degree of objectivity as I reflect on the “ups and downs” experienced by my own children when they stepped into a classroom for the first time.
When my eldest son started school, I presumed he was ready for the big event. He had been to playschool, but was more familiar with the “Thinking Corner” than a paintbrush. Colouring was “for girls” in his mind and the only pincer grasp he had developed was for holding on to his dad’s wellies to prevent him going to the farmyard without him. However, he seemed to settle in well. As rain teemed down the first few days, all playtime had to be taken indoors and my heart surged with pride as I watched him complete complex jigsaws with quiet concentration.
All changed, however, on the first sunny day. Two senior infants arrived in my room at 1pm, wrestling with my red-faced son.
“School is stupid. You never said we had to stay in when the sun was shining,” he roared furiously as 30 pupils looked on in delight.
To defuse the situation, I promised he could go to every mart in the country with his dad if he’d just return to his class. Luckily, his teacher was a farmer’s wife who cajoled him with a farm set and Appletree Farm books anytime he reared his head.
The next fellow appeared to adapt quickly as he found a soulmate on the first day. Yet as the term wore on and flashcards were introduced, his teacher informed me that he wouldn’t read them and averted his eyes daily when she held them up. So I started a long campaign at home where words were put in front of him at every turn. No deal. I was at the end of my tether and, once again, to my shame, resorted to blackmail.
One evening he was ready to go off with his dad to check ewes that were close to lambing. Just as he was about to get into the jeep, I blocked his path and shoved my clipboard in front of him, like an over- eager salesman.
“Play - have - bath - garden - house…” he reeled off in order. “Now mam, let me go!” Job done.
When I look back on those early days, I realise how much attention is given to “starting school”. From my experience, however, I wish I had given more attention to the transition to secondary school.
My eldest son chose to go to boarding school because it offered the prospect of football glory and an array of lads from mainly farming backgrounds. I was secretly relieved that he would be corralled in a study hall in the evenings instead of a sheep pen.
We assumed the same routine would suit the next son, given that his aforementioned friend was joining him there. However, I believe homesickness outweighed any benefits and we conceded to his demands to become a day student. He baffled us some years later by making a deal with the rector for a 10-week stay to “cram” for the Leaving Cert.
Unfortunately for us, a ewe got into difficulties lambing on his first night back in college. My husband arrived home in a lather of sweat muttering: “Graham or the vet, the vet or Graham...?”
I curtly told him to swallow his pride, collect his son and if he failed to lamb the ewe, the vet could be called. Within the hour, a gleeful son arrived in my kitchen; his deft hands had done the trick and all was well in the maternity ward. I feared he was back home for good and I was mentally erasing CAO points as he stood there. Luckily though, the successful lambing event had somehow bridged the gap between home, school and his future in agriculture.
We were a little wiser when it came to the third young man’s time for secondary school. Fast cars and young ladies topped his agenda, so the college in the countryside was a non-runner. He attended the local CBS and was as happy as a lark, despite being in a separate class to all his primary school friends. After a rocky few weeks forming new bonds, he declared it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
I was delighted when his last day before the Leaving Cert exams finally arrived (mischief being his middle name) and decided to pop in to visit the principal with a few bottles of wine for the staff party. The secretary directed me into the office where dozens of eggs lay on the shelves. The principal eyed me in a bemused fashion as I offered my gifts and thank- you card.
“You do know of your son’s involvement in the incident here yesterday?” he asked.
“Enlighten me,” I gulped.
Apparently, my son and some friends had released two hens on a corridor, which caused some amusement. Evidently, they had labelled them “1” and “3”, and the poor caretaker had spent hours stalking the classrooms to find the non-existent “hen no. 2!” Now I understood the “egg” jokes that had been presented that morning by teachers and students alike. There was a glimmer of humour as the principal shook hands formally with me on my departure and I was grateful for his calm countenance in the face of such divilment.
“Little Miss” started school a few years later and, like her siblings, was thrown into a classroom “to help her new teacher” five minutes before the doors opened as mother had her own pupils to meet. She was always anxious to please and a video cassette I found in a drawer a few weeks ago confirmed this. There was my eager child, in her first end-of-year concert, totally out of sync with her peers. The rest of the group were performing the carefully choreographed movements. She was trying to mirror the actions and copy the “soh-me-do” hand signs of the music teacher.
While we spent years encouraging the boys to work harder at school, there were times we worried more about how we could drag her away from the books.
But let’s face it, parenting is an uncharted course during school days. A little like that spanking new workbook you’ve just purchased – it costs a fortune, has lots of problems to solve and may soak up a few frustrating tears before June comes around again. CL
Tips for school
DON’T be anxious if your child has not been placed in his/her friend’s class. Sit tight and observe. Great friendships can be forged with strangers and your child’s circle of friends will expand.DO switch off all electronic devices early on Sunday evening and let the whole family have a good night’s sleep.DO give them a lunch full of easy bites, eg carrot sticks, strawberries, cheese blocks etc. Lunch boxes with separate sections are invaluable. Avoid squeezy yoghurt tubes – they invariably end up on the uniform of the child beside them!DO purchase Velcro shoes for the little people and make sure they know how to zip coats, wash hands carefully etc. Put a tissue up their sleeve like granny did for you.DON’T forget to listen to “newbies” in secondary school. It can be a traumatic time and they do need some extra TLC – no matter what they say.
When the August bank holiday weekend arrived this year, I didn’t feel the pre-school anxiety erupt in my stomach. There were no books waiting to be covered or uniforms to be pressed. The reason being that I had prepared my last class for First Holy Communion and my youngest child had flown the nest.
Yes, I’ve retired and look forward to the future with a childlike anticipation as I step into the unknown. This gives me a degree of objectivity as I reflect on the “ups and downs” experienced by my own children when they stepped into a classroom for the first time.
When my eldest son started school, I presumed he was ready for the big event. He had been to playschool, but was more familiar with the “Thinking Corner” than a paintbrush. Colouring was “for girls” in his mind and the only pincer grasp he had developed was for holding on to his dad’s wellies to prevent him going to the farmyard without him. However, he seemed to settle in well. As rain teemed down the first few days, all playtime had to be taken indoors and my heart surged with pride as I watched him complete complex jigsaws with quiet concentration.
All changed, however, on the first sunny day. Two senior infants arrived in my room at 1pm, wrestling with my red-faced son.
“School is stupid. You never said we had to stay in when the sun was shining,” he roared furiously as 30 pupils looked on in delight.
To defuse the situation, I promised he could go to every mart in the country with his dad if he’d just return to his class. Luckily, his teacher was a farmer’s wife who cajoled him with a farm set and Appletree Farm books anytime he reared his head.
The next fellow appeared to adapt quickly as he found a soulmate on the first day. Yet as the term wore on and flashcards were introduced, his teacher informed me that he wouldn’t read them and averted his eyes daily when she held them up. So I started a long campaign at home where words were put in front of him at every turn. No deal. I was at the end of my tether and, once again, to my shame, resorted to blackmail.
One evening he was ready to go off with his dad to check ewes that were close to lambing. Just as he was about to get into the jeep, I blocked his path and shoved my clipboard in front of him, like an over- eager salesman.
“Play - have - bath - garden - house…” he reeled off in order. “Now mam, let me go!” Job done.
When I look back on those early days, I realise how much attention is given to “starting school”. From my experience, however, I wish I had given more attention to the transition to secondary school.
My eldest son chose to go to boarding school because it offered the prospect of football glory and an array of lads from mainly farming backgrounds. I was secretly relieved that he would be corralled in a study hall in the evenings instead of a sheep pen.
We assumed the same routine would suit the next son, given that his aforementioned friend was joining him there. However, I believe homesickness outweighed any benefits and we conceded to his demands to become a day student. He baffled us some years later by making a deal with the rector for a 10-week stay to “cram” for the Leaving Cert.
Unfortunately for us, a ewe got into difficulties lambing on his first night back in college. My husband arrived home in a lather of sweat muttering: “Graham or the vet, the vet or Graham...?”
I curtly told him to swallow his pride, collect his son and if he failed to lamb the ewe, the vet could be called. Within the hour, a gleeful son arrived in my kitchen; his deft hands had done the trick and all was well in the maternity ward. I feared he was back home for good and I was mentally erasing CAO points as he stood there. Luckily though, the successful lambing event had somehow bridged the gap between home, school and his future in agriculture.
We were a little wiser when it came to the third young man’s time for secondary school. Fast cars and young ladies topped his agenda, so the college in the countryside was a non-runner. He attended the local CBS and was as happy as a lark, despite being in a separate class to all his primary school friends. After a rocky few weeks forming new bonds, he declared it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
I was delighted when his last day before the Leaving Cert exams finally arrived (mischief being his middle name) and decided to pop in to visit the principal with a few bottles of wine for the staff party. The secretary directed me into the office where dozens of eggs lay on the shelves. The principal eyed me in a bemused fashion as I offered my gifts and thank- you card.
“You do know of your son’s involvement in the incident here yesterday?” he asked.
“Enlighten me,” I gulped.
Apparently, my son and some friends had released two hens on a corridor, which caused some amusement. Evidently, they had labelled them “1” and “3”, and the poor caretaker had spent hours stalking the classrooms to find the non-existent “hen no. 2!” Now I understood the “egg” jokes that had been presented that morning by teachers and students alike. There was a glimmer of humour as the principal shook hands formally with me on my departure and I was grateful for his calm countenance in the face of such divilment.
“Little Miss” started school a few years later and, like her siblings, was thrown into a classroom “to help her new teacher” five minutes before the doors opened as mother had her own pupils to meet. She was always anxious to please and a video cassette I found in a drawer a few weeks ago confirmed this. There was my eager child, in her first end-of-year concert, totally out of sync with her peers. The rest of the group were performing the carefully choreographed movements. She was trying to mirror the actions and copy the “soh-me-do” hand signs of the music teacher.
While we spent years encouraging the boys to work harder at school, there were times we worried more about how we could drag her away from the books.
But let’s face it, parenting is an uncharted course during school days. A little like that spanking new workbook you’ve just purchased – it costs a fortune, has lots of problems to solve and may soak up a few frustrating tears before June comes around again. CL
Tips for school
DON’T be anxious if your child has not been placed in his/her friend’s class. Sit tight and observe. Great friendships can be forged with strangers and your child’s circle of friends will expand.DO switch off all electronic devices early on Sunday evening and let the whole family have a good night’s sleep.DO give them a lunch full of easy bites, eg carrot sticks, strawberries, cheese blocks etc. Lunch boxes with separate sections are invaluable. Avoid squeezy yoghurt tubes – they invariably end up on the uniform of the child beside them!DO purchase Velcro shoes for the little people and make sure they know how to zip coats, wash hands carefully etc. Put a tissue up their sleeve like granny did for you.DON’T forget to listen to “newbies” in secondary school. It can be a traumatic time and they do need some extra TLC – no matter what they say.
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