School’s out for the summer! Now what?

You’ve survived another year relatively unscathed. Relatively.

You’ve witnessed 10 years drop from the faces of your children’s teachers on the last day of the academic year at the tantalising prospect of being free of their demands for an entire eight weeks.

Only to watch them regain another five years as it dawns on them that they too must spend an entire summer occupying their own offspring.

We’re all in the same boat together. Except for the lovely student teacher on placement who exits the school gates with a spring in her step to rival my kids.

That’s what the prospect of a summer spent Inter-railing rounded off with a jaunt of Balearic Island hopping does for you. I would pole vault over the school gates at even a whiff of such debauchery.

Meanwhile, my children run at full pelt towards me, flinging lunch and schoolbags to their left and right. Remember that scene in Forrest Gump when his beloved Jenny yells, ‘Run Forrest, run!’, as the bullies give chase?

And in doing so, frees his legs from the braces restricting him with his exertions, causing them to twist and snap whilst the metal pieces shoot off at various angles?

Now, visualise that exact situation in relation to my children as they sprint towards me. But instead of leg braces coming apart at the seams… it’s their uniforms.

Any hope of salvaging so much as a jumper dissolves in slow-mo in front of my very eyes as threads loosen and soles detach from shoes. I grimace and unleash a tirade of silent expletives in my head.

Meanwhile, Janet is announcing to a rapt audience how she has already purchased all the requirements for the coming September. Stand down, Janet.

The youngest gets in the car and extracts the booklist from her bag,

“See Mum? This year I’m allowed pens… actual pens…” I know where this is going. We both do. I catch a glimpse of my son in the rear-view mirror who gives me an understanding and sympathetic look. Even he knows where this is going. My husband, who is not in the car, knows where this is going.

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Smiggle.

I unleash another litany of silent expletives. A vein in my forehead begins to throb and the ‘Smiggle Sweats’ begin to take hold.

For those who have had the sheer good fortune never to have been acquainted with such trauma, let me enlighten you. Smiggle is the go-to for kids’ stationery supplies. Back in my day, you were the pinnacle of sophistication with the iconic BIC pen; the one with four separate colours of ink all housed within one clickable pen.

This would not be given a cursory glance by the Smiggle set. The company’s tagline is, ‘Where a smile meets a giggle’. Geddit? Smile plus Giggle equals Smiggle. These purveyors of lurid plastic are good! They know how to tap right into the inner workings of a seven-year olds mind to make her parents part with cold hard cash in exchange for florescent supplies!

What hit me on entering one of the stores for the first time was, the smell. A curious mix of plastic and strawberry merged together as I inhaled, causing me to gag slightly as the acrid aroma hit the back of my throat.

Within seconds, my daughter’s pupils had dilated to render the whites of her eyes invisible such was the sheer gluttony of the stare she affixed to every item she gazed upon.

My husband retreated towards the door, protesting, ‘I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry… this is all you. I bore the brunt of Claire’s Accessories last week’.

I cast a consolatory glance to the sales assistant behind the counter. Never have I seen a more broken man. Yet he rallied himself and smiled weakly.

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My daughter, meanwhile, was sniffing everything. Like some demented posse of cats who have just discovered the stash of catnip.

Such was her delirium, that she even convinced herself that the items which were not scented with some factory-made banana/pineapple/watermelon fragrance, were in fact an all-round olfactory experience: ‘Mum, smell this… isn’t it heaven?’ Close to an hour later and she had finally made her selection. A difficult task granted that nothing is as it appears.

A pen is not simply a pen; it comes in various scents and will invariably have a torch or keyring attached to it. A pencil case is a veritable rubix cube of wonder housing in various secret compartments, a ruler, calculator, paperclips etc.

I plonked everything on the counter and notice the sales assistant looked a bit peaky at this stage. “I can’t wait to go back to school Mum,” she sighed, glancing at her bounty.

Finally, something we both agree on.