Julie Jay: Oops, I dropped him off at school again — even though it was closed

When you forget a big thing like when your child is due to finish up for school holidays, you have to be prepared to pay the price

Julie Jay: "The building was dark — there were no cars in the car park and no buzz of activity. A sinking feeling engulfed me — I had forgotten that there was actually no school today because school was closed for the summer. Yes, the previous day had been Number One’s last day."

A TERRIBLE fright befell us last Thursday morning. It all started out as normal: I got a reluctant Number One out of bed, gave him breakfast, of which he ate approximately 50%, got him dressed in something that resembled weather-appropriate attire, brushed his teeth (it’s a team effort) and got his hair somewhat combed. Lunchbox at the ready, we went through the usual routine of waiting for Number One to get into his car seat, a process expedited by my reminders that we didn’t want to be deireanach (despite this being the case most days).

It was only when I pulled up outside the naíonara that the realisation hit me like a ton of post-Brexit extortionately priced bricks. The building was dark — there were no cars in the car park and no buzz of activity. A sinking feeling engulfed me — I had forgotten that there was actually no school today because school was closed for the summer. Yes, the previous day had been Number One’s last day, and it had totally gone over my unkempt head.

I was so rattled at dropping the ball from such a height that I had to take my time driving home, fully aware that, based on this egregious slip of memory, there was a strong possibility that I shouldn’t even be driving. How could I make such a terrible faux pas? All the signs had pointed to end of term the day before — the craft book, the photographs, the hugs. I berated myself for not putting the pieces of the puzzle together in time.

As I apologised profusely to Number One... he seemed relatively unfazed. Undoubtedly the degree to which his mother failed him this week will be something recounted in a scathing memoir in years to come. Interviewers will probe him gently about this specific parenting failure, and he will make light of it, saying at least it taught him always to be organised and how his maturity can be attributed to rebelling against his parents’ chaos.

When I informed the husband of my error, he laughed, totally missing the point that knowing what day of the week it is, is pretty much Parenting 101. Thankfully, Number One has another year to go in naíonara, so we haven’t missed graduation or any of the big stuff, but still I can’t help but feel we’ve let a mini-milestone pass us by.

To make up for having messed up so categorically, I treat my firstborn to a Mammy Day, which is basically a regular day but we spend more money. We go for a walk to see the ducks, which for some reason don’t respond to our screams to come out of their hiding place. After this, we treat ourselves to cake, where he maintains interest for all of three minutes, deciding he is done after eating the icing. Because I am fully leaning into mam mode,  I wrap the remnants up in a napkin ‘for later’. Finally, we toddle to the aquarium, where I decide ‘later’ has arrived and scoff cake straight from my handbag as Number One looks at some very pretty fish en route to his favourite part — the gift shop. Here, he quickly intuits that he can exploit my parental guilt and chooses a toy to mark the start of holidays. Every time I see this marine-themed item, I am reminded of the day I nearly reported myself to the Teaching Council for crimes against school calendars.

The good news is, Number One will see his friends next week in summer camp, which is basically naíonanra, except everyone is wearing shorts (sssh, don’t tell them). This will allow me to give the múinteoirí presents — which I purchased last week in a rare moment of preparedness. If I didn’t have this second chance to make things right,  my only alternative would be to bribe a delivery man to share their Eircode and arrive at their respective houses, scented candle and voucher in hand, to offer my excuses. Given that such a scenario could see my good intentions veering towards Baby Reindeer territory, it’s just as well there’s a week where I can conduct school business on school property.

Having spoken to friends, I know we all drop the ball sometimes when it comes to the big school moments. No doubt many of us have forgotten about a non-uniform day, a colours day, World Book Day, a pyjamas day, an odd-socks day (or as we call it in this house, a Tuesday). Even pre-kids, we all had that moment of arriving in a Debs dress for what turns out to be a casual brunch. Trust me, this kind of stuff happens, and avocado toast always tastes better with a diamanté upstyle.
Trust me, this kind of stuff happens, and avocado toast always tastes better with a diamanté upstyle.

When I think about it, I was either really late for school this year or really early for school next year. For the sake of my anxiety levels I’m choosing to go with the latter, because like Alistair Campbell I too am the queen of spin.