Julie Jay: My children are ready to move onto the next life stages, but am I?

Though everyone warned me about this year moving faster than the speed of light, I still can’t believe we’ve come to the end of our first full academic term

Junior infants has come and gone, and I think I am learning the meaning of "they grow up so fast" Picture: iStock 

Everyone told me the year would fly, but I couldn’t quite believe it when Number One’s first-ever school report came in the door.

How is it possible that junior infants is done and dusted and next year we will be in naíonáin móra. Or the most senior of the infants, if the term isn’t an oxymoron?

Given that Number One is only five, the school report was fairly general and didn’t contain any scary statements, like ‘must try harder’ or ‘must really knuckle down next year’.

The vibe seemed to be that he has got on well with the other children, having announced himself as a bit of a craic merchant, which is all well and good, but as a teacher myself I’ll have to be making sure we don’t cross the line where the craic is concerned. This week alone, we were teetering along the edge of the line, when the little scamp commandeered the teacher’s comfy seat during end-of-year Mass as she stood up to do a reading.

Thankfully, the teacher laughed it off, but I’m hoping to have a conversation at some point over the summer about only getting to sit in the blue chair when you have a third-level degree. If I don’t get this point across, I’m petrified he might attempt to steal the doctor’s seat on the next visit.

As someone who accidentally sat at the wrong side of the box at my first confessional, age seven, I know these hierarchies are important. Whatever about a child usurping a priest’s position today, let’s just say in 1990 it wasn’t quite as well received, because gentle parenting, like divorce, wasn’t legalised in Ireland until 1995.

I heard about Number One’s attempt to occupy his teacher’s seat from his father, who kept repeating like an Irish dad of a different vintage that the teacher’s lovely, laughing reaction “wouldn’t have happened in my day”.

A surprise report

I surprised myself at how emotional I got reading his little report card. I don’t know what it was: The realisation that he won’t be in babies’ next year, the reminder of how fast it was all going, or just getting a precious glimpse into what they’re up to when you’re not around. I’m not sure why, but it did fill me with all the feelings.

Perhaps my emotion is more down to how tired I am. (To be explained next week, but let’s just say I am doing the unthinkable and changing the address on our broadband provider’s bill. I had sworn blind that I’d be dead before I’d make the call to change location, given that, the last time, I was placed on hold so long that I managed to teach an entire class and emerge still listening to Picture This on repeat. So traumatic was it that every time the band come on the radio I am tempted to drive into the nearest sand dune and be done with it).

The emotions were there even more so when his bag of books, filled out and marked and littered with stickers and scribbles and scrawls, came in the door.  Painstakingly, Number One talked me through all the work he had done, proud of himself for giving it a go. He was particularly proud of his numbers and the pages he completed on the different coins in our currency. Unlike his parents, he has already demonstrated a keen interest in money, so here’s hoping his dad and I might have a pension plan yet.

Because the incoming junior infants came to visit for an hour, Number One and his pals moved up a table, and, as a result, all week he has been walking around with a certain pep in his step. He and his friends are insisting that they are senior infants now, and naíonáin beaga is but a distant memory.

Of course, it’s a good thing that he loved his school so much this year, and he is so happy heading off every day that my threat now is that if he’s not good he won’t be allowed to go to school.

Again, to quote his dad, who is currently cosplaying an elderly bachelor farmer

it wouldn’t have happened in my day

A strange sentimentality

I don’t know what it is that has me so sentimental about it all. Some might say it could have something to do with the fact that our littlest guy is heading in for an open day at his new naíonara tomorrow, and so, come September, they will both be away from me during the days I’m at home, at least for a bit. Yes, it will be great to catch up on work, and get the bits and bobs done, but I’m still feeling a little choked up. Because even when the report cards are lovely, they are, nonetheless, a reminder of your child existing in a world that is separate from you, and a reminder that one day they will be rolling their eyes when your name pops up on their phone screen, or they will be paying for their own health insurance.

Admittedly, the latter will probably not come to pass until they’re in their mid-30s, if current Irish averages are anything to go by, but still.

Yesterday, when expressing my concerns about it all to a friend, she reassured me that in her humble opinion Number Two was indeed ready to start preschool and head onto his next step. And she’s right, he is ready.

The real question, though, is Mammy?