the end of school.

School has finished. Today, the academic year ended & I left the gates of Bishop Road Primary School for the last time. 

It is amazing to think that this time last year, I had no idea where I was headed. 

I had spent a year working in the Nursery Class of a Primary school where I learnt lessons daily about my flaws & inexperience, alongside a brilliant teacher who so gently taught me about education & children, showing grace again & again in the face of my ignorance. It had been a challenge, not just because of the daily holding up of a mirror to the cracks in my character, but because I did not know what it was all for, or where I should go. I felt like I had spent yet another year drifting along, not really achieving anything & this was disheartening.

And, just like that, another year has passed & I have left the school. I couldn't quite believe how simple it felt to hand in my fob key - my elite access to the school - and walk out the gates knowing I won't be going back to work there in September. 

My leaving card from the teacher I have worked with this year said:

'she is planning an elaborate escape'

In all honesty, this does not feel like an elaborate escape. This just feels like doing life. Some things are ending so that others can begin. That is not to say that I am not excited about the changes that are happening - going back to university to train as a teacher and more importantly - getting married to a brilliant man - I really am excited but in this moment I am amazed that this is how it feels for it all to have ended. It just feels normal. And I think that's ok, because endings & change don't have to be scary or sad, they can happen in the context of everything else. Sometimes the changes might make up the foreground, sometimes the middle ground, and sometimes they might be so subtle that they are only feint in the background in the context of everything else.

This is how my day goes

There are times when I am sure that my job is partially, or maybe even wholly, responsible for my memory loss.

The thing is, when you are surrounded by 30 three year olds, they need a lot of help. While we are forever encouraging and fostering independence in themselves, there are still a lot of things they can't do. Let's have a little look at today...

I was about to help one child change her pull-up, and had just adorned myself with the appropriate latex gloves, when a child comes in from outside, telling me that Horrace had hurt himself. (All names are substitutes to protect the identity of the children, so enjoy my choice of names, and yes, it is ok to laugh.) Knowing full well that the class teacher was outside, so would probably be aware of Horrace's injury, I asked Penny-the-messenger if Miss M (teacher) knew. Penny nodded so I asked if Miss M needed my help. Another nod. By this stage, two more girls have come into the bathroom, needing to wash paint from their hands. An easy task, but not so easy when you are these two particular girls. They are joined at the hip. In the metaphorical sense. So that adds a fun dimension to things. Then Timmy joins the steadily growing Bathroom Tribe and insists that he needs to take a towel outside. Penny-the-messenger likes to help people, and so tries to give Timmy a towel to go outside while she is mid-sentence, telling me exactly why I need to go outside, thus resulting in her losing her train of thought. Another member joins the tribe, to tell me that Miss M would like some more baby clothes outside for the children to peg on the line.

So, I finish instructing Helena (another tribe member - see how it loves to grow?) as to how exactly she needs to deal with her wet underwear, having not quite made it to the toilet in time, while carrying a spare latex glove under one arm, collecting some baby clothes from the Home Corner, instructing a child as to how they need to put their apron on (rather than just doing it for them), finding a towel and dealing with Horrace's bumped head. Did I forget anything there? Probably.

The knock-on effect of this constant need to thing along multiple trains of thought is that I will later on think of something that needs to be done, walk to do whatever that may be and forget on my way there why I was going. Today it was opening the curtains after showing the children a video clip about Divali. I only remembered what I was supposed to be doing when I saw my colleague doing it. I also talk to myself. All the time. Is working with children bad for my health? Answers on a postcard please.

P.S There will be a post or two to come, following the weekend of birthday fun!