Sometimes you don’t even know you’re in an era until it’s come to an end. Or at least until that end is fast approaching and suddenly every conversation is punctuated by this indisputable fact that it is indeed the “end of an era”. This observation has constantly tripped off my tongue of late as I find myself at the end of one (a pretty monumental one, it feels), as my youngest leaves primary school.
The final sports day – end of an era; the school play – end of an era; the leavers’ assembly – end of an era. It’s a wistful time of year for lots of us parents as these treasured stages wind to a close – whether it’s a little tot leaving nursery as big school beckons or whether that tot is now flying the nest. For me, in the run-up to this landmark finale for my daughter, every minor event has felt ritualistic. Setting out her Smurf-blue PE kit for the last time; getting out for early morning netball club; doing the final school run of the thousands I’ve done over the past 12 years that my three children have been to the school – marking the end of a whopping great era.
Until a few weeks ago, the school run was just about getting out of the house and back – making sure the bag was packed, shoes were on, breakfast munched, water bottle filled before getting in the car to school and then back again, day after day, term after term, year after year. But now that the era of doing the school run is over and there won’t be any more schlepping, sitting in traffic, listening to Capital, little one by my side mulling over the day, I want it back – every journey again.
Maybe I am a little too sentimental. Right now it feels like there is nothing I can possibly be doing at 8am that can trump sitting in a traffic jam on Tally Ho Corner, but I’m open to being persuaded otherwise. I’m sure there will be advantages of having an extra 30 minutes plus in the day.
But what it has made me realise is that Joni Mitchell had a seriously good point about not knowing what you’ve got til it’s gone. Because doing the school run, let’s face it, is not always a bundle of laughs. And pick-ups, although I do fewer of them, are even less of a blast – primarily due to the fact that you actually have to park and get out of your car. But also, because pens down time at 3.30pm always comes too soon. Those hours between drop-off and pick-up can just evaporate into thin air. But, now that this particular schlep is no more, all those frustrations have faded from my mind. There’s nothing like an “end of an era” to swathe memories in a perfect rose hue.
If we could just live life in reverse, we’d appreciate it all so much more. If we knew how it felt to miss everything before we actually started missing it, that would be a sure route to all-round life improvement. Perhaps we could sprinkle every chore and moment of drudgery with rose-tinted appreciation. What if I thought I would never again do my London Underground commute – never again reach the bottom of an escalator and realise my right hand is black; never again miss the last seat and have to stand all the way to work; or never again get the last seat only to realise I’m next to a sneezer all the way? Would that familiar deafening clatter of the Northern line become a sweet, comforting melody? Perhaps some things are past romanticising – and in truth it’s not the route along Ballards Lane that’s really kindled that nostalgia. It’s the end of that primary school innocence before the teenage years of secondary school hit. I remember looking at parents pushing buggies when my youngest started school and realising that stage was well and truly over. Now another stage of family life is closing.
Social plans will soon be out of my hands, family days out will be groaned at and as for buying pretty clothes…forget about it.
And then, of course, there’s me. Yes, it is a pain when 3.30pm comes around so quickly on pick-up days, but those school-gate moments with other mums are priceless. It’s strange to think that after 15 years of pick-ups, since my youngest started nursery, those snatched moments of camaraderie will no longer exist in my week. Two-minute catchups after all those years of school add up to a lot of chit-chats and sharing. The snatched catchups will be gone but at least I can take the friendships with me. Maybe I’ll start an 8am club for anyone graduating from school-gate mum to teenagers’ “Muuuuum”. You only have to put your own shoes on, no need to remind anyone else. You can just drink some water if you want – no need to wash out and fill up any bottles. And you don’t even have to listen to Jordan North on the way. Gosh, I’m feeling better about this end of an era already.
