Educating daughters...

Today I drove by the all-girls’ school that I dreamed we would send our daughter to – if we had had one.

It put a little smile on my face imagining her in her brown and blue jacket and brown and tan striped skirt heading into school ready to learn all sorts of amazing things. I like to think about what extra-curricular activities she might have been involved in – arts, debating, music, outdoor activities, or environmental conservation. Who knows what she would have been interested in!

One of my work colleagues from years ago went to this school and it was from meeting her that I began to admire it. My colleague was outgoing, intelligent, unique, and the school had encouraged her to pursue her interests and not just go and get whatever university degree and get whatever job. She is now overseas working as a senior lecturer in the area that is her great love and joy.

It seems to me that the school works hard to encourage their students to be themselves, to pursue their own interests, and not to get bogged down in what anyone says they “should” do.

I would have wanted my daughter to have every opportunity to follow her dreams and not do something just because “society” said she should. I would have wanted her to have a fulfilling life with many adventures of her choosing.

This school would have helped my daughter to be all she could be while staying true to herself.

I like to imagine that and to picture her starting off as a little girl, going through primary school, growing into a young woman, and then moving off into the world. I would have loved to see what she would have done and become.

Chances are I will never set foot on the grounds of this school without a daughter.

And in reality it is doubtful we would have ever gone there even if we had a daughter – the fees are quite considerable!

Still – it’s nice to think about how, in a perfect world, my daughter would have had the perfect education.

First day at school…

This is how I always pictured it would go…

The first day of school is coming up fast and we are all nervous – Kirby, me, and our little boy, Jacob (I never pictured myself having girls…). We go to the school a few weeks before term starts to meet the teachers, share our nerves with other parents, and let Jacob play with his new classmates.

We listen to everything we would need to do to get Jacob ready for his big day – what he would need for his uniform, what books and stationery he would need, and what school hours would be. It is a lot to take in, but the school has given us a list with a welcome letter, so we will remember everything.

I like Jacob’s teacher.  She kind of looks like my first teacher at school, Miss Jorgensen, and I absolutely adored her.

The information session ends and we convince Jacob to come home with us, even though he would much rather stay and play with his new friends.

A few weeks pass and school is only a few days away. I bought book recently about children going to school and we read this to Jacob every night at bedtime for at least a week. He thinks school looks like fun and can’t wait to go. I, on the other hand, think the years since his birth have gone far too quickly and I would like just another few years with my “baby”.

The night before school, Jacob and I set out his clothes and make sure everything he is supposed to have is packed into his school bag. I can’t get him to stop talking about the next day – I think he would even be able to talk about school underwater. He reminds me on a few occasions that he is a big boy now – especially when I try to help him with his pyjamas. He can do the buttons on his own, thank you very much.

Jacob is up the next morning before the birds have even opened their eyes. He wakes us by jumping up and down on our bed. I could use more sleep, but really I’m happy that Jacob is looking forward to school so much.

We organise breakfast – a bit of a special breakfast with crumpets for Jacob’s first day at school. Kirby and I get dressed and then oversee Jacob putting on his shirt, shorts, socks, and, almost, his shoes. He needs a little help tying the laces, but he is getting there.

The school is only just down the road and we walk there in the sunshine, meeting other kids and their parents on the way. Jacob recognises one of the other boys – Fahad – that he met at the introduction session at the school. They became instant friends at the session, as only children seem capable of, and I could see them being friends for a very long time. Especially given their favourite football teams are the same – Port Adelaide!

Fahad’s parents walk with us into the school grounds and we walk toward the classroom. The teacher is ready to welcome the children and Jacob and Fahad are so enthralled with each other and the classroom that they only give us parents a brief backwards wave as they head in the door.

It’s then that the tears well up a little – my baby is a school kid now. Fahad’s Mum is crying a bit too, and I find a tissue in my bag to give to her. She smiles – and we share that moment in every mother’s (and father’s) life when our babies move into a wider world.

I’m glad Kirby was able to take the day off – I think I will need some TLC (tender loving care) today.

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I know that the first day of school doesn’t normally go so well as this, but I figure if my son is never going to have one in reality – then the one I dream up for him is going to be close to perfect.

Our baby – this little one in the photo – would have been five years old this week.

I love you, my baby – my angel

My boy

Last night I got to hold my four year old son’s hand as we walked through the parking lot of our local shopping centre. We had picked up some groceries for dinner and he had been fairly good throughout the expedition, although his bottom lip stuck out just a little when I told him he couldn’t have the chocolate he was eyeing off.

I was anxious to get my boy out of the rapidly cooling autumn night air and into his seat in the back of our white hatch back. But, really, I had nothing to worry about. He was perfectly warm in his thick parka and his hazel eyes were nearly lost behind his blue beanie hat. Still – I was looking forward to getting him home, giving him his dinner, getting him into the bath and then bed for a story before sleep time.

I strapped him into his car seat and kissed his cheek. His grin lit up his little round face.

As I closed the car door I noticed an older couple – perhaps in their sixties – watching me with a look of great consternation.

And I knew why.

I was pretending. I was pretending to hold my son’s hand, pretending to put him in his car seat, and I was pretending that I would take him home and get him all warm, snuggly and safe in his bed. I was pretending it all.

I knew I looked foolish to them. But my boy, my son, seems so real sometimes. I can see the smattering of freckles on his face, I can talk to him about his day, and I can try to get his light brown, straight hair into some semblance of order.

I want so much for him to be real, and I am torn between giving up my fantasies and acting normally or holding on to the closest I would ever get to my son.

The strange thing about last night is that my pretending and the stares of the older couple were all within the confines of a dream. I was conflicted about holding onto the fantasy of my child from within a dream.

I woke up this morning feeling desolate and empty, as I do after I have dreams about our children. There is no reality, and not even a fantasy in a dream, that will ever give me our son.