Transfer Day

It was Transfer Day yesterday for all school children in the county.

For the 6 year old, it was straightforward - she would spend the day in the year 2 classroom with a teacher who I know she will adore. She has been looking forward to transfer day for weeks.

For the 9 year old, however, BIG CHANGES are afoot. He starts Middle School in September, and will be sharing a building with enormous 13 year olds. His day was to be spent in unfamiliar surroundings.

As you would imagine then, the day began with a big shouting session. The 6 year old could only find 3 odd shoes, and I nearly had to send her off to school in her wellies. Thankfully, she found both of her silver, sequined party shoes and was delighted to be hoyed on the bus with those on her feet.

The 9 year old was as cool as a cucumber - lounging in front of CBBC without a care in the world.

'Here's 3 pens. You'll need them,' I said flitting around manically, 'and a pencil.'

'Yeh,' he replied, not averting his eyes away from the TV.

'And here's your PE kit, and look, I said look, I'm putting a rain jacket into your PE bag.' I stuffed his little cricket cagoul in the bag.

'Yeh.'

'And you'll need to hand this form in to your new teacher. See it? I'm putting it in your book bag.'

'Ok.'

'And this is the form you need to sign.' I wafted a piece of paper under his nose. 'You're signing to say that you wont abuse the internet.'

'Oh right,' he replied, 'what does that mean?' He scrawled his name in tiny writing in the space provided.

'It means that you musn't go on ebay or Amazon, and you musn't send rude emails to your mother.'

'Oh right, ok,' he nodded.

'And this,' I said waving a small envelope in front of his eyes, 'is your dinner money. It contains a cheque for £30 to go on a dinner card. If you lose the card, you have to pay £2 for a replacement, and if you lose it more than twice, I will make you pay for it yourself out of your egg money. Do you understand?'

'Uh huh,' he replied, completely and utterly bored now with his ranting, neurotic, lecturing mother.

When we finally arrived at the school - other frantic, neurotic mothers were clustered around the class lists that were sellotaped to the window - ensuring that their kid wasn't in with Horrid Henry or Dennis the Menace.

'See ya, mum,' the 9 year old said, strolling nonchalantly into the school.

'Bye darl, have a great day, and don't forget...'

'I know,' he smiled. 'Bye mum.'

He left me there, and despite all the chaos and the fussing of other mothers, and knowing exactly where I was...I couldn't help but feel a little lost.

He's growing up, the little lad. I'm so proud of him, and can't believe that he's about to start middle school. It only feels like yesterday that I was at middle school myself!