The oven clock said 8:34 on Thursday morning and Alfie was standing in the hall with one shoe on, holding the other one up as if I could do something about it. It was the second day of term. We were supposed to be out of the door by 8:32, and in my head I had already lost.
We left at 8:37. We reached the gate at 8:49, one minute before the register, with Alfie scooting the last stretch faster than I have ever seen him move. The missing shoe turned up under the settee, where Mabel had been sleeping on it. That is the 8:32 deadline in a nutshell: a 12-minute walk, gates open at 8:40, register at 8:50, and a margin of error exactly as wide as one lost shoe.
Wednesday: new teachers, new doors
Term began on Wednesday 3 September. Isla is in Year 5 and Alfie is in Year 1, and for the first time in a while they've each got a different teacher and a different door. Isla has Mr Bell, who she described as "fine, he talks a lot about volcanoes", which from Isla is high praise. Alfie has Mrs Hartley, who has a pointing stick with a small bear on the end, and he told me this before he told me his own name, practically.
The photo on the front step happened at 8:25, which is the earliest anything has happened in our house since the end of July. Isla's pinafore was the right length and Alfie's trousers were a bit long (he'll grow into them by Christmas, I hope). He looked back at the gate. Isla didn't. Then I walked home to put a wash on and sat down on the stairs for about four minutes, which is, as far as I'm concerned, tradition.
I did pick-up on Wednesday and Alfie came out of the infant door looking like he'd done a month's work. He had a reading folder as big as his torso, a new book about a dog that was meant to be funny and a sticker on his jumper that said "Brilliant Listener". He fell asleep on the settee on Thursday at ten past six with a dinosaur book open on his chest, and Rob carried him up at seven without waking him.
What changed in the mornings
In August the day started when somebody got up. Now it has a shape, and the shape is this: the alarm goes at 6:50, more than an hour after Rob has left for work, porridge for Isla and toast for Alfie at 7:30, uniform on by 8:05, shoes and bags at the door by 8:20, and out of the door by 8:32. At school the two of them split up: Alfie to the infant playground with me, Isla to the field gate, where I can wave from the fence.
The new thing is Friday. Alfie takes a packed lunch on Fridays from this term (I'll write up why another time), so there's a job on Thursday night that didn't exist before. This Thursday I forgot about it until 9:15 and made his sandwich in the dark kitchen with only the cooker light on. Next Thursday it gets done at 7:30, while the tea things are drying, and that is how it's going to be from now on.
Friday: the first packed lunch
I did the Friday pick-up and Alfie came out of the infant door holding the dinosaur lunch bag above his head like a trophy. The box was empty, apart from the cucumber, which came back in a small sad pile. Isla said sending cucumber on a first day was a beginner's mistake. "He doesn't even like it, Mum." She's right, and the cucumber is out.
The first week came with two honest misses. One was the shoe, and the other was Isla's PE kit, which was still folded in the airing cupboard on Thursday morning when I'd have sworn it was in her bag. She did PE in her spare T-shirt and a pair of borrowed shorts from the lost property box, and has asked me to describe it as a small logistical event.
By Friday night they were both tired in the way you only see in the first week of term, a sort of soft, grumpy flatness. We had a fish finger sandwich tea on the settee at 5:30 and nobody was asked to say anything nice about their day.
This weekend's Sunday sort-out has two new lines on the whiteboard: Alfie's lunch on Thursday nights, and shoes by the door, side by side, before bed. I'm giving the shoes more room than the lunch.
