I’ve always liked September. You’d be getting antsy by the end of the summer holidays, you wanted to get back to school and see your mates, you had that exquisite half an hour where your pencil case was perfectly arranged with every pencil sharpened and the rubber unsullied by ‘twat’ printed backwards to act as a stamp (thanks, cousin Ian).
I still like September now I’m an adult and we have the boy. I’m not one of those earth mothers who wants the summer holidays to be endless, who cries at the gate. I like the holidays, but I do find they have their stresses – a routine really helps and school provides that. I pretty much dropped him off and legged it on the first day – and he didn’t look back either!
So, as it was in previous years, September so much more than January is the beginning of another year now Rian is at school (a point well made by a pal of mine too) And while I still love the changing of the seasons, the crisping air and the conkers, it’s tempered with strange new emotions. Every September that rolls around brings the bigger shoes, the new shirts and the slightly heavier school bag. We’re on the wheel now, and each new year will make me realise how much taller my little boy is getting.
He’s all knees and elbows and scruffy hair. He still never listens, eats constantly and torments the dog. In so many ways he’s the same as he’s been for ages, but when the new year rolls around there’s no denying that he’s growing in so many ways. Which makes me feel a little sad and more than a little nostalgic for my tiny boy; the one who could fit in my lap and curl up close, whose hand fitted in mine entirely.
And so, September. Anticipation and sadness both, with the boy ever changing. But, even though I’m feeling sad, at least there are always conkers.