WELL, there you have it – it’s all over for another year. The summer holidays are behind us, the school doors are open. And although the weather was somewhat disappointing, it is still painful getting out of holiday mode and trying to get back into a routine.
Despite knowing the new term date for months, I always manage to shelve the notion of school until the week (or even the night before) the event. But this year, I thought I would get ahead of the game and with outstanding efficiency, bought most of the books at the very start of the summer. I even managed to accrue lunch boxes, slippers and new uniforms before the first leaves began to fall.
I had everything – or so I thought.
Mentally ticking off the school list, I was blissfully unaware of any holes in my plan, until two days before when I decided to bring out all of the purchases and arrange them in some semblance of order.
Using my eldest son as assistant, I covered the kitchen table with educational paraphernalia. I sorted, he ticked – we were a good team - until he pointed out all the items that were missing off the list.
Rogue text books that I had neglected to return for, geometry sets, folders, table books and the dreaded book covering film.
Furious with myself for not checking sooner, I abandoned the job in hand and bundled the boys into the car. There was nothing for it, we would have to wrestle with the panic shoppers and try to drum up the forgotten goods.
Two long hours later, we were back. Mission accomplished. All items present and correct - all family tired and irritable.
We had hit town at the height of rush hour, spent an eternity looking for a parking space; and then had to walk miles to the bookshop, where the length of the queue was heartbreaking.
Promising an ice-cream for good behaviour (I would get the kids one too), we settled in for the long wait. Finally, I reached the top of the line and to my joy, managed to purchase everything we needed. We set off for home.
But we were almost half way back to the car when my eldest asked if he could help me cover the books. Groaning in despair, I realised that I had forgotten to buy the sticky plastic sheets. We would have to go back.
With the two older boys holding onto the pram, I literally hauled them back to the store and with smoke coming out of my ears, joined the end of the ever-growing queue. When I reached the counter, I grabbed as much of the cover as I could carry, handed over the cash and manoeuvred my tetchy trio out of the shop.
I was not happy.
So you can imagine how I felt when we arrived home – the boys were starving and demanding sustenance but the kitchen table was piled high with their academic future. Resisting the urge to fling the lot onto the floor, I carefully placed the pile of books in a corner and set about feeding my wailing children.
Once they were sated (and sedated!), I set about my task once more.
But this time, I was considerably less enthusiastic. This book covering lark is a nightmare. I rolled out the plastic sheet, cut out the required length (fine so far), then peeled off the strips, taking care to hold the book in place so as keep it in line with the plastic.
There are no instructions for what to do if you accidentally fold the sticky piece onto a page of the book and rip the paper when you try to rectify the damage Or if you happen to cut into the book when you are trying to cut the corners, answer the phone and administer to a crying child.
The job seemed endless. Every time I thought I had finished, I would discover another book or copy lurking at the bottom of the pile.
But eventually after hours of soul-destroying rolling, cutting, peeling, botching and swearing. I was finished – I may not have done a very precise job of it, but I had managed to cover them all. The boys came into to have a look at my handiwork.
“Some of the books look really messy, Mum,” they admonished. “They were better before you covered them.”
Well you know what? Next year, you’re on your own!