All those labels, neatly sewn on. And no, iron on labels are not permitted as they have an annoying tendency to be iron-on, wash-off. So each individual sock, each handkerchief (yes, real hankies!), each pair of pants, each towel and flannel, all had to have their individual “Property of Tiddles” stitched into specified position for ease of identification. And I did it.
Thanks to my sister for managing to sew on four labels for me before she got bored. And thanks to her daughter-in-law for the compliment of declining to participate in the label sewing evenings because she’d never be able to match the neatness of my sewing. At least, I think she was complimenting me. After all, she surely wouldn’t have just said it in order to get out of being asked to sew, would she?
The bag is packed, the car is loaded, and one very nervous young man is tucked up in bed and getting ready for a big day tomorrow. Needless to say, he suddenly doesn’t want to go! (Needless to say, I suddenly don’t want him to go either, but go he shall). It all seems really quite surreal. I’ve never been the sort of mum who would ever have imagined that I ever would contemplate sending him to boarding school, let alone see it as a real opportunity for him. But letting go is so hard. How will I cope, with days passing and me not knowing what he’s doing, how he’s getting on, what he’s learning, what his friend said, what he had for dinner, after eight years of being interested in everything he did and talking with him about his day? I’ll miss him (though I won’t miss the stress at all). A bit of a turn around from a couple of months ago when I was putting him on a plane to Scotland and really not looking forward to him coming home again!
So tomorrow morning, at 6.50am, we set forth from Smudgie Towers to catch the ferry. We drive abroad to meet my sister who’s coming with us (to keep Smudgelet happy while I focus on Tiddles, and to find out where the school is just in case she needs to go there to pick Tiddles up any time), and then on to deliver him to the school. Good grief – how will I kiss him goodbye with a smile and a wave and calmly drive away?
A million name labels to sew on by tomorrow.
Pass me the next sock, would you?
I was very pleased to meet and talk to you and your son here at the school and hope you found your visit both informative and pleasant.
Tiddles interviewed well, giving an interesting insight into himself as a boy, his expectations of the school, and his ambitions for the future.
He convinced me that he really wants all that is on offer here and would be an asset to the school.
etc.. etc.. etc..
Let me just repeat those few words: “he would be an asset to the school”.
Now pass me the tissues please, my..er.. eyes seem to be watering. Must be hayfever.
It’s just not working. I haven’t lost an ounce.
Guess I’ll have to do it again tomorrow.
I forgot to tell you.
I think you lot are wonderful! You have provided us with such amazing support with your comments and your prayers and simply by being there, whereever you are. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
……..obviously the wind changed direction.
There are some, I’d guess, who would say that living in an area of the Isle of Wight where you don’t need to spend a couple of hundred pound on tickets for the Festival would be an advantage, but……..
Goodness knows what I’ve said in my sermon for tomorrow. It may make sense, it may not. I was too busy dancing with God and my son to really give it the attention it deserved. But I guess God might forgive me. And goodness knows how I am going to sleep enough tonight to be bright and fresh tomorrow, knowing that straight after church my boy is going jetting up to Scotland for a few days to take his mind off the wait and give me a few days grace in which to get his things together.
He is going to the school for just three weeks in the first instance, leading up to the Summer Holidays, to make sure he’s happy there. Just long enough for him to feel settled before the break but not long enough, as a friend said, for the honeymoon period to wear off. Not too long for him to sustain the inevitable tiredness (even if all hell breaks loose for a few days when he comes home). The ironic thing is, he’s been so delightful this last fortnight that I in one way I really don’t want him to go – I’ve so enjoyed having my son back. But it is the best thing that could happen for him at the moment and I think he’ll love it, and it’ll do me and Smudgelet good too. And somehow I think it will make cutting the apron strings a little easier too… though it’s going to be hard stepping back and letting someone else take on parental responsibility and day-to-day control. Far better to feel sad at the thought of him not being here (while ecstatic at the knowledge that he’s somewhere which is just right for him, and to which God has clearly led us) than to be counting the days until he leaves. And it’s precisely eight days until he leaves.
Obviously I’m not going to post a link all over the internet, but if you know me well enough to email and you’re interested in where he’s going and why it’s going to be so perfect for him, let me know and I’ll send you the link to the school website. I’d really appreciate it if you continue to hold him, and us, in your prayers. And remember Smudgelet too – he’s devastated at the thought of “losing” yet another person who’s close to him.
… well, I had to be patient and not tell you until I’d told him, didn’t I?
And I didn’t have a letter… I had a phone call!
Suffice to say: :oD
Now to examine my calender and see what arrangements for next weekend I’ve got to cancel!
For those of you who have seen “think bubbles” at the top of the recent blog list and have opened it in order to see whether we have heard from the school… well, all I can say is that it is Saturday afternoon, the post has just been
Still, I guess it’s a good way to up my reader statistics.
I just knew I shouldn’t have got out of bed yesterday.
I will only tell you if you promise not to laugh.
It was a lovely and pretty productive day as far as my brother’s work was concerned. He’s cut a load of trees back to let more light into our garden, and done the same at Honorary Auntie M’s. And he’s mended the washing machine (yippeeeeeeeeeee) as well as making a start on building my spare shed. We made a mammoth trip to the tip with a jungle in the boot of my car and the remains of the boys’ climbing frame/swing which alas is no more (a sad departure as it was the gift that all my friends and family bought to welcome Tiddles at his adoption – is it really all that long ago?)
But me? Well, an immovable thorn in the side of my finger is one thing, but the bruises are quite another. It started with me needing to fill a can of petrol for my brother’s chainsaw. I duly filled my car up with petrol and filled the can too. Another car pulled up close behind mine and, as my car is a kangoo and the boot opens up through a rather large arc, I couldn’t open the boot properly to put the petrol can in. So, idiot that I am, I partially opened it and tried to slip the can in. Needless to say – it was almost inevitable wasn’t it – the boot door slammed down on my arm. The buising’s quite effective. Mind you, it looked even more effective at the time as my dermographia set in and the marks of impact became massive, red and inflamed within seconds!!! But now that’s died down and gone, I certainly know my arm’s been squished.
As if that weren’t enough! I was ridiculously tired all day (still am – wonder if it’s to do with not getting enough sleep!) and by the time I eventually got to bed I was desperate for sleep. So, instead of messing around going back and forth between doorway and bedside, I got changed then turned off the light and crawled the length of the bed without turning the bedside light on. Well, when I say crawled “the length” of the bed, I reckon I crawled about three quarters of the length of it in a sort of diagonal direction, then went head over heels off the side and ended up wedged between bed and bedside table in a contorted knot of limbs and with my glass of water trickling gently down the back of my pyjamas… a position from which movement was almost impossible, especially in the pitch dark.
Today I am rather more tired than I would like to be but I have some impressive bruises.. including one the size of China on my right hip.
(I am not going to think about the letter… I am not going to think about the letter… I am not …
– but please remember us in your prayers, especially as the person I mentioned a few posts ago is now apparently living in our village and on the watch out for my son).