Fresh Start

The household was a flurry of activity yesterday as son number one is starting infant school next week and his term started with a visit from his new teachers this morning. I get nervous anytime I’m supposed to be making a grown up responsible, impression because I don’t actually feel very grown up or responsible (is it just me that finds it really hard to remember the appropriate term for bogey, fart and poo when talking to teachers and doctors?) While being nervous about my choice of vocabulary I also want to ensure that the house is spotless so son doesn’t have “dirty house” indelibly written on his school record.

I spent the entire day with a really clean and welcoming home in mind, 2 quiet and ironed little boys playing sweetly with a jigsaw puzzle when they arrive. And not screaming kids still in Coco Pops stained pyjamas simultaneously playing Xbox, watching cartoons and hitting each other with a door stop amid a pile of primary coloured plastic toys, as is the general norm in our house.

I had a head start on my cleaning mission because BFF and her boy came down this weekend to help us celebrate son number 2’s second birthday (at least I was able to offer homemade birthday cake to teachers, hopefully a nice big tick on sons report). BFF is a cleaning whirlwind so my house always looks like a How Clean is your House after photo when she leaves. I clean for 4 hours before she arrives, thinking it’s spotless, but no sooner has she put her handbag down, she is whizzing round the house merrily swishing and swiping at the sticky jam handprints on the cupboard doors while keeping a sideways eye on her little boy picking raisins up off the floor (by 10am everyday my floor resembles a buffet table). I don’t think she even notices that she’s doing it, it’s just as much part of her nature as leaving a trail of mess and destruction is part of mine. And I’m very grateful to her for it too, as she sees things I don’t, always good to have another pair of eyes and hands.

It’s not just the thought of the teacher visit that had me on a cleaning mission, but the beginning of the new term feels like New Years Eve. I can’t bear starting the year with lots of washing in the washing basket and always do a thorough clean on New Years Eve. I’m not sure where I’ve got it from (my mum says not from her) because the rest of the year I’m messy.

I remember the excitement as a child of the new term, getting in supplies and having everything laid out the night before. Being organised would only last a day, after that I would be running out the door with books falling out of my bag and always having to use the school lost and found PE kit because I’d forgotten mine (not much fun playing netball in the freezing cold wearing trainers of 2 different sizes and obscenely too small PE knickers flossing your bum crack).

I read somewhere that the new school year holds the same opportunity for change and resolution as January 1^st, but without the guilt of having to give things up, it’s all about new starts and new shoes. I like that. Any opportunity to make a fresh start is one I will reach out for with both hands. Son’s new uniform is ready and waiting to receive name labels (uncharacteristically organised of me to have ordered them in June, characteristically disorganised to have left it till the last minute to attach them).

So I went to bed last night happy in the knowledge that my house was clean and son will not have to live with “manky house” on his record forever more.

But typically they showed up ten minutes early while I was still washing up the breakfast things, the telly was blaring Cbeebies and a sea of Peppa Pig toys had to be negotiated before being able to sit down. And I actually used the word bum in conversation. So that report probably won’t be squeaky clean after all.