Well it's done, it's happened, the 11yr old has left primary school. Somewhere in all the chaos of the past couple of weeks, the enormity of the "moment" has been lost on me. It being her second primary school also dilutes the emotion; two years of memories are easier to say goodbye to than your whole educated life to date. But it is a moment, one of the first stepping stones out of childhood, and as I watched her at the Leaver's Ceremony yesterday I couldn't help a small lump in the throat.
Held in our church (my third in a month, and on reflection my favourite in it's simple austerity), each of the eight leavers had to give a small speech about what they would miss. In the midst of seven different memories of flavoured milks and Mrs C's (Year 2) obsession with Cliff Richard, my little one (with two, less colourful, years to remember) thanked me for taking her out of her old school and moving her to this one. That was my moment, finally really knowing that I did the right thing, because she knows it too.
And, in amongst the tears and smiles, we Mums couldn't sing in time or tune to the hymns and are still not too old to have our subsequent giggles silenced, by a look, from the headmistress; it was a good afternoon!
Followed by the Leaver's Disco and another stark illustration that she's not my baby anymore...
The outfit is all her own, the bracelet a 'corsage' (she's her mother's daughter) and the makeup a great deal more subtle than I first feared! She wanted a "family photo" bless her; the chooks clucked off, Finn was far more interested in the cat escaping over the fence and Megs, well you can see what she thinks of posing for photos!