For as long as I can remember my life has followed the seasons of the school year and the circadian clock of the school day. I am married to a teacher, so school holidays are family time and the end of each term is counted down with great anticipation. But I don't really feel like the year has begun until school is back in and I can find my rhythm at home with the little ones.
We spent the last few days of holidays this week baking lunchbox treats, labeling hundreds of pencils, and worrying whether the year twos would run out of glue before the end of term one.
I spent the first day of school yesterday at the kindy, getting Darcy settled into life at the "big school". Lewis wanted to ride his big, new (second-hand) bike so I strapped the little ones into the trailer and ran alongside him halfway to school before realising I had left all of the school stationery sitting on the bed at home. There was nothing for it but to turn around and run home again. It turned our 3km journey into a 5km one, but we made it to school on the siren, found the class lists, shepherded Lewis into his new classroom and scooted off to kindy for a morning of playdough, glittery-fish and nursery rhymes.
With two of my boys at school for at least part of the week and my baby sleeping soundly through the middle of each day I feel like there is some creative space opening up for me again at last. Space to write, to gather my thoughts and delve into other worlds. Which is what this place is all about really.