Thursday mornings are a strange beast.
I wake up alone in a silent house with no school lunches or work commute to make. No kids, no work … the day stretches before me like a gift.
But sometimes I want a refund.
Today is one of those days.
I miss the tousled blonde staggering out and giving me a hug. I miss the tousled redhead groaning when I yell that it’s time to get up.
It’s a stark reminder that one day they’ll both have flown the nest, possibly even moved overseas, and I’ll barely see them.
This week was a pretty sharp poke in the ribs about the passage of time: the eldest got accepted into a really awesome public high school that only takes 150 students each year.
We’re technically “in area” but that makes no difference to the selection process – places are offered in an ever-increasing radius from the epicentre of the school and they cut off when the limit is reached.
The eldest’s dad and I were beyond stoked to get a letter offering her a place. It’s a school that gets good results and most of her friends will be going there. Oh, and it’s a “free” education (well, the letter from the school outlined set-up expenses of around $1000 due in early December, ouch).
We’re not private school people – both of us did just fine at public schools … and there’s the small matter of not having our daughters’ names down at any private schools or the funds to pay for it if we did.
Since I’m not Sydney born and bred I find it amazing that the school you attended means so much, especially in my current neck of the woods. Daughters go to the school their mothers attended, sons go to the school their fathers attended.
And they pay $30,000 a year per child to continue the tradition.
Apparently employers even choose job applicants depending on the private school they attended (preferably the same one as the person doing the hiring).
Now there’s a sensible criteria for hiring an employee. Not.
While that concept messes with my head it’s nothing compared to what having an almost-high schooler is doing to me.
Just yesterday she was the cutest bubby in the world. Now she’s as tall as me and about to leave primary school and get all hormonal and moody and want to hang out with her friends – instead of me – at Westfield every weekend.
I want my baby back.
But life doesn’t work like that.
Song of the day: The Communards “Don’t leave me this way”