22. Remember the school runs
No more school: no more school runs.
So that prompts me to write about how the school runs used to be, back then when we did have to drive the kids to school and left them there for the day. Remember that?
Back then when my child was enjoying school work.
I remember he was particularly keen on learning how to count.
He would start right away the moment I woke him up:
'Bonjour maman! ... ... Un ... ... deux ... ... trois ... ...'
Aloud of course. And he would take his time enunciating each number clearly and loudly, with a strain on each syllable as if it took him a lot of effort to get the sounds right as well as everything else.
It went on and on from there. Down the stairs and at the breakfast table.
'Huit ... ... neuf ... ... dix ... ... '
It continued as he went back up the stairs and into the bathroom, while he brushed his teeth which meant that the teeth brushing took even longer because you can't speak and brush at the time. It went like this: speak - pause - brush - spit, speak - pause - brush - spit, ... That was the point when I started to lose patience a little and to point frantically at the clock. Of course that made no difference.
It went on as he got dressed, again considerably slowing down the already very time-consuming process. It went on still on his way down the stairs, really slowly: one number, one step.
' C'est vint-un ou vingt-et-un, maman?' he would ask. Honestly I just could not cope with such a question at this time in the morning. But his sisters would jump in and help him on. Or mock him. Depending on whether I had allowed one of them to wear the pink dress or the neon hair band.
Putting his shoes and coat on he would keep going. Getting in the car and being strapped into his seat he would keep going.
I did not really mind. It kept him going and it had a calming soothing effect on his sisters.
'Qua-tre-vingt-dix-sept ...' he was almost out of breath after such a big number.
The car engine was purring, the traffic was moving at a slow pace, the girls were quiet, listening to his sing song. I was on automatic pilot.
Then, suddenly, silence. He'd stopped counting.
A quick glance in the mirror to see all was good. Then, out of the blue, he yelled at the top of his voice:
'CENT!'
I jumped right out of my skin, jumped on the breaks (why?) and stopped abruptly, tyres screeching. The car behind me started beeping its horn really hard.
A 3 year-old voice at the back went in a very matter-of-fact way:
'Oooooooooh maman! T'as fallu faire un accident.'
Wonder mama finally lost her patience:
'CAN YOU STOP COUNTING PLEASE I'M TRYING TO DRIVE.'
General protest comes from the back:
'It's not us! It's our brother!'
'I am not doing anything wrong! I am learning how to count.'
Then he started crying:
'It's Madame, we do la comptine des nombres... '
So now instead of the usual counting routine I had four kids crying and screaming in the back of the car and a lot of angry parents behind me. A queue of traffic was already building up which got the kids to stop arguing and crying and to turn their anger at the cars behind, sticking their tongues out and claiming the right to learn how to count on the way to school.
Deep down and even if I knew this was perfectly ridiculous I was blaming the teacher for the stupid 'comptine des nombres'
So that prompts me to write about how the school runs used to be, back then when we did have to drive the kids to school and left them there for the day. Remember that?
Back then when my child was enjoying school work.
I remember he was particularly keen on learning how to count.
He would start right away the moment I woke him up:
'Bonjour maman! ... ... Un ... ... deux ... ... trois ... ...'
Aloud of course. And he would take his time enunciating each number clearly and loudly, with a strain on each syllable as if it took him a lot of effort to get the sounds right as well as everything else.
It went on and on from there. Down the stairs and at the breakfast table.
'Huit ... ... neuf ... ... dix ... ... '
It continued as he went back up the stairs and into the bathroom, while he brushed his teeth which meant that the teeth brushing took even longer because you can't speak and brush at the time. It went like this: speak - pause - brush - spit, speak - pause - brush - spit, ... That was the point when I started to lose patience a little and to point frantically at the clock. Of course that made no difference.
It went on as he got dressed, again considerably slowing down the already very time-consuming process. It went on still on his way down the stairs, really slowly: one number, one step.
' C'est vint-un ou vingt-et-un, maman?' he would ask. Honestly I just could not cope with such a question at this time in the morning. But his sisters would jump in and help him on. Or mock him. Depending on whether I had allowed one of them to wear the pink dress or the neon hair band.
Putting his shoes and coat on he would keep going. Getting in the car and being strapped into his seat he would keep going.
I did not really mind. It kept him going and it had a calming soothing effect on his sisters.
'Qua-tre-vingt-dix-sept ...' he was almost out of breath after such a big number.
The car engine was purring, the traffic was moving at a slow pace, the girls were quiet, listening to his sing song. I was on automatic pilot.
Then, suddenly, silence. He'd stopped counting.
A quick glance in the mirror to see all was good. Then, out of the blue, he yelled at the top of his voice:
'CENT!'
I jumped right out of my skin, jumped on the breaks (why?) and stopped abruptly, tyres screeching. The car behind me started beeping its horn really hard.
A 3 year-old voice at the back went in a very matter-of-fact way:
'Oooooooooh maman! T'as fallu faire un accident.'
Wonder mama finally lost her patience:
'CAN YOU STOP COUNTING PLEASE I'M TRYING TO DRIVE.'
General protest comes from the back:
'It's not us! It's our brother!'
'I am not doing anything wrong! I am learning how to count.'
Then he started crying:
'It's Madame, we do la comptine des nombres... '
So now instead of the usual counting routine I had four kids crying and screaming in the back of the car and a lot of angry parents behind me. A queue of traffic was already building up which got the kids to stop arguing and crying and to turn their anger at the cars behind, sticking their tongues out and claiming the right to learn how to count on the way to school.
Deep down and even if I knew this was perfectly ridiculous I was blaming the teacher for the stupid 'comptine des nombres'
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