The school run
Wednesdays are my school run day and the hour that I spend with Elle, my 6 year-old friend, is one of the most important commitments of my week.
My promise to Elle when she started school was that I would show up every Wednesday morning and take her to breakfast club while her mum sets off for the commute to work and her dad takes Small Brother to nursery. Eighteen months later, Elle and I have an established routine.
When I arrive in the house - kicking off my shoes and calling into the kitchen to ensure that all the adults are fully dressed - Elle is usually watching cartoons or having her hair brushed. I make a cup of tea as the family routine continues until, one by one, the cars rumble out of the driveway and the house goes quiet. Then I cajole Elle off the sofa and towards the kitchen clock, lifting her up so that we can discuss the time and make a plan that gives her authority. We have a look at what the clock’s big hand and little hand are up to and decide when we are going to leave the house depending on when Elle wants to arrive at school, which is a five minute walk away. Some weeks, Elle is keen to have as much time at home as possible so we stretch breakfast club to its limit, leaving the house at 8.15 and arriving at school at 8.20 in time for the last round of toast. Other weeks, Elle is eager to get going asap and we are out of the front door soon after 8am, Elle in her sparkly violet coat and me laden with her rucksack and Woodland Wonder kitbag stuffed with waterproof, wellies, hat, and gloves.
Within this routine, a great deal changes from week to week and Wednesdays-with-Elle serve as a powerful reminder to me about the importance of transitions for students of all ages and experience. Some days, Elle is happy to wriggle into her uniform and have her hair brushed; on other occasions, she is reluctant to get dressed, miserable about hair brushing and furious when reminded about the need to get ready. There are days when her shoes are too tight or her trainers are uncomfortable, and the lure of the TV occasionally makes it very hard for her to press the ‘off’ button. Elle is not alone in this: we can all feel unsettled when confronted with the need to leave one way of being and shift into another phase of the day with all its demands and expectations. It is simply that children have very little agency over these experiences and this can be super-hard for them.
Elle enjoys school and loves learning. Some Wednesdays, we read a little bit of a chapter book before we put our shoes on; we often invent a story as we negotiate the narrow pavement and I remind her - each week - that she needs to walk on the inside because “Big people get squished; not little people.” Elle sighs at this, “Katie, you don’t need to get squished. We’ll just be careful. And cars won’t run over me.”
Each week, there is a crucial moment after Elle presses the school doorbell and a member of staff opens the door to welcome her to breakfast club. On the brink of her departure into the school day, I give her a kiss, rest my hand gently on her hair, and tell her that I will see her later. And each week, every week, Elle pauses for a second or so. Sometimes she turns back towards me; on a wobbly morning she might put her face against my tummy for a second; on other days she breaks into chatter and bustles through the door, grabbing her bags from my shoulder and dragging them after her. This momentary pause feels vital. I want Elle to know that I am there with her, that she is loved and safe, and that the moment of transition comes when she is ready. So I never turn away first. Only when she is on her way down the corridor and the door closes after her do I turn to go, often grinning to myself about her parting shot which - last week - involved informing the teaching assistant (at high volume), “Katie has a secret! She is teaches literacy. For real!” And then off she went in a mass of blonde curls and a thump of unicorn rucksack against the carpet.
Young people’s transition moments often get lost in a blur of busyness, amidst urgent adult needs and competing responsibilities. But whatever their form - entering and leaving classrooms, beginning and concluding a tutoring session - these transitions are absolutely vital moments of attunement and connection, often invested with lovely humour and bubbling energy.