Learning to let go, while holding on tight

This week has been a big learning curve for us, in many ways. One important addition to our weekly schedule is that the Girl has started tennis lessons at school. These seemed to be brilliant in themselves. While I was waiting for her to finish, I could see (through the glass doors of the gym) that she was having a whale of a time (and, to my surprise, when her turn came, she was hitting the ball quite accurately with the racket, much unlike her poorly coordinated parents). Moreover, she got to learn alongside girls in years 1 and 2 as well, so she interacted with older girls – another big advantage, and something bound to stretch and improve her social skills. However, from a logistical point of view, the whole exercise soon threatened to become more hassle than one would have thought it worth, and I very quickly got to regret it. 

To my surprise, when it came to collecting her at the end, I found that she no longer had her tights, as these had had to be removed for the lesson, and they had been plonked on the side of the gym amongst everyone else’s things – clearly, another girl had gone off with the Girl’s as well. What this meant for us was that I would have to take her home bare-legged, a less than ideal situation, given that it was quite cold outside and the rain looked about to start any moment. Then, I found that her book bag had also been entrusted to her directly, rather than kept to the side by a responsible adult, so we nearly left without that as well. And, when I had finally located everything else and managed to dress her in her PE jogging bottoms (with bare feet in her school shoes!), I found that she didn’t have her coat either. By this point, my blood had got dangerously close to boiling, and I was seriously regretting having signed her up for this whole tennis malarkey, all the more so since the rain (or rather, the downpour) did start in earnest, and we were trapped at school.

In the end, the disaster was averted: the rain let up a bit, I found both her coat (which had been accidentally swapped with another little girl’s), and the stranded tights appeared from yet another girl’s bag. And, although drenched, we were able to get home in one piece, and I managed to keep myself reasonably calm…

However, this experience has taught me a few important truths. Firstly, that little girls are expected to grow up very fast, and they must learn to take responsibility for themselves, as well as their possessions, as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Although the Girl and her friends are only four, they clearly need to learn to look after themselves and to ensure that they keep their things with them, because if they don’t do this themselves, it is uncertain that anyone will do it for them. Secondly, that I need to put name labels of every single item of clothing (tights, for certain, but possibly underpants, vests, and maybe even socks), because especially in a place where every garment belongs to the uniform, everyone else will have clothes that look exactly the same, and name labels will at least ensure that stray items can return to their rightful owner. Thirdly, that we mums do stick together and look after each other’s children and their things (had it not been for the fact that I had the other mum’s phone number, which allowed me to verify that the coat swap had happened, I could have gone home really concerned that, less than two weeks into the term, a rather expensive item of clothing might have been misplaced). And finally, that I don’t think I need such additional complications, and that although I can cope with them, they do leave me rather frazzled…

I am not certain that the Girl will return to tennis, even though she enjoyed it very much. Or, if she does, in order to preserve my sanity, I need all the logistical arrangements to be clearly spelled out from the start, and adhered to. Once more, I have been reminded of my need to be in control of all that has to do with my children: I cannot deny it, I find it very unsettling that, as the Girl grows, this control is slowly but surely slipping out of my hands, and I can no longer always be there to protect her and ensure that everything goes smoothly. Sure enough, I’ll always be there to pick up the pieces, even if this does mean chasing around after a lost pair of tights, or walking her home in the rain but, from now on, she has to take responsibility for herself, more and more each day, even if for me she will always remain my baby.