So, that’s it, then. Another year over. Year One, done and dusted. It’s unbelievable, really. It seems like only a few days ago that The Boy was starting the nursery class at school, and now, he’s just finished his third year there – and he’s still wearing the same age 2-3 shorts, that I bought when he started nursery.
This time last year, I reflected on The Boy’s Reception year. It was a good year, a year when he learnt lots and developed lots, but I never felt that his teacher ‘got’ him. The Boy is spirited. Bright. Challenging. Vocal (very, very vocal). His Reception teacher clearly didn’t admire these traits as much as I (sometimes) do.
This year, though, has been an entirely different story. The Boy has been blessed with an absolutely brilliant teacher who, right from day one, has embraced his lively, inquisitive nature, and nurtured it rather than trying to stamp it out. Okay, so she did write in his school report that she constantly marvels at how long he can talk for, but it’s been so refreshing to have a teacher who celebrates my son.
I know other school mums agree. It’s not just that The Boy is teacher’s pet. She really seems to have brought the best out of every child in the class. The ones who were labelled as troublemakers no longer are. Likewise the shy ones, the chatty ones, the bossy ones. She knows each one of them as an individual, not a stereotype.
On to The Boy, then. It’s hard for me to weigh up his academic prowess compared to his peers, and neither do I really want to. His report states that he’s working above age in all the areas that count (I don’t worry too much about art, D&T or PE!) and he rocked the new Year 1 phonics test. I can see that his reading, spelling and numeracy have come on leaps and bounds, although handwriting is definitely our project for the summer. But what means most are the statements ‘kind and helpful,’ ‘always well behaved,’ and, most importantly, ‘lovely little boy.’
And now Year 1 is over, and Year 2 beckons. Year 2 sounds very grown-up, somehow. Soon into the next term, my baby boy will turn seven. Seven! I’m not old enough to have a seven-year-old. He’ll be facing lots of changes: new classroom, new teacher, new curriculum, and, of course, SATs (not that he’ll worry about those).
One thing remains the same, though. He’ll be wearing those shorts well into Year 2 – and beyond.