It's all YOUR fault

Today was Sapphire's first day at her new school.

She was excited and chattering happily as we walked the two streets to the school, holding my hand and skipping. She was soon lost in the gaggle of kids at assembly and my last glimpse of her was as a blonde head amongst a bobbing sea of dark-blue-and-turquoise uniforms heading to their classrooms.

I felt fearful and tearful and disconsolately walked along Pin Oak and sat on my own at a cafe surrounded by Yummy Mummies sipping cappuccinos with their Fred Bare toddlers and designer-clad girlfriends.

At home, some work was done, but mostly my heart was pounding too hard and fast as though I was about to stand up at a podium and deliver a speech on Quantum Physics with no pants on. I kept glancing up at the clock, yet still jumped up in surprise when my watch alarm beeped at 3:15. Milly ran to the laundry where her lead is kept because school pick-ups mean 'walkies' in her world.

Standing uncertainly under a willow, I eventually spotted Sapphire. She dashed over to me and said, "I didn't have anyone to play with at recess or lunch."

Ooooooooffffff, my heart deflated slowly, painfully. That would be the worst thing for a kid to experience on their very first day at a brand new school where they know no-one. And we were now talking about my kid, my life, my bundle to protect.

"That's not good enough," I said, grabbing her hand. "Let's go to the front office and see if we can catch your teacher and ask him to make sure you have a buddy to link up with at recess and lunch tomorrow."

Sapphire hung back. "But Mum----"

Too late. I was in there, powered by perspiration and anxiousness and the teacher just happened to be standing by the front door. "Er, I'm Sapphire's Mum, nice to meet you. She just told me that she didn't have anyone to play with today. I know you're busy and it's only the first day and there's settling in do and everything but do you think you could kind of make sure that someone looks after her tomorrow?"

He started to say that it was his first day too and he thought that Sapph----

"Please." Over Sapphire's head I gave him my most pleading, tears-not-quite-there-yet stare. "Please, I'm just asking that she's taken care of tomorrow." He agreed distractedly, clearly wishing to escape into the staff car park and away from this particular Helicopter-parent's annoying clutches.

Walking down Wellington Street, I asked Sapphire if she wanted to go down to Racecourse Road and get an iceblock. "No Mum, I just want to go straight home," she hissed between clenched teeth.

As soon as the front door was unlocked, it was clear why. She threw herself on the bed, sobbing. "I HATE this school Mum! I want to go back home, where I belong!"

"I know Sweetie. I know it's been a hard day for you, but----"

"It's all your fault!"

Ooooooooffffff; this time my heart felt as though it was being cruelly stretched and shredded. Oh my god; was I making it worse for her than it really was? Was I projecting my own miserable experiences of starting year eight in a tough Scottish high school thirty eight years ago onto my sunny nine year old? Wasn't this the time for a parent to rise up; to say and do the right thing in order to make such a stressful transition more tolerable and easier for their child? Why was she stuck with such a frigging useless role model?

What on earth was I supposed to say? Besides, my heart was still going Ooooooooffffff. It hurt; physically ached. I felt so helpless; imagine how she must have felt, counting down every single minute of the interminable lunch time so that it would end quicker and she'd no longer have to be sitting on the bench by the water taps alone.

Time to try again. "Look, maybe you need some time to have a good cry, let all your tension and worries out and then come outside with me and give Skipper a pat, hmmm?" She shoved her head under the pillows as her reply. I carefully backed away, closed the door as gently and sat outside with a small white rabbit in my arms, his floating fluff gradually turning my black-t-shirt into white.

Maybe a good cry was going to benefit me as well. So I let myself have one, all sniffly and loud, regardless of whether any of the twelve flat-dwellers on their balconies overlooking our little garden could see me.

There was a tap on my shoulder. "Mum?"

Wiping my nose inelegantly on the back of my hand - like I've told Sapphire not to do so many times - I turned to look at her. "Mum, did you see the note I left you this morning?"

No, I hadn't. "Where did you put it?"

She held it out to me. "It was on the kitchen bench, next to your iPod player thingy."

We sucked a butterscotch each, holding each other's hands.

"Mum?"

"Yes, love?"

"I'll be braver tomorrow. I'll do what you say and I will ask someone if I can join them and their friends."

"Oh sweetie, it will be better at school tomorrow and you'll----" She stuck up her hand to shoosh me.

"Mum, enough. Let's talk about something else now, OK? Didn't you say that you wanted to try that green curry paste we got from the Chinese market yesterday?"

I chopped up two cloves of garlic and a huge brown onion, feeling so grateful that they made my eyes all red and watery.