I often wish I could bottle the smell from the roses in my garden. In the same way I wish I could bottle the last five minutes of summer term in primary school.
Most days of the year I turn up late to pick up Charlotte - there's no point in being there at 3pm as she always wanders out after ten past but the one day a year I allow myself the secret pleasure of turning up early is the last day of summer term. It isn't that I am deliriously delighted to have five kids under my feet for seven weeks, don't get me wrong. I just love the joy and exuberance that you get at no other period in a kids' life. Today they were coming out at 1pm. As the clock struck one minute to, the noise began. Standing outside the grounds I could hear as 630 kids counted backwards from 60, with the roof almost coming off the building as the bell rang at 1! Then 630 smiling kids ran out blowing whistles, thrilled their summer had begun. By high school the last day of term is nothing special, they can't even be bothered going in for the most part. Blasé, the joy of real childhood is already gone, sadly. So every year my kids finish at primary, I allow myself to stand outside the gate listening to that joie de vivre that teenagers and adults have lost and I shed a little tear for le temps perdu! (Don't tell anyone!)