Almost Time.

 He starts big school on Friday and he's all set. Cars school bag, Gruffalo flask, Mickey Mouse pencil case, all lovingly chosen. Last night I cut his hair. He's counting the days down, excited and ready, and I am too...mostly.

It's a new stage for both of us. But change can be scary too- unlike the other four, this time there's no baby coming after.
That's my baby over there with the school bag - how did it happen so fast? 

And no, I'm not broody since you ask - I'm excited about a little quiet in the mornings and maybe even some space to write and drink coffee without interruptions.  It's been a long time coming, Hell, I've even been looking forward to it ...so why do I feel the warm breath of melancholy on my cheek?

 I remember an old Irish ballad, one I learned to sing when I still wore a uniform myself, when the words were just words and they didn't speak to my heart like they do now. My Granny used to get me to sing it sometimes on a Sunday, and I'd wonder why she always wiped her eyes after. Now I know. 

Wee Hughie

He’s gone to school, wee Hughie,
An' him not four,
Sure I saw the fright was in him
When he left the door.

But he took a hand o’ Denny, 
An’ a hand o’ Dan,
Wi’ Joe’s owld coat upon him
Och the poor wee man!

 He cut the quarest figure, 
More stout not thin:

An’ trotting right and steady
Wi’ his toes turned in.

I watched him to the corner 

O' the big turf stack,

An' the more his feet went forrit,
Still his head turned back.

He was lookin' would I call him,
Och my heart was low,
Sure it's lost I am without him,
But he be to go.

 I followed to the turnin’ 
When they passed it by,
God help him he was cryin',
An', maybe, so was I.

Elizabeth Shane