Her Changeover
She's been of two minds lately, sometimes cheerful, sometimes bordering on gloomy. The latter is simply not like her, while "cheery" aptly describes her general mood and outlook on life. She's only nine, nine and a half years old, so contemplating moving to an entirely new address, one that will take her very far from where she has been accustomed to living out her life, is a difficult move for a child. Any child. All the more for a child who lives a somewhat isolated lifestyle anyway, and whose major contact with other children is through the school she attends. And now that will be changed. She will be leaving all of her friends behind, a group of girls to whom she has become attached, many of whom have, like her, started their education at that school in junior kindergarten, and been bumped up year after year into the same classroom.
Of course she'll no longer see us, her grandparents, every day after school either, for that matter. All of this makes her feel sad, but of course, she is powerless to do anything about this turn her life has taken. She knows that the change has come about through necessity, that it was time for her and her mother to move on to another platform in their lives, and for her that includes a different school, with the prospect of making new friends who we hope will become just as socially and emotionally valuable to her as her old friends have been.
Some of her girlfriends have shared her sense of sadness at her impending move. Her mother has told them they'll be invited to the new house, they'll be welcome to stay over week-ends and maintain their friendship. It's a long drive, easily an hour and more in good travel conditions, so whether contact is left open will be left to the value everyone sees in the continuation of contact. I keep reminding her to make sure she has email addresses of all the friends she wants to continue contacting. She is singularly unimpressed with this suggestion; after all, an impersonal, distanced contact through the ether with an electronic medium is no replacement for a solid physical presence you can hug if the mood takes you both.
Today she and her class had an all-day outing. They went bowling, curling, and played volleyball. Unlike the all-day trek the week before which she absolutely detested, she was delighted with the activities on today's roster. Her bowling was so good, she said, her score was the best of all her friends. In fact, they suggested she bowl for them the occasional turn and thus increased their score, and this made her feel very good. Curling was a challenge and fun, and so was volleyball. A very successful penultimate day for this child. Her last day at this school, with this teacher, these friends, will be tomorrow, and, she said, her teacher has arranged for a good-bye party in her honour, to take place during the last hour of tomorrow's school day.
Oh, we said, doubtfully. Isn't this the teacher you love to hate? Um, yes, but she isn't always mean and nasty. Obviously. Sometimes, our Angie informed us, she is very nice, and when she is I certainly do like her. Trouble is, she isn't always nice, and when she isn't, that's when I don't like her. Talk about stating the obvious.
Hugs are the first order of business on ingress and egress, and after hugs comes show-and-tell as she held out for my scrutiny a floppy brown bear, then restored it to her chest, hugging it tight. A gift, she said, from one of her girlfriends, a parting gift. One of many. These gifts ease her immediate pain, and obviously do the same for their previous owners, since these are invariably items which Angie's friends had held dear. She will treasure them as keepsakes for the memories they evoke in her of their first owners.
Cupcakes! she observed, entering the kitchen. It's been so long since I've had cupcakes (like the last time, not too long ago, her mother baked muffins) and I looove! cupcakes. I'd just finished slathering a ganache icing over mochacchino cupcakes, the recipe taken from the Ontario Dairy Council advertisement in Canadian Living. Can I have one, pleeeze? as though I would deny her one. As long, I told her, as she ate the bowl of strawberries first, and she agreed. And Bubbe, can I have a grilled cheese sandwich too?
That's something else that will change. At her new school lunch time will be held at a more appropriate time of day; the early lunchtime she has always been exposed to at this school (11:30 a.m.) has been far too early for her, she's never had much of an appetite for school lunch, which invariably brought her home ravenous for something substantial after school. I set aside half of the finished cupcakes for her mother to take home, as usual.
And when her mother does arrive, she tells us all about her trip to her real estate lawyer in Renfrew, that she handed over the bank draft, signed the papers, and is now legally the owner of house and property. She's anxious to be able to get the house keys as soon as possible, wanting to take over most of her plants the day before her move, rather than have them placed into the moving van in this cold weather, as she'd prefer to preserve them. Besides which, their new mattress sets and beds are scheduled for delivery the day prior to move-in, and ideally, she or, alternatively we, will be there with key in hand to ensure the beds are in place.
Then -- move-in on Saturday. It'll be one long, weary day. We hope the weather will co-operate. It's not the best of times to effect a household move at this time of year in this winter environment. The exigencies of necessity. All will be well.
posted by Pieface @ Wednesday, February 08, 2006
<< Home