there's treasure everywhere

Olivia started school yesterday. I don't have a clear memory of my first day, though I do remember going in to see the school and meet my teacher before that. Miss Cunningham. And the memory of the classroom is strangely sepia toned. Primary school was full of anxiety for me. Of mean girls and intimidating big kids at break on the tarmac playground. Of loneliness and not fitting in and a terror of sports. Her dad cried and cried and wouldn't let go of his mother. The teacher prised him off and told her it was better if she went, and she wept all the way home.

But Olivia is taking to it like a duck to water so far. When I collected her yesterday she handed me the happiest picture of her first day in school, a tall thin building with happy faced children at each window, blue sunny skies to echo the day and a crow flying by. I asked her if she'd had a good day and she said it had been a great day, more exciting than she thought it would be.


Remembering the need for supplies in primary school, I set aside some egg boxes, drinking chocolate containers and gold foil paper in case Olivia's teacher wanted them. I put the gold paper in one of the boxes and put them all in the hall. The other day I looked up to see Bodhi sitting on the floor investigating them. He sat straight backed in a sturdy right angle as he peeled open the lid. I could feel the surprise emanating from him as he pulled and shook out the shiny paper, elbows up high, back straight. The world is a wonderful place for a one year old, you open a purple box, and you find a chocolatey-sweet smell, and gold.

Walking and talking and treasure hunting. The zoo of the new, Sylvia Plath was right about that, at least.