Tag Archives: prom

End of an era….. Start of another…

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I guess it’s more usual to write about the “firsts” in life.

I’m going to buck the trend here and write about some recent “lasts”.  Humour me….

After fifteen years all in….

I’ve made my last school packed lunch.

I’ve completed and signed my last permission slip for a school trip (Lord, I hated those forms!)

I’ve written my last note to a class teacher.

I’ve attended my last parent’s evening.

I’ve ironed my last ever school shirt – Hallelujah!!!!

I’ve driven to the school for the last time.

I’ve waved my Baby Girl off on her last school trip – prom.

 

It seems like only yesterday that I took her to school for the first time. Thirteen years have passed in the blink of an eye.

Back in August 2004, I took a tiny, shy, little, girl to school. (She was the smallest and the youngest in her class.)

Last Friday night, I took a petite, confident, young lady to school for the last time to attend the pre-prom reception. Proud Mama moment.

As I drove away, waving to her as she stood in line to board the bus that was taking them to prom, for a split second, she was that tiny, shy, little girl once more.

(image sourced via Google- credits to the owner)

 

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The Last School Trip – Prom Night

Humour me, please, for a few moments. I’m about to engage proud mother mode aka embarrassing mum mode if you are the target child.

Last week marked a landmark event in the life of Boy Child as he signed the leaver’s form for high school. Thirteen years of school done and dusted in the blink of an eye.

His final year culminated in the final school trip – the school prom.

Trust me, it’s not just the girls who put thought into what they’ll wear to prom.

Much to my surprise Boy Child didn’t take much persuading to hire a kilt for the occasion. So a couple of weeks ago we headed off to the hire shop. Let’s just say he needs to grow into his body and is still a gangly teenager who is all arms and legs. With the measurements taken and amid much slagging off and giggling form me, he chose his outfit.

On Wednesday after work I ran into the shop to collect said outfit (and pay for its hire). As I lugged it back to the car I was quickly reminded of just how heavy a kilt is!

After dinner Boy Child was advised to try the ensemble on to ensure it all fitted. Twenty minutes later he stomped back into the kitchen half-dressed muttering and pleading for assistance Seventeen years old and over six feet tall and still needed his mummy’s help – cue more giggling and teasing from me. Confession – we did resort to You Tube for a reminder on how to tie Ghillie brogues correctly!

So Friday, Prom Night, dawned wet and windy. So much for sunny June weather! However someone was keeping an eye over those youngsters as the skies cleared and the sun was shining by the time we were all due to assemble at the school for the pre-prom reception. Pity the wind didn’t die down!

In true organised McCallum fashion we arrived separately. Boy Child had finished work early to go home and fight his way into his kilt while I had agreed to meet him at the school.

As I drove up the driveway towards the school and saw the crowd of young adults in all their finery surrounded by their proud parents, it hit me.

I was there to see my baby boy off on his final school trip!

I’ll not lie – there was a lump in my throat.

It took me a few minutes to find him in the crowd but when I saw him in all his kilted finery my heart swelled with pride. My baby boy has grown into a fine looking young man.

Cue photo shoot!

Suffice to say it was chaos as everyone was trying to get photos with their friends and family and not photo bomb each other’s shots.

I was happy enough with the end result. Got photos of Boy Child with his friends including my two “Facebook Sons” and “Bread Boy” (see a previous blog post for that story)

Where did the little boys that we watched head into primary one go? It seems like only yesterday….

They’ve all grown into handsome young men.

The girls looked stunning in a rainbow of beautiful ball gowns. Long gone were the little girls who used to play with dolls and skipping ropes!

After a blessedly brief speech from the head teacher, it was time for the senior pupils to leave the school for one last class trip.

As they all trooped off towards the waiting coaches I watch Boy Child walk off with his friends without a backwards glance.

Time for me to go.

By all accounts and judging by the flood of photos on Facebook they had a fabulous night.

I was relieved to hear the front door open then the key being turned in the lock in the small hours of Saturday morning. Boy Child was home safely. Now I could disengage “anxious mummy” mode and get some sleep. After all, he still is and probably always will be my baby boy.

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