Il rientro

Fourteen degrees at 9:30am. Sunny, but with something threatening just over the horizon. We're promised at least three rain-free days.

At 8am this morning, Mama and two tweenies burst out of the house at the top of the hill in a flurry of name-tags and wundaweb. A lone deer up high in Nadia's garden lifted its head to check out the commotion, nodded and then went back to gently grazing.

Cannobio's Guardian Angel Square was bubbling with life. With excitement. With expectation. The Caffe' Centro was stacked. Inside and out. The car park was a fly-park. The policeman on crossing duty looked the other way.

All it needed was bunting and a brass band.

And perhaps the sindaco in his sash giving a speech.

For today, eighteen wide-eyed 3-year-olds carrying brand new miniature rucksacks were starting at scuola materna, just as AJ did 12 months ago. Eighteen fathers, shocked at the chaos of slippers, overalls, bibs and baby wipes. And bawling. Eighteen mothers, faces set in a rigid separation-anxiety grin. Assorted junior siblings staring from buggies, getting lost in the corridors, half-inching asilo Lego blocks.

AJ, B and I were directed upstairs to the relative peace of the 2nd-year classroom. New year, new room, new teachers.

Ah.

Old problem.

He "thcreamed and thcreamed and thcreamed".

And, having become AJ's best little chum this summer, B suddenly came alive to the situation, and she..."thcreamed and thcreamed and thcreamed" in sympathy.

Mama felt "thick".