Forget highs and lows, it's the little stuff that counts
MIlestones ... the end of 2011 marked the end of primary school for some parents.
I WAS all geared up to write something gushy and emotional, and end-of-yeary-teary.
It's been a big year, hasn't it? And not just from a global or financial, or crisis point of view but in a more modest, homey kind of way, too. So this was going to be a kind of reflection on 2011: oh, we were going to laugh and cry, then laugh some more. I'd share my bits with you and imagine you sharing yours right back.
I was at war with myself and my dadness because as much as I wanted to talk about our kids and how they've again revelled in their fantasticness, I knew: a) you wouldn't believe me; and b) wouldn't really care. In a way, it could have been like one of those emails you're about to get from a friend or colleague that takes you through the year they've had. I still can't figure out if I like or loathe those emails. They're a bit like the junky newspapers - I tend to look at the pictures, read the first couple of paragraphs and move on.
So, the good news is, there will be no regaling of ballet concerts or netball games with last-second goals. No basketball finals or hangers from AFL. There is no way on God's green Earth I'll bore you with stories of height charts or school assemblies or even awards for being ''the best-dressed-second-Monday-of-the-month child'' or ''having a knack for maths''. Nup. None of it. Not a word.
Actually, I might have suggested it is worth remembering how the whole of grade six ran the last lap of the cross country with one fabulous boy facing a few challenges. That was special, and our grade-sixer wasn't even there. He was off kicking a leather bag of wind about in Blacktown.
And given our eldest boy just finished year six there would have been significant temptation to have a waffle about how brilliant it's been to watch all these kids start out as little dribblers together in kindy, only to finish up as young men and women about to embark on their next, exciting phase of life.
As luck would have it, our boy was one of the speech-givers and I swear I thought my ticker was going to burst right through my chest when his turn came to speak. If there was a word for the heady mix of pride and love and respect and nerves, I would definitely have used it. In fact, all the kids who have stood up to the mic in the past couple of weeks have been superb. I'll bet it's the same where you are.
How about the last day of school? That might have been the teary bit. Friday was definitely a sunglasses day for anyone with a grade-sixer, wasn't it? It's hard to imagine how right the grandparents are when they warn you, ''They grow up so fast.''
But then, I didn't have to write about any of that because something else, something utterly fantastic happened. I not only got a park at the mall without getting in a fight, and found someone to help me at Myer, but - and you'll appreciate this, I got the last remaining Glow Book in the store. Which was the last one in the suburb and possibly all of Sydney.
I don't even know what a Glow Book is but I know it's what our seven-year-old wants ''more than anything, daddy''. So that's what I thought I'd write about. Euphoria, success and a small congrats to all the little kids about to hit big school.