Knock Knock!

I’ve always been the type to ignore unknown calls and numbers I don’t recognise. I’m a busy lady, a mum, wife, and everything else and in between. So, missed calls and unopened messages continue to collect themselves as I rush around trying to meet the needs of my family, while keeping my nails cute and lashes intact.

Long story short, it was the welfare officer from my son's school. All she needed was to know that my son was alive and well, which seems slightly strange for a parent to hear, I have to admit. I’m pretty sure none of us are prepared for a stranger chasing us down asking to have visual proof of our child’s welfare.

I obliged. I think it’s a great initiative on the school's part. The local authority are yet to de-register him, so in some respect the school is still accountable for him and, of course, I’m not naive; I know those unauthorised absences look terrible on the school's statistics. So, of course, it is in their best interests to change that where possible—authorise those absences while checking on the welfare of my son. Killing two birds with one stone, I guess.

I’ve seen a few videos from other home-edders who completely resist the mainstream school regime; they want absolutely nothing to do with it. "No welfare checks! Keep it in writing!" they insist. I’ve even come across the term "unschooling"—ooh, how fancy, I thought.

I honestly believed I was now supposed to be the one responsible for my son's education. Yet, so far, I’m the one who seems to be enrolled in an intensive life and parenting course—one that comes with mandatory modules in advanced numeracy, messy science practicals, and painting murals on a Monday.

It’s been the biggest learning curve I’ve faced since I first pulled myself up from my chubby little knees and decided to walk. It turns out, I’m not just the teacher; I’m the most frantic student in the room, trying to figure out if we’re "unschooling" or just "un-functioning" before the first cup of coffee kicks in. And then come the herbal teas, peppermint, lavender and chamomile, fresh lemon and ginger; they are my daily doses of 'me time'.

What I’d suggest for you parents going this route—rerouting the journey to school and redirecting it to your front room, home-ed classes, and activities—is this: Don’t be hard-hearted towards the school (unless, of course, it is really, really warranted). One of the greatest institutions in the UK, second only to the NHS, is free education. Now, mainstream schooling might not be for everyone, but the premise behind it—that every child is entitled to an education—is something I definitely support.

So, I welcomed the welfare officer. Not into my home, mind you, but on the outside to speak to my son and perform their checks. Because the truth is, there are far too many children who get left behind—children whose neglect is hidden behind the neat press of a school uniform. For me, this is something the school got right. They are ensuring my son is safe and well, even if he is with me.

There should, and will always be, barriers and boundaries for me when it comes to my child. He is a gift; a reward to me from the Creator. He is not mine; I don’t own him. I simply take care of him until it’s his turn to take care of his own gifts.

My son said the most profound thing to me the other day. "Mum, you see the word 'parents'? It’s kind of like God was saying the 'pair' of you are renting my child."

I paused for a second and thought about what he had said. It’s just like how you would treat a swanky apartment gifted by the council, in the heart of London. You take care of what has been given to you; you keep it clean, well-kept, and you pay the bills. In return, it takes care of you by sheltering you from the rain. It becomes a place where you share joy, happiness, and even sadness. It gives you purpose—an extra reason to get up every day, pull back the blinds, let the light in, and make life colourful.

But remember, this is London: you don’t own the place. It was given to you free of charge as a gift. Your job is to live there, give love, and maintain it.

So, if you receive a few phone calls or a knock at the door, don’t jump into defence mode unless it is completely warranted. Recognise that policies and procedures are often put in place to protect your child. Most of the time, we are all on the same side—and as long as our children win, then we’ve got ourselves a brilliant team.

Home Auntie