Thousands of parents across the country are preparing to say goodbye to the intense time and fun that they have had with their little darlings over the past 6 weeks or so.
Just for the record, I'm NOT one of those mothers.
Sure I love being with my boys but if I have said "Harry, turn the iPad down" once, I've said it a million times and quite frankly, I'm out of gin! The school holidays for me are a time of little respite, high alert and long days and nights. School gives me the break and peace I crave, the space to just be me for a few hours and to nip to the shop without needing a baby sitter or spending money on an unnecessary toy to avoid a complete meltdown.
But I remember a time when my boys going back to school was so much harder.
Like the time when my boys were first separated. Oliver on his mainstream school journey and Harry on his special school adventure.
Different uniforms, differentiations paths.
Oliver meeting friends on route to school and walking in a little gang to the gates. Harry sitting in a taxi with just a chaperone for company as I waved him off.
Oliver coming home and telling me all about his day (until he became a teenager and conversation was replaced with grunts). Reading Harry's home diary and trying to piece together his activities.
Over the years it has got much easier but at the start, September was just another reminder that my life was so very different to my friends as they posted their pictures of siblings in their new uniforms and shiny shoes.
I think looking back, my sadness was very much about the losses that I was feeling for myself. It was a flash of grief for the experiences I thought my boys would share.