The long journey (or a short bus ride) to growing up

Hi - I'm Jayne. I live in the West Midlands with two children (11 and 8), two guinea pigs and one husband. Life can be hectic and there are plenty of ups and downs, some of which will make it onto this blog ...

September has been a month of change in Howarth Towers. I don’t mind change, usually, but this time I have been a bit wobbly.

The reason is very simple: P (my 11-year-old daughter) has gone to secondary school.

She looks very grown-up in her smart uniform (five bars on the tie – or else, apparently) and is keen to establish herself as an independent young lady.

Except for one thing. She won’t walk the just-over-one-mile trip to school by herself.

This has required very careful manoeuvring. I’ve acknowledged how the move from primary school to secondary is a huge one.

We’ve talked through the 15-minute route: one straight, main road with two small side road crossings and how safe it is. I pointed out the ponies in the field she can talk to ("hello Mr and Mrs Pony and foal!" I wittered, as she looked witheringly at me).

I’ve walked part of the way there with her (five minutes) and watched her disappear down the road, with her huge bag – and seemingly the world – on her shoulders.

But to no avail. She says she doesn’t feel safe.

Bang! She got me with a killer comment. It ripped my heart to shreds because it made me feel that I was forcing her into a dangerous situation.

But I have refused to relent – I will not take her to school in the car. I nearly wobbled, but no. I stood firm. Ish.

The problem is that her friends are being driven. That’s their parents’ choice and I am not criticising them for it. But I will not, unless there are exceptional circumstances, drive her to school.

She assures me that nothing has happened en-route that has frightened her; no one has approached her or bullied her.

So, I’ve compromised. She must take the bus, even though it is a ridiculously short journey.

It means leaving the house earlier than if she were walking and it obviously costs more, but she is happier.

This week, I and her younger brother have accompanied her to the bus stop (how I managed to drag him away from his DS is a miracle) and waited for it to arrive. Next week, she is doing it by herself. I want to see this independent young lady emerge from her infant cocoon.

I hope she comes to realise that my refusal to take her in the car is not an act of cruelty or the actions of an uncaring mother. I want her to fly; I don’t want to clip her wings.

Only time will tell if my decision has been the right one. I have my fingers crossed.