Forest School

It’s Wednesday, which means we headed to forest school.

Today brought each of the children the chance to build their own little fires from scratch. They made their bases and collected sticks, checking to see if the wood was dead before adding it to their fires.

Once all the children had managed to maintain their fire, they moved onto making mobiles. The boys forage for stones, bark and fir cones to tie on and all three are pleased with the result.

My youngest manages to slice through my fingernail with a blunt pair of safety scissors, but I digress. There wasn’t much blood.

The session finishes with the usual – ensuring our fires are safely out and the ground returned to how it was when we arrived.

We stay in the park for a few hours more, enjoying a warmer day. The boys have shed their coats and thick jumpers and my bag is full of hats and gloves. They play between themselves, rolling in the mud and gleefully admitting that they love to make more laundry for me.

We return home as the sun sets, finding homes outside for the boys’ mobiles. We head to the chip shop for dinner and I sit now with a glass of wine as my family all sleep peacefully upstairs. Passing their bedrooms I kiss foreheads, the scent of bonfire still lingering in their hair.

It’s was the last forest school until January and my eldest says, ‘this has been the best session EVER!’ and I love how unabashed he is at celebrating. I love how raw my children are, so free and easy in their feelings.

It’s been a good day; a long but good day.

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