This time a week ago, Nicholas was starting back at maternelle for four weeks – or so I thought.

Having taken the time to register him when we were last here in December, Nicholas had a couple of weeks of ‘taster’ classes after the Christmas holidays, so I was confident all would be well.

I suspected, given the time past since January, that he would need to be re-registered for our current visit. Certainly the school would need to be alerted and comfortable. It helps that our neighbour in the village works at the maternelle so, through her, I confirmed in advance that it would be fine for him to come back to class. No problem.

As we arrived on a Saturday, and knowing that the school was happy for him to attend in principle, I planned to drop him off at school at 8.30am on the Monday and go straight to the mairie to make sure all the paperwork was in order, thus maximising his time in school, but making sure all the t’s were crossed promptly. All good.

The plan first started to unravel when I rang the bell at the school door. There are two lovely teachers at the maternelle one of whom is, shall we say, a bit less driven by the rules than the other. Knowing the division of teaching hours, I figured if there was a matter of technically having to go to the mairie first, it would be overlooked by Monday’s teacher for the sake of a morning. But who should answer the door but the other teacher – they’d swapped their days. This did not bode well.

Lots of ‘friendly’ questions were asked, but having managed to provide all the answers, I left Nicholas there happy, and off I went, with an undertaking to go straight to the local authority for the paperwork. When I got there half an hour later, however (via the bank, the boulangerie and an espresso), I realised with dismay that the offices were closed – with a public holiday on the Tuesday, they had opted to ‘faire le pont’, bridging between the weekend and the day’s break with an additional day of leave.

At that point my phone rang – it was the teacher. I must come and collect Nicholas  immediately as he can’t be there without being officially registered. Realising the council offices were closed, she’d spoken to the directrice of the maternelle and talked to the local officials and agreed that it was not possible to have him there until it’s sorted. Sigh.

So back I went, morning’s work out the window, to pick him up. Nicholas was most surprised and, I suspect, more than a little pleased to be collected so quickly! I was less pleased to be losing a day’s work. The teacher was pleasantly apologetic but firm: “Ce n’est pas moi madame, vous savez. C’est une question d’assurance.” Come back when you have the paperwork. And can you shut the door on the way out?

Frankly, I’m grateful they’re prepared to enrol him at all for such short periods of time, so I can hardly complain about the few rules. With the unexpected day off, we went to the lake, picked wildflowers, visited cows and entertained the village donkeys with our Maori warrior dances. Who needs school anyway?

Well, Mums do for a start! After the public holiday, I was certainly well and truly ready to get the paperwork sorted so, bright and early, we were up and at the mairie on the Wednesday morning for their 8am opening, hoping to make the start of classes at 8.30am. With Nicholas in tow, backpack over his shoulders, our intentions were clear, even if the reception was a little lukewarm.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hello, I’d like to sign my son up for preschool classes.

Receptionist: Ah, but I think that registrations are closed right now. (To education official) Those are not open until June, right?

Me: Hunh?

Education official (visible seated behind frosted cubicle panel) to receptionist: Yes, that’s right . (Looks over) Oh, but she was wanting to register her son for just a month I think.

Me: That’s right.

Education official to receptionist: Yes, she was at the school on Monday. Even though the office was closed, I spoke to the teacher. I refused her permission because you know, the office was closed. It’s not possible. It’s not reasonable.

Receptionist: Right

Me: Ah, okay, that was you? Yes, I would like to register my son for the month. That’s right.

Education official (Pauses, thinks, looks irritated, addresses receptionist): Well, but I can’t do the paperwork this morning. Maybe I could do it this afternoon, or tomorrow, I don’t know.

Me: Thank you, I would be grateful.

Receptionist: I’ll need your passport.

Me: Shall I come and collect the paperwork this afternoon?

Education official (Pauses, thinks): No, don’t bother, I will give it directly to the teacher. That will save you coming back.

Me: Thank you very much. I appreciate that. So, can he start school now, while we await the paperwork?

Receptionist (Looks at feet).

Education official (Pauses, thinks, sighs): That’s up to you to sort with the school.

Me: Excellent. Thank you.

So off we headed to the school, in the knowledge that the other teacher was on and, despite still not having the required paperwork, at least we had talked to the right people about the paperwork.

So, after a false start and half a week of school, Nicholas is now well settled in, and went happily into class this morning again after the weekend.

“Ca va Nicholas?”, said the teacher?

“Ca va SUPER!” replied Nicholas, with his Superman arm raised in a fist.

I closed the door on my way out, smiling quietly to myself. We’re off to a good start.