By Lena Yiallouros
On paper, buying a home near a school sounds ideal. The real estate listings make it sound like a dream — great for families, convenient for future kids, a “safe and community-focused location.” But anyone who has actually lived on a school’s doorstep knows the truth: the calm lasts only until the first school bell rings.
Each weekday morning, the neighbourhood transforms. What was a quiet, leafy street suddenly becomes a 30-minute traffic marathon. Cars line both sides, engines running, parents rushing, indicators blinking like a battlefield of stressed-out soldiers. Everyone is in a hurry, no one has time, and road rules become more like rough guidelines. Driveways get blocked, horns slip out, and somehow every parent believes their car needs to be exactly 10 metres closer to the gate.
And then, just as quickly as it began, it ends. Within minutes, the street falls silent again — like a tornado passed through and left nothing but stillness behind. Until 3pm, that is, when the entire cycle repeats in reverse. Afternoon pickup brings its own storm: double-parking, U-turns, last-minute screeching stops, and the daily question of whether you’ll even make it into your own driveway.
Then there’s the unexpected extras stray balls landing in your yard, kids cutting corners across your lawn, and the soundtrack of Demon Hunters on loop, bells, whistles, and occasional lunchtime chaos drifting through your windows. It’s all part of the package deal.
But then comes the magic moment every local silently counts down to: the end of the school year. Suddenly the neighbourhood breathes again. Streets clear, mornings are peaceful, and afternoons feel normal. It’s as if someone switched the suburb back to its “quiet” setting. For a few precious weeks, you remember why you fell in love with the area in the first place.
Living near a school isn’t terrible, in fact, for many, the convenience outweighs the chaos. But it’s a reality worth acknowledging. The neighbourhood has two personalities: the calm one you meet on weekends and holidays, and the high-energy, traffic-fuelled version that rules the weekdays.
Come February, the cycle starts again. And so does the 30-minute battle for the school drop-off zone.
