Red is for...

My son's move into secondary school has resulted in a new way of teaching, not least of which involves a whole new range of lessons - subjects that are touched on in primary school but are better dealt with when they've achieved the maturity (ahem!) of 11+.

The most exciting are the practical ones. Every fortnight there is cookery (or Food Tech, as they officially call it). To my surprise, everything so far has been edible. My husband and I even managed to finish off the rice salad, into which he had added slightly more curry powder than you would recommend. I asked him if he'd accidentally added a tablespoon rather than a teaspoon. "Oh no," he said, "I just took the pot and shook it..."

DT develops another batch of skills. I am full of hope for the demonstration of woodwork and metalwork skills, but the first item to come home was from plastic. He told me what they did.

1 Took a piece of plastic.
2 Sanded all the edges and rounded all the corners so that it was smooth.
3 Placed it on the machine, which heated it and then moulded it into the wavy shape.
4 Let it cool and added the stickers.
(To be fair to him, the stickers may have been added before the heating step!)

All very well and good. Look at the result:

Does anyone else think he's designed a communist flag?

The gay beaver

"How did the auditions go in drama?" I ask my son after school. The lunchtime drama group is planning a production of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.

"Oh, fine," comes the typical disinterested response of an 11-year-old boy.

"Do you have a part?"

"Yeah. I'm an animal." (Nuff said!)

"Any particular animal?" I ask.

"Dunno," says my son, already practicing for his teenage years.

"And your friends?"

His face lights up. "Oh, one's a gay beaver!" he declares.

"A gay beaver?" I don't recall this character from my reading of the book.

"Yeah, there are two Mr Beaver's so we've decided he must be a gay beaver."

Not two children sharing one part then? 

Photo credit: Disney, "The Chronicles of Narnia"

What you missed in September

When we lived in Zambia I used to write a letter home every month summarising what we had done and experienced. Given the last month's blog-void and life-rollercoaster I thought it was time for a quick revival.

Dear blog,

The last month has rolled past with barely a moment to catch our collective breaths. It turns out that working part-time, two mornings a week, can take up so much of your life that there is no time for blogging. This is not good, but it is exacerbated by the extra hours I've had to work in order to sort one particular client's accounts out. I'd rather not.

September 2012 has brought about one of those moments when you know you are getting older, moving on to the next phase in life. My first-born, son and eldest child (one person!) has started secondary school. He's taken the change completely in his stride. His mother was much more of a mess, worrying about her baby amongst all the big kids. Still - there is nothing quite like distraction (see paragraph 1!) to take one's mind off the big life-changes. I have dutifully taken photos in the front garden of the boy drowned by blazer and trousers that are a couple of inches too long.

His aunt commented on his hair ("he's going to love that photo when he's older!") ... which leads us into the other life-changing event of the month: haircuts. My son's mop was in desperate need of a trim and so, in a moment of despair that I would ever drag him to the hairdressers, I set up shop at home. (This means I sat him on a chair in front of the mirror in my bedroom and attacked him with the scissors.) He wants long hair, but the natural curls prevent it lying beautifully and it grows into a ball of chaos. Now I've cut it to be something approximating smart.

If his hair was a trauma it was nothing compared to my daughter's. She too wanted long hair and over the last year or two it has steadily grown down to shoulder length. When washed and heavily conditioned it looked beautiful, but every morning there were horrific knots which resulted in screaming and agony as I tried to brush it. I kept telling her the only solution was to shut up or cut it short. Astonishingly, she decided one day to cut it. Not believing her I left it 48 hours before sitting her in my (bedroom) hair salon. With many a deep breath I cut her a short bob - probably 15cm of hair falling to the floor. She looks so much more grown up, and best of all there are no morning tantrums any more!

Other childish events? I tried to organise a sleepover for my son's birthday party (in advance of his December birthday) and failed. I am planning my daughter's 10th birthday party, which is causing me marginally less stress...so far... I've also been to-and-fro to hospital appointments for her incontinence issues and met up with teachers, classroom assistants and speech & language therapists.

Perhaps the biggest time consumer has also consumed the most money. After three years the lease on our car has expired. If my husband didn't work such long hours he might have got round to ordering a new lease car through work but, as it became apparent that wasn't going to happen in a reasonable timescale, I decided that we'd have to bite the bullet and buy a new one. So we have - or at least it is ordered. I have to reassure myself that it is a great offer, a good deal, and we haven't been sucked in by the car salesman.

To add to the financial stress my husband has decided to invest in a trailer tent. Long-term this will be fantastic. Already the children are planning our holidays in Holland and France (Modern Languages week at school has set my daughter's imagination rolling!) but I have never driven a car with a trailer on. Lots more deep breaths and telling myself that it will all be ok! I'm praying for a glorious hot, sunny summer in the UK next year!

Both car and tent took up weekends of family time and hours of analysis (Can we justify the expense? Is this the right way forward? Will my son's 6ft tall rugby-playing friends squeeze in the car in 3 years' time?) but I am hopeful that we have made good decisions for the family as a whole.

Throw in some grandparents visiting, church responsibilities, orchestra practices, swimming lessons, dentist appointments and puppy training and you've jammed September about as full as is technically possible whilst still allowing time to sleep. Well, doze lightly.

Roll on October. After all, it must be quieter. Mustn't it?

xx

The problem with an excellent education

Many moons ago I had the privilege of studying O-level (that's to date me!) English Literature. I'm not sure the exam board were thinking totally straight when they chose the volumes to be read. I think their thinking went like this:

We need 5 books.


Poetry. Let's go classical and choose some narrative verse. Ah, here's a book [with extremely small print] that will do, choosing eight [lengthy] poems from it.


A classic novel. I know, we could choose Dickens or Austen, but lets go for something from the Brontë sisters [after all, we were in Yorkshire!] Jane Eyre? Wuthering Heights? Oh, nothing so classic or well known as that - let's set The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Ann Brontë .


Shakespeare. Of course we have to do one of his plays... but let's not choose anything obvious, such as Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Macbeth, The Tempest... oh no! Let's do a history play. Henry IV. Part I.

And the final two? Perhaps something more contemporary? Something that'll please a bunch of teenage boys? [I'm not sure it did, btw!] Rogue Male by Geoffrey Household: that's World War II based adventure.


And the final choice? Thomas Telford by LTC Rolt.


You may have spotted my cynicism slipping through my description of their choice. I may be the only person who got truly excited that Henry IV Part I was to be screened last Saturday night, only for the Wimbledon Men's Doubles to overtake it! But this last book really took the biscuit. It was the ultimate insult. For a teenager (particularly a girl?) this was the most boring book in the entire universe. It chronicled TT's life and engineering prowess: the Great Western train line, Ironbridge, the canals... in all their detail, with dimensions and structural information, and a splash of historical setting.

Five books that I have carried around with me ever since studying them, clogging up more removal vans than I can count.

Yet now, as I come to write about our canal holiday and the wonderful design of the Shropshire Union Canal, I'd like to have a flick through and learn a little more about the man who built it and the men who laboured at it. The canal largely avoided the need for locks by the creation of numerous embankments and cuttings, changing the landscape forever. Nowadays, covered with mature trees, you wouldn't know it had been anything different.

"Ah!" I think, "I have a book about that!"

Can't find it. Grrrrrr.

Photo credit:  Jeremy Irons and Tom Hiddleston in Henry IV: Part 1 Photo: BBC

How many teachers does it take to get sound from a computer?

This morning, five.

For a long time we had the pictures but no sound.
We got sound if we played the disc through the DVD player rather than the computer, but it was formatted for the computer so looked and sounded terrible.
We tried using the iPod plugs, to no avail.
We got a hint of sound if the plug was only half in.

The fifth teacher solved the problem. Use a different computer programme...

Having spent all morning locating (or rather, not locating) the original film and then working out how to burn the video onto disc again (husband did it before: how am I supposed to know whether to use PAL or NTSC formatting? I just want it to play!) it was a relief when we finally worked it out. By then all the children were in the hall and 'quietly chatting' amongst themselves. Talk about stress!

I don't know how teachers work and remain sane. My 15 minute presentation drained me completely, whereas they stand up in front of classes for 6 hours a day, five days a week. I stumbled over words, I said the wrong things, I probably used words that are far too complicated, I forgot important facts. It is a good job I am not in charge of anyone's education!

I am in utter awe of teachers... however many it takes to get sound from a computer!

Going for a song

We are in the middle of a whirl of Christmas shows - as are most parents at the moment, no doubt. I am the proud mother of a Townsperson and a Robin (two separate productions, neither with significant parts were they to drop down with the dreaded lurgy in the next 24 hours).

So, last night, my husband and I had a 'night out at the theatre' - i.e. Aladdin by Key Stage 2 (why have we dropped Infants & Juniors?) It was excellent: truly, I have to say that. It went without a hitch and to manage to organise about 150 children to be on and off stage at the right times is an amazing feat. Someone had painted a beautiful backdrop, the costumes were fantastic and I could hear every word.

It was a musical and I have to admire all the children who took major parts and sang solos. It is terrifying to stand in front of parents anyway - to do that and sing is marvellous. And no-one bottled out. And some of the notes were very high. But .... (and you knew a but was coming!) some of it was remarkably out of tune.

Now, I cannot criticise the children at all: they were doing really well. But it did set me to wondering whether or not I could sing at that age. Even my tone-deaf husband questioned the singing, and what his abilities were at that age.

My school had a choir. We were trained in classic choir songs, singing descants for the carol service and in harmonious parts. The spring term brought 'The Opera': a musical for the choir to perform. There were some solo parts and some spoken parts but the majority was choral. We did Joseph one year, Treasure Island another, I recall watching The Mikado once. I think we could sing. I know that in my final year at school we won a county choir competition and that later my sister's year recorded an album and were on the local news. So I suspect our choir was good, that we could sing.

I glimpsed the end of X-factor when Jedward were knocked out. I was fascinated by Danii's question: Is this a singing competition? Can any of these wannabe stars sing? I hear wobbles and moments of being out of tune. Is that nerves, or part of our current obsession with pushing for fame and stardom without having the correct training in place? Singing is a physical activity that requires controlled breathing and depth of voice comes from the correct use of one's diaphragm. Without this, untold damage to vocal chords can occur, which sadly will only become apparent at an older age.

I am no expert and strongly believe that singing adds so much to life: expressions of emotion, release of stress and outpourings of joy. So I am delighted that my children's school has a choir and the confidence to present a musical, but I just hope that their training will develop strength and depth rather than just enjoyment. And tunefulness...

And - for tonight - I hope that one particularly excitable Robin will remember all her words and actions. (See - extraordinarily proud mother comes first!)

Why won't she talk?

What am I to do?

Today, as we walked to school, my daughter told me she didn't like school.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I can't talk."

Now, you have to understand the background behind this.

Firstly: the immediate past. I had just lost it with her completely because, despite 20 minutes to get dressed, at the time we had to leave she was playing with Lego in her bedroom, in her pyjamas and saying she didn't have a shirt. It was, of course, in the wardrobe where they are always kept: she was just distracted by play. I know, I know ... her behaviour is totally normal (perhaps even for a nearly-7-year-old), but it doesn't make it any less infuriating when I can almost hear the school bell ringing and she still has her dressing-gown on.

Secondly: her history of delayed development. She was late speaking, which we eventually put it down to glue ear and hoped was resolved by grommits. Well, it was in part, and she began to play more with others and pay attention to teachers. But, for some inexplicable reason, she still struggled to catch up. That was nearly four years ago. Despite her perfect hearing she doesn't have good grammar and mispronounces many words. She gets additional help with developing her gross motor skills: she can do everything, but then falls over a lot, or won't hop, or something. Ask her a question and she is like a bunny in the headlights: frightened, blank-faced, panicked. She won't sit still on the carpet and struggles with her numbers, in particular. We have been to speech therapy, who just believe her to be delayed, and have been on a waiting list for OT for nearly two years (not helped by moving house, of course).

Just last week we had a chat with her teachers, the headmaster and SENCO person at school. No-one can pin-point what is wrong with her, why she isn't flying through school, or at least why she is struggling to progress. They commented on her being quiet in class, not answering questions, or having her blank face look if asked directly. I must state that I have complete confidence in her school and the teachers are excellent and (whilst I am being positive) my daughter's reading skills have come on leaps and bounds over the last 6-9 months.

But today - today is the first time that she has said she doesn't like school for a reason that I fear and that I cannot quash: she can't talk. Yesterday she had also said she didn't like school, but I had ignored it, assuming it would pass. (She is the same as all other children in not liking school some days simply because she'd rather be at home watching TV!) She talks at home ... too much, her brother would say! So now I am concerned, and don't know what to do.

Should I tell the teachers? Should I expect it to pass, as it has on other days? Should I go into class and try to encourage her, or would that distract her? Should I push for one-to-one support, or is she lazy and not learning to work independently? Do I do too much with her at home, or too little, or simply the wrong things?

She is usually such a bright, cheerful, giggly little girl, and I would hate that to be squashed by the steamroller of school and education. I want to encourage a love of life and a love of learning and a love of others.

Just not quite sure how to do it. Any advice?

Dogs at the school gate

The school yard is a funny place.

For the kids, it is the place of freedom and play ... and sometimes bullying and trauma.

For mums and dads it is a place to catch up, to arrange playdates, to part from tearful children.

For newcomers to a school it is bewildering. There are no set rules about where to go. Other parents don't wear badges stating which class their child is in. They can stand there day after day without anyone talking to them.

Our new school is no different from the last. Someone, eventually, will put two and two together, matching me and my child up with theirs. Until then I observe.

But observing is funny. Parents who can't leave their children. Children who can't leave their parents. And dogs (or rather, their owners).

Don't get me wrong here: I like dogs. I cannot begin to understand people who dress their dogs, although I am informed that there are valid reasons for doing this with small, bald creatures ... but why get one of them, when you can get big, soft fluffy dogs such as Retrievers, Spaniels or Setters?

Yet our new school seems to have a surfeit of dog-owners with another pet hate (sorry - dreadful pun!) of mine. Carrying dogs. Why have a creature with four legs of its own and then carry it? Surely God designed these creatures to run around?

The first one I saw was clearly a puppy. A small concession here: perhaps it needed warmth. Still, why not leave it at home whilst on the school run? It only takes 20 minutes or so. I'm sure the puppy would survive that period without physical human contact if it was left in a warm room or with a hot water bottle.

The second I saw was a Jack Russell. This was no puppy, so why bring the dog and carry him? (or her!) The dog should have been tied to the railings outside to wait while mum went in to collect the children.

Today I thought the locals had finally gone completely round the bend. Walking through the school gates I saw a lady with what looked like a small St Bernard under her arm. Doing a double-take, I realised that it was actually a soft toy. Phew! The world hasn't gone completely mad.

You won't believe it, but ...

Yesterday my son had to have school dinner because his packed lunch fell in the fish tank.

Strange, but true.

Chalk and cheese

First day at new school.

Daughter (6 years old): up at 6.40am, bouncing into bedroom and onto our bed.

"Is it school today? Yippee!" (more bouncing)

"I wear my new trousers?" (lots of nodding) 

"New jumper?" (more nodding) 

"New shoes?" (nodding from me turns into a grunt that is supposed to be interpreted as Yes.)

"Yippee" (hands in air, more bouncing)

Little girl dresses rapidly and goes downstairs. She puts on her apron to ensure she doesn't dirty her new uniform during breakfast, eats and is ready by 7.45am.

School starts at 8.50am.

Son (8 years old): woken by bouncy sister, grunts and shouts of disapproval resound.

Reluctantly comes downstairs in new uniform. Looks great, but is upset that there are buttons on both the polo shirt and the trousers (he hates buttons).

Stands to eat breakfast (Weetabix falls on floor instead).

Retreats to watch TV until it is time to leave.

At the end of the day...

Daughter can't remember the name of a single person in her class, but does remember her teacher's name. I am already asked in for a meeting to discuss her, although the teacher was very, very positive and said she'd had a fantastic day with no problems.

Son is in a class with two other boys with the same name. And can name another three or four children. And had a great day learning about global warming and playing tennis (though not necessarily at the same time).

Day 2: as we leave, my son tells me he's left a note for me on my desk.

"OK. I'll read it when I get back - is that all right?"

"Yes."

Somewhat morosely he walks with us to school. (Daughter finds friend who lives a couple of doors down and skips away merrily.)

I get home to find Teddy on my desk with a note:

You can hug him