The Smudgelet is indignant on my behalf that school inspections exhaust people and take them away from spending relaxing time with their families.
The inspection is over.
I am exhausted.
I have so much to do tonight - packed lunches to make, meals to prepare for Friday and Saturday, the bins to put out.
What am I actually doing?
I'm flicking from page to page on the internet - not even reading, just flicking - and in a moment will crawl into bed and hope to wake early enough to do it all tomorrow.
Two lessons observed. No feedback. Think it went OK (though would have liked both lessons to go better - they would have done if the kids hadn't felt restricted by the presence of the inspectors as was evident when the inspectors left) but it's hard to tell. Tears from all staff this morning, including the Head, at the way we've pulled together. Whether we're a successful school or a failing one, we couldn't work harder or with more dedication. I wonder what they'll say. We may never know. (It isn't OFSTED so it isn't published).
When I first began teaching, the pivot point was a wonderful thing devised by my friend and I to help us make it through the term. You work out the pivot point. This is the day, nay, the hour, when you suddenly have more of the half term behind you than you have ahead. And this is the moment that you focus on, the moment you need to reach rather than the dim and distant target of the actual start of the half term holidays. Then the beauty of the system is that, having celebrated reaching it, you work out the next pivot point - precisely half way through the remaining time - and work your way towards that moment. And again, and again, until you've only two hours to go and you celebrate the hour, then the half hour, and the quarter hour... and suddenly it's the holidays and you're free :D
Today is a double pivot point. We have more time behind us with our visitors than ahead of us. They leave early next Tuesday morning. Now don't get me wrong, I am really enjoying having them here most of the time, and this evening they decided to stay home with us and we have had a really lovely evening together. They are really lovely boys, all three of them, and when one of the parents rang me this evening I was able honestly to say how great their son is. But it's an awkward time, tiring (not their fault, but they come in so late and leave so early) and taxing on our communication skills. It's also particularly stressful when their leader's forgotten to give them an activity list, so I'm stood at the stove making a cooked meal for 5.30 and they arrive home an hour earlier than usual and inform me that they have to be in Newport by 6pm instead of the usual 7 o'clock. Cooked meal consigned to the dustbin (it wouldn't keep), boys sent to get fish and chips, which they then were too busy talking to eat in time so that mostly went in the dustbin too. I had a few choice words to say to the EF organisers on that one!!! So here we are, at the pivot point, and I realise that it will be really quiet when they do go. I hope at least one of them keeps in touch.
I cannot say the same for the second pivot point, even though the people in question have been really quite nice so far on a personal level (not sure yet on a professional level). Praise God, the first day of inspections is over. I had one complete lesson observed - didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped as the kids simply froze, but I was fairly pleased with things and don't think it was bad at all. I have three lessons tomorrow and have heard a rumour that they may not still be doing observations by the third... so one I'm confident about and one I'm not.
Smudgelet, meanwhile, is planning to write to the Prime Minister. It's not right, he says, that his mother should have so much paperwork to do that she doesn't spend time with him. Too right, Smudgelet. You write your letter. You needed my attention these last few days - doing genetics in school isn't that easy when you're adopted and feel isolated within the lesson when everyone's discussing things they have in common with their parents - and I was almost too busy. I say almost - I ditched the planning in favour of my son. After all, what's more important. And what are they going to do to the school if we fail the inspection? Close it?
"I feel like death warmed up," I said to my colleague. "I spent last night sleeping on the sofa."
"Smudgie, why on earth did you do that?" she enquired. "I mean, you're single. You've nobody to have a row with!"
I suppose I could have done it just because I wanted the experience, but you know as well as I do that I have many a night slept on the sofa because of an inability to find my bed under all the junk accumulated upon it. This time it was different.
When my eldest son is here, I habitually lock my bedroom door when I'm not in there, and I decided that this might be a good policy while we have small inquisitive visitors, (especially as Mousie is dying of old age in there - just quietly fading away in his little nest in the corner, bless him, no longer really wanting to eat or drink or scamper, just to rest quietly as he ends his days). No problem. I keep my keys in a safe place, usually my pocket if I'm wearing jeans, but in a particular spot that only I know if I have no pockets to keep them in. Fine, simple plan. Until you slip your keys absent mindedly into your laptop case while trying to persuade three French boys to hurry up and get ready to catch the bus.
It was a manic few days writing countless lesson plans - repeatedly, as people thought of one more thing and one more thing to add to them. My visitors came in at 10pm wanting hot chocolate and biscuits to warm them up before they went to bed (honestly, Ryde beach in this lovely June weather....!), so it was 11pm by the time I was able to head towards my long-awaited bed. I got as far as the door... and... er....
OK, so where are my keys? In my pocket? No, I haven't got any pockets. In the special place? No, the special place is empty. In the lounge? No. In the bathroom? No. In the kitchen? No. In my laptop bag which is sitting tucked under my desk in the empty classroom? Ping! Correct answer. So, the sofa it is. Good job Mousie doesn't need feeding. Now, where will I find some spare bedding. I have loads of spare bedding. Ah, I have loads of spare bedding for when I have visitors. Trouble is, I have visitors, and I don't think they'll really appreciate it if I go and nick the bedding of their beds. And as for pyjamas? Well, they're in the bedroom, of course, together with my clean clothes for next day....
Good job I still had a day to go before the inspectors were in!
I have spent all weekend writing lesson plans and doing paperwork for the new responsibilities I am taking on as the day after the inspection I have a day-long meeting with the LEA inspector/advisor for mathematics whose ASD-type qualities combined with genius with mathematics apparently make her very very intense and slow to comprehend that mere mortals like I don't actually know a lot of the high-falutin' maths stuff.
I have also spent much of the weekend being driven slowly up the wall by three adorable but increasingly hyper French boys who sleep little, make large quantities of noise (and farting sounds courtesy of some silly putty they purchased at the joke shop!), are eating far too many sweets and far too little food, and are generally relaxing far too much! Good job they're so lovely or I think I might lock the door and let them suffocate themselves with the aerosol deodorant they are so fond of spraying right, left and centre. AGGGGGGGGGHHHH! They don't get in until 10pm and they're so lively, and all wanting hot chocolate and time to play when all I want to do is crawl off to bed ready for the early start next day.
TICTH the bureaucratic, red-taped, league-table led, jargon-riddled, gimmick-laden education system and the stress upon stress it lays upon even the best of teachers.
In particular, after: two changes of head teacher in quick succession; radical changes in the ways of working within the school with each change of head; a new national Key Stage 3 curriculum (very good one, but still) being launched which requires a complete rewrite of our syllabus by September; six members of staff being made redundant in three weeks' time; major reorganisation of the entire education system on the Isle of Wight being announced including the closing of our school (and now, bless 'em, the declaration that they're not sure whether they're going to go ahead with these changes or not); virtually every teacher in the school taking on more and new responsibilities to replace those who are leaving; virtually every teacher in the school having to move the entire contents of their classroom into a different room last week so that the school is completely reorganised again; this week being the week when the new pupils for next year visit and the older ones go to visit the High School and there's trips out and sports' days and the like, and only three weeks to go until the blessed holidays.... they pick NEXT BLOODY WEEK TO DROP A TWO-DAY INSPECTION ON US WITH THREE PAGES OF LESSON PLANS TO BE WRITTEN FOR EVERY SINGLE LESSON WE TEACH!!!!!!!!
It's as if they're determined to stretch us to see how much stress it takes before we break. "What? You coped with that? Well, see how you like this then!" Don't you idiots realise that if all the good and consciencious teachers crack under all this rubbish, it's the kids and your blessed league tables that will suffer?
The new word I'm working on begins with N and ends with O. Any idea what it might be? Somehow every time I open my mouth to say it, the sounds emerge sounding remarkably like the phonemes (technical word there, are you impressed?) - y - e - and - s- .
This is the reason I am currently running around like a mad thing, trying to reassemble my home into some state of habitability after the latest round in our home improvement cycle (How is it that home improvement seems to necessitate home demolition first?) so that I can play host to not deux (as first arranged) but trois (as it turned into last night) ten and twelve year olds from France on an English Language course for a fortnight. And this at a week's notice! I blame the Smudgelet for being so keen to do it. The most interesting bits will be - the fact that I'm booked to go to the theatre on Friday night and simply can't find anyone willing to babysit three young French boys (strange that! - so, what are YOU planning for Friday night?) and the fact that Tiddles comes home for the last three days of it and I am obliged to move the Smudgelet back out of his room and into... well.... er.... I'm sure I'll find somewhere for him to sleep. After all, I've got nearly two weeks to think about it.
Add to this, the fact that I had a phone call a week ago from my head teacher. "Smudgie, I am sorry to ring you at home but we have a small emergency at work. Would you mind awfully moving classrooms tomorrow afternoon - lock, stock and barrel - into the tiny room which nobody else will agree to work in? I'd be very grateful. In fact, I promise eventually to have electricity and a SmartBoard installed in there". It's been an interesting week! The room is now only big enough for a maximum of 16 pupils so it looks like I'll be teaching small groups next year, doesn't it? The real interesting bit was when the head, needing some practise at observing before our proper mini inspection next week (an inspection in the middle of the last three weeks of school, together with room changes, I ask you!) asked if he and a colleague could come and observe me teaching my eighteen Year Eights in there. Needless to say, I was quite pleased to greet him with the words "I'm sorry, but there's nowhere for you to sit. That little space by the door would be the safest place for you to stand" :D So thus is my career at this school - from caravan to corridor to cupboard.
Having said that, I've had a promotion :D . It was another case of opening my mouth and the wrong words coming out. Big time.
When I get a bit of time I'll blog about our weekend and the trials and tribulations of being the mother of a teenager, God bless him. But I suppose I'd better go and make four packed lunches for tomorrow. Yes four. When the Smudgelet heard that the French boys were having a packed lunch every day, he asked whether he could have one too so that he can sit with his friends at lunchtime (they have sandwiches, you see) and like someone with the letters M.U.G tattooed on their forehead, I opened my mouth to say NO and the wrong sounds came a-tumbling out.
I didn't manage to go dog walking today. I was far too busy getting our home ready for the arrival of the new addition to the family. The RSPCA had to do a home-check of course, make sure we were well prepared for our new responsibility and knew what we were letting ourself in for. So that meant making sure everywhere was clean and tidy and just right for the inspection and then taking myself and the home over to Merstone to the RSPCA.
What do you mean, doesn't the inspector come to us? That'd be a bit unnecessary don't you think?
Hold on, you didn't think we were getting a dog, did you? I told you, I don't like dogs as pets. And being out at work, it wouldn't be fair to have a dog either. Besides, how would I explain that to Charlie.
No, Pavlova is a roborovski hamster. Or rather, Pavlova are roborovski hamsters. It is the most adorable little family of five, a mother and four daughters (thus swinging the balance of the sexes in this household back in my favour) and Smudgelet has decided that it is fair to name them all the same. After all, they're fairly indistinguishable from each other and it'd be very rude to refer to them by the wrong name. This was, if anyone asks "Which one is your favourite?", we can quite honestly answer "Pavlova" without hurting the feelings of any of them.
They are actually "watching pets" rather than "handling pets", as they're small and fast and very squirmy, but tame as tame can be and so inquisitive. And they're full of fun - running and playing and squabbling and climbing and exploring and very keen to come and see what you're up to every time you walk past. If you think Smudgelet isn't the only one to be totally enchanted by them, you'd be right. They're about 4cm long and have white eyebrows over their beady, sparkly eyes. And they're gorgeous!
It's only today that I've found the lead to let me download the latest photos onto Flickr.
Computer lead, that is, not dog lead.
I managed two trips to the RSPCA during the week last week - despite having to take the car to the garage yet again - and spent time with two dogs. One was our lovely little friend Muffin, who on Tuesday went out for a drag - the spirit was willing but the little legs were weak! - but on Thursday was so full of beans that he virtually skipped all the way round the walk and even broke out into quite an energetic run. He's such a sweetheart - one of those dogs who simply has to make eye contact with you again and again and walks so close to your legs that you could wear him as a slipper!
My new acquaintance, who confirmed my reasons for preferring cats to dogs, was Naz. Smudgelet has been in hysterics at my impression of this bow-legged treasure with a sleek coat and no manners whatsoever. This is a real "man" dog. No silly fussing and skipping for Naz, he was out for two things and two things only - to roll in anything disgusting he could find and to eat poo. Bless him. I can't say I fell in love with this one, though I'm sure he has his endearing qualities. But there's no mistaking, this is a dog with a mission and he's not the dog for me.
Today we went for a mega-walk, staying long enough to take three dogs on the circuit. The first was our friend Muffin. It really is so sweet how utterly attached this little dog is to the Smudgelet.
Then we got to meet our second Westie. His name's Oscar and he's quite a contrast to Muffin. An elderly gent, he went round at a more sedate pace, stopping to water every daisy, and managed only a single circuit (though taking probably twice as long to complete it). His ears are really poorly and manky inside and he's deaf as a post. Stubborn little fellow, though. I did rather like him, even though he hadn't got Muffin's spring.
In contrast, our third dog of the day was Blue. Smudgelet loved walking this one because this dog wanted to play. In fact, wanted to play almost too much! Strong and stubborn but totally friendly and adorable, this dog gave my shoulder muscles a good workout. Strangely he is unable to eat solid food at all, and needs help to swallow liquids, so it meant we had to make sure he didn't eat anything and we couldn't give him a biscuit, however tempting it was.
So you think I have been protesting too much about my determination not to have a dog? Well, watch this space for news of a new addition to the family...... *blush*
The staffroom noticeboard offered us tickets for £130.
But that would have been a bit extravagent seeing as how we can hear it from here. And that's with the windows closed!!!
I must remember to set out early for church tomorrow.
I think he has an eye for a good photo, and even he was taken aback by how they looked when I printed them out in A4 and put them in a frame.
He still thinks I'm just saying it to make him feel good, though. He won't believe he has a good awareness of what makes a good photo. But this set on Flickr are the ones he took in Scotland - yes, they were taken with a digital camera so he could have taken hundreds and picked the best, but these were all the photos he took, some fairly run-of-the-mill though with something in each to redeem it, some rather nicely composed (I think, but then I'm biased). Clicking on a photo will take you to the rest.
Those of you who know Tiddles will probably be interested to know that he had a really positive time on both his work experiences. His first week was at the RSPCA, working in all areas and having chance to talk to the inspector. He learnt things about doing repetitive work as carefully as the interesting stuff, he learnt about not going out in the evening if you've got to be up early next day ( ! ), he learnt about making his own lunch and arranging his own transport, he learnt about the importance of health and safety rules (even if it is a bit ridiculous that a boy who can shear a sheep and who drives, feeds and milks the cows isn't deemed old enough to hold the lead when walking a dog!). He fell in love with ferrets, an animal he'd never liked before, and the lovely one-eyed, deaf cat called Belle who cannot be rehomed. And he learned that if you have to put a presentation together about your week's work, it isn't a good idea to leave taking the photographs all for the last day!
I was very impressed that he wrote to thank them for having him there and, even more so, that he set himself the challenge of baking them a cake for his last day there!
His second week was spent at the Hospice. He'd wanted to work there originally when he'd been thinking of going into nursing and decided that he'd go ahead with the work experience, even though he'd decided he wanted to work with animals in preference to people... just to make sure, like.
It was a doddle of a week in some respects. He didn't have to be there until 9.30 am and finished at 3.15pm. And he wasn't able to work in the wards, so was just doing the job of a volunteer in day care, making teas and coffees and keeping the patients company. (We made the most of his short hours, however, by finding plenty of jobs for him to do helping his uncle with the DIY jobs before and after work!) But he learnt things of far more value. He learnt that he brushes up quite nicely and looks really rather grown up and cool in a shirt and slacks. He learnt that he has a skill that not many teenagers have, that of talking to people clearly and making eye contact and actually taking the first step to talk to someone even though feeling a little shy. He learnt that he has loads to offer people who are weak and needful of help, that he is sensitive to their needs and enjoys meeting them. He learnt that working with people is actually more to his liking than with animals and that he's determined at least to volunteer at the hospice during his holidays. And he learnt that he misses his grandad more than he actually realised.
He also learned that it was not just mummy boosting his confidence when she told him that he is skillful with people but also a skillful photographer. He took some of his photographs in for the art teacher to put in their folder of pictures and also a framed one to put in the raffle, and was astounded at the enthusiastic reception of them.
My son grew a good two inches in stature over the fortnight. Standing tall, confident, high in self esteem. I am a proud mum, regardless of the trouble he's caused. He's a smashing lad.
This weekend we celebrated his birthday (only a couple of weeks late) in style. Given the choice of a birthday party or a family treat, he asked very politely whether it would be possible for him and a friend to spend a night in a posh hotel. Hmmm... this, of course, meant that I had to spend a night in a posh hotel too. What hardship. The downside, of course, was that I had to share my room with two small boys. In fact, I had to share it with two small boys AND a smelly teenager! But luxury it was... and there was an extra treat.
A bit of internet searching and I came up with a rather marvellous hotel - the Crowne Plaza in Heathrow. I had decided to look for a mainland hotel as it added the excitement of going abroad and at no extra cost as I was taking Tiddles back to school anyway. Google it and have a look at the photo tour. We thought we'd died and gone to heaven! The food was delicious and in plentiful supply, and the boys were wowed at the attentive and friendly service. The bedroom was a little palace with everything we could possibly desire (well, not quite everything, after all I was sharing it with three kids and with only two kingsize beds there wasn't really room for anyone else ;o) ). And the swimming pool, jacuzzi, sauna and steam room... well, I am surprised we didn't turn into prunes. Utter bliss. I introduced both my boys to the delight of a sauna and a steam room - needless to say, they both loved it, even though I only let them stay in a minute or two. They even loved the freezing cold plunge bath afterwards, though I must admit that I only managed to plunge to waist deep - there are parts of my body that I am extremely reluctant voluntarily to subject to low temperatures!
So why did I choose Heathrow, of all places, when Tiddles' school is so far in the other direction? Well, that's where the extra treat comes in. Legoland! Can you believe I got a deal which gave us two days at Legoland and a night in a 5* hotel with breakfast for only £50 a head? It was an offer that was far far too good to refuse, even if it did mean a 7 hour drive to take Tiddles to school. And despite the fact that I booked it for the boys and I went with the expectation of enduring the weekend for their sakes, I had the most wonderfully fantastically fun weekend.
My Flickr account has loads of photos, but here's a taster:
No dog walking Saturday as we were otherwise engaged. Photos to follow when I can wrest my brother's camera off him and download the pictures. Guess who took her own camera out for the day and forgot she'd left the SD card in the laptop!
Yesterday we adopted a subtle plan - so's not to get too attached to Paddy (too late, too late) we decided we'd walk two dogs, Paddy and another. It was a good ploy. We walked Paddy first, and were warned that by next weekend he'll almost certainly be gone. I have to admit that my heart skipped a beat. I hasten to add that I have not, at any point whatsoever, been imagining our home with a little black dog in it. Nor have I glanced at Charlie and wondered what he'd think of a dog in the family. Stupid, isn't it? I really am not a dog lover at all and I know that I do not want one - I don't want the commitment, the smell (I really don't like the smell), the constant following, the smell, the being-tied-down, the smell or the simple dogginess of a dog and I couldn't be happier with Charlie, and what's more I know that we would not be able to give a dog the time and attention it would deserve. But I really am rather smitten with little Paddy and will be sad the day I turn up to walk him and find him gone. I keep reminding Smudgelet that the sad thing is that he is there for us to walk him as it means he hasn't a home and spends most of his day shut in a kennel. For Paddy, the day that he's not there will be a good day.
So, enter our new friend.... Muffin
Isn't that one gorgeous little fellow? And much more sedate! To Smudgelet's delight, Muffin instantly idolised him. Whenever Smudgelet dropped behind when we were walking, Muffin just had to wait for him to catch up. If Smudgelet walked a little faster, Muffin's little legs started to trot to catch up. And heaven forbid that I should try to walk in between the two of them. I was just holder of the lead, otherwise surplus to requirements.
For the first time it was a shame I couldn't hand the lead over. You have to be 16 to be a dog walker for the RSPCA (Even Tiddles isn't really allowed to hold the lead) so poor Smudgelet is left with a less exciting job. He's the SUPER DUPER POOPER SCOOPER!
Well, I survived the night, despite being asked every three minutes by a concerned Smudgelet whether I was still OK, and despite every kiss from Tiddles being on the spot he usually kisses - right on my forehead - and every snuggle being on the left hand side where my hip was decidedly bruised. However I don't look like road kill this morning, amazingly, and had a good night's sleep.
The good news is that Paddy has a new home to go to and so fears of getting too attached are easily allayed. (No, Jack, I remain resolute. I do!) But we are all very much besotted with this lovely boy... who is turning out definitely to be a bit of a mummy's boy! :o) We walked him again yesterday with great pleasure, and it was lovely how pleased he was to see us. Mind you, poor old Smudgelet had another disappointment - despite us taking a lovely new ball for him to play with, Paddy was determined to spend his off-the-lead time having a snuggle with me rather than a play with the Smudgelet, despite all attempts to persuade him otherwise.
No good, get first leg straight to recover your equilibrium before you fall.
Bother, edge of kerb. I'm going to land on the road.
Don't break your collar bone, but protect your head.
Sacrifice your hands if necessary.
Don't break your collar bone, but protect your head.
Sacrifice your hands if necessary.
Ouch, that hurt my knees and both my hands. Wonder if they're bleeding.
Still, at least I kept my head safe.
AGH! No I didn't. Momentum... don't let it hit the road hard... don't let it hit the road hard... OUCH! Gosh, that hurt.
Am I still conscious? Yes. Am I still alive? Yes. Does anybody care? No, not really.
Well, that was thorough. Knees. Hip. Palms of Hands. And a whacking great egg appearing on my forehead. Not to mention an interesting drip or two of blood.
And before you tell me off, I KNOW I was an idiot to drive home. But I've been very sensible since then. Honest, Gov.
Last weekend was the weekend we took Tiddles to look round the college open day. Great fun was had by all. I just had to share a photo or two of some of our favourite things.... not that they had very much to do with learning (and indeed I think that taking Tiddles there when there were loads of fun things on was a bit of a mistake too - I'm not sure I trust his motives for deciding he really wants to go there!)
And this was, in my opinion, the coolest game of table football ever. It was like a bouncy castle with metal poles stretching from side to side, and on the poles were cylinders of strong material with handles attached. This material would slide left and right along the poles so that the team members holding the handles could move from side to side like the players on a table football game. They were not allowed to let go at all, and one playing moving would move the rest who were attached to the same pole. You'll notice Tiddles played in goal. We will not discuss how many goals he let in, or which team won. Smudgelet decided he wasn't too keen on playing. I was just thinking of having a go when the last place was taken (I hesitated only because I thought Smudgelet would want to play and my idiot elder son had brought his laptop with him for the day and I had to mind it!!!)
When Tiddles was having his introductory talk at the RSPCA, the boss said that he'd be walking the dogs as part of his daily routine. They have a policy of ensuring that every dog is walked at least once a day, preferably twice, even if it's only for five minutes and five minutes' play in the compound. It's such a time consuming task that they rely on volunteers to help out and give the dogs that bit more attention. Although not a dog lover by any means, I took myself straight to reception and filled out a volunteer form.
The RSPCA is a short drive from home through pleasant countryside. To become a dog walker provides three opportunities. It gives Smudgelet the experience of the company of dogs without the inconvenience of us having one (which I am not doing under any circumstances - troublesome, noisy, smelly things that they are!). It gives me the chance to do something worthwhile in my week. And best of all, it's the perfect way of motivating myself to get a bit more fresh air (fresh?) and exercise.
On Tuesday I had my induction where they showed us the route we have to take (a bit monotonous to have to stick to the same way round the same circular walk all the time, but it's through a lovely bit of wooded land so it could be far worse), where the enclosures are where we can play with them off the lead, what the rules are for dog walking, and how to pick up poop! We took Barney on three laps of the walk, the RSPCA chappy accompanying us for the first walk and then doing two laps on our own. I managed to escape needing surgery to relocate my shoulder blades, but only just. Barney's strong! He's lovely, though, and well trained, and by the last lap was walking nicely by my side instead of dragging me round from sniffing post to sniffing post. The funniest thing was, when we took him in the enclosure to let him off the lead, after him pulling me at high speed round the walk, he became calm and sedate and not the least bit interested in playing or running. Not until we got his lead back on and were back on the track....
(Not a good picture as Smudgelet is too young to be allowed to hold the lead and wanted to be in the photo)
Then yesterday, in torrential rain, we arrived just a little later than planned so had to do two short walks, first with Barney again and then with the most endearing (if strong!) little fellow called Paddy. He was so full of fun and energy that we intend to get there earlier today and try to get time to play as well as walk. He loved a fuss, too, but the word "walk" wasn't in his vocabulary. In the end I gave up and jogged alongside him - the most exercise I've had in days!
Do you get the impression I'm rather enjoying being a dog walker?
I didn't really mean to leave you on a cliff hanger. While Ian isn't looking, I'll tell the rest of you that my little tuba player, who only a few weeks ago was giving up because the tuba was too difficult (I only found out he'd been skipping his lessons and the windband when I told him I was getting the tickets for the next wind band concert and asked what time he needed to be there!), came home with an uncontrollably inane grin and a piece of paper declaring that he'd lost 13 marks. Dreadful! ;-) 87 percent and some rather complementary comments and I have to say a rather pleased mummy!
At the same time I heard that I had definitely passed Section A of my local preacher training (at last) with some rather pleasing marks too - though none so good as 87 percent! Only three sections to go!
It's been a busy week.
Smudgelet had his first ever camp as a Scout this weekend, in the mud and rain. He came home brown from head to toe (a combination of mud and hot chocolate!) and with a bag full of soggy, muddy, grimy, smelly belongings. Needless to say, his boots were rammed in the bag with his sleeping bag and pillow - bless him. He had a fantastic time, despite coming home covered with scratches and cuts from having to rescue his tent from the brambles which prevented it being blown away altogether in the middle of the night! Thank goodness he and his patrol were able to relocate to the First Aid tent. He also, much to my dismay, passed his Knife and Axe Proficiency which now permits him to carry a penknife.... and, to my great amazement, came second in the competition for most helpful Scout of the camp. Obviously he'd been storing up his energies for this one, and has now run out completely.
Tiddles meanwhile is home and doing his work experience at the RSPCA. He enjoyed it thoroughly up until yesterday but, with two more days to go, has now declared that it's boring because there's nothing new to do, he's just doing the same things again! ;o) He's fallen in love with ferrets, though, and is desperate to persuade me that we want one. Failed! Now, it's a good job that neither of them realise how easy I'd be to persuade to have a rabbit!
The big job is constantly reminding the two of them that I do not, ever, intend to have a dog. Nor, until Charlie goes to the big cattery in the sky, will we be having another cat, no matter how adorable and appealing they are. In fact, the big job is reminding ME that we will not be having another cat. Oh, but there are some real cuties there. :o( At least we can be fairly sure that, being so adorable, someone is bound to fall in love with them soon and offer them a far better home than we could at the moment. I don't want a dog under any circumstances, though. But...
Hmmm, the cliffhanger bit doesn't really work when the newest posts appear above the older ones, does it?
I didn't tell you, did I, of Smudgelet's End-Of-SATs treat. Well, he'd worked so hard and kept so calm and sensible about his SATs tests that I thought he deserved a special treat, even though he had a special weekend planned for his birthday. So, as he'd asked for a CD of QUEEN on his birthday list, I booked tickets (at great expense) to take him to a concert by a tribute band called Mercury.
I felt a bit out of place. Outside the door were loads of real fans, dressed to the nines (many of them smoking and many more were drinking in the bar). I like Queen's music, but I'm not really the sort of person who gets all hyped up about rock concerts - I prefer a nice bit of classical, me. And I'm really not into tribute bands. Seems a bit sad, really, these people prancing around pretending to be someone else rather than having the confidence to use their musical talent to make it as themselves. The guy who was "Freddie Mercury" prompted a rather giggly reaction from me. But the music was amazing. The chap on keyboards was particularly good as he had one arm in plaster and was playing literally single handed. And the effects were really quite atmospheric.
Did Smudgelet enjoy it? I kept looking at him and he looked more and more pale and miserable. He held my hand tight and wouldn't let go. As I got more and more into the music and the atmosphere, he slumped in his chair in distress. The reason? Well, even with earplugs in, the whole experience was just too too loud. I'd forgotten that he has a bit of a hypersensitivity to sound. (Since taking the battery out of the smoke alarm I haven't witnessed the tears and distress for a while). He begged me to let him go home. :(
Compromise: a word in the ear of a kind and considerate steward, and we find ourselves sitting in a dark corner of the floor just outside the theatre by the icecream stall. We couldn't see, and had to promise we wouldn't try to peep round the curtains over the doors. But we could hear. And it was just the right volume, with the soundproofing of the theatre and these thick thick curtains. All of a sudden my boy's eyes brightened and he really enjoyed the remainder of the concert. The souvenir salesman felt sorry for him and gave him some souvenir posters free of charge. As for me, I got pins and needles!
First of all, I am totally reorganising my lounge, yet again. My brother had the brainwave of moving my computer desk nearer the window. It was an inspired suggestion. It's made for a lovely place to sit and work (work?) as well as opening the lounge up considerably. It's rather chaotic in the meantime, though. And next on the agenda is completely reorganising the Smudgelet's room.
Also the IOW council has finally made their mind up, sort of, as regards the reorganisation of education on the Island. They are now keeping most of the primary schools open by relocating them completely into the newly empty middle schools. Hmmmm.... the school stays open but moves? Our school, of course, closes... as do all the middle schools. I have to decide which way to jump. I've selected a move to the older age group, though with reservations, because the other part of the announcement is that the secondary schools will themselves be two-tier, with completely separate Junior High schools for ages 11 to 14. That, I think, is where I will be most able to maintain a sensible work/home balance, if not where I will be happiest. But then I am an ardent supporter of the Middle School system and really would rather be staying in that type of school.
The new Key Stage Three curriculum is coming in too. It's hard to get enthusiastic about it and invest a lot of time and energy into planning for it when we know it's only for two years! But it looks good. I think I may be quite involved in working in Key Stage Three for my remaining time as a middle school teacher.
And the last aspect of change - I seem to have swapped sons. Smudgelet is not here. He is at camp. In the wind and rain! Friday to Monday, including being invested as a Boy Sprout on Monday lunchtime (Bother... that means I have to go to collect him earlier than I'd hoped!) And Tiddles has arrived home, via his friend's house where he spent today shearing his first sheep (plural) and saving the life of a lamb who had got tangled in the electric fence. It's good to see him. He's all on edge as his work experience starts tomorrow. I can't believe he's old enough to be doing work experience. He was keen to show me his new-found muscles by doing situps and pressups before bed - most impressive, I must say. He said he's learning to lift weights too, but I wasn't so impressed with that - he couldn't even lift me a millimetre off the ground.
Have you sponsored us yet? What do you mean, no? Honestly, where's your loyalty? If I could remember how to do links, I would direct you to http://www.justgiving.com/madfools and leave the rest to your consciences!
It was Smudgelet's 11th birthday last Sunday. His birthday last year was postponed as Tiddles had his interview at his new school that day and I had to take him across to the North Island (commonly known as the mainland) for the weekend, leaving poor Smudgelet with Honorary Auntie M who proceeded to spoil him rotten. But it's not right, not having your mum there for your tenth birthday, is it? And the previous year was even worse. His party and celebrations at reaching the grand old age of 9 had to be cancelled as my Dad was rushed into hospital and we were gathered round his bedside awaiting the worst (needless to say, the Comeback-Kid recovered and was with us for another seven months, praise God). So this year we were determined to celebrate in style.
And celebrate in style we did. I mean, a birthday party with several thousand people can't be bad! You may remember Tiddles doing half of the Walk the Wight a couple of years ago. This is a massive sponsored walk which crosses the Island from East to West - 23 miles in total - and raises money for the hospice here which cared for us as a family as well as for my Dad through the last months of his life. I can't sing their praises highly enough. The walk, over some serious hills, was rather daunting but this year they tapped into the large number of people who just can't manage something so strenuous and did a mini version. 8 miles along the cycle path from Sandown to Newport. And this the Smudgelet and I decided to do.
To our pleasure, Tiddles happened to be home for the weekend and came with us. I use the term "with us" in its loosest possible sense. Within a few paces he'd disappeared off into the distance, accustomed hill-walker that he is, and waited for us only at the watering holes en route. This was quite agreeable to us, who had a lovely mother-son natter as we walked.... except for the fact that on Tiddles' back was the rucksack containing all the water and provisions to provide energy and, more importantly, morale boosts. Still, we had to walk all the more determinedly in the search of our chocolate eclairs.
It was lovely. The weather was just right and the cycle track went through the most beautiful countryside. Everyone was in holiday mood. The first four miles were easy. The next three miles were not too bad. The last mile.... er... erm.... Keep your eyes on the road in front and hobble on, knowing that each limping step brought us one step nearer the brass band playing so encouragingly in the distance. Total sponsorship raised so far... just under £300 (hint hint).
And the rest of the afternoon. Well, yes, hot baths and snoozes in the chair did feature rather highly on our agenda for Smudgelet's birthday afternoon. But it was worth it. A really lovely day. Same time, same place, next year?
As his school is merging with another and will, come September, have a completely new uniform, I refused to invest in a full set of summer shirts and bought him just two, saying that he could wash them in between if he wanted to wear summer shirts more than twice in a week. After all, there's only seven weeks to go until the holidays and for the last week most of the days have been pretty chilly. I washed his summer shirt last night.
Anyway, I don't know what he's complaining about. A little variation in colour adds interest and variety to a school uniform. And he's in touch with his feminine side, so I don't see why pink's THAT much of a problem!
Yes, wiblog still seems to be working...despite me managing to delete the URL for my admin page while twiddling with the settings on my new, lovely, adorable, cooperative computer.
Mind you, it is far far too late for me to type anything now. I'll just have to leave you on tenterhooks. There again, the chances of a good night's sleep tonight are slim, if the last couple of nights are anything to go by. Depends on whether my new anti-new-hayfever tactics work or not. If not I may be making good use of the hours of darkness - two nights ago I amazed myself by what I was able to achieve at 3am, both in terms of housework and in terms of studying despite streaming itchy eyes and a persistant cough. But I'm banking on sleep tonight. Please.
In fact the only reason I am still here and conscious.... well, semi-conscious, anyway.... is that I have just this minute finished writing a letter of application with which I might add I am well pleased. I don't have great confidence that it will get me the job, but it won't be for want of trying. More problematic is the fact that there is a new regulation saying that we have to show certified evidence of our teaching qualifications. This is in the form of a piece of A4 paper that I was given four house moves and about 17 years ago and which is now... well, your guess is as good as mine. I'm putting my money on it being in my loft, amidst nearly 20 years' worth of accumulated bumph. Chances of me finding it in time for an interview, if indeed an interview I am granted? Pretty well zilch, I reckon. And typical - it's a job I'd really like to get.
There's more news on the reorganisation front, but we're sworn to secrecy. And I wouldn't be telling you now anyway. Cos I's a-goin' to bed.
Well, would you believe it, April crept up on me without warning and has almost flown by without so much as a by-your-leave. If you've been noticing my absence (OK, so it was only Ian who did, but thank you Ian for boosting my beleaguered morale!) then I should explain that my reasons for not blogging were twofold - partly because I was so unbelievably busy that I just haven't had time to wiggle my fingers over the keyboard and partly because my computer, the one which was beginning to look somewhat sickly, has gradually declined until finally reaching a fairly terminal state. I am now frantically trying to keep my cool as a struggle to transfer all my settings (the procedure for doing so seemed so straightforward until I got to the final stages!) and set up my email (after many years relying on my computer to remember my password for my email, I'm now scuppered as I haven't the foggiest idea what it was!) and all my much-used programmes (OK, so where on earth did I put the Publisher disc? I NEED it NOW!) so that I can dismantle the old fogey still perched on my computer desk and replace it with my bright shiny new baby.
To Smudgelet's delight, I even splashed out and bought a laptop too, seeing as they had a really special offer on. It's got a built-in webcam and microphone (Not sure my sister will be amused as she bought one when they first came in... for about £800.... while this was under £300 with a free bag and a year's interest free credit.) so we have been playing around with skype as well. I'm hoping we'll be able to talk to my nephew in the Cayman Islands and maybe even see my great-nieces from time to time before they're grown up beyond all recognition.
Recent delights: The Wightmeet went fairly well, I think.
We went up to spend the following five days with my sister, which was great fun. We took the boys bowling and were rather delighted to win one game each, leaving the ten-year-old and more especially the fifteen-year-old seriously lacking in street cred... which I rubbed in by beating my fifteen-year-old at pool. Mwahahahaha! We took them to Waterworld and, deciding against paying £5 each to go in and spectate!!!!, my sister and I sat reluctantly in the cafe, drinking coffee, chatting, and reading our books ;o)
Then the boys and I relocated to Morley for the St Pixels weekend which was marvellous fun and very relaxing too, to say nothing of refreshing the spirit. Our fifteen minutes of fame is yet to come... the first two days were filmed for TV.
One more week of holidays saw me finally losing my marbles and allowing both boys to have a friend to stay. So I was surrounded. Two teenagers, two ten-year-olds, (boys, the lot of 'em, and with the smelly socks to match!), one tomcat, one male gerbil and two tiny male minnows. It proved a fun but rather exhausting and expensive exercise - whoever would have believed that two teenagers would find it so difficult to amuse themselves without causing expense??? I even had to buy a new bike, as Tiddles has had yet another growth spurt and looked rather ridiculous having to raise his head to avoid his kneecaps going up his nostrils as he pedalled.
Back to work on Monday for all of two lessons. The rest of Monday's lessons and all of Tuesdays were taken by someone else as I had the most expensive and time consuming Parents' Evening to attend. Tiddles and I left Smudgelet staying overnight with Honorary Auntie M while we caught the 11am ferry and sped... hmmm, would have sped, had the other traffic cooperated.... across the British countryside to arrive at Tiddles' school just in time for our first appointment at 3.30pm... and that was without stopping for lunch! The meetings went fairly well - he's settled and cooperative and, apparently, a pleasure to teach, but he's going to fail all his exams unless he pulls his finger out and starts doing some work! Still, the way I look at it, he's in school and he's happy and he's safe. The qualifications can always come later if need be. Nevertheless, he had a good old lecture, of course.
Now, should I book into a Travelodge overnight or should I drive home at 5.30pm? Hmmm... a Travelodge is expensive when there's just the one of you, so maybe Laterooms on the internet can help. What do you reckon? A five star guest house right in the vicinity of the school, for £42 for the night, including breakfast? That'll do nicely, thank you very much. It was the perfect end to a tiring day, especially as I was the only guest! The room had TV and radio, WIFI (bother, forgot the lead for my laptop), lovely en suite, complementary sherry and chocolates, biscuits, teas and coffees of every shape and form, including a little cafetiere and "real" coffee with fresh milk. And you should have tasted the breakfast. Oooooooooh, a real treat. What a come down to return to mountains of washing (four boys' worth!), dirty dishes (we left in a hurry), an empty fridge (four boys' worth!), and SCHOOL!
think bubbles 
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