Category Archives: School

Back to School RAGE

31 Wednesday Jan 2024

Posted by in mental health, Motherhood, Parenting, School

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Week 2 of Back to School and for the Smalls the unfortunate reality of having to go in FIVE DAYS A WEEK has set in once again. Welcome to the rest of your lives, kids! Anyway, everyone is exhausted and a bit ratty.

This includes me.

I find that random RAGE is actually a general side-effect of middle-age.

Here’s five things that have annoyed me this week:

1. School communications

After a halcyon year of dealing with only one school’s insane levels (and contents) of communication, I am back to receiving missives from TWO schools across multiple platforms, multiple times a day.

Many of these begin with the biggest school comms lie of all: ‘As you are aware’.

Let’s be really clear: no, I was NOT aware, and I will likely remain perpetually confused about what day PE is on, who needs to take an instrument in, what donations for resources I’m supposed to have made, when after school clubs actually start, how much is on lunch accounts, which permission forms I’ve forgotten to fill in, and who has to dress up as a bloody Roman.

Also, I’ve already lost the reading diary.

2. Phones

The start of secondary school has meant the advent of the phone-life for the Big Small.

I began with good intentions about restrictions, screen time and supervision, but despite these – like everyone else – I have basically said goodbye to the Big Small ever wanting to play with any other toy ever again, and indeed to her even acknowledging my presence once she is basking in the hypnotic blue light of her new God.

The main theory, of course, is that as they get more independent and are out and about before and after school, the phone will offer reassurance about their whereabouts. Spoiler alert: it won’t. They won’t bloody answer the thing and the tracking app never works. OR you will receive 50 messages from them in under 4 minutes demanding to know YOUR whereabouts, usually while you’re in the middle of an important meeting, out with your mates, or undergoing a gynaecological exam.

Both of these things are enraging.

At home they will be glued to it continually, get into farcical What’s App misunderstandings even with the limited number of contacts you allow them, and make borderline inappropriate videos of themselves.

Since the Big Small has had a phone, I have had to have several conversations I wasn’t really terribly ready for, including what counts as age appropriate content, what is ‘sexy’, how to recognise emotional manipulation, being aware of what’s in the background of our photographs (there is a small group of 11 year olds who are never going unsee that image of me mostly in a dressing gown), how to safely confront racism (plus the whole history of why white lives matter isn’t a thing), and swearing etiquette.

In short, I wish the bloody things had never been invented. No phone contains enough head exploding emojis to sufficiently express or justify this sort of horror.

3. The weather

I’m British. I am obviously a bit disgruntled about the weather at all times.

4. Perimenopause

I continue along the super-fun path of trying to find out why I’m feeling rubbish, in a roulette-style game I like to call ‘Is it long covid, thyroid, perimenopause or cancer?’

Next up: various wands and cameras inserted into places which, I have learned, ARE NOT ALWAYS COVERED BY MY DRESSING GOWN. I can’t wait. And frankly, if I don’t feel annoyed about it, and the unfairness of being a middle-aged women vs being a middle-aged man, or the injustice of having to battle to be believed about my own body, or the travesty of an NHS so crippled it can only fire-fight and not prevent – then I’ll have to start feeling WORRIED.

As I’m about 98% worry/neurosis at any given time anyway, I don’t think I’ve got capacity for any more. Ergo, annoyance. It’s actually a healthy displacement activity.

5. Toothpaste cars

I’m sorry, I’ve been holding on to this for some time, but it now has to be said:

MINT GREEN, POWER BLUE AND MUSHROOM BROWN/BEIGE ARE NOT APPROPRIATE COLOURS FOR CARS.

Especially when they are MATT colours.

For the love of all that is holy, these are CARS – not kitchen cabinets or bathroom paint options from Crown.

Come on, automobile designers, get a grip.

I will accept matt white, red and black, or metallic silver, blue of any shade (I’m not unreasonable), red, green or grey. I don’t much hold with gold/yellow whether it’s sparkly or not, but after that I NOW DRAW THE LINE.

I have no idea why these particular shades should anger me so, but they do.

Probably – again – they are a scapegoat. Because there is so much else big and little to worry and rage over, from climate change to playground dramas, the degradation of women’s rights worldwide to flour weevils (don’t even ask), all of which are so wildly and overwhelmingly out of my control that the feelings they engender have to go SOMEWHERE that’s comparatively manageable, generally benign – and suitably distracting.

In short, every middle-aged girl has got to have a spurious-rage hobby, or hobby-horse.

I welcome all new ideas.

Summer Term Newsletter

23 Saturday Jul 2022

Posted by in Humour, School

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Dear Parents/Carers/Other

Welcome back for our final half term of 2021/2022! It’s been a rollercoaster of a year, the first full in-person year for many of our pupils for some time, and we couldn’t be prouder of what they’ve achieved. We’re looking forward to keeping up that momentum over the next six weeks!

– Sunflower Trust Day

Our Charity Teams have chosen the Sunflower Trust Guinea Pig Retirement Home as their local charity this year, and this is the first time we’re telling you that TOMORROW the children will be taking part in a Guinea Pig parade. They can wear yellow or dress up as a guinea pig. £1 to the class teacher. Please note that Year 2 will be going on their wilderness walk and will also need their school jumper, unless they’re in Mr Peterson’s class, in which case they need purple hats.

– Climate Kids

The brilliant team at Climate Kids will be coming in to do a creative dance workshop with us on Thursday 16 June! Children should wear green and bring their own ballet slippers. £6 to be paid on our intermittently working payment app, the password for which you can’t remember and we certainly won’t be able to tell you.

– Indigenous People of Alaska Day

Brrrrrrr! July 21 is Indiginious People of Alaska Day, and Y4 can come to school in furs, ski-suits, or polar bear costumes! £1 to the class teacher. Which you don’t have, as in a post-Covid world you no longer have easy access to physical cash.

– Seeing Red on non-Recycling

Monday 20 June is Seeing Red on non-Recycling Day, but only for Y1 and Y5. To raise awareness about this important issue children can wear red diagonal stripes, pointing to the left. They will also need 10 plastic milk bottles, 9 aluminium cans and 32 loo rolls for a fun junk-modelling activity in the afternoon! £1 to the class teacher.

– Acts of Kindness Day

We’re having a special Acts of Kindness day on Wednesday 6 July to celebrate one of our core school values! We’re lucky to have such wonderful kindness ambassadors here at XXXXX school, and we’re looking forward to a day of Acts of Kindness – including our Kind Cake sale! Please bake from scratch and leave your kindness buns at the front office before 9 o’clock. Your child will need £1 to buy a bun for someone. Any leftovers will be sold in the main playground after school for £2.

Children can come to school wearing blue for kindness, but not the blue of their actual school uniform, obvs. £1 to the class teacher.

– Bucaneer Bonanza!

Ah Hoy There, Foundation-ers! Tuesday 21 June is our Buccaneer Bonanza. Children can come in fancy dress for the day, and we’ll be having pirate games on the field. Don’t forget suncream, hats (or headscarves!) sunglasses (or eyepatches!) £1 to the class teacher.

– Les Mis-I-need-the-toilet

Tickets for the Year 6 play will be going on sale next week, £5 per ticket, which will be allocated on a first come first serve basis. Please remember your child will need a black school blazer with the ‘Les-Mis’ school logo painstakingly hand sewn on the right hand side, available from the office for £3.

We will be having three performances, July 13 at 14.00, July 14 at 14.30, and July 15 at 18.00, when your child will need picking up at 15.30 and returning at 16.30 after tea for dress rehearsal. This will be a particularly logistical nightmare for those of you foolish enough to have jobs and/or multiple children. Lols.

– Sports Day!

We’re delighted to announced that Sports Day is back, and parents are invited! For Y1 and Y3 it will take place on June 22, and parents can watch between 11.00-14.00. Please bring a picnic rug and picnic for your participating child/ren. Don’t forget wet weather gear because you never know! Sports Day for Y2 and Y6 will be on June 23, Y2 parents can spectate between 9.00-11.00, Y6 parents 13.00-15.00. Foundation and Y5 Sports Day will be on June 24, 10.00 to 12.00. Y3 Sports Day will be on July 18 13.00-15.11. Except for Ms Singh’s class, who will join the Y3 day at 12.15.

The main entrance will be open for parents just before the start time, for 30 seconds only.

We apologise that following the unfortunate events at our last Sports Day we will no longer be doing a parents race.

– Wear the Rainbow Day!

We felt like some of the other colours were missing their own dress-up days, and that there might be a week when your child is at risk of wearing its actual uniform you actually paid for FOR FIVE DAYS IN A ROW. Plus we wanted to create a real challenge for parents of boys. £7 to the class teacher (one for each colour). Date tbc the night before.

– Summer Fayre

Our Summer Fayre is back on Saturday 16 July and it’s going to bigger and better than ever! The Parents Association are looking for volunteers who can give just 300 hours and a tiny slice of their soul towards preparing and manning a stall.

Very Strongly Suggested entry donation fee will be £3 per adult and £1 per child. If your child wishes to take part in the prize draw please bring in £4 in a sealed envelope with their name and class on it by yesterday.

We’re also looking for tombola prizes! So if you’ve got a spare tin of peaches or a small fiesta in good condition, contact Mrs Robinson at the school office.

Let’s make the 2021/2022 school year go out with a bang!

Best wishes,

Mrs T Cher

Head

XXXX Primary School

How to home school in Lockdown 3

11 Monday Jan 2021

Posted by in Humour, mental health, Motherhood, Parenting, School

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I’ve seen a lot of people on my news feed expressing frustration about home schooling.

It’s really just something we have to get on with and a matter of just getting yourself organised. I’ve put together some simple steps to help you plan your day.

How to Homeschool in Lockdown 3

1. Set the alarm for 6am so you can do some work before the kids get up.

2. Tell the kids to get themselves up and dressed, and head downstairs for simple, healthy breakfast you’ve prepared the night before and some educational screen time.

3. Ask your older child to help any younger siblings with teeth/hair/pants.

4. Ignore the screams from the bathroom that indicate power crazed, overzealous brushing.

5. Ignore the screams from downstairs that indicate IT’S NOT FAIR, IT’S MY TURN NOW, I’M TELLING MUM and I’VE DROPPED THE NUTELLA.

6. At 8.30 head down to set up home school for the day.

7. Try not to baulk at the fact all the furniture is now strewn across the room for The Floor is Lava to accompany the telly.

8. Save the cat from a lava-prison constructed of cushions.

9. Clean up the nutella now on every surface and every piece of soft furnishing. Including the curtains. And the cat.

10. Re-dress and re-brush all children so they don’t look like demented ballet dancers and cause the school to call social services.

11. At 9am log the first child on to a video conferencing registration session consisting of far too many children and the pure essence of chaos.

12. Simultaneously attend a work meeting, while also starting the other child off on the day’s learning, using all 3 of the devices you apparently have at home!

13. Try to figure out why the microphone that was working two minutes ago is no longer working.

14. Ask child what it pressed.

15. It doesn’t know.

16. Tell it to use sign language.

17. Go back to the other child.

18. Re-login the registration child who has inexplicably logged off and can’t get back in.

19. Get another Mum on the What’s App to message the teacher to let the child back in.

20. Update your team on the priorities for the day.

21. Miss what the teacher has asked the child to do that day.

22. Ask the child, which doesn’t know. Even though the meeting only finished two seconds ago.

23. Figure out where the day’s learning is for BOTH children by consulting What’s App, visiting BOTH woefully inadequate school websites and searching for information buried under 300 random levels. This will take at least an hour.

24. At 9.30 log the next child onto a registration session, which has to be supervised.

25. Repeat steps 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 and 21.

26. Print out twelvety-hundred worksheets for the day, across eighteenty different websites and links. None of these will print out properly.

27. Break up a fight over who gets which device first.

28. Re-fill the printer ink. Which you don’t have. Nor the instructions on how to refill it. It’s now beeping at you and flashing red.

29. Ignore this until tomorrow, knowing you will hate yourself even more in the morning.

30. Realise you’ve had 3 missed calls from your boss because Child 2 is on your phone.

31. Set up Child 1 with it’s first task, which involves downloading a Powerpoint, watching a BBC Bite size video, and a youtube video, none of which it can navigate to or operate independently.

32. Set Child 2 up with it’s first task, which needs them to be on the same device at the same time, and involves a reading app which the other one is logged into and you can’t remember the password for, a maths games app, and a really annoying Youtube woman doing phonics who talks to children like they’re chihuahuas.

33. Explain to Child 1 that yes, Child 2 is watching the telly, but no, it is work so it IS actually fair.

34. Write a work report for 10am deadline.

35. Provide snacks to shut the children up.

36. Cry for the first time of the day.

37. Know it will not be the last.

38. Help a child shouting it’s stuck.

39. Help a child shouting it’s boring.

40. Help a child shouting it can’t do it.

41. Help a child shouting MUMMY just for the sheer bloody hell of it.

42. Good news! 25 new emails from just one of the schools, including with details of a new learning website/app/sharing platform.

43. Follow the instructions to register.

44. Keep following the instructions. Over and over again.

45. Fail to register.

46. Try to download another of the random phonics/timetable/colouring/maths websites/apps/sharing platforms.

47. Realise your phone is full because the children have been recording long videos of themselves doing The Floor is Lava, and nothing works, not even What’s App, cutting you off from other desperate parents.

48. Weep for the second time.

49. Take a work call, while pretending you’ve not just been crying.

50. Break up a fight.

51. Put Child 1 in front of a maths sheet.

52. Ten seconds later help Child 1, who is stuck. Already.

53. Try and remember everything you ever knew about long multiplication.

54. No, that’s not how they teach it at school, are you stupid?

55. Listen to Child 1 scream about not being able to do it, having not even tried.

56. Attend an external client meeting while doing this.

57. Set Child 2 up with art supplies to draw a picture and write a sentence about the weather!

58. I don’t know what weather, you have to decide.

59. You can draw what you like, darling.

60. How about snow? You can write a sentence about what you did in the snow and draw a picture of you on a sledge.

61. You’re right, that’s a stupid idea.

62. So is that.

63. JUST DRAW SOMETHING AND WRITE ANYTHING I DON’T CARE WHAT ANY MORE.

64. NO YOU CAN’T WATCH THE FLOOR IS LAVA.

65. IF YOU DON’T KNOW YOUR 9 TIMES TABLE WRITE IT DOWN DON’T JUST GUESS.

66. THEN DO THE COMPREHENSION.

67. YOU CAN DO IT. THE ANSWERS ARE LITERALLY WRITTEN DOWN IN FRONT OF YOU.

68. I’M NOT SHOUTING.

69. Realise you are shouting.

70. Realise it’s not even 11am.

71. Cry.

72. Pull yourself together.

73. Email the school about losing the latest password.

74. They can’t help.

75. Make lunch.

76. Clear up after lunch.

77. Prepare and present a lunch and learn presentation for 30 people!

78. Set Child 1 up on it’s next task so you can read peacefully with Child 2.

79. Lol! Don’t be silly.

80. Scream JUST WAIT and CAN’T YOU GO ON TO THE NEXT QUESTION and I’LL BE UP IN A MINUTE while listening to the torturously slow adventures of Biff, Chip and the other one.

81. Put Child 2 on a maths game.

82. Run between children like a slightly sweaty ping pong ball.

83. Ignore your phone ringing.

84. Mark a maths sheet.

85. Put Child 2 on kids Youtube. Tell it to be quiet.

86. Child 1 has heard anyway.

87. She’s younger than you, so she has less work.

88. Yes, well, life isn’t fair sometimes. TELL ME ABOUT IT.

89. Placate with snacks.

90. Child 1 tells you your work computer, which it has borrowed, isn’t working.

91. It has somehow managed to log in as a completely different and non-existent person.

92. Re-start computer.

93. Lose some important documents in the process.

94. Cry.

95. Attend to screaming Child 2 who has been scratched by the cat, who for some reason doesn’t wish to play schools.

96. Sympathise GREATLY with this point of view.

97. Shove it out the catflap.

98. Wish you could do this with children.

99. Comfort child.

100. Apply a plaster it doesn’t need.

101. Check your work email to discover you’re now up to 200 unread emails.

102. Miss another deadline.

103. Cry again.

104. 1pm – time to log Child 1 in for it’s next registration session!

105. Find out it has actually done none of the work it was set this morning and you’ve missed the upload deadline on the app you can’t download.

106. Give up on this child and do some number line subtraction with Child 2.

107. Realise it is functionally innumerate and despair of either of them ever learning anything or leaving home.

108. Update some complicated spreadsheets that require intense concentration.

182. Fear innumeracy may be catching.

830. Repeat steps 38 to 41.

990. Miss another online chaos session and send grovelling email to school so they don’t report you.

Q. Chair a meeting.

249. Put kids in front of Joe Wickes in the hopes of 15 minutes to yourself to actually get something done.

150. Listen to kids whine that Joe Wickes has a whiny voice and they’re tired/bored.

151. Break up a Joe Wickes star jump injury-based fight.

152. Provide more snacks.

153. Put on an educational Bitesize video and hide upstairs.

12ish. Pretend you don’t hear it turn into the Floor is Lava.

13.5. Oh, don’t forget to get them out in the fresh air!

*7. And don’t forget to squeeze in some enriching family activities like educational board games, baking, or maybe just a mindfulness session together.

450. Only do what you can, but also do it by these deadlines or your child’s future will suffer.

451. Next, make a delicious nutritious tea!

452. Try and get children to help you clear up the bombsite of printouts, cushions, pencils and snack wrappers.

453. Give up.

454. Put kids to bed.

455. Promise everyone tomorrow will be better.

456. Sit around and feel overwhelmed.

457. Do all the work you’ve missed.

458. Probably have another little cry.

459. 11-12pm – continue to avoid going to bed yourself because the idea of doing it all again tomorrow is totally forking terrifying.

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Happily Never After

12 Thursday Nov 2020

Posted by in mental health, Parenting, School

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So the kids finally went back to school, and they all lived Happily Ever After. The end.

Seemingly I will never learn about Happily Ever Afters.

It’s not that nice outcomes don’t exist – I’m not that far descended into cynicism. But nice round easy endings just… don’t.

There’s always an AFTERWARDS, that you don’t get to read about, that you haven’t thought through.

A big ending is never really an ending, is it? It’s usually just the beginning of something more mundane and boring and gruelling that no one’s interested in reading. Possibly there was a sequel but the publishers wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole, or it went straight to DVD.

I thought the kids going back to school (if only for 3 days so far) would be a finishing line. That I’d breathe a sigh of relief – even that I’d feel euphoric! Certainly that just making it this far would feel GOOD.

Well if your kids aren’t back yet, I’m here to tell you that it doesn’t, really.

I think it’s a bit like that thing that happens at work when you’ve been flat out towards a goal, or when there’s been an emergency, and you finally get the project over the line, or the disaster averted, and you sit down go or go off on holiday and immediately everything catches up with you all at once and you fall over.

All the stuff you ignored or staved off as you battened down the hatches, powered through and got the job done – hits you like a freight train. After the sort of guerilla parenting we’ve all been through over the last 5 months, fuelled only by biscuits and worry, I suppose it was inevitable.

Looking up, rather dazed, at the far edge of the lockdown mire I’ve just inefficiently dog paddled through and half drowned in, I find myself arrived not at the oasis I was expecting, but at a wee narrow ledge just before the plummet into the NEXT boggy terrain of infinite school uniforms to wash, school coronavirus rules to navitage, packed lunches to make, anxious children to cajole out the door on time, friendship dramas, nit letters, homework battles, the fresh reinforcement of bedtimes, negotiation of extra curricular activities, newly significant sniffles, and more kid-free time than I’ve had in half a year – and that isn’t QUITE as fun as I thought it would be.

You can’t go from 100 miles an hour, constant facetime and sky high anxiety down to 0 on all fronts, BAM, just like that.

There’s a crash.

I’d brought the uniform, the shoes, read the billion emails from the schools, but I hadn’t really PREPARED for this next bit.

There is still so much of EVERYTHING, isn’t there?

Not least the residual worry, and the prospect of a long winter battling children in the back of the car to shove swabs down their throats, and inevitable periods of random isolation…

We’ve reached the finish line, and there’s another bloody marathon.

So if you’re looking at your Facebook feed of celebrating parents and wondering why you’re feeling Oooofy and anti-climatic rather than amazing, this is probably it.

So I’m also here to tell you that it’s okay to have realised your life is not as magically better with the onset of school as maybe you’d hoped.

To have been thirstily looking forward to this moment like a holy grail – and to feel a bit deflated finding out it’s a plain old empty mug.

To have been craving normality, and alone time, and to still feel abnormal, and miss your kids like crazy.

To wonder if maybe you ARE crazy because you’re still not happy.

Because the only thing really certain in the story of parenting is uncertainty – and inconsistency.

Having children is, after all, the very hardest of all the Happily Ever Afters.

xxxxxx

Home schooling highs and LOWS

12 Thursday Nov 2020

Posted by in Humour, Parenting, School

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Sound the bells! Raise the glasses! Wave the flags! Beep the horns! Praise the GODS of Miseducation!

IT’S NEARLY FREAKING OVER!!!!!!!!

There is one more week of homeschooling to go, and then we can down pens, paper, random apps, videos with annoying presenters, zoom/google hangouts, confusing reams of downloads and links, exhausted printers, and any pretence that we any longer give a flying fook about any of it.

Plus in good news, they never do any bloody work in the last week before summer holidays so you can really just watch films, play out and bring in games next week, anyway! Yay!

Far from being a long terrifying stretch of childcare-juggling and scary amounts of quality-family-time, the next six weeks suddenly look like a beautiful, manageable, and blessedly finite oasis before the ultimate relief of school, school, wonderous SCHOOL in September.

I thought it apt, at this amazing milestone/juncture, to take a look back at some of my home schooling highs and lows. Mostly lows.

1. The beginning bit where I thought it might be fun, and I might actually be quite good at it. BWAAAAHAAAAHAAAAAAA!!!!!! Past-Me is CUTE. And ridiculous. And fell VERY HARD into the black chasm between expectation and reality that I DUG FOR MYSELF. Again.

2. All the hate mail from Big Small, critiquing my teaching abilities. MISSPELLED, and thus proving her point. Highlights include: “Your’ not my mother anymor” and “I hat you.”

3. When I realised I would have to either give up on their, there and they’re or give up on sanity. Also that Big Small will spell with ‘whith’ and thing ‘fing’ into adulthood – and there’s not a fing I can do about it. Never has detheat thelt so threeing.

4. Every time someone told me they couldn’t do something, before actually knowing what it was or, you know, trying it first.

5. Discovering the Small Small can only practice reading while upside down and occasionally kicking me in the face. This is ongoing.

6. Trying to persuade her that leaving 3 minutes between saying each letter makes it kinda harder to blend the sounds together… Consistently losing this argument.

7. Big Small’s insistence that all small numbers should just be taken off all big numbers in column subtraction sums, and that screaming at them will somehow make them behave differently.

8. Being told that ***Jessica*** (their Dad’s girlfriend) does all the teaching there, and that she’s far better at it than me, never shouts, and why can’t we do it like that? WHEN WE DID IT LIKE THAT AND HAD TO STOP BECAUSE YOU TWO WERE LITTLE FORKWITS.

9. The time I tried to instil comprehension and moral fibre by looking at fables and stories with lessons. When asked what she learned from The Boy Who Cried Wolf, the Small Small said: “Don’t call for a Wolf in case one comes.” Boom. Parenting win.

10. Following the school’s suggestions to do phonic breakdowns as a robot, and somehow ending up being required to do a Dalek voice for hours on end and faint whenever I’m kissed, shouting “Does not compute, does not compute” – which is apparently very funny, but equally apparently not very effective in teaching phonics.

11. Somehow ending up in a situation where I pay both kids a pound a day to do less than 20 minutes of learning, surely earning higher than minimum wage for not showing up on time, being surly, and doing a completely half-arsed job. LIFE LESSONS FOLKS.

12. The epic 5 times table tantrum of 2020. I may have to make it it’s own plaque in remembrance because it was a proper humdinger performance.

13. All the times I set up something super fun and innovative and they refused to do it, including giant snakes and ladders on the patio, nerf gun sums, a shop, and assault course spelling. UNDERAPPRECIATION. Spell that, kids.

14. The realisation that despite painfully PAINFULLY slow progress, the Small Small started this period struggling to read short words, and can now actually read short books. And sometimes even wants to do it.

15. The wonderful feeling when a piece of work DOES capture Big Small’s fancy, and I get a genuinely funny and beautifully observed story about school dinners, or cartoon strip with farting dinosaur gags.

So there have been some redeeming moments, I suppose. But boy have they felt few and far between…

We none of us really know what school will look like in September, if they’ll be in and out with shutdowns, how they’ll catch up on the half-year they missed.

But I DO know that while in some ways the extra time with the Smalls has been special, for our wee family it’s HIGH TIME.

Oh, and that teachers are freaking heroes.

xxx

The Wuwwier

08 Saturday Feb 2020

Posted by in Divorce, mental health, Motherhood, School

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The Wuwwier.

Ahhh, literacy, my old friend. Here we go again.

It’s safe to say the literacy journey is not an easy one for the Smalls-on-the-netheredge, especially at the start.

This is probably my fault. I didn’t learn to read until I was 7. I still can’t really spell.

My mother swears she sat on the sofa with Roger Red Hat open on her lap, me on one side, the dog on the other – and that the dog learned to read before I did.

(She gave up on trying to teach me how to tell the time, which is why to this day I can only have digital watches. I CAN read an analogical clock, now, but it takes several minutes, a lot of counting round in 5s, and I’d never bet on someone’s life I’d got the right answer).

It is now the smallest Small’s turn to struggle with her reading, writing, and spelling – and something is just not CLICKING.

It’s my second time round in the Mum-role of the literacy-rodeo. I’m sure it WILL click, in time, possibly with a bit of extra help from school, just as it did with the Big Small (sort of – there’s still some interesting flipped characters and spellings are a struggle) and me (sort of – I doubt I’d be employable without word processing and spellcheck).

But it IS something of a worry, which is why I was particularly delighted to get my very first note from her this week.

OK, it’s not perfect. Mummy is spelt entirely with Ws instead of Ms, which is an understandable mistake, and frankly, a rather alarmingly accurate one.

It made me laugh. Because I am a WUWWY.

I am a Mummy who worries… Sometimes a lot.

I AM worried that she can’t hold a pencil properly and can’t seem to recall the shapes of letters or process phonic sounds, and what does that mean, and is it just a starting blip or is it going to be a bigger problem, and what can I do to help, and should I back off when she gets frustrated, and how DO you actually make getting things wrong FUN?

I worry about her cough, every time she coughs, and how bad is it this time, and when to go to the Dr, and how many antibiotics she’s having, and about the operation she has to have, and the general anaesthetic and how she didn’t go out well last time, and how awful that was to watch, and what will they find this time, and will she be okay, and what if it’s serious?

I worry about how much the Big Small worries, also inherited from me, and ranging from what’s going to happen at school today to failing the spelling test, to who said what about whom in girlville, where she’ll get changed or what if there aren’t any toilets – and her hysteria over anything new or unusual, from me dying my hair to a change of pick-up routine or not having the right bloody tights.

I worry that she won’t do clubs where she won’t know anyone. and she doesn’t get to go to the ones she WILL go to every week, and what’s she missing out on, and how it will impact her opportunities and friendships when they all do stuff without her, and how to help with the friend issues, and when to intervene and when to stay out of it.

I worry about the school and club trips and what if something goes wrong, and what if mine is the one in the headlines standing up on the ride, falling through the gap, not strapped in the coach properly, messing around, in the wrong place at the wrong time – and what that phone call will sound like.

I worry who I would be if I wasn’t their mother, and if I define myself too much by them, and if that’s fair, on them or me.

I worry I’m not doing enough to support either of them, and there just seems to be no time, and certainly no way to carve out one-on-one time, and am I listening to them enough, or too much? and is it better for them to feel heard and accommodated or to just have things decreed for their best interests and maybe that makes them feel safer? and do I negotiate too much and have I set the right boundaries, and am I showing weakness or modelling humanity – and what if I’m getting it totally wrong and mucking them up?

I worry I’ve passed on my crappy worrying and spelling genes.

I worry we’re not having enough fun together, that we’re just plain routine and chores, and the time is short and I won’t have them for long and am I wringing enough out of it all, and am I enjoying it enough, and are they, and am I making enough effort and enough memories, and what WILL they remember, as they grow?

I worry they don’t know I love them, or that I love them too much, and what if that’s stifling, and CAN you spoil kids with too much affection, and am I spoiling them in other ways because I’m making up for the broken home, and how do I stop?

I worry how much my strained co-parenting relationship is affecting them, and how to make it better without just agreeing to things I don’t agree with, and how to talk to them about those disagreements – which they see and ask about – and if I’m answering the questions right, and if they know we both love them to the moon and back, and if they know that actually makes them lucky?

I worry if they will still love me back every time they come back from his.

I worry about the state of the world they’ll grow up in, and global warming burning the planet, and the rise of nationalism and the far-right past threatening to repeat itself, and War, and local violence in The Star, and homeless, hopeless families right on our doorstep, and Ebola, and acts of terror, and my inability to protect them or do anything at all to make any of it any better.

I worry I’m failing them, in big ways and little ways, all of the time.

I worry I worry too much.

That last one is something I’ve been accused of, recently.
That my anxiety impacts my ability to make ‘sensible’ decisions for the children.

I thought about it long and hard. The Wuwwying. And then I realised that the reason I thought about it long and hard is because actually, THAT’S WHAT MY ANXIETY DOES.

Look, there is clearly a downside to worrying. I know it well. If you let anxiety rule you it CAN impact the decisions you make (possibly stopping you from making any), and even your personality – because worry can come out as anger.

The thing is, when you know about the anxiety, you can watch for it, FEEL for it. And ultimately manage it. (Possibly with medical or theraputic support). But when The Fear comes down on you and stops you breathing, it is possible to both recognise it, and do something about it. You just need to learn what, and how.

I have learned that the way to deal with worry is not to let it bully you.

You can arm yourself with information to combat it, gathering the evidence to undermine it, and put it back into perspective.
You can refuse to listen to it, and think and do other things.
When it does get the better of you you can stop, and breathe, and make amends.
When it is too big, you can break it down, and do the little things that you CAN affect.

My anxiety doesn’t stop me from letting the kids go on school trips, for instance.
If it has led me to shout, I say sorry, and explain why I got angry.
If it is loud, I play louder music and I run to outrun it.
When it gets big, I go small, with recycling, food bank donations, teaching them tolerance.
When I question myself, I weigh up the pros and the cons, I take advice, I look inside myself, I test it out, I sleep on it – and then I make the best decision I can at that moment in time.

Because that’s the flip side of anxiety. Over-thinking involves THINKING, and that’s actually a GOOD thing. Questioning whether you’re doing the right thing, for the right reasons, at the right time – the very fear of getting it wrong – can actually lead you to make GOOD decisions. In fact, I’d rather make decisions with and in spite of anxiety than make them with and because of arrogance.

The stopping and thinking bit is okay, just as long as you START again.

Self-doubt can be harnessed into self-analysis, and that deliberation can translate into careful, powerful, and very deliberate action. Parenting with anxiety doesn’t necessarily make you a bad parent. If you can work through the overwhelm and the paralysis, it could make you a considered and considerate one. It may even make you a BETTER one.

What’s more, being afraid and doing things anyway is actually the very definition of being BRAVE.

So if you recognise any of this, if you are a Wuwwier like me, or just a Worrier, if you are doing it all anyway, remember you are also a Warrior.

As the Small Small reminded me, it’s all in the spelling.

And sometimes turning things upside down isn’t a mistake.

In two minds

28 Saturday Sep 2019

Posted by in Divorce, Humour, Motherhood, Parenting, School

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So my Small Small goes to Big School next week.

Well. Not next week, obviously, when the Big Small goes back. That would be too simple a September Childcare Challenge for the Working Parent!

Instead there is a week’s wait, the dreaded Teacher Home Judgement Visit, and then an interesting series of several hours in and around not including and then including lunch, followed by half days and, in theory only, an ACTUAL start somewhere in mid-September, which may or may not exist as a moment in time. WHO CAN KNOW?

Gird.
Your.
Loins.
(And hoovers for the home visit).

But beyond Mild Exasperation/PANIC, there are a lot of other emotions churning under the surface as we reach what’s a heavy milestone for everyone, first or second time round.

In my case, the Small Small (as the name implies) is also the Last Baby.

And she got big far, far too quickly.

The start of school marks so many ends, so many lasts – and so many of them slipped past without me noticing them. Not really. Not enough.

The last Mummy/Small Small one-on-one day.
The last sling ride.
The last rendition of Row row row your boat (don’t forget to scream).
The last buggy trip.
The last playgroup.
The last pull-ups.
The last time I walk into a room to find her in her pants, half upside down with a leg stuck out at a funny angle, telling me “Mummy, this is one of my nastics”. (She says GYMnastics now).
The last day of nursery.
The last of the delicious, squidgy thighs.
The last of babyhood…

The last of being a Mum to really small Smalls – something that has defined me, changed me, broken me, and MADE me, over again, for 7 years.

And I am gut-wrenchingly empty at the thought of losing that, losing her, losing me, losing us.

I’m also filled with excitement.

I’m excited about what she’ll learn and do and bring home and observe and SAY.
I’m excited to see her grow and thrive and learn and read and write.
I’m excited to receive my first ‘I love you’ note – and my first ‘I hate you’ note.
I’m excited to have more hours to myself.
I’m excited about doing chores SOLO and EFFECTIVELY – without eating into evenings and weekends.
I’m excited about having more energy to be the parent I want to be.
I’m excited about taking time to write, and be, and SHOP AT ALDI.

I’m excited to become – magically and without conscious effort – that Mum who turns up at the school gate in full make-up and Active Leisure Wear, who drops off the perfectly turned out poppets ON TIME, and goes for a jog and possibly an Iced Latte, which I will suddenly like the taste of, as well as being able to actually run without sweating all the make-up off, and as well as suddenly owning actual items of lycra that were manufactured AFTER 2003.

THIS WILL HAPPEN AUTOMATICALLY DAMMIT DON’T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME.

I’m excited about the freedom, what I’ll gain;
I’m terrified about what I’ll lose, set adrift.

And this, this mixture of feelings, this double view, this dichotomy, is very much my experience of motherhood.

Too often, I am two.

I am in two minds, I am both at once, I am opposites.
I am desperate for this long, long summer holiday to be over so I can get some routine back, and yet so conscious I only get 17 or 18 of them, if I’m lucky, these summers, and now she’s 7 I’m nearly halfway through with the Big Small and there isn’t anywhere near enough time left. There never will be.

I am desperate to touch them and feel their bodies against mine, and I want to be left alone in my own skin without being mauled, just for a minute.

I am love, so deep I can’t feel the bottom, and I am rage, so huge and ugly and mindless it scares the bejeezus out of me.

I am exhausted to the marrow of my bones, craving sleep all day, and too het up, too wired to drop off, too afraid of the next one.

I am enthralled by my children and SO DAMN BORED of the grinding monotony of parenthood.

I am happier and more fulfilled than I’ve ever been, and more desperately, hollowingly, harrowingly sad.

I dream of time by myself, my old life, the old me – and I wouldn’t change a thing, never want to leave them for a second, and hate it when Daddy weekends roll round so quickly.

I am all of these all at once, all ways, always, all days.

And it’s not just being in two minds.

There is a general and constant duality to motherhood, with the emphasis on DUEL – an eternal, internal conflict, double-taking, second-guessing, checking and re-checking, umming and ahhing, vacillating, a madness of options and choices and what-ifs and fears, and highs and lows and inconsistencies I can’t separate and won’t be boxed or contained or ordered.

Once, this was not the case.

I had one mind and it was SURE.
I had one feeling, and I knew it was TRUE.

There was black and there was white. Now there is gray and there is haze…

Being BOTH like this makes me feel like I am less, like I am less than I was, like I am nothing.

Nothing whole.
Nothing solid.
Nothing substantial.

Like nothing I do or say or think or feel is right or certain.

And it feels like there is no path forwards, just twisting, concentric, confusing circles of smoke and mirrors.

But I’m trying to remember that both, by mathematical definition (as the Smalls starting school are soon to learn), is actually MORE.

By being and feeling and thinking everything all at once, I am more.

With my double vision and double heart I have more empathy, I can see more angles, find more solutions, create more patterns. Conceive more beauty.

Being both doesn’t make me nothing;
It makes me everything.

(Just possibly not Hyper Groomed Jogging Mum on the School Run).

Motherhood split me in two, twice, literally from the c-sections, and figuratively in so many other ways, so many other times.

And I am only just learning that this didn’t break me. It multiplied me. Like an amoeba – an aMUMba! And that is a type of success, a type of power. A type of immortality…

And as I am both again, in two minds over the Small Small’s school start, I also know I will continue to grow through this new division, and the next.

I CAN be both. It does not make me mad, or less, or stupid, or confused.

I can be EVERYTHING, at once.

I can divide, and conquer.

I am MORE than I was.

And so are you.

7 things I’ve learned in the first year of school

20 Thursday Jul 2017

Posted by in Humour, School

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  1. You can never have too much uniform.

Having started out extravagantly last September with an outfit for each school day, we’ve limped to the end of term with just two t-shirts, a skirt, a single jumper, and one very short, very crumpled summer dress with a chewed collar and a few perma-art stains.

Fortunately, every third day of school appears to be a non-uniform day. (Note to self: pick up more small envelopes in which to place endless pound coins for various/random activities/theme days).

  1. Literacy is slow but amazing.

There’s no denying that we’ve found the reading and writing thing a rather difficult process. The Big Small started out enthusiastic, but wanted to be able to do it instantly and soon got bored when it turned out to be quite hard, and involve actual concentration and rules.

When it comes to practice at home, she doesn’t want to do it, is surly and inexplicably upside down when forced into it, and refuses to be instructed by mere parents: “That’s not how we write it in school mummy”.

Internal monologue:  “It’s the letter fucking ‘s’! I’ve been writing the letter ‘s’ since I was 5. I write for a living. I’m pretty sure I know which way round it’s supposed to fucking point!!!!”

External monologue: “Let’s try it again darling!”
“Look how it’s written in this book!”
“Start with the pencil here…”
“No, don’t throw a tantrum, you’ve nearly got it!”
“Darling, look, you’ve got to go down the snake.”
“No, no, it’s this way.”
“It IS how you do in it school, daring.”
“It’s the letter EFFING ‘s’! I’ve been writing the letter ‘s’ since I was 5. I write for a living. I’m pretty sure I know which way round it’s supposed to EFFING POINT!!!!”

Anyhoo, rather to my surprise, we’ve got to the end of the year and the Big Small is reading not only words but even books, and some of them aren’t mind bogglingly boring, and don’t star Nan, Biff or Chip.

I’ve even caught her reading beautifully to her toys and the Small Small, and I have received some lovely notes telling me I am a booful mumy.

Amazing. 😉

  1. The social stuff is hard, fast.

Friendships are hard. Someone is always not someone else’s best friend, not coming to my party, being told on, or not playing nicely. Social power is learned quickly, and wielded ruthlessly.

When your kid comes home and tells you they had no one to play with at lunch time, it’s like a dagger through your heart.

And when they come home and tell you they told so-and-so they couldn’t play because they weren’t part of the ‘club’, it’s just as bad – if not worse.  

We’ve had many discussions about thinking how it would feel to be in someone else’s shoes, being kind, looking for kindness in others, and walking away when people are being mean.

I’ve had to face the fact that this is the first of many life lessons where despite my best efforts, the Big Small will have to figure it out for herself – and make some mistakes along the way. You can’t socially engineer or influence for them in the classroom or playground – these are hierarchies and nuances they will face and skills and strategies they will need for the rest of their lives.

And that really rather SUCKS.

As someone who is still too often trying to figure out how to fit in and be liked, watching this process begin so early has been surprisingly painful. It’s taken me right back to my own childhood in a series of rather uncomfortable 80s montage flashbacks. (It turns out very little has changed really, apart from the hair and the socks).

  1. Play dates have changed.

What has changed, is play dates. Pre-school, play dates meant meeting up with your Mummy mates and drinking tea while holding a disjointed conversation around phrases like “Share!”, “Maybe later, darling”, “We don’t hit, do we?”, “Take you hand out of your pants, please!”, “Do you need a wee?” and “Don’t eat that if it’s been on the floor.”

At school, the play date is an important part of your child’s social development, and the one way you CAN try and subtly shape your child’s friendships.

It is held after school, when everyone is at their giddiest, hungriest and tiredest. Yay.

Your child will never want to bring home a kid you know who’s parents you know, leaving you in sole charge of a completely strange child who doesn’t have to do what you say because you are powerless to take away their stuff.

Your child will inevitably be a little shit, refuse to share anything, and go off in a sulk.

So now all you have to do is to make sure your kid doesn’t sabotage their social standing/friendship, make sure the other kid has a good time, eats some food, and reports back on your wonderful parenting. Oh, and then make sure the house is presentable and you aren’t too weird and intense when the strange parent turns up to pick up the strange kid.

NO PRESSURE THEN.

(Btw, this will all be complicated by the Small Small wanting to do everything the Big ones are doing).

The good news is that invariably your little arse-wipe of a child actually behaves impeccably at other people’s houses – and it turns out everyone’s kid is a pain in the neck at their own play date. Phew.

My advice is to try and host as little as possible, and invite multiple kids if you can manage it to dilute each others company.

Also, wine.

  1. The school run gets easier.

When you started the year, the idea of getting all children up, cleaned, fed and out for double drop off WEARING THEIR SHOES, was rather daunting.

I won’t say I’ve got it down to a fine art, but we’re now almost never late. Almost. It’s really just about starting the process early enough (my kids appear to need a solid 40 minutes of faffy time before they can be persuaded to leave the house) and then just shouting “EAT!” and “SHOES!” every 2-3 minutes.

  1. School comms don’t get easier.

I’m a woman on the edge (as the name of this blog would suggest) who is oppressed by her existing text messages and emails, from people she genuinely likes, about stuff she’s genuinely interested in.

The massive barrage of random, fluctuating, and often spurious school information delivered across multiple channels several times a day has very nearly tipped me over that edge.

As the year has worn on, I’ve learned to care less (curiously the solution to many of my problems) and only open the stuff that looks really important (nothing from the PTA). I do also check the book bag once a week, though usually in a mad panic on the way out the door first thing on a Monday (between screaming “SHOES!” and “EAT!” obvs).

If it’s vital I’ve found that either child and network of school gate mums will let me know about it (having got to know me and how crap I am).

  1. They’re still babies.

Yes, my Big Small can read now (sort of – see 2). Yes, she has a whole life away from me that I never hear anything about (apart from snippets of friend drama – see 3). Yes, she’s learned some new and interesting words (and not all of them from me! See 2 again). And yes, she’s now wiping her own bum and brushing her own teeth (both still requiring some supervision).

But at the end of the day she still drinks warm milk, and she still wants a bedtime story, a cuddle and a song.

She’s still my baby. And as she continues to grow into her own person, I know she always will be.

 

Mumonthenetherege

xx

International Women’s Day – a reminder

08 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by in Motherhood, Parenting, School

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So today is International Women’s Day. This year we’re being encouraged to #BeBoldForChange.

It’s hard to know how to effect change, when in the UK at least – in theory at least – women are doing pretty well. And it’s hard to be bold when you’re so fucking busy and so fucking tired.

So in all honestly, International Women’s Day nearly passed me by. And I wasn’t going to write anything about it at all, until my biggest small daughter said something to me that rather shook me.

And made me realise I do still need to Be Bold For Change, in my own life – for her sake.

Post-parents evening, the Big Small and I discussed how important it was to be kind, and to be happy. And how those things – at which she is by all accounts doing fairly well (at least at school) – are far more important to her father and I than her reading or writing – which she’s bobbing along with. (We happen to think it’s much easier to learn the latter than the former).

We also talked about how important it is to look for kindness in our friends. At which point the Big Small told me her Best Friend (a child I am already wary of) was very kind, because, and I quote: “She always says sorry after she’s hurt me.”

This warranted further investigation. And for reasons beyond my understanding, it seems my five year old has adopted the phrasing, compliance and rationalisation of a victim.

And I blame myself. Which is basically the problem in a nutshell. I blame myself, AND SO DOES SHE.

It reminded me, on a rather opportune day, how important it is to teach our girls their own worth, their own value. How important it is to teach them to acknowledge their feelings, trust their instincts, expect respect, express their thoughts, raise their voices, speak out, ask questions – of others and themselves – and support each other to do the same.

It reminded me how easy it is to diminish yourself. To apologise first. To deflect compliments. To prioritise being liked. To take the blame. To be quiet and keep the peace. Self deprecate, play it for laughs, take it on the chin, take a joke, take a back seat, wait your turn. Be grateful rather than demanding. Smile when you don’t mean it – when you don’t feel it inside.

All things I’m afraid I do (that many women do) and that my daughter is learning from me. Just as I learnt it from my mum, and she from hers.

It reminded me how women can be the greatest enemy of women. How sad and unnecessary that is. How bullying starts, and how I need to start watching for it. How they – from so very young – create social hierarchies. And how ‘hierarchy’ is just another way of saying ‘inequality’ – which brings us right back round to International Women’s Day, and why we need it. Why I needed it this year.

I needed those reminders. I needed to remember that parenting isn’t just about making packed lunches, and reading practice, and teeth brushing. There has to be intent, and thought, and vision. And I too often lose that in the day-to-day grind. In the minutiae I lose the bigger picture of what I’m trying to achieve – what I want for my daughters as they grow into women.

I want my daughters to be kind, but I also want them to be bold. I want them to campaign for change, not just accept the status quo. I want them to see injustice, and act on it. I want them to follow the rules, but not do so blindly – to push at the boundaries that hem them in. (Even if they’re my boundaries).

I want them to be empathetic, and I want them to be strong. I want them to be confident but not entitled. To be firm but not mean. I want them to compromise, but not cave. To give without giving anything up. To be themselves – without apologies.

To be vivacious and vivid and vital – not vacillating, not vague… and most certainly not victims.

Basically like pretty much every woman from every generation from every corner of the world, I want my children to have more than me – to BE more than me. More sure. More confident. With more choices, more control, more opportunities.

More EVERYTHING.

But for many mothers, in many places, that is not possible. And for me – a woman of significant privilege – it is obviously still fucking hard to achieve.

Because I need to live that vision and lead it at home. And I don’t. Most days I am too tired to fight, or plan, or even think. I just do. And I worry I’m doing it wrong.

I have struggled often in parenthood with remembering who I am. Who I want to be. The mother I want to be. The employee, the wife, the woman; the example I want to set. I haven’t yet found the balance or the answers.

Today I have been inspired to look harder. So my children don’t have to.

And I can start by celebrating women, myself, and my daughters. By showing them women of strength, of boldness, of change – of solidarity. By accepting the compliments. Demanding respect. Being respectful. Admiring my reflection. Sharing my triumphs. Choosing kind. Not saying ‘it’s fine’ when it’s not. Not starting sentences to workmen with ‘I’m sorry’. Showing them my friendships within family time instead of outside it, post-bedtime, where they can’t see how it’s done. By not humouring bigots and bores. Not feigning interest or ignorance to set people at ease, to keep a conversation going, to avoid an awkward silence. Saying no. Saying yes. Taking risks. Being confident. Laughing loudly.

Because I do know this: I don’t want my daughter to think it’s okay for people to consistently hurt her, just because they say sorry afterwards. I know that way danger lies. And I know it’s a danger that still applies more to women than it does to men.

And whether this is a big issue or a storm in a friendship teacup, it is most certainly a reminder. And above all else it reminded me why today is important, and relevant, whether we have girls or boys. Whether we are mothers or not. Because we are women. And we still have ground to gain and assumptions (including our own) to un-ingrain. We must remain vigilant.

So to all of you, all your tiny women in waiting – and the tiny men who you are bringing up to champion them – I wish you a very Happy International Women’s Day.

Sorry it’s a bit late.

I was busy.

Mumonthenetheredge

xxx

#InternationalWomensDay #BeBoldForChange