Help from unexpected places?

I have been dreading today for a month. Our school has started having celebration assemblies, in which each teacher chooses a couple of children from their class who have worked especially hard, or displayed a positive attitude towards their learning. So far, so good. Parents are invited to watch their child receive a certificate and some praise, which is great. The teacher tells everyone in the school hall how marvelous the child is, and everyone goes away happy. 

It was rather nice to watch the first one, at the end of January, until The Boss Lady said, '...and our next celebration assembly will be on February 27th.' Ms Titian, sitting next to me on the teaching assistants' side of the hall, turned and looked at me, and my heart fell. I would have to do the next one as a class teacher. I am hoping that no child was sitting close enough to hear the word I uttered. 

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My stammer may be under fairly good control, but it does still appear from time to time, especially if I'm feeling a bit nervous about something. Would this result in alcoholism and a move to an isolated village in Scotland? I put the assembly out of mind for a while, but Ms Titian and I eventually decided whose learning we were going to celebrate. 

I was hoping for someone with an easily pronounceable name, but they were all busy being pains, and I couldn't really praise someone just because they had a name I could say. Ms Titian kept reassuring me that I was always fine when talking to the children, which made me decide that, rather than talking to everyone in the hall, I would talk to the child who had done all the hard work. It helped that one of the children I'd chosen told me they were a bit scared about standing up in front of everyone. I admitted that I felt the same, and said, 'Don't worry, just look at me, and we'll forget everyone else.' 'Are we allowed to do that?' they asked me. 'I don't care,' I replied, which made them laugh, and we were able to look forward, rather nervously, to the assembly. 

This morning, I checked with The Boss Lady that it was okay for me to do things this way (to be honest, it was that or nothing). It appeared she had all sorts of plans up her sleeve in case I chickened out. Actually, she didn't say that. She said, 'In case you decided you really couldn't go through with it,' which amounts to the same thing. I then found out, from a teacher I'm beginning to like more and more, and who overheard our conversation, that there have been some extremely kind people who have been helping me more than I realised, and have been supporting me from behind the scenes, as it were. Thank you. Hugely. 

Anyway, the assembly went without a hitch. I had to fold my arms because my hands were shaking, but I didn't bugger up anyone's name, or make an idiot of myself. Mrs GSOH gave me a naughty look when she caught me not singing the special assembly song (I didn't know the words, honestly. And nor did she), and I had to try not to laugh, but that was it. Phew. 

Now we can use the next celebration assembly as a bribe for a while ('Is that sort of behaviour going to get you a certificate? No, it certainly isn't.'), and I can start encouraging children with easy-to-say names to work really hard. 

Buying shoes and losing cars

The Husband and I went into a nearby town this morning for a bit of a mooch. Because parking can be a bit of a pain, we opted to 'park and ride', which meant I had to take a travel pill before we left. Rather pathetic for a ten minute journey, but buses and I do not get on. I do enjoy the people-watching aspect of buses, though. There was a family sitting close to us that made for good watching. 'Who would like one of my Swiss herbal drops?' the mum asked her family. Any normal child would have replied with an, 'Ugh, no way,' but her two young sons didn't look like they'd had a sugar-rush for some time, so held their hands out. 'You can't have one, Archie,' she said to the youngest. 'It will get stuck in your windpipe. You can have something later.' When young Archie's eyes filled, she said, 'It's because I love you, my darling. Mummy doesn't want you to asphyxiate.' Mummy deserved a slap, in my opinion. Mummy loves you so much, she'll offer sweets to everyone, but won't let you have one. Makes me glad I was such a bad mother. I may have risked my children choking to death, but at least they were all treated the same. 

Son Number One and The Girlfriend were also in town, but they traveled by train, as they were leaving later, and a one-way ticket was only 10p cheaper than a return. Son Number One organises his life around food, although you wouldn't know it, as he's as thin as a stick. 'We're getting a Frankie and Benny's breakfast first,' he told us, 'so we need to be in town before 11 o'clock. Then we might get one of those ice-cream shakes in the cinema. We'll probably grab a Subway before leaving. Any idea what's for tea?' And I thought he was joking - I should have known better. 

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The object of my son's desire. 

We bumped into them a couple of times as we wandered, and were given orders to try a particular Chinese restaurant he approved of (which we did, as it was only polite...). 

I was allowed to look around the Doc Marten shop, which had recently opened. 'Just looking,' I assured The Husband, who looked aghast at the prices (I buy mine from ebay shops). As I looked longingly at a rather lovely flowery pair, he said: 'Why don't you get them?' Now, The Husband is notoriously careful with money (the main reason we managed to pay our mortgage off last year. If it had been down to me, we'd have mountains of books but no house to keep them in.), so I said yes before he had a chance to change his mind. His canniness reappeared when he asked the shop assistant if they offered student discount, though. Which they did, so he was happy with the thought that he'd got some money off. 

Being the good wife, I asked if there was anything he wanted to get. He replied that he fancied a huge bar of chocolate from Hotel Chocolat, so I got off fairly lightly there. 

Catching the bus back to the car park, there were no interesting people to watch, but lots of nice houses to hanker after. Embarrassingly, when we got off the bus, we couldn't find the car. Now, this is why we should have kept the flower stickers on it. A car covered in flowers, butterflies and bees is easy to spot. A small silver car, parked amongst lots of other silver cars is easy to lose (not loose, as many Facebookers insist on writing). Hoping that no-one was watching us walk up and down the rows of cars, we spent nearly ten minutes muttering, 'I thought we were more in that direction?' before we finally tracked it down. We need a more distinctive car. If we had a VW Camper decorated with rainbows and Greenpeace stickers, this would not have happened. 

Anyway, it was a good day. We did forget to buy more travel pills and a get well card for a friend, though (we like her, it just wasn't written on the list). This evening, The Husband and Son Number Two are off to play pool and darts at the cricket club, Son Number One will probably be eating something, and I'll no doubt be watching House. 

Films and books

Having finished my work and run out of books I feel like reading, I've been catching up on tv I've recorded over the last few months. I've realised that I record far too much. I have 92 episodes of House to watch. Yes, I had to read that number a couple of times. I seem to record rather a lot of the 'man's life falls apart. Man moves into the wilderness and builds a boat' type of films. Son Number One tends to wander in, roll his eyes and wander out again, usually after a comment about 'another one of your crap films.' Listen, son, just because my films don't feature helicopters and machine guns doesn't mean they're bad. Although this morning's - girl drops out of law school to help a friend run an ice cream van - was not the best, I'll admit. 

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Son Number Two pointed out that The Book Thief is now in the cinema. I really don't know whether to see it or not. It's one of my favourite books, and I don't know if the film is going to totally ruin it for me or not. I don't want to be one of those annoying people in the cinema that keeps whispering, 'Well, that didn't happen in the book.'

I found the film adaptation of The Hobbit so annoying that I don't know if I'll see the final one (the first one nearly made me fall asleep, so I had to try the second one to see if it got any better). World War Z was completely different to the book, so much so that I was able to view it as something that just shared a title. I know that we're meant to get all snobbish about it all, and say that the books are better. I think most of the time it's true, but my children enjoyed the Harry Potter films more than the books, and Into the Wild is a gorgeous film, but I hated the book. 

I do regret not going to see The Road at the cinema. Cormac McCarthy's book was so good that I avoided the film, but I was bought the DVD as a present, and it was brilliant. Between a Rock and a Hard Place was also okay as the film 127 Hours. 

And then there are the films that should have been books: The Book of Eli, set in a post-apocalyptic future in which The Bible is carried to a place of safety; The Way, where a father follows in the footsteps of his dead son, by walking the Camino de Santiago. 

Actually, this post is really not helping, as I'm now adding to my viewing by piling up DVDs I've not seen for ages, and I've only got two more days until I'm back at work. 

Better go and watch an episode of House...

...and breathe

I am in trouble because I've forgotten Valentine's Day, although it's not as bad as it could have been. This morning, The Husband asked if he could give me his Valentine's card this evening, as he hadn't written it yet. I think, after nearly 24 years of marriage, he can be fairly certain that I think fondly of him. 

Son Number One is making more of an effort. The girlfriend has been bought roses and taken out to dinner. The Husband has said to me, 'Shall we go into town tomorrow, and you can buy something for Valentine's Day?' 'Okay,' I replied, 'you can do the same.' Who said romance is dead? 

School-wise, it's the start of the half term holiday. I have promised not to do any work tomorrow. Sunday, I will try to get as much done as possible, and then I can hopefully fit in some writing, and actually get to read more than just a couple of pages of a book during the week. Ms Titian and I are going into school on Thursday morning to sort out a corridor display on the Five Pillars of Islam (or the Five Pillows, as one child insists on calling them, no matter how many times I correct her). 

Ms Fab, Mrs GSOH and I have to find time for coffee and cakes at a nearby eatery, too. I miss them both. I have hardly seen either of them this week, and I hate it. 

The final nail in the teaching coffin came today, when I was reading through some questionnaires the children have been filling in. Several of the children (and not just in my class) have put that I'm someone they can talk to if they have a problem or a worry. That means a huge amount to me, and gives me far more 'job satisfaction' than teaching fractions. A parent came in recently and thanked me for being someone her daughter can talk to about anything. I was floating for the rest of the day. I know when I'm well-off, and I don't need more than that. 

We are having a lot of storms here in the UK, although I know it's nothing compared to what some in America are facing. The Daughter's house in Cornwall is thankfully far enough away from the sea to be safe from the tides, but these photos show what's going on in that part of the country:

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Stay safe. 

Homework finished

Day two, and I have finished planning for all lessons this week. My marking is up to date, and I know I have made the right decision not to go into teaching. I have taken a step in the wrong direction. If changes are to be made in future years, it will be to get more deeply involved with the children, not less. (Sorry, that looks wrong. Is there such a thing as 'more deeply'? You know what I mean, anyway.) The courses I've done on children's mental health have caught my interest, so that may be a future option. But that's for when I get my restless moments - for the time being, I just want to get back to being a teaching assistant. 

Almost everyone I've spoken to has said, 'But what about the extra money?' I would rather have less money and more time. Yes, it's nice to have money and things you want, but I have everything I need. Family, time to write, read and learn new things. Also, thoughts of teaching had kind of spoilt the OU for me. It meant there was pressure to get certain scores, to study the right subjects. Now I can go back to just doing it for me. That Masters in children's literature at Roehampton is looking increasingly inviting, now that it has a unit on creative writing for children. There's no way I could have done that whilst teaching. 

What I mean is, there's no way I could have done that whilst having to do the amount of paperwork that goes with teaching. Nobody warned me about the paperwork. 'You're good with children,' they said. 'You're good at taking the class. You should go into teaching.' Where were the honest ones? The ones who would have said, 'You hate paperwork and filing stuff. Steer clear of teaching.' 

Anyway, I'm going to stop moaning (for now. I'm sure there'll be more to come...). I have 7 weeks of teaching left (Ms Titian says you never count the week you're in because it makes the school terms seem longer). That's 49 days. Minus any Saturdays or Sundays that I don't spend planning. Take away a couple of days of the half term holiday. That makes... well, not too long a time, anyway. I can deal with that. 

Actually, I'm not sure if I can, but if I buy lots of wine I think that'll help.  

Decision made (definitely, this time)

So, day one out of the way. The day flew past - it felt like it lasted about two hours, during which I didn't manage to finish a whole cup of coffee. I enjoyed it. Kind of. But I felt sort of useless. Here I was, imparting information and hopefully inspiring those who bothered to listen, but I didn't feel I helped anyone. 

Teaching, in my humble opinion, sucks. 

The whole point of my normal (teaching assistant's) school day is working with the children, and I seem to have taken a big step away from that. Okay, so I'm standing there, asking questions, answering questions and showing them how to do things. But what about those individuals who needed extra attention? Those who'd had a crappy break and were too miserable to take part in anything? Those children who had a sudden 'light bulb moment' and wanted to whisper, 'I get it now!' to someone? Who was there for those children? The teaching assistant. Not me - I was too busy taking the class. 

When our previous Boss Lady asked me to go into teaching, I refused, because I said I'd be too far removed from the children. She said she completely understood (she'd been a TA herself, once). I need to listen to myself occasionally. 

As a teaching assistant, I get to:

Front the class a fair bit, without having to plan any lessons.
Often work one-to-one with strugglers, or with small groups of children.
Really get to know the children, because they come to me with problems (emotional ones, not just maths ones).
Work in three different classes a week (that's children from year 2 to year 6), which keeps me on my toes and varies the way I work. 

I also get to go home at 3.30-ish. This evening, I stayed at school until 4.45, then went home and marked work for an hour and a half. And I only had one lesson's work to mark. On every piece of work, I have to write a comment on what they've done well, and how they could improve things for next time. And it didn't help that Son Number Two looked over my shoulder and said, 'Why do teachers write that rubbish? No-one ever reads it. What a waste of time.' 

I don't know what I'm being paid for these 8 weeks, but it's not worth it. No amount of money makes up for me not having time to talk to my children until the marking's finished. No money makes me feel better for having to say, 'Sorry, I've not got time,' when The Husband asks if I want to sit down with him and watch an episode of Blue Bloods. 

I know I've only done one day, but I've had the least amount of marking I'll ever have. Most days, I'll have three times that amount. And then there's planning on top of that. So, yes, it's good experience, and at least I know not to go into teaching. I want to feel I'm making a difference to children, not just teaching them things. Joni Mitchell's right - you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Fortunately, it'll be back in 8 weeks, and I'll make damn sure it won't go again.

Plus, I want spare time for writing, and not just, 'You've shown you really understand what's important to Muslims. Next time, remember to check your work for capital letters.' (And that's when I really want to say, 'Please can you stop writing "How strange" next to everything that Sikhs believe. And sort out your awful handwriting.')

Hang on, I've had another idea...

I'm starting to get the hang of lesson plans. The transformation from sympathetic teaching assistant to object of hatred has begun. I spent most of yesterday planning for Monday and Tuesday, mostly because I kept coming up with better ideas, so had to go back and change things. Not for maths. Maths is maths, and has no 'scope for the imagination' as Anne Shirley would say. Literacy, on the other hand... I feel my computer will soon stop asking if I would like to 'save changes to document' and will instead ask 'Are you sure about this? Or do you want to fart about with the document for another couple of hours?'

We're meant to be doing 'list poems'. (And I've just realised I've called them 'line poems' on Wednesday's plans. Sigh...) Anyway, after the initial 'what is a list poem?' lesson, we were going to write poems about ourselves. So I planned that all out. Then I looked for a good example of a list poem on the internet, because my poetry is not up to being scrutinised by 30 little children. I found a nice example of one about a cat looking out of a window, and all the things he (it?) could see. That's nice, I thought, I'll do that instead. So I changed the lesson plan. Then, whilst watching The Voice, I thought, hang on, what if the poem's about us looking out of a window? And the window could be anywhere. A hut on top of a mountain? A submarine? A space rocket? So I changed the lesson plan. And now I'm nearly out of printer ink and patience. I hope the class teacher doesn't read this, or he may be getting worried about his children. 

And it's only going to get worse because, after the half term holiday (which will be a week of planning and re-planning lessons, no doubt), we're looking at story characters, and writing adventure stories. I have a big pile of stories that I want to share with the children, but I think I'm going to have to whittle it down a bit, or we won't have time for any other lessons. But the best bit about having to do adventure stories was when the class teacher said, 'You won't be able to use the stories on file, because I used those last year.' Brilliant - I will introduce the children to Neil Gaiman, through Fortunately the Milk, which is a great adventure story about a dad who goes out to buy milk and ends up: being abducted by aliens, captured by pirates, bargaining with Aztecs and travelling in a hot-air balloon with a stegosaurus, amongst other things. 

I am looking forward to taking the class. I'm getting a little tired of particular people asking if I'm certain I can cope, and telling me that it's natural to be nervous when standing in front of the class for the first time. Seeing as it's several years since I first stood in front of a class, that bit's been the least of my worries. As long as the Boss Lady approves of the way I've planned the lessons, I'm fine. It'll actually be a nice change from the year 6 class, as they're getting a bit noisy and manic. My new lot are not quite young enough to be leaky and whingey, although one does pretend to be a rabbit quite a lot, which makes me grit my teeth. But they are young enough to more or less do as they're told asked. 

Here's hoping, anyway...

Confessions of a Geography geek

At school, we get brought in boxes of cheap books to buy from The Book People. Often, they are complete rubbish. There are box sets of Roald Dahl stories (I hate his books. I know I'm in the minority here, but even as a child, I couldn't stand them. Apart from his second volume of autobiography - that's okay.) There are books of the I-was-abused-as-a-child-and-need-to-tell-the-world genre. Mostly, there are cookery books (yeah, right...). But a month or so ago, there was an atlas. A huge one. Not just a coffee-table book, but the coffee table itself. Its original price was £70, and they were asking a tenner. As Ms Fab would say, it would have been rude not to. 

I love Geography. I blame the wacky teacher I had at high school, who had an obvious passion for her subject, and infected me with it. We used to go traipsing miles through Maidstone, where I lived as a child, to go on stream studies. In the pouring rain, we'd take samples of sediment and study curves in the banks. In those days, there were no risk assessments or parental consent forms. If you fell in the water, well, you were stupid, and your friends fished you out again. When I went home sopping wet and muddy, my mother would sigh and say, 'I guess you had Geography today?' Trips were rarely planned. The teacher would just look out of the window, rub her hands together and say,' Let's go for a bit of a walk.' The result would be a missed lunch time and outraged teachers, who were missing half the children in their maths class. 

My favourite bit at school was having to draw a cross-section of a landscape by looking at contours on a map. Our teacher used to choose the twistiest river on the map, and make us work out how long it was. And Geography brought in U-shaped valleys and glaciers and erosion and how the highest mountains in the world have marine fossils at the top. Brilliant. 

When I was younger, I was going to join the RAF. I passed all the entrance exams (well, not the engineering one, which we all had to sit for some reason. I was told my results for that one were 'amusing'), but they didn't have vacancies in the trades I was after. I wanted to either be a photographic interpreter or a cartographer. What they had on offer were places in the Military Police, or as a dog-handler. I couldn't see myself in the police, and the officer interviewing me refused to let me be a dog-handler, as 'it would be a waste'. In the end, it was a waste anyway, as I went to work in a book shop instead...

Anyway, I was looking through my giant atlas last night, and found out that Tonga is also known as the Friendly Islands. How nice is that? It reminds me of the Terry Pratchett book, Nation, which has to be my favourite of his. It's all about islands and maps and the Geographical Society, and is absolutely wonderful. 

Sadly, at school, no-one seems to like Geography. When it comes round to the Geography topic, teachers wince and say, 'I'm really sorry, but I need to ask you to do Geography this afternoon.' When I reply with enthusiasm, I'm given funny looks. My one regret with taking the year 2/3 class soon, is that I'll be missing doing rivers and mountains with the older children. Never mind, we have a village in India to learn about instead.