Another course, another breakdown

The OU website for my new course has just opened, so the first thing I've done is read the essay questions. Bad move - I don't think I have enough wine for this course. The first assignment is: 'What opportunities and challenges do the responses of devotees and detractors provide scholars for writing the histories of controversial figures?' And that's just part one. It has to be answered in 'no more than 1500 words', which isn't that many. Still, 'errmmmmm....' is definitely less than 1500 words. 

After a bit of a panic and mouthing bad words, I went to the student forum to see how many people were asking for their money back and doing media studies instead. A seasoned OUer had posted something along the lines of 'It's meant to be difficult. If it's easy, you're not learning anything. When you've finished the course, you'll have achieved something.' To which dozens of people (including me, now) have said 'Thanks, you're absolutely right, of course. I'll stop panicking.' 

And why am I looking up questions that I don't even have to answer until November? Yes, I have another assignment due. Its the end of module assignment (the sort of exam bit) of my counselling course. It doesn't actually look that difficult (but I'm typing that bit quietly, in case fate overhears), so I really should crack on with it and get the course out of the way. I have banned myself from reading the books from the RE course until the essay is finished, and that's quite a good incentive, as they look interesting. The problem is, I want to read the bits on the Apocalypse in book four, rather than 'controversial figures' in the first book.

Okay, then. A strong cup of coffee and I'll get writing.  

Looks like a good year ahead (she says...)

I like our new class. We have a good mix of interesting personalities and mischief. Two days down, and we have picked school council reps, class monitors and librarians. I have given myself the luxury of five librarians this year, one of whom is continuing from last year, knows the ropes and is happy to beat the others into shape. Badges, it seems, are very important. Offer a child a shiny new badge and they'll volunteer for anything. (Actually, I can understand that, and wouldn't say no to a 'librarian' badge, myself.) Hmm, I just looked through Google images to illustrate this post. Is that really how people see librarians?! I don't think I've ever looked over my glasses at anyone in quite that way.Why are librarians portrayed like that? Although I have to admit there is a guy in Waterstones who is appealing simply because he talks knowledgeably about Neil Gaiman and Patrick Rothfuss books. 

Anyway, on the subject of books, that leads me to the next on the list of things that make me happy:

It was fairly easy to pick my new librarians, as they were the ones whose letters (yes, they had to apply for the job) I identified with. One girl wrote how she would help to look after the library because books were special and could take you on adventures. Another told me that she liked people to recommend books to her - that it made her like reading the book even more if someone else had enjoyed it. 

Yes, I have a lot of books. Several thousand. We don't have wall-space for many pictures because there are bookshelves around every room. I've got books in the car for those 'hanging around waiting for someone' times - at the moment, they are The Crucible and Bravo Two Zero. I will try almost any book, unless it's about airheads shopping for shoes in New York, or anything to do with Mr Grey. 

I won a pile of books recently. They were advertised as children's books, and I thought I would read them before donating them to the school library. Then they arrived, and only two are suitable for school, the rest being 'unsuitable for younger readers.' So I'll have to keep those. What a shame. I'm reading The Last Policeman and Labyrinth at the moment, (putting off the reading on psychotherapy until it absolutely has to be done). 

And those books are calling me now, along with a new bottle of malt whisky. Cheers!

Plymouth and playing with money

'Plymouth: graphic novel nerds, monopoly and posing in sunglasses.' 

The final bit in my little scribbly notebook, this was the wander around the... (is Plymouth a city?... Google tells me it is - thank goodness for the internet, making up for my lack of general knowledge) city that took place between the train journeys mentioned a few days ago. 

I rather like Plymouth, and it's on the shortlist for places to retire to, not that The Husband knows anything about this. The list also includes Truro (with apologies to The Daughter who will now probably make plans to move), the Lake District and Glastonbury, but depends on a decent sized lottery win, because obviously I want a large house with a farmhouse kitchen and library. Anyway, Plymouth is a good shopping centre, not that I do shopping on the scale of, say, Ms Fab. While The Daughter went and bought shares in Primark, I dragged the rest of the family into a large book shop. Son Number One and The Husband joined the ranks of bored men on a squashy sofa while Son Number Two and I browsed books. 

I am increasingly intrigued by graphic novels, which are, I suppose, just an acceptable way for adults to read comics. Everyone browsing in that section was male and looked to be under 30, so I gingerly approached the shelves, expecting to be told I was too old to be there (similar to the way I feel when I go in Topshop). The thing was, where to start? I'm not into Marvel superheroes, and everything seemed to be part of a series. So I had another wander around the shop, and found a Walking Dead monopoly. The Sons had a thing about monopolies a few years ago - we have a French game, a Star Wars version, World Cup 2006, even a surfing monopoly - but Walking Dead monopoly?? The Husband watches it on tv, but I stopped after the first series. The story was good, but I hated the sound effects, which were like someone sticking a pitchfork into a watermelon. But it did remind me that the story started life as a graphic novel, so I now have the first eight books all in one volume, which, after a day of non-stop reading and a massive headache, has made me itch to get the next one. 

While The Husband tried to find something in Fat Face to spend a gift voucher on, Son Number One complained about the prices of shirts, and spent £25 on a pair of sunglasses instead. When it was pointed out that they were the same as the pair he already had, he corrected us and said that the lenses were a bit darker. I think that now makes him the owner of six pairs of sunglasses, including ones with weird orange lenses that he wears for cricket and make him look like a strange insect. 

You can never have too many pairs of sunglasses

And that was it from my holiday notebook. 

Today, Son Number One (that's him in the photo) has just come back from meeting a friend in Doncaster, and Son Number Two should be setting up his tent at the Reading Festival. It's the first year he's been, and I am being a Worried Mother. I know he's with friends, and I know he's no idiot, but I am looking forward to seeing him again on Monday. I don't care if he smells or has lost his rucksack, just as long as doesn't miss the bus home and we have to drive 150 miles to get him. 

Meanwhile, The Husband is watching The Great British Bake Off, and I have an assignment to write. It's more of a creative writing exercise, because we have to make up a case study and say what approach we'd use to counsel this poor person. I have based mine on someone I know (don't worry, it's not you). I'm actually really enjoying this course, mainly because I'm getting good marks, that always helps. I have promised myself I will finish my essay by the time Son Number Two gets home, but that still gives me time for a little procrastinating. I saw a video of someone doing that thing where they roll a coin through their fingers and, for an unknown reason, thought 'I want to do that.' But first I had to find a half dollar, because apparently that's the best coin to use. Digging through a drawer, I found one (like you do) - a 1964 Kennedy half dollar, no less. And now comes hours of me irritating the family by constantly dropping coins. 

Oh well, anything to get out of studying. 

Packing for holiday: clothes or books?

We go to Cornwall on Saturday. The weather looks good for the coming week, and The Daughter says the sea is as warm as the Mediterranean, sending me a link to a local website in case I needed proof. Actually, last weekend's newspaper told us the weather was gorgeous and had photos of dolphins showing off to the tourists, so here's hoping...  

I have chosen The Holiday Book: The Dog Stars, by Peter Heller. It didn't take me long to choose - I was won over by the recommendation on the front cover: 'A dreamy, post-apocalyptic love letter to things of beauty.' My favourite genre, I am running out of bleak-but-hopeful books to read, so it was good to find a new one. Actually, just now looking at the book on Amazon, I've read through the 'people-who-bought-this-also-looked-at' bit, and have managed to add another dozen books to my Amazon wish-list.

There is just one problem - I have no will-power when it comes to books, and after promising myself I would save the book for holiday, I am now on page 93. So I'll also take Flight Behaviour, by Barbara Kingsolver and The Border Trilogy, by Cormac McCarthy with me. Rather thick books, they leave me room for not much more than a pair of jeans and a camera. 

I received the certificate for the RE course through the post yesterday. I keep all my certificates in a big file which I only tend to look through when I'm desperately hunting for lost birth/marriage certificates. Half the time I can't even remember doing the courses (did I really do that course on ADHD? I don't remember a word of it). My degree certificate will be different of course. I shall frame that so the last four years of slog will be worth something. Mind you, The Husband may just see it as the big hole in our bank account, so better not. 

So... getting ready for our holiday. We have a larger car this year, and less people to take (no girlfriends of sons or other hangers on), so the journey should be more comfortable. It's a fairly long journey (six hours driving, plus approximately two hours' queuing to get into Cornwall - usually resulting in cheers as we crawl past the county sign at five miles an hour). It necessitates a couple of stops at service stations which charge the earth for a cup of coffee, so we tend to fill the car with drinks, biscuits, packets of sweets and other healthy things. It's amazing how hungry you get, watching scenery and hankering after other peoples' cars. Son Number One usually manages to get just past Mildenhall before starting on his lunch, even though he's reminded that he only had breakfast twenty minutes earlier. And there's a limit to the number of Costa Coffee signs I can drive past without complaining. Really, it's a wonder The Husband doesn't just leave us on the side of the road. At least the children are past the age of needing the toilet every half hour. And being car sick - that was a joy of a phase: washing out children's t-shirts in the hand basins of the public toilets, or carrying a half-naked child through town so I could buy clothes to replace the ones I'd had to bin. Happy days...   

And now I will go back to constantly refreshing my OU webpage, in the hopes that my assignment has been marked. My tutor is moving house in a few days, she said, so aims to get all essays returned asap. Then it's just two more assignments to go, and that course is finished. I'm looking forward to the religion and controversy one. We've been told to keep a look out for when religious issues appear in the news. That'll be 24 hours a day, then. 

Enjoy your summer - I'm off to pack some books. 

One down...

I received an email yesterday, telling me I'd passed the RE course. (It was a pass or fail thing, but I'm still disappointed I didn't get a merit.) And now I've got an essay for the counselling course to be finished. I'm lucky that I've got a wonderful tutor for this one, who told me exactly where I lost points in my last piece of work. She is, it seems, a stickler for introductions. Not that I don't write them, she just wants 'proper' ones that say things like, 'This essay will consider...' and so on. In four years with the OU, it's the first time I've had to do that, and it feels very clunky. So I've written it (the intro, that is, had you expected more?) and am so embarrassed by it that I've come on here to recover and do some normal writing. Okay, so I've also done the hoovering and re-sorted the bookshelves - I just really, really don't feel like writing about existential therapy (or is it that I'm putting things off that cause anxiety? Maybe I should face this feeling of being hemmed in and decide where I want to go with my life? Maybe I should challenge my own assumptions about the world and how people view me? Maybe I should stop taking counselling courses.).

And I have books to read. The Bookworm (one of our former year 6 girls) bought me a present when she learnt it was my birthday next month. It was a second-hand book by Adriana Trigiani, which she said 'looked like my sort of thing'. It was - I already own it, but it's made me want to read the series it was from again, starting with Big Stone Gap. I'd forgotten how good the books are, so thank you, Bookworm, I'm very grateful. (And that reminds me, I have to buy the holiday book on Monday, when I go into town for Son Number Two's eye test.) 

Plus, the garden is looking nice in the sunshine. Well, that's not actually true. It looks awful, with weeds and a big pile of earth that's going to become part of a new lawn 'eventually', but there's a lot of wildlife, probably because of the weeds, etc. We have damsel flies chasing each other about, numerous butterflies, bumble bees, a kingfisher flitting down the stream, and frogs aplenty, much to the delight of the cats, who think these bouncy creatures are there just to amuse them. I have had to rescue a record number of frogs from the cats this year. I hadn't realised that frogs play dead when they're threatened. The first one looked all 'bleah' and floppy, so I carried it to the stream, whereupon it miraculously came to life and leapt of my hands into the water. After that heart attack, I'm now prepared.  

Sigh... It can't be put off any longer. I will drag myself over to Word and try to add to the 82 words I've already written. Actually, I've just read through them again. It looks completely wrong: how can an essay 'consider' anything? It's me that's doing the considering, but we're not allowed to write in the first person. Why didn't I take creative writing? I could have written any old rubbish for that...

First aid, last resort

Ms Fab and I are now qualified first aiders. But don't call us if there's a problem, as we both managed to kill people in our exam. I killed myself, and Ms Fab killed the first aid instructor - both 'electrocuted' during an early nineteenth century train robbery, which was a bit of a puzzler. 

I have to admit I was dreading the three-day first aid course. It was held at our school, and was yet another one of those things I'd volunteered for.... Luckily, I also managed to volunteer Ms Fab for it (misery loves company and all that). I wasn't looking forward to it because I always feel such an idiot on first aid courses - there you are, bandaging non-existent wounds, breathing life into truncated plastic people and generally doing stupid things whilst others watch you to see how many mistakes you make. Thankfully, things looked up when trainees from other schools turned up. One was a woman I had done a reading course with and with whom, it turned out, I shared an aversion to infants. 'I'll help any child in any way,' she said at the course, 'but I ain't singing songs with a fuckin' toy frog on my head.' She gained instant approval from me. 

Over three days we learnt about breaks, bleeding, asthma attacks, poisoning, CPR, choking, bleeding and how men shouldn't do naked ironing (a true story from our instructor, used to illustrate (not literally) the lesson on burns). We got used to looking like idiots and regularly killed our casualties, but it was actually a hugely enjoyable course, made so by the other trainees and a particularly good instructor.

Forgot to check for danger. Dammit, 

another casualty. 

Other stuff: my RE assignment was submitted and has just been marked. The tutor said it was very good and a joy to mark, and then proceeded to tell me all the things I'd done wrong and how I should have done it. She criticised my referencing, by writing 'mostly' in the box next to: 'The student uses correct Harvard referencing.' Mostly? Mostly??! I've spent the past four year agonising over bloody references. I sent her three pages of meticulously checked references. I know I shall put a lot less effort into the next assignment, anyway. I wonder if I can put it on hold for the next decade? (Reading back through this, it becomes evident that I don't take criticism that well.) 

I also submitted my OU assignment on how the media portrays mental health. I'd been reading loads of complaints on the forum about how difficult it was to write, but I found it quite easy. So I've probably completely misinterpreted the question. Oh well, I only need 40% for a rather dodgy pass. 

And now I need to pick a focus for my second RE assignment. I think I'll just write: 'I see no point in doing this, as you so obviously hate me (Eyres, 2014)'. 

Getting side-tracked

Why does 'using the internet for research' so easily turn into two hours of following links, checking emails, watching random videos on Youtube, ordering CDs from Amazon and being nosy on Facebook? I have found that the internet does not speed things up, it adds up to a whole lot of distraction. I know I have no willpower, so I have to bribe myself. When my assignment's handed in, I can order a new paperback, for example. I know I'm not alone in this. One girl on an OU Facebook group says she buys a huge bag of sweets when an assignment's due. Every time she completes a paragraph, she allows herself a handful of sweets. She admits that her paragraphs get very short towards the end of her essays. I read about her methods when I should have been researching Hinduism. 

 Something I found when I should have been looking

up information on religious guidance.  

I've not had any feedback on my RE assignment yet. The tutor probably has an awful lot to write and may have had several quiet moments, rocking in the corner. Meanwhile, I have started writing notes for my counselling course (on how mental health is represented in the media). Only 1500 words, I aim to get finished this week (well, I better had - it's due in next Monday). 

It's going to be a strange week at work. The class I usually work with are going to the Lake District early tomorrow morning, and Ms Fab and I have to do a three day first aid course. With a test at the end. Auntie Mo was meant to do the course, but got out of it due to a school trip with the infants. She's helping to take 30 children to the seaside on a steam train. Hopefully, she'll leave the right ones behind. Then I've got two days of supporting a member of staff who's already told me she won't need supporting, so maybe I can get some library work done, or make play props. The two oldest classes are putting on a school play next month. Thankfully, the props are fairly simple this year. In the past, we've made animal masks, a giant bird's nest, a time machine, a cardboard cow and the houses for the three pigs, amongst other things. This year, the play's about pirates, so that's fairly easily dealt with. Swords, beer barrels and fish, I think, are the main things. The cast can provide their own eye-patches and stripy t-shirts. 

Well, roll on tomorrow. Three days of first aid. With Ms Fab. I can't see that an awful lot of work is going to get done, somehow...

Must stop volunteering for things

It couldn't be put off any longer. I have started the next RE assignment. There are three 'tasks' to be done for the course. The first was an easy form-filling and research exercise, and I could choose from a variety of options for the second. Most of those options entailed planning a series of RE lessons, either on paper or as a 25 slide-long power point (I don't know any child who would be awake at the end of that sort of lesson). As our RE-centred half term has been and gone, I went for the essay option. So I have to write 2500 words on 'Where do people look for guidance on how to live their lives?' Not too bad a focus, but it has to relate to Hinduism and Humanism. I know that the Open University has a '10% either way' policy on word-counts, but don't know the policy for the RE course. I have a feeling that 183 words won't cut it, though. 

I have plundered my bookshelves and found a surprising amount of relevant material. (I'd forgotten that I was given a copy of the Bhagavad Gita by a random guy in town - he obviously knew which path I would follow better than I did...) I have read chunks of The God Delusion and managed not to hurl it across the room. I have been mightily side-tracked on the internet and got caught up in a discussion on 'Do people only do good things because of religion?' on a Humanist website. 'You don't have to be religious to be a good person,' said someone. 'In the absence of a god to please, would you become a thief or murderer?' I know one boy who probably would be. Actually, he manages to believe in God and still pilfer anything lying around in the classroom, so I'm not sure how he's going to square that with Him Upstairs. 

Anyway, I have made a start. The first paragraph's been written, and I always find that the most difficult. I am surrounded by piles of books with post-it notes sticking out of them. I have various bits of paper with pink highlighting. So, really, I should be working. I have a counselling assignment due on June 16th, which is about relating two newspaper articles on depression to our text books. (As one article is from The Mirror, I've kind of written that off as deeply suspect already.) 

Tomorrow (which never comes, I know) I will carry on. They say that if you get stuck, you should just write anything and it'll get you in the right frame of mind for working. I will start by typing 'I will never volunteer for anything, ever again.' 

Suffering And Trauma over for another year

The SATs tests have finished, and the year 6s are as high as kites. The children have spent each morning this week sighing and groaning over maths and English tests that are used to put them in the correct streams in high school and, incredibly, to predict their GCSE results in 5 years' time. 

Early on Monday, some of the children realised that, although they've been doing practice papers for the past few weeks, they didn't actually know what 'SATs' stood for. They sat there, staring at each other and saying, 'Ummm... errrmm... what about... no, I don't know.' 'I bet it's got the word "test" in it,' suggested one, eventually. It didn't give me great hopes for spectacular test results. 

Ms Fab, Mrs GSOH and I had to read maths test questions for some strugglers, which is something I really hate doing. I feel so mean, just reading the questions out and having to answer all of the children's panicky queries with, 'I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to tell you that.' I try very hard to use telepathy: 'B is 45...' I think, hard. 'It's 45, write 45... oh, dammit....' I really must work on my psychic abilities. 

Actually, what I should be working hard at is my OU course, but it's not happening yet. I've registered for my October module (religion and controversy - yes, I really did make a decision), but I keep thinking about that week off at half term and how I'll catch up then. I'm sure the enthusiasm will return once I make a proper start. Hmmmm........

And now for some good news...

I've spent the past week waiting for the phone to ring. My dad's bone-scan results were meant to be back last Wednesday, so I've had to resist the temptation to phone him at hourly intervals to see if he'd heard. 'We will phone you as soon as we hear,' my mum told me. In other words, go away and stop pestering us. 

They're busy selling their house at the moment, so an over-anxious daughter is an added annoyance. They're fortunate in living on the edge of a nearby town - close to the town centre in one direction and walks through parks and woods in the other. And five minutes away from the hospital, which was very handy when the children were turning A and E into their second home (dislocated fingers from flying cricket balls, photographic chemical spillages, broken collar-bones, and so on. If you have children, I'm sure you went through it, too...). So, my parents put their house on the market, and within a week it had been sold. It helps that the place is like a show-home, unlike my house which is bookstore-meets-overcrowded-bric-a-brac-shop. 

Not mine, unfortunately. Mine are

stacked sideways with additional piles on 

the floor. 

They're downsizing, so I've had offers of chairs, a bread machine, a double bed and a really annoying uncle who keeps appearing with bags of washing. I've said yes to everything except the bed and the uncle. I have enough ironing of my own to do, without adding his. 

Anyway, I got a phone call yesterday. My dad had just opened a letter which said his cancer had not spread to his bones, so he's able to have a combination of hormone treatment and radiotherapy. Sighs of relief all round. I owe a huge thanks to friends who have supported me and kept me sane over the past couple of months. And I think my dad now feels he can stop writing his bucket list and concentrate on living. 

More good news: Mr Chaos is, touch wood, moving in over the road. It'll be good to have him around, and The Husband is already trying to work out how to fit him in to the Cricket Club quiz team. 

Another thing: I have done some work. The first two bits of work for my RE course have been submitted, with the first getting a favourable response. I've only just e-mailed the second bit, so am waiting to hear about that. I really must crack on with the counselling course now...

And... I've made a final decision on my next OU course. The RE course has renewed my enthusiasm for the subject, so I'm going for one on religion and controversy, which starts October. Then I'll only have one more short course to finish my degree. Then what? No idea, but either more study of some sort or writing. The Daughter wants me to write a book, and I have some ideas that went down well on my OU course, but I don't know if I have the courage to take it further. Time to start looking at Masters degrees, perhaps?



Photo courtesy of Mr.TinDC at https://www.flickr.com/photos/mr_t_in_dc/5323104963
  

I'll just do this first...

Apparently, my new RE course has started. When I filled in the on-line self-assessment and it asked when I'd like to start, I stupidly put, 'As soon as possible,' not realising that it would be read immediately and that would be translated as 'tomorrow'. The 'world views', as they call them, that I've been allocated are: Hinduism, Judaism, Humanism, and Philosophy and Ethics. It seems that Ancestor Worship and Cargo Cults are not really mainstream enough to study.... 

I had to give lots of reasons before I was allowed to study Philosophy and Ethics. You're only normally meant to include it if you teach A level students, but I told them how much the year 6s love a good argument debate, and how we sometimes spent lunchtimes disagreeing with each other in a more or less constructive way, so I was allowed to do it. Ms Fab has also decided to do the course, so it will be fun to share procrastination techniques.  

My OU course began yesterday, and I've done very well at avoiding the website so far. I have done some work towards it, in that I read the book as soon as it arrived, and the first week's activity is 'read chapter one and watch this video'. I've also posted on the forum, so I'm not being totally bad. Not yet - it's only week one. 

We have a long weekend, with it being a bank holiday tomorrow, so I could possibly do some proper work then. Although I have started a new book, which turns out to be the first in a trilogy, so maybe not. I saw a trailer for the film Divergent and it looked rather terrible, but I remembered that Son Number Two had the book in his room, so thought I'd give that a try. It's actually a rather good book, and he's got the second and I may sneakily order the third so, sorry, I'm rather busy at the moment. 

Just need to finish a few books first...

I find I'm using the avoidance techniques that Son Number One used when doing 'revision' for his exams. I always have the OU web page open on the computer, so when The Husband walks past I can quickly flick to that rather than Facebook. It's not that I don't want to do the courses, I just don't want to do them at the moment. When there's housework to be done, that's when I'll do coursework.

Image courtesy of tigger11th/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

And back to normality (more or less)

We picked up a new (to us) car today. A Kia Sportage, it's a bit bigger than the little hatchback we've had to squeeze into for the past few years. I apologise in advance for the trail of broken wing-mirrors I will probably leave through town. Son Number One is trying to make me feel guilty for choosing an unnecessarily large car ('Why not just hold a gun to Mother Nature's head?' was one comment), but while browsing cars with us last week, he was judging them by the amount of cricket equipment he could fit in the boot. This one got the nod because 'we could probably get four cricket bags in there.' He doesn't seem to be taking into account that he gets our old car and will thus be driving himself and assorted team-mates around in that. No, we don't need such a big, chunky car, but I was spoilt when we had our old people carrier and like sitting higher up so I can see what's going on. Son Number One says I should drive an HGV in that case, but that's taking things a little too far. I'd never be able to park in the multi-storey. 

The Husband used to be able to drive HGVs. He had to learn during his army days, and took his test in Cambridge on a Saturday morning. The centre of Cambridge, for those not in the know, is a chaos of students on bicycles, and is best avoided. Especially if you're a learner in an army truck. 

He admitted, not so long ago, that the reverse parking part of the test was aided by the army driving instructors, through use of strategically placed cigarette ends on the ground. He drove the trucks down to Salisbury Plain a few times, where they had ridiculous exercises like driving for miles in convoy at two in the morning with no headlights. They would do this for several hours, prodding each other to keep awake, and then go on shelling exercises where they'd pretend to bomb non-existent objects. A bit like the Brownies really...

My OU counselling course has started, so I've done all of the important things like buying highlighter pens and sticky notes. I think I only do courses for the stationary shopping I can get away with. I've just signed up for an RE course for school as well, so I may need some sharp new pencils and a range of notebooks, too. The RE course involves three assignments and a self-assessment, and can take anything from two weeks to two months, depending on how motivated students are. That'll be two months, then... I can choose to study up to four 'religions/world beliefs' in depth, but it doesn't tell me what I can choose from. I'm hoping for Cargo Cults, Voodoo and that religion that worships Prince Philip, but won't hold my breath. 

And now I must get back into the habit of studying. Better fill up the kettle...
  

Reasons to be cheerful

And now I must stop the self-pity and get on with things...

The Husband and Sons went to the cinema yesterday to see Noah. Recovering from the most disgusting of colds, and feeling vaguely seasick due to blocked ears, I excused myself and settled down to watch several hours worth of House instead. (I had also read reviews which said the film was 'The Bible meets Mad Max', and that really didn't appeal.) Three episodes in, we had a power cut. Thanks to a new coffee machine, I was full of caffeine jitters, so decided to sort out the bookshelves. Although I would love to have my books in alphabetical order, I've not had that shelf space for years, so everything is piled up randomly. Through careful rearrangement, I now have space for another twenty or so books, and if that's not reason enough to be positive, I don't know what is. 

Another plus - the new OU course book has arrived. Rather disappointing that it's just the one book, but I've started reading and it's all written in plain English, thank goodness. 

The course is entitled 'Counselling: Exploring Fear and Sadness', (yes, yes, I know...) and brings in the history of psychotherapy as well as the different methods of counselling used today. And, yes, Freud. I have yet to take a course in which he doesn't make an appearance. I also have to decide upon my next course which will start in September, but which can be booked next month. I've decided against 20th Century Literature because I hated most of the set books. I think I may go for the one called 'Why is religion controversial?' but there's still time to change my mind half a dozen times yet. I've been asked if I'm interested in doing an RE course for school as well. It's three assignments plus a self-assessment, and I've kind of said yes. I really must stop doing that. I have a feeling that these things get passed around the staff room and everyone says, 'Nah... I don't want to do that,' and The Boss Lady thinks, 'I know someone who'll do it...'

What else? Son Number One was going camping in Wales with The Girlfriend and her family, but family politics have resulted in them both staying at home (her family, not ours. We don't do politics. We just drink too much and discuss conspiracy theories.). I'm am very selfishly glad they're not going, because that means we can have a proper family Easter. What with everything that's been going on, it will be good to get together (The Daughter's coming up from Cornwall) and talk rubbish. We have all been invited to my parents as usual, and will be able to show support to my dad without all the 'emotional crap' that he hates so much. In other words, we'll turn up, drink all of his wine, and the male members of the family will give him manly punches on the shoulder while he eyes the females worriedly in case they cry. 

And now I must peruse Amazon. I have bookshelf space to fill. 

Listening skills

Good news from The Daughter: she's been offered a place at Plymouth University. After getting good marks so far in her access to nursing course (a distinction in psychology - how jealous am I?), she had an interview and was accepted on the condition that she passes her course. 

Rather than training as a mental health nurse, she's decided to go into counselling, as she'll still be able to work in the mental health sector, but in a wider range of settings, and in a way in which she can use all her strengths. It means she can study at the university's Truro campus, which is not far from her home, rather than having to catch the train into Plymouth every day, meaning less travelling expenses for her. I am so pleased for her - I know I'm biased, but she's worked so hard, and deserves this so much.  

Moving on to my studying (or lack of it, at the moment), I remembered a short course that I'd wanted to do some time ago. I thought I wouldn't have time to fit it into my studies, but ditching the linguistics has now given me the chance. So, starting in May, I'll be doing a counselling course myself - 'Exploring Fear and Sadness' - about anxiety and depression. As The Daughter pointed out, it'll be a handy one for school. Numbers of teenage suicides are on the increase, and I've always thought it important to listen to children's problems. Well, apart from the 'We've just argued for the fifth time this week and would like someone to sort it out for us' type of gripes. 

And, kind of on the same subject, I spent most of today working in the year 2/3 class I'll be taking on soon. The teacher was going to show me how to do a phonics lesson, and go through the normal classroom routine for me. That classroom has to be the most welcoming in the school. Not for the decor or anything (the walls are a smack-you-in-the-face yellow), but for the atmosphere - it was so warm, friendly and caring. The teacher was genuinely interested in his children, cared for them, and listened to them. He's not just teaching them their lessons, he's showing them how to be nice people. It was an amazing morning, and I didn't want to leave. I can understand why Ms Titian (the TA in there) seldom goes home for lunch. Today, she was making a giant Chinese dragon's head, for a lesson on the Chinese New Year. I thought she'd made a great job, but one child told her (as children will) that it looked like a big pumpkin. There's nothing like an honest child to bring your world crashing down. 

I hope I can keep that kind of classroom atmosphere when I'm in there. I know there's one bit I won't be particularly good at, and that's the singing. I went on a reading course once, where a teaching assistant I rather like, from a local school, said, 'I love the children, don't get me wrong, but I'm not singing songs with a f*cking frog on my head.'