Something that gives me hope.

(Having made an origami waterbomb the trick was to fill and launch it before her brother's suspiscions were aroused.)

With the school year only a week away from its end we all mooched around the house yesterday in various states of exhasution and done-inness.

Princess C-W was regaling me with stories from her week - who she spoke with, who was uncool right now, whether she preferred being a 'history boff' or a 'science nerd' and the general social interactions that go in in a mixed sex school (something waaaay outside my own academic experience).

"Yah so, anyway, Miranda Blaggleshorn has been going out with Adrian Scumswiggle for three months now and she STILL hasn't told her mother!"

The surprise in her voice was palpable. Long may she consider it completely normal to share all headline information with her mother.

Of course, I know I can live without hearing the details.

Recent times in pictures

The White Rabbit was late for a seventh birthday party!

Gorgeous Baby Will.

Hanging out on top of The Hill.
My Assistant in the Winter sunshine.

Mother's Day Dinner made by destructoBoy.

Throwing it out there for comment.

Girls wearing make-up to school.

What say you all?

In the past month...

I have ...

* finalised plans for new kitchen/living room building (Yippee! Woohoo! And Yay!) .

* nearly left my husband during IKEA trip to id potential kitchens (not that he even realised but I felt better for considering it).

* transported four highly excited under 9s through the wilds of Wiltshire to their first chess tournament. They only came 8/12 bc of a mahoosive amount of adult-sanctioned cheating by other schools. Seriously a headmaster who calls his under 9 pupils 'stupid' bc they lost a chess match??

* realised not every family plays maths and history and word games during 'long' car trips'! Who knew?

* mortified my son by banning the use of all the blurry DS consoles those children had for an hour during the six we spent at said tournament.

* been reminded of all the fabulous and exciting history there is on our doortsep here in Engerland.

* not been asked for interview to a job I would have loved.

* bought my daughter a new school bag following on from the saga last term.

* met old friend and children (inc god daughter) for lunch in beautiful Cathedral surrounds.

* had verbal smackdown with Mr. HeadTeacher twice. Once about the crazy-arse parking that goes on down there and the other about having held the door for the ENTIRE school (inc one teacher) and only one child said thank you. (And it wasn't my son, about which we have since had words ;-)

* had a meeting about teaching capability of destructoBoy's teacher because he is bored in class, every day.
* been called scarey by a parent at school.
* dobbed in stupid Yr. 8 students clever enough to hide out of sight from staff when smoking at playtime but sufficiently stupid to stand next to railing fence right beside road.

* praised highly to teacher the one child who did thank me for holding open school door.

* extremely lately handed over handmade birthday present to good friend and I think she liked it.

* had double success over at Posh Yarns Sunday night sellout. I foresee perhaps a hat for Princess C-W for Christmas with the pink sparkly one and the kicking-off off a garter stitch scarf kal this Friday with the chunky cashmere.

* nursed destructoboy through a whole month of ear infection. This entailed four visits to the doctors, three lots of antibiotics and one fight with the rottweilerXdoctors' receptionist. TG it has cleared up now and he is playing at top speed again.

* received a phonecall from YOT telling me my phone was being kept in their safe overnight if I would like to come and collect it the following morning. Oops!!
* recognised it is still six months away but have made a decision on d/Boy's birthday present.
* identified OMD's episodes as being epilepsy not a stroke.
* watched freezing on the sidelines as my son captained the under 9s to a distinct non-victory at the local schools football tournament. I was the screeching woman on the sidelines but offset my mania by cheering for the other teams too.

* purchased outfit for 80th birthday party this Saturday.

* attended Princess C-W's first ever secondary parent/teacher evening. Unlike most of her peers she didn't attend and so didn't hear how well-regarded she is by her teachers and how well she is doing in her classes. There was a little glow about us as parents by the end of it all. And I didn't even start-up on her History teacher. Perhaps it was bc she looked so knackered after dealing w grown-ups all evening. Perhaps it was bc she was our last stop and we could go home afterwards. I don't know why but remain impressed that I maintained my silence when she referred to 'our written conversation earlier in the year' and how she 'always encourages parents to help with the homework'. HA!

* taken the big black dog to the vet with a sore eye. Am hoping to stave off need to do this again.

* had The Bat Lady around to visit and am sending off her report today. This in turn means we apply for planning permission by the end of the week. If you want to voice an objection you have two months to lodge it with the relevant authority!

Heavily insulated knickers

Enquired after an acquaintance's child on Friday. She had been in Princess C-W's tutor group until Christmas but left to attend a nearby private (public) school. I had assumed it was for snobbish reasons; this family live in the valley off The Hill where all the money resides, their other daughters go to swish sounding schools in the closest Cathedral city and the dad has been invited to a flash wedding on April 29.

It wasn't. It was for sound educational ones that benefit their daughter's needs and was made after in-depth family discussions with the others who are receiving a state education. This will teach me the error of assumption.

I explained to this mother that I had been to a school run by the same nuns and that the backbone of the order was education and bringing out the best in every girl whatever her capability. I commended her on their choice and wished their daughter the very best and hoped she would pass on Princess C-W's best wishes also as she missed their daughter.

I walked off back to Maria Juanita Conchita Gonzalez all the way waiting for the gods to strike me down for lying through my teeth. Although, perhaps things have changed since my day and they really are now living up to the founding principles of the order? Until I am sure I will pulling on those special unders to channel that lightning safely away.

Burden of a middle-class childhood Part 2

Watching the Brits this evening and James Corden is hosting. Princess C-W observed for a few minutes and then said

"That's him isn't ? Smithers from Gavin and Stacey?"

It would be wrong, wouldn't it?

If I went and had verbally scared the crap out of a handful of Yr. 7 girls.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Shame.

The Lion of Fire.

My mane is encircling flames.

My heart is scorched wood.

My breath is a sudden spark.

My tail is a burning coal.

My speed is the fastest wind.

My mind is the terror of the heat

And the trail behind me is a trail of devastation.

Author: Known 10 yr old.

The burden of a middle-class childhood.

Princess C-W came home with another bit of homoework. This time for religion. The requirement was to storyboard a scenario happening in whichever soap opera they watch and then suggest a conclusion.

Following is the reported conversation she had with her teacher.

"Excuse me Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I don't watch any soap operas."

Silence as Sir considers options.

"Probably the closest I get to a soap opera is listening to The Archers on Radio Four."

For Sale.

* Small assistant. Nice line in shouting to be let out before wee accident occurs. Inability to read clock and recognise 'reasonable hour' dictates sales. Terms negotiable.


* Child (blue 2001 model). Quite tall, sound teeth and advancing fixation w style of hair. Growth spurt and resultant shitty moods when required to do something non-compatible w personal life view demand removal from premises. Kicking of tyres when viewing not recommended. All good offers considered.


* Proto-teen (pink 1998 model). Witty, dry SoH. Despite best efforts and years of practice am still unable to communicate w said model. Result - inability of model to understand need to be aware of PE bag when at school. Minimal negotiation on price as need to buy new PE kit. Sadly instruction booklet unavailable. Would suit patient languages student/lecturer.


* Lace pattern book. Thick book w glossy pages and many colour pics. Sadly all patterns include fatal flaw, some just gibberish. Very useful for jigsaw-loving family or care group. Will ensure all pieces included in posting envelope.


* Swap/Trade - buggery awful cough. Just noise, no yuk. Two weeks of ownership means have gotten best from it. Willing to exchange for new lungs and/or oesophaegus. Benefits - sexy husky voice, great abs workout.

dear Mrs Lurch, you and I may be headed for a smackdown.

The topic was 'Were the Vikings a cruel and barbaric race?'

Princess C-W's essay came back today with a very good mark but also the comment (and I quote)

" If this is all your own work it is excellent. Well done."

So much to my daughter's screaming horror I wrote a note back to Mrs Lurch.

Dear Mrs Lurch,

yes these are Princess Curly-Wurly's words and this is essay is the result of her hard work and research. Given that she (presumably like most of her cohort) had never written an essay before nor been taught how to construct one I naturally walked her through the process; but credit where it is due because this work is most definitely hers.

Sincerely,

Trash

I thought that I was very restrained not mentioning the bit she got wrong about Vikings being a race and all.

The Great Bag Debate 2010

We are now well and truly ensconced in the new school year.

Homework is being done, P.E. kit is being organised and leaving on time is becoming established as the norm.

The problem is the school bag. It is a fine school bag, it served several many terms at primary school and was unfailingly, fundamentally good at being a school bag (shown is same same but different bag)But at some point over the Summer 'someone' arbitrarily decided that 'everyone' would be carrying Cath Kidston oilcloth bookbags to school this year. Obviously Pr. C-W did not get that memo nor would it have done her much good as her bag was fine.

Not being completely evil parent I did ask if she was all right w this situation and she said it was ok. She then recounted her conversation w Moriarty's daughter that shows her to a) definitely be the daughter of a woman w an active sewing machine and b) have a fabulous sense of self.

(enter mid-point in discussion about merits of CK bags)

Moriarty's Daughter (and I paraphrase this bit) : Cath Kidston bags are ace and all the best people use them.
Pr.C-W: My mother could make one of those.
MD: But it wouldn't be a Cath Kidston one.
Pr.C-W: She would use CK fabric.
MD: But it wouldn't have a label on it.
Pr. C-W: Yes it would, she has one sitting in the sewing box at home.

So my dilemma is this - the same same but different bag is beginning to show signs of age and bits are starting to fall off and Princess Curly-Wurly has a birthday coming up. Do I buy the ubiquitous CK bag? Do I buy the Paperchase 'Happy Noodle' similar bag? Or do I see if Greengate do something just as lovely but not quite so 'everywhere'?

Voices of the innernets I need your help.

ScottFest 2010

Move over Glasto! The kids and I headed to ScottFest last Saturday.

The weather order was filled perfectly. Blue skies, huge fluffy white clouds and no breeze.

We got there early and set-up the prettiest tent in the universe and while the terences went off to explore I sat and read the paper CK had packed for me.

One of the dads took great delight in teaching d/Boy to ride a motorbike. My boy was a bit wobbly to start but after the first circuit of the showgrounds he got it and was off. Ride like the wind Bullseye!

Princess Curly-Wurly took full advantage of the mahoosive blow-up assault course and the stilts (Although fortunately NOT at the same time. No broken legs here thanks.) before comandeering the quad bike and pegging it around the perimeter of the venue as fast as she could. My heart was in my mouth the entire time until she took me on a ride and I realised 'as fast as she could' was not the same as 'as fast as the quad will go'.

Despite packing two bedrolls, three pillows, one mahoosive airbed, three sleeping bags, two duvets, two double thickness fleece blankets, a basket of warm clothes to wear as the evening approached, jammies, loo roll, knitting, drawing paper and pencil, food to keep the troops going through until breakfast including my assistant, water for us all, a deckchair for me and picnic blanket for the rest (breath) two trips were required back up the hill. The first was for more food and water. The second for CK's spare set of car keys because I was sure I had locked his in the boot. The alternative was too dreadful to consider.

The whole event was chilled out and relaxed with people taking it in turns to cook, tend to children, mix and pour drinks. There was a marquee put up so that the evening's entertainment (Nick Tatham) had somewhere to sit while he played and a fire pit for us all to stand around and toast marshmallows once he had finished.

One of my arch-nemesis was there and put his mono-pod (or eco-pod or some such stupid name for a solid-sided domed tent) right in front of my prettiest-tent-in-the-universe. Within about five minutes he came across all smiley, hippy-happy and said

'Can't we be friends? I hate having to avert my eyes when I see people.'

'I'm not the one who said I don't like Australians' says I sunglasses down, attitude high.

'Oh you shouldn't take any notice of that. I'm a South African. (WTF?!?) Friends?' as he stretched out his hand.

Again he said 'Friends?'

Sunglasses still on I agreed and shook his hand, all the while grimacing on the inside.

d/Boy was getting quite tired by 10pm so after making the mahoosive trek to the far end of the Showgrounds and using the real loos (glamping all the way here baby) he, my assistant and I retired for the night. After a 20 minute struggle with the bedding mountain we fell asleep. Princess C-W crawled in at 11.30!

We slept well until half 3 when the requisite night-time wee was required. Of course I could not find the lead so had to hold my assistant while excavating a very sleepy d/Boy from the bedding mountain then around the back of the tent for a wee rather than head to the other end of the field. All relatively straight forward until my bladder decided it too needed to experience the full joy of camping so still holding my assistant I had to undertake all aspects of outdoor weeing with one free hand.

The whole experience was exacerbated by the proximity of the tent to a boarding kennels. My assistant was wriggling like a lunatic and growling through my hand clamped around her jaw all while d/Boy was standing admiring the bazillion stars visible in the cloud-free sky. As we settled back inside the blanket mountain that d/Boy turned to me and said 'I don't like camping.'

We shall see next Summer my boy, we shall see.

Middle-class mother worries (or 'How Pr.C-W will beat her mother's record at school).

My girl is now entering her third week at senior school and there has been a lot of homework. Way more than she ever saw at primary school.

Now, I confess to not being an advocate for homework b/c a) school has my child for 6.5 hrs a day, surely they can fit everything they need to learn into that timeframe and b) I sucked at homework and probably handed in seven essays and assignments throughout my entire senior school career but since she does get it she has to suck it up and get it done. To this end I have been harrassing her every afternoon to find out what needs to be done and by when.

My issue is - when does 'helping' become 'doing'? She has an essay (her first ever - oh my baby I am so proud!) for History -'Were the Vikings are cruel and barbaric race?' Leaving aside the issue of a culture being a race I talked her through the topic, we read through the notes she brought home and looked at the layout suggested by Mrs Lurch the History teacher.

The one really big thing I want her to understand is how to write an essay so while I sanded the cupboard door (the boring bits of her room's makeover continue) we discussed how to plan one. Firstly I explained how, starting with the intro, each paragraph answers a question and then there is a conclusion to wind the whole thing up. Then using the info she had been given and her own general knowledge I teased out the responses to each question she had set for each paragraph.

I did not write her essay. I did not tell her what to write. I did help her understand what is expected in terms of homework, in terms of constructing the answers and also in terms of managing her time.

I don't want to be the mother who gets cross with the teacher because 'we' got a lower mark than we deserved. In fact I won't be the mother who does that because I don't do her homework. What I will be is the one who teaches her how to address this whole new world she has been thrown into.

(what I hope never to be again is the mother who discovers a piece of homework is due in today just minutes before said child walks out the door for the day. Between 0805 and 0815 was not the finest time in my life to date.)

I married the wrong man.

Princess C-W has just informed me about some girls in her new year who have the surname 'Treasure'. I have informed her that had she been into that family I would have been forced to call her 'Boxarella Olivia' so that she could be known as 'Box. O. Treasure'. Her brother would have been named Chester. And I might even have gone so far as to take their father's surname when we married.

Silverpebble's shadow-a-long

The afternoon sunshine bounced off the freshly painted walls filling her room with gentle light.

I watched her delighting in the results of the weekend's hard work.

A new room in which to begin a whole new chapter of her life.

Part one of a Summer in pictures.

Hilltop visit by very clever, talented and funny famous author.

Teary farewells at the end of primary school.

Long cool drinks required to survive those hot days.
(honest we DID have some)

Fridge fascists at work. Princess Curly Wurly tidied and cleaned the fridge. Eveything being put back in was given an exact spot that corresponded with the map attached to the front of the fridge. Map complete with demands for compliance OR ELSE. Even now a month later CK remains in fear of putting things in the wrong place.

Purchase made on behalf of Missus Moog last Saturday at the Festival of Quilts in Birmingham.

My kids went to the Isle of Wight and all I got was ...

... this black eye.

Do you like it?

Do you wanna see a close-up?

Rotten blurry kid.

Sunday afternoon as everyone was lolling around recovering from the week of holiday I pushed open the door into the living room just as Princess C-W turned suddenly.

BAM!

Next thing I know I am on the floor with a black eye starting to form.

Wanna see?

I think my girl has a career in make-up artistry beckoning.

They are so realistic looking and fabulous fun to do.

This is destructoBoy's self-inflicted knee 'injury' or 'bruisescar' as it is also known he tells me.

All done with judicious application of eyeshadow and some gentle blending.

Hours of fun for the whole family. Except CK who is a grump and did not find it either funny or smart.

Occurred to me last night that my daughter is not that girl.

You know, the girl who plays football with the boys throughout her teenage years. The one who fights for the ball during a silly game in the pool even when it goes to the deep end and all the other girls have long since got out and are sitting in the sun watching.

No, no. My daughter will be the girl who figures out flirting but still rolls her eyes when the others go all simpery and silly. She will be the one who gets along with the boys but doesn't take any crap from them. She will be the one who takes a smart-arse boy out at the knees with a well-aimed sharp comment but will also be the one who takes the time to listen to the shy ones.

I think she will be the girl who survives her teenage years relatively unscathed. Her father on the other hand is out building a tower for her as I type. I think it is time she started growing her hair again.

Seven years gone so quickly.

September 8 2003

September 23 2010

My girl finished primary school on Friday.

Seven years of tears

and laughter.

Friends, learning, music, adventure, experience and each and every year the 'humiliation' of sports day.

I delight in the fact that Princess Curly-Wurly has spent these school years with such a lovely, solid group of children. It gladdens my heart to think she will be entering the world of 'BIG' school side by side with most of them.

To each and everyone of those thirty gorgeous childer - I thank you and love you.