Tales of the unexpected with The Boy, my pride and joy.
Oi, you lot! You know the drill, I can't be doing with explaining it again and again!
There's a post which didn't get the views or comments that it deserved; link it up to SOSC: The One That Should Have Done Better and see if it does.
Simples!
Linky opens at 8am tomorrow morning, and due to CyberMummy being this weekend (grrr!!) I'm not going to close it until Tuesday evening.
It's the Summer Term.
This means several things in the world of a primary school teacher, but specifically two events. One will see me wielding a paintbrush and asking children to sit still and stop blinking while I apply copious flourishes of pink swirls to their newly adorned butterfly faces. The other will mean standing around for several hours, being bored out of my skull, repeating the same instructions over and over again.
So as I watch the eleventy billionth child stand in the hoop and pull it over their heads, while the adoring parents of little Susie coo and gasp at her falling over the hurdles again, I shall try and desperately muster up my best fixed smile. I will impersonate a parrot "dribble the ball around the cones and then run back down the right, I said RIGHT hand side back to your team mates" and then I will more than likely fall off my perch with utter numbskulling drudgery.
I'll admit it here and now. I bloody hate Sports Day.
It's not as bad as it used to be when essentially I was on crowd control for two hours while the children watched their faster and stronger class-mates winning every race. We now do a carousel of activities involving every child in every class. I will be organising the obstacle race. It's quite fun the first time, but the fifth I could cry with monotony. By the eighth rotation, I may well be found trying to crawl along the ground behind the beanbag race to escape to a better world. A world without whistles and hands up and score sheets and "get behind the line!"
Of course before that delight, I have the Summer Fayre. This, I am bitter and twisted about. It's on the same day as CyberMummy so I can't go and have fun there. Instead I am destined to spend two and a half hours painting pink butterflies (what about a frog? No? You want a pink butterfly. An alien? No? Ok, what about a purple butterfly? No? It has to be pink does it?) on children's faces. That is after I have had to turn up at 9am on my day off (!) to help set up. I am peeved.
Only 10 working days left, but God I wish they'd pass.
One happy, smiling, cheerful, polite, gorgeous little boy! Answers to the names of 'Oh, darling' and 'scrumpy-bum'.
Today, I have been Ubër-mummy. It has almost killed me but I have done it.
We have played jigsaws and lotto, done playdough and sticking. We've drawn, we've coloured. We ate lunch together at the same time! We had a firm and successful naptime (albeit only an hour or so). We have played small world together, we have cooked and washed up. We've played in the garden.
And it has paid off because a happy and cheerful, polite and obliging child is currently being laid down in his bed fast asleep.
Now where's my bed because I am completely and utterly exhausted!
Excuse me, but has anyone seen my son around?
He's about 93cm tall, beautiful dark blond hair, eyes that change from blue-green-brown, a beautiful smile that reaches up to and beyond his eyes, and a loving and friendly personality. He is caring and compassionate, he is polite and courteous. He eats everything put in front of him without questioning, he does everything that is asked of him without complaint. He is a little treasure and bundle of joy. Everyone thinks so.
So have you seen him? Do you know where he is?
Because someone seems to have flipped a switch in my son and turned off all of the above personality traits. Someone has removed all manners and courtesy from my son. SOMEONE has made him an argumentative and stroppy little bugger!
And that SOMEONE had better return him by morning because I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!
And so it seems that when Uncle Heritage heard the tales of Desert Fun and Summer Splash, he felt left out. Begging Grandpa and Grandma SIGG to let him travel from their Swiss home to the unfamiliar territory of Wales, he was welcomed into the family to play alongside The Boy's bottle and his mummy's bottle. His destiny was to belong to the daddy of the family. The daddy was very happy because he had secretly been feeling very left out! Desert Fun and Summer Splash were also happy because they had missed their favourite uncle very much!
(P.S. I've got another SIGG competition running over here)
The Listographer extrodinaire has given us what she feels is a simple theme this week:
This weeks theme is Inventions, or if you will Inventions that-would-make-my-life-easier.
And she's right it's not as difficult as you'd initially think! I will say one thing though; I'm pinching back my Money Tree idea that she has 'borrowed'.
—
Now, pop over and check out the other entries using this nifty little button thingy
Apologies for this blatant plug for my very good chum Lexy who is a finalist in the MAD Blog Awards 2011.
Actually no, not apologies, she's fantastic and quite frankly deserves to win.
There are not many blog writers who can have you literally crying with laughter one minute and the next minute you are sobbing with sympathy. MammyWoo can. She is more than just the self-deprecating manic mummy that she is often portrayed in her posts. Her plight to conquer the demon of post-natal depression is so over-whelmingly heart-wrenching that I defy you not to feel her pain and desire. Alongside the posts of the therapists and the snot-encrusted eyebrows there sits the tale of making the doctors realise that her precious baby boy Woo (otherwise known as Addison) was actually lactose intolerant; it was not just a stomach bug.
Lexy is hilarious and a talented writer. Don't believe me? Read these:
And possibly my all time favourite one:
Lexy's going to kill me for this bit but I don't care! She'll kill me for the whole post so what's an embedded video going to hurt?
I would really like you to vote for her to win The Best New Blog in the MAD Blog Awards. Click here to vote. PLEASE?!
Ever since I've had The Boy my emotions are raw and likely to spill over at any opportunity. I can't watch the News anymore because I weep. To be perfectly honest, I cry at the CBeebies 'Happy Birthday' song (what? It's emotional thinking about the littlies growing up and suddenly being seven)!
When I watched Comic Relief this year I sobbed repeatedly. The tales that some of the people have to tell were awe-inspiring and humbling. The stories that really touched me were the children, the children who have little hope of living past the age of 5. Yes there are children in the United Kingdom who have horrendous lives, but I am not talking about those exceptional circumstances. I am talking about the children in developing countries who do not have the same basic rights as ours; the healthcare and the education. I have been extremely touched by the voyage that Christine from Thinly Spread has been on recently to Mozambique in a successful bid to raise awareness of the need to provide vaccines for every child.
Now as a primary teacher I feel very strongly about the right that every child has to a basic primary education. I'm not talking about the vinegar and baking powder experiments; I mean the right to learn how to read and write, how to do everyday maths, how to nurture their inquisitive nature and the right to be treated as children for a short time. In my school the children study the country of Lesotho because it is a comparable and contrasting country to Wales. We have a very strong link to one of the schools there, and the headmaster, Godfrey, has been to visit us, as well as vice versa, several times. I call him the headteacher but he is so much more to the children in his care, many of whom are 'boarders'. Many of whom, when they are taken back at the end of the week or term to their parents, find that actually their families have either died or moved on. So he puts them back into the battered van and takes them home with him.
Without wishing to inflate my school's ego, through our fundraising, last year this amazing gentleman was able to purchase a sizeable plot of land and build a new school for his pupils. That was an amazing moment for him, and for us too.
Not every child in a developing country is fortunate enough to have a 'Christine' or a 'Godfrey' or a school that is able to raise money for them.
This is where an organisation like ActionAid steps in. By sponsoring a child through ActionAid, you can make a real difference to their lives. You can make a difference to the other children in their community and help people who, through no fault of their own, are struggling to exist. This video shows a visit to Rwanda by Jimi Mistry to highlight how the work of ActionAid can help change children's lives forever.
Because every child has the right to a life.
Click here to sponsor a child with ActionAid
I'm going to moan. I don't care, it's my blog and I'll rant if I want to!
I find it hard enough coping with the incompetent or ignorant customers who misuse designated car spaces as it is without the staff adding to it.
Like today in Asda when I pulled into the last remaining P&C space. I reversed in so I could get The Boy out on the side of the walkway, which also gave me more space to get him into the trolley. An old coffin-dodger walked up with his puffed-up self-important neon vest on and asked me to move over a space. I politely enquired why and he said because the workman needed that space so he could get his tools out.
WHAT?!
I politely pointed out that this was a P&C space to which he said that the man needed it so he could get his tools out. I lost it. I impolitely pointed out that this was a space for parents with children to park in and that I had a child to get out the car and 'NO! I would NOT be moving'.
Having got my child out of the car, I saw him moaning to a colleague. I saw red and went and very loudly complained at the store manager who apologised profusely.
Oh and on the way out of the store I saw the workman. He was pushing his small toolbox over in a baby-carrier trolley (I know). No, I didn't mow him down with my trolley although I felt like it! I like dodgems…
