Sun Sea and Depressed Parents

Who do program makers think they are kidding?

At the suggestion of our 18 year old daughter, who has booked her first summer holiday with friends, we watched Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents.  Are we really meant to believe that those kids don't know their parents are there?  Why do they think the cameras are following them around?  Why do they look into the camera, pout and say, "my mum would be so cross if she could see this now!" And the parents!  Why? Why do they want to watch their children get drunk and do slightly stupid things?  You hope they are sensible but.....well......we've all been young.

I missed out on the delights of a girls holiday.  I'm not a loyal friend.  More of a serial friend maker (a bit like a serial killer only less sinister) and at 18 I didn't really have anyone I'd consider going away with.  After that, it was student debt and a boyfriend/husband/children that stopped me.  The long suffering husband does have slightly embarrassing stories of excessive drinking, eating, flirting and general bad behaviour in Ibiza.

The program was so depressing.  Not because the kids got drunk and had sex and let fire extinguishers off, we expected that.  No, on the contrary, it was depressing because it only seems like yesterday we were young enough to wear skimpy swimwear all day and night without being embarrassed, drink cocktails until 6am and still be on the beach by midday.

This year we can't afford a foreign holiday as we are saving for 18 year old's University accommodation, so we will have 2 nights in Edinburgh, wearing jumpers and mosquito spray.

I won't be in today

I won't be in today
I've got a headache
The dog is limping
My daughter won't get up
My husband is going out tonight and wants me to pick him up
My son has left his clothes on the living room floor
It's half term tomorrow anyway
It didn't snow but it's still cold
I don't like teaching year 5/6 before a school disco
The blue team won the housepoints and I don't like that assembly tune
Because it's cold the violins will all be out of tune
I've got too much to do
I'm lazy and want to stay in bed.

But if I stay in bed I will miss all the brilliant and funny kids, the moaning in the staffroom and everything that keeps me sane and happy.

Made up words

English probably has the most words of any language but still it seems there are never quite enough.

Maybe it's because we are a more creative nation than any other or have had so many other lingusitic influences but as an avid Words with Friends player I'm glad there are so many choices.  I do cheat.  I don't know the meaning of every word I use.  I have been known to just chuck letters at the board and then be really surprised that I've accidentally hit upon a real word.  Recently, I stumbled upon trappous (trap-like), Ogham (a type of alphabet), hotted (made hotter), strows (leaves things around like strewn). Some people I play against get a bit fed up of my made up words (especially when I put them on triple word scores) but at least I've never played a game like this one.

There are some words that aren't in the dictionary that should be.  These are some of my suggestions:

Cooth -  you must be able to be the opposite of uncooth

Gruntled  - If you can be disgruntled you must be able to be gruntled.

Whelmed - you can be under and overwhelmed but does that mean we are whelmed all the time?

Outrance - the exit

Paffling - faffing and prattling at once

Fugly  - fat and ugly

Verocious - viscious and ferocious

Puffalope - padded envelope

Craptacular  - amazingly bad

Testiculating - talking bollocks with large gestures

Shakespeare made up loads of words.  Eyeball is one of his as are epileptic and puke.

Children make up words all the time.  I heard a child ask a TA, "Are you going to tramulate that?" I think they meant laminate but tramulate should be a word.

Yesterday, I overheard this conversation:

"I'm going to have to get new dog food because she doesn't think the packet is pretty enough."

"No, just put bones on it or stuff."

"That won't work, it's not pink."

"Sticky-back plastic."

"Yeah, 'cause you've got to wonkerize."

STUNNED SILENCE

"It's a credit crunch and all that - save your money."

Save your money for chocolate, maybe?

Snow way to spend a Sunday

Sunday is a day of rest.  Particularly, if you spent the night on the floor of the O2 arena because the Underground has stopped running and girls in heels, who love Olly Murs are panicking all around you.  If you are the mother of the person who was stranded at the O2 you probably think Sunday is a day of rest too, as like me, you probably got very little sleep.

But I am not a sensible person.  I decided to start a Community Build Project.

The drive needed to be cleared, just in case we had to drive to the O2.  Next door had done really well  to get his beautifully lowered car home last night but got stuck at the last hurdle and the car was slightly blocking the drive. Our drive is shared between 5 houses.

Enthusiastically, I said, "let's build an igloo". Son was interested. I just wanted the drive cleared. Son's friend joined us to help dig his brother's car out.  Although, he grumbled about slave labour he was quite enjoying himself as we filled recycling boxes with snow to make bricks.

After the first few bricks were laid we had been joined by nearly all the neighbours, getting excited about building a real igloo.  The snow was perfect, soft, powdery and sticky.

We soon fell into our roles.  As the initial designer I continued to make bricks and watch the growing structure.  I also got to make the tea for the workers.  The long suffering husband, took on his usual workhorse role; not stopping for breath he cleared snow and filled more boxes than most.

  Mr K became the foreman, making sure everyone was on task, making sure the bricks sloped in at just the right angle and telling everyone how he hadn't had this much fun since he was a boy (which was a very long time ago).

Mr A looked absolutely shattered but couldn't give up until the igloo was finished. Son and friend were cheerful workers until it got too tall for them and then they lost interest until we started making smaller bricks, with the cartons from the Indian takeaway.

Mrs B lent her shovel but had to go out to dinner.  Mrs K came out and took photographs to send to the grandchildren in Australia. Mr S cleared snow until Mrs S and son (who is 18 tomorrow) replaced him.  He re-appeared for the final photos.  Mrs S was the joker of the group and chief gap filler, when asked for soft snow by Mr K and 18 Tomorrow, she would shout, "incoming!" before throwing a shovelful of snow through the top.

18 Tomorrow, as the tallest and strongest was responsible for laying the big, high, heavy bricks.  Mr A's son with the beautifully lowered car joined us when he woke up, which just in time, as the roof was out of reach of nearly all of us, except 18 Tomorrow.

It was a brilliant morning, full of fun laughter and community spirit. Four hours later, we have an 8foot igloo in our front garden,  a clear drive, aching muscles and I think 18 Tomorrow might have frostbite on his fingers.

very clear drive

It's so large that it's blocking the light into my dining room.

Now, I am going to send an e-mail to the council to request retrospective planning permission

Comfort Food

It's been a bad day.  Waking in the middle of the night with serious cramp, that didn't go away by leaping around the bedroom, swearing at the long suffering husband or rubbing my leg furiously was a bad start.  The dog is limping again.  It's cold so every violin was out of tune and the bridges were popping out all over the place.  The computers were slow and only decided to work when someone else pressed the button I'd already tried several times. And the children were hard work.  They think it's going to snow, they've had the disco letter, it's nearly half term  and they're almost as tired as I am.

Some people turn to drink after a bad day.  I like comedy programs and food.  I've eaten stale cake, dippy eggs and soldiers and a large bar of Green and Blacks chocolate.

Room 101, Stella, New Girl, QI and the Graham Norton Show are planned for the evening.  I wonder how many I will watch before I fall asleep.

Why I Love Class Assemblies

Sometimes I can be heard muttering under my breath sarcastically, "Oh boy, I love class assemblies!"

The pressure is on.  It has to be the best.  The songs have to be well chosen, brilliantly sung and every child must be singing.  We have high standards in performance.  We expect every child in the class to do something.  In most classes every child acts, sings, recites poetry and sometimes plays instruments.  Gone are the days of class assemblies where a child could just stand up, hold up a picture that could be a dog, horse or monster, and say, "this is a picture wot I drew!"

Now, teachers even write their own scripts.  Over the last few years we've had Dr Who, I'm a Celebrity, Tiger Air, Desert Island Discs and a script about Tudors, written in full rhyming couplets.  Anyone who thinks teachers are not dedicated and creative needs to think about how much time and skill writing in such a way that every child in their class can shine, including jokes for the parents and allowing all the children's work to be shown actually takes.

Sometimes I get a bit grumpy during class assembly season.  It's the pressure.  I feel it too even if it isn't my class.  Supporting 11 classes through their assemblies, helping to choose songs, add instruments and rehearse some performances sometimes leaves me feeling a bit frazzled.  When there are 3 assemblies during a 2 week period I can feel a bit torn between everyone who wants to rehearse at the same time.  And then there is Les Dawson, who insists on making a brief appearance at every assembly.

However hard they might be I find every one truly inspirational.  I am privileged to be able to watch several rehearsals and so I know just how hard each child works.  I know how many rehearsals it takes to make Indiana Jones move across the stage like someone to be reckoned with.  I know how much practice the boy with the slightly camp delivery of his lines needed to sound scary.  I know that getting the coconut player to remember to play her instrument, rather than wear it was a challenge even she thought was impossible.  I know that the child who barely speaks in class stood shouting in the playground to get ready to deliver her line so that she could be heard.  I know that prayers were said to the computer God to make the power-point work properly.  I know that the class teacher probably hasn't slept properly in a week.

I know that I want to burst with pride at each class performance and hope that their parents are equally as proud.

At Christmas I was in the hairdressers listening to a couple of parents moaning about how it was always the same children who get the main roles in the Christmas play and how their darlings are only ever in the choir.  "Billy is a great actor, he could speak but he'll never get a chance while Anita and Freddie are there, they get everything."  I hope Billy gets to perform in a class assembly where every child shines.

Children's Books are Brilliant

Children's books are often more entertaining and funnier than the books I'm meant to read now that I'm a grown up.  So I still read children's books and I love them.  When my children were younger I always read bedtime stories (I would still read but it just wouldn't be cool and I can't stay up late enough!)  They would ask for the same stories over and over and insist, "do all the voices, Mum!" I read a lot of Fireman Sam, as the only accent I can do is Welsh and Dilys Price is so satisfying to say with that accent.

Book week at school is a real treat.  We get to read to classes we don't usually read to.  I find that choosing the book is really difficult.  How can you choose just one?  We only have about 10 minutes so that's just one or two picture books or a chapter of something longer for the older children.  Picture books are easy though, there's nothing controversial in those and tomorrow I'm going to read Where's My Teddy.

Today I read to a year 3/4 class.  I wanted to choose something that I had really enjoyed at their age and so I chose to read a story about theft and the misuse of prescription drugs.  My favourite chapters from Danny Champion of the world are the ones about soaking the raisins, splitting them open and filling them with sleeping pill powder so that the Pheasants fall out of trees and Danny and his Dad can poach them.  When I was 9 I wanted to test it.  I desperately wanted to feed raisins to Pheasants so see if they liked them.  I also wanted to try and stuff a raisin with powder and sew it up so neatly so that no one noticed.  In fact, even now, every time I see a pheasant I wish I had a pocketful of raisins. As I read the story today, I started to wonder if this was the right message to be giving to these children.  

On Friday I will read to year 5/6 and wanted to read Skellig, which I think is the most perfect book ever written.

I can't find my copy so I started to think about reading some poetry.  

From Parents. Zits and Hairy Bits I briefly considered these poems:

Playing Out

There was a boy called Fanny

There was a boy called Willy

Every night when Willy played out

Fanny would act so silly.

Money Bags

Grandad's got a sore bum

He's not feeling very well

I know he tries to hide it

But I can always tell

His problem is his money

He says as he smiles

He must have a lot

He says that he has piles!

Maybe I will try to find something else to read.  I do quite like my job.