Enthusiastic Gardeners Bite Dirt Frequently

It has been a week of mnemonics.  Those silly rhymes you were taught to help you remember things.  My head is full of them, so full that I sometimes wonder if I had just learnt the things I was trying to remember, rather than all these rhymes then I might have more room in my head and wouldn't have to keep looking for my keys in the fridge.

I have lots in my head for spelling things. There is one about elephants that I can't quite remember to help me spell because. I can work it out because I know how to spell because but was it the rhyme that helped me learn the spelling or the spelling that helped me learn the rhyme.  I do find that Rhythm Helps Your Two Hips Move helps me to spell rhythm - especially when writing it on the whiteboard.  I don't know if proper teachers have the same problem but I find I can spell perfectly well until I have to write something on a white board in front of children.

This week I sang the 9 little planets song with EYFS.  It all goes along nicely, "one little, two little, three little planets, four little, five little, six little planets, seven little, eight little, nine little planets, orbiting around the sun. Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars.  Next comes......" Oh dear, what does come next?  I scuttle back to a mnemonic.  My Very Enthusiastic Mother Just Set Up Nine Planets but while I'm doing that some very clever small child informs me that there aren't 9 planets any more because Pluto doesn't count any more because it's a dwarf planet.  I think that that it a bit politically incorrect, surely dwarves are planets too!

Then I was teaching year 3 and 4 how to read music.  Musicians have always used a mnemonic to remember the names of the lines of the treble clef.  I told the children that when I was learning I was told Every Good Boy Deserves Fruit but the boys in my orchestra changed it to football because they said that fruit wasn't really a treat.  My daughter was taught, 'Every Green Bus Drives Fast' and my particular favourite was ' Every Green Boagy Deserves Flicking.' Obviously, this is the one they will remember and go and tell their parents it's all my fault when they flick a particularly juicy green piece of snot across the dinner table.  They were so thrilled at the idea of naming the lines of the stave they decided to make some up for themselves.

Here are a few:

Evil Goats Bump Dirty Farmers

Every Gross Boy Does Farts

Every Good Boy Decides Forhimself

While I was at the allotment this morning I tried to remind myself that singing and digging do not go well together. "Keep your mouth shut when digging," I spat through a mouthful of mud, instantly coming up with a new mnemonic for remembering the notes on the lines of the treble clef.  "Enthusiastic Gardeners Bite Dirt Frequently!"

I love my job

At this time I would normally have snoozed my way through the end of a murder mystery and a couple of news programmes and would be fast asleep until at least 4am but I just wanted to tell everyone how much I love my job.  I may be an extra large bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut, giving up Sundays; evenings; days off but it's worth it.

Tonight was the final of the music competition at the local senior school.  My school band turned out in force, looking smart, shiny and tiny.  I was so proud that I could burst.  I'm pleased to say that I think the right people won the big prizes.  I was especially proud to see a prize for musical co-operation given for the first time this year in my daughter's name.

I also get to work with the funniest, nuttiest kids around.  A child told me in their lesson this evening that their great nan had died and that she is going to donate her organs to her.  I was a bit confused until she told me that it was because she's the only musical one in the family.  I know it's not right to laugh when someone tells you a close relative has died but all musicians love a good organ joke.

Please remind me of this when I'm feeling stressed and irritable tomorrow morning.  I haven't eaten, haven't done all the paperwork I needed to do, will still be awake at 4am and am the mother to a teenage boy and a wife to a Long Suffering Husband, who thinks he is coming down with man-flu.

Mother's Day

Something you never see on Father's Day is men updating their Facebook status, "I feel so spoilt, so lucky for the bag of peanuts and box of nails the children bought me and the cup of tea in bed."  Maybe that's because they don't get those things and that Mother's Day is more celebrated than Father's Day but I suspect that Daddies don't have to be demure, they are allowed to demand a cup of tea in bed and a bag of peanuts from their children once a year.

Don't get me wrong I love my children and am grateful for their gifts, my daughter sent me the best Mother's Day Card I've ever seen, my son bought flowers, chocolate and a book token and I appreciate the effort the Long Suffering Husband went to when they were small to make sure that I felt special for one day. However, it does feel as though there is a double standard at play here.

This Mother's Day I am watching Made in Dagenham with my son.  I told him that it is every feminist's duty to make their sons watch this film, so they understand some history.  His shocked reply, "Are you a feminist?" was swiftly followed by, "Not one of those nutty ones though?"  I told him that I was one of those nutty ones, so he asked the definition of a feminist and when I told him that it was someone who wanted equality for men and women he said, "Well then I'm a feminist too!"  I am so proud of him.  The women of Ford Motor Company in 1968 were astoundingly brave and started something that all women should be grateful for but that is only the beginning of the story.  Without them there would have been no Equal Pay Act of 1970 but they didn't win equal pay for themselves.  Their work was still allowed to be classed as unskilled and therefore their renumeration be lower than for other semi-skilled workers.  If a man had joined the machinists then he couldn't be paid more but that was a slim victory and it took until 1984 and another strike until they were graded fairly and given working conditions that the men would consider working in.

Barbara Castle and the Dagenham Ford women workers

Yesterday morning a news programme was discussing a new book called Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg, who is an executive at Facebook.  The vitriol for this woman from other women was terrifying.  What had she done wrong?  Her book is due to be published in the States tomorrow and I was really surprised at the hatred of her when I read about some of her ideas.  She wants to push the glass ceiling, she wants women to be allowed to run companies, she wants equality.  She says, "I believe the world would be a better place if half the companies and half the countries were run by women and half the homes were run by men."  When she worked for Google she demanded priority parking for pregnant women (and got it!)  The women on the news programme were saying things like, "It's alright for her, with all her money and privilege."  Although, I will not be able to get a copy of the book for some time I did manage to find some really good reviews on the internet.  This link was particularly useful if you want to read more for yourself.

http://blogs.wsj.com/atwork/2013/03/08/lean-in-read-on-21-perspectives-on-sheryl-sandbergs-book/

It does worry me that women are damned, whatever choices they make.  If they choose not to have children they are hard, unfeeling, unnatural.  If they have children and no career they are wasting their education, intelligence, life.  If they try to do both, they are either neglecting their children or their work.  And it's often women who are making these judgements. One of the articles in the above link talks about a study where students were given a real life case study of a woman called Heidi, who became a successful venture capitalist by using her "outgoing personality and vast personal and professional network."  Half of the students were given the case study with Heidi's name changed to Howard.  They all agreed that Heidi and Howard were equally capable but they really didn't like Heidi.  A woman who is successful is unlikable.  Isn't that sad?

When I was listening to the BBC news programme I was struck by the description of how Sheryl Sandberg wasn't a workaholic of how she left work at 5.30 to spend time with her children.  Of course, she started working again as soon as they were in bed.  She also didn't get into the office until 8am.  Then they said that she could only do that because she was relying on everyone else.  Her personal assistant gets into the office at 4am.   

Am I the only person who thinks that nobody should be working that much?  No one should get to work at 4am.  If people need to work those kind of hours then the company needs to employ more people to do the job.  I wonder if this rise in work hours may be the fault of women trying to push their way to the top.  Sheryl Sandberg encourages women not to take their foot off the brake before they have children.  She tells them to push to get as high as they can before they have a family.  I felt guilty as I read this.  I didn't take all the opportunities that were available to climb the career ladder partly because I knew I wanted to have children.  Mind you, I also hated the jobs I had and wasn't interested in the career paths being offered.  The woman in LSH's office (and yes I believe she might be the only one) works longer hours than any of the male engineers.  I wonder if she feels as though she still has to be better or work harder than any of the men to make progress in her career and she might be right.

It is true that women are still penalised for having children.  They might have  very successful careers but taking time off to have children changes everything. I know women who have been made redundant when they became pregnant and although some won tribunals for unfair dismissal it certainly changed their career path.  Others were not brave enough to fight and some gained a reputation as a trouble maker.  I know other women who choose to return to work part-time or at a job with a lower salary and less pressure while their children are small, who find that when their children are old enough and they apply for jobs at their old level of responsibility  they are passed over for younger, cheaper or less female people.  It is always impossible to argue that they have been unfairly treated but, well we all know they have, don't we?  

What I like about Sheryl Sandberg is that she recognises that there are different women.  She suggests that women should become authentic at work.  They should cry at work if they need to and they should say what they think.  I agree with her.  Not every woman wants to run a country or a company.  

This could be a radical idea but maybe we should stop celebrating Mother's or Father's Day and make every day parent's day.  Maybe it's time to recognise that looking after your own children is a worthwhile and rewarding thing to do, that it should be taken into account by employers when interviewing women who would like to work again, post-childbirth.   Then maybe, there would be a better balance in the workplace.  Men would also feel they could take time to look after their children.  Wouldn't it be nice if there really was equality?

International Women's Day

Today's blog should be a tribute to International Women's Day but my mind is blank.  I have nothing enlightening to say on the subject of International Women.  Maybe it's  because it's Friday but all I want to do is watch New Tricks and play time-wasting games. I'm a sucker for a game of Mahjong on the computer and I love word games.  It makes my day if I can come up with a new word, or even better a rude word on Words with Friends.

The latest game is 4pics1word and I'm a bit confused about why some people are finding it so difficult that they have to post it on facebook to get help.  I'm not brilliant at anagrams but you get all the letters given to you and with a bit of patience and a pen and paper you can easily work them out.

Sometimes it takes several goes and occasionally you get to find a rude word or even a new word.

I love the feeling of being told I'm awesome, even if that makes me shallow but I do know it would feel like less of a compliment if it had been solved by my facebook friends

Mary Beard and the Emperors New Clothes

A little while ago a colleague told me that I reminded her of Mary Beard.  She said it was a compliment.  That I, like Mary, was passionate about my subject, that we had a similar speech pattern and that neither of us cared too much about our appearance. At the time Ms Beard's public profile was low.  She had taken part in 'Jamie's Dream School' and had just started her 'Meet the Romans' programme.  I hadn't seen any of the second programme but I thought she was inspiring as a Latin teacher and wanted to go and learn Latin immediately.  

It was a wonderful thing to be compared to such an inspiring teacher but for a long time the idea that it was obvious that I didn't care about my appearance started to bother me.  I wasn't sure that was how I wanted to be thought of and I kept thinking that if I was so lacking in personal care now then by the time I was an old lady I would be sitting in muddy pee stained trousers, with dirt under my fingernails and knotted hair.  So I decided that I would make more effort. People have noticed too, so I suppose I must have been really scruffy before.

After Mary Beard appeared on Question Time and received shed-loads of abuse about her appearance I felt slightly guilty for my resolution.  I don't think women should only appear on TV if they have beautifully coiffured hair, a face-lifted until they can no longer express any opinion non-verbally and be under 25.  Men appear looking old and haggard without make-up or hair dye so why can't women?  I thought about going back to my old scruffy ways but I had felt happier for being slightly better groomed.

I've never been very good at make-up.  At Christmas my Mum told my daughter that when I first started wearing make-up I looked like a clown and since then I've had little interest in learning how to do it properly.   Last week, my weekly ironing session while watching Jeremy Kyle overran and I accidentally found myself watching This Morning.  A make up artist was showing how you can look younger with make up.  She said that, "No woman over the age of 40 should leave the house without wearing primer.  It's like polyfiller for the skin and fills in all those fine lines and wrinkles."  I feel a bit stupid now, as I fell for this line like a fish after a juicy fat worm.  I bought myself a bottle of invisible liquid for over £5.

I like my wrinkles.  They say a lot about me and tell the story of my life.  My flute player lines might be ugly but they show the hours of practice.

I adore the lines around my eyes, they are happy lines; laughter lines and they are deep and well used.  I like to laugh and am thrilled that it is etched on my face.

I'm developing some new lines.  Teacher lines.  Wrinkles from using an eyebrow to control a noisy class and a set of worry lines.

On the bottle of the primer it said that it allowed you to wear no make up, that it would brighten your skin and make you look younger.  I put it on my face and couldn't see any difference.  Have I been sold a set of Emperor's new clothes?

I'm not sure I can see much difference (except for the fact that I'm smiling more in one picture than the other)

It seems that a smile and a love of life is the thing that makes the most difference.

The Myth of Musical Talent

I have just got home from a day of watching talented young musicians compete in a music competition at our local senior school. The standard was incredibly varied, from complete beginners to those who could play complicated pieces with their eyes shut.  There were singers, flautists, pianists, rock bands, drummers and almost every other instrument in between.  Judging these competitions is an almost impossible task because knowing who is the best is often down to personal preference and it can be really difficult to choose between instruments.  Sometimes the decision seems obvious, the next Lang Lang might be easy to spot
Lang Lang 74 seconds of virtuosity but would it be so easy to find the next Buddy Rich.Buddy Rich vs Animal ?

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about the beginning of musical talent. So many adults tell me that they are not musical, they can't sing, have no rhythm, had violin lessons for 2 years and were never good enough to play in the school orchestra.  Part of these stories always include a music teacher telling them that they couldn't sing, were lacking in talent and should give up, keep quiet or just mouth the words rather than actually sing in the choir.  These teachers sound like horrid individuals but they are not uncommon and they have a lot of support from normal people.(Not that I'm saying that all music teachers aren't normal people but those of you have met me will understand that many of us aren't!)  People will tell you that they think it was a good thing that this teacher saved the world from the untalented or unmusical individual.  I'm not sure that was the music teacher's job.  They were not a judge on a reality TV show but someone who was supposed to help every student reach their full potential. I wonder if the teacher would have the same support if they had told a dyslexic child to give up trying to read because they just weren't very good at it?

There is a myth that musical people are born with their talent and maybe some people have more natural ability than others but there is one thing that is common to all talented musicians that has nothing to do with their natural ability to keep a beat, distinguish pitch or produce a nice tone with their voice and that is work.  All musicians practise.  Sometimes for whole days at a time.  They play when they are sad, or happy, or hungry or angry.  They play because they walk past the piano or because they hear a piece of music they just have to try out.  They play because they want to. But they don't only play when they want to, they also play when they hate every moment of it, when nothing is going right and everything sounds horrid.

Music teachers are often under pressure to only work with the naturally talented individuals.  I am stunned whenever I hear of a primary school choir auditioning students.  Singing in tune is catching and there is no better way of teaching the child who appears to be tone deaf to sing in tune than to wedge them between two strong, tuneful singers. A few years ago, I took a primary school choir to sing for a combined church Christmas Carol concert and at the end one lady, from quite a stuffy adult choir took me to one side and said, "my dear, you have a growler in your choir, you need to get rid of them quickly.  One bad apple and all that..."  She couldn't have been more wrong.  That 'growler' is now a very good, tuneful singer.

I don't know why I'm surprised by this attitude about music because I was a child once and I remember it.  When I was in primary school we had a visit from some musicians from the local music school.  They said that if we were good at maths (and only if we were good at maths) we could audition to be considered for music lessons.  Our parents still had to pay for these lessons and buy our instruments, so they had already chosen the wealthier, more intelligent children.  Then at the audition I had to play my recorder; have an aural test to see if I could sing in tune and clap in time; have an interview to tell them why I wanted to play an instrument and tell them about the music I liked to listen to.  I was SEVEN!  I was terrified that I wouldn't get in and I remember my mum telling me that I could join the majorettes if I didn't pass the audition, which terrified me even more because I would have been a terrible majorette being the most uncoordinated person on the planet and I wanted to make the bird noises that I heard on the Tom and Jerry cartoons. My first term of flute lessons was with a teacher who told me I had the 'wrong shaped mouth' and that I should give up now because I would never be able to play the flute.  I didn't give up. I worked on it.

Every music teacher has had a bright pupil, with an interested supportive (slightly pushy) parent who has natural aural skills, who seems to have a natural ability to make a good noise with their instrument, who gives up the first time they come across something they have to work on.  I suspect that any brave music teacher (who hasn't first screened their pupils) has taught someone that they thought would never be any good; someone who couldn't make a nice noise; struggled to read music; couldn't count to 4 if their life depended upon it who one day just got it.  After the competition today, a few music teachers and the adjudicator and I were talking about this and the adjudicator said that he thought it was really important to encourage everyone because there maybe talent lurking behind immaturity or nerves.  He said that he had taught several people who looked like they'd never get it, who had a little break and then came back to it being brilliant. Another teacher said that sometimes changing the instrument the person plays can suddenly find a musical talent that seemed absent from their genetic make-up. Luckily, the people running and judging this competition agree with me and don't come from the school of thought that it is better to tell people to give up than to give them 'false hope'.

Maybe, I don't know this rule about crushing a child's confidence to make for better music because I am a fraud. Because I'm untrained I missed this essential part of a music teacher's training.  But my student's all did well today because they did the most important thing.  They turned up and played. They did the work and I am amazingly proud of them.

Satisfactory means 'Good Enough'

Boy, it's been a tough week.  Teaching is a tiring job, all teachers everywhere will agree but some days all I seem to do is play.  Friday was like that this week, it was full of fun, noise and laughter but I came home shattered with a pile of paperwork to do, a boot full of music stands and chime bars for a music competition on Sunday and a throbbing headache. Maybe I've just got too old too play.

In truth, it's probably the grown up stuff, that I'm not so good at that makes me tired.  Sometimes I feel like a complete fraud and wonder why perfectionism passed me by.

When reading baking books, I am often surprised by the level of perfectionism that seems to be asked for.  The oven has to be a particular temperature, the size or type of tin has to be just right, the ingredients have to be measured out perfectly.  I have never baked like that and it's usually edible.  I'm reading Ben Miller's book 'It's not Rocket Science" at the moment and he has a section about the chemistry of the Victoria Sandwich sponge.  According to him you have to weigh the eggs and make sure that you measure out the exact weight of the other ingredients and then there was a long explanations of the different types of cooking that happen at different temperatures and his conclusion was that you turned the oven down to 140 degrees c and cook it for longer (45 minutes).  I make sponge by doubling the the amount of ingredients to eggs in a very haphazard way.  If I've got 2 eggs I use 4 big spoons of flour and sugar and half a block of butter and I go for about 180 degrees and take it out when it's cooked.  Reading the book I was won over by the serious scientific argument.  I thought, "So, that's how to do it properly, I must have been doing it wrong all this time.  Fancy being so stupid that I thought I could ignore science and just bung a few ingredients together."  But the cake I made was disgusting and tasted eggy.

I blame the move from ounces and pounds to grams for the need for perfectionism in baking.  Digital scales measure to the nearest 1/4 of a gram (which is nothing) but because it's there in glorious scientific imagery people feel they must stick to it.  My mum said that she didn't really like Joanne Wheatley's new book because it's all the recipes are given in grams and that you can't see how much that is.  She's right.  Ounces are so much simpler.  One ounce of flour is a big spoonful, a block of butter is 8oz and a pinch of salt is a pinch of salt.

Today to obliterate the difficult week, I decided not to get dressed, to read, knit, blog, watch silly films and eat cheese scones warm from the oven and dripping in butter.  I'm sure there are complicated scone recipes but I've always thought scones were the easiest thing to make.  My slightly homesick daughter commented on my facebook status saying that she wished she was at home to eat cheese scones.  Mine only took about 20 minutes to make, which is only a small amount of time to take out of essay writing to cure homesickness.

A cheese scone recipe for those who think satisfactory is good enough.

Put 8 big spoons of self raising flour in a bowl (or use plain flour with a teaspoon of bicarb or baking powder) -
Add a pinch of salt, mustard powder, cayenne pepper, mixed herbs, chili powder or whatever you want to make it tasty.
Rub in a big dollop of butter, stork or other margarine using the tips of your fingers.
Grate in some cheese.  I like strong cheddar and the more the better but cheese is cheese.
Add a bit of milk and squish it all together with your hands (add more milk if you need to)
Roll out the dough to about the thickness of the first joint of your thumb
Cut out rounds using a cookie cutter or glass or cup.
Brush top with egg or milk (you can use your fingers if you don't have a pastry brush)
Bake in a hot oven (about 220 degrees) until cooked (between 10 and 15 minutes.)

Don't eat them too quickly unless you want indigestion.

My paperwork will remain in the boot of my car, my baking will continue to consist of bunging a few ingredients together and I will continue to be happy with satisfactory lesson observations because that means good enough and good enough is good enough for me. In fact I think I might start an anti-perfectionists club, does anyone want to join me?