Thursday, 21 May 2009

School's Going OK

School seems to be going OK. There's been a bit of bullying (about toilet breaks-- some folk just get into teaching for the wrong reasons) but that was to be expected. Some of the kids have pecking order issues as well.

The school are being super reasonable about flexi-schooling, as long as we are willing to pick him up. there is way less home-work than expected.

I still don't know what to do with myself when I get home to an empty house.

Saturday, 28 March 2009

M's birthday

So 15 years ago today I was having my first night home with M.
I know that the night before the moon was full, and I watched it cross the sky for most of the night, knowing that they planned to induce me. I had a not very nice time in the hospital, I tried to back out of being induced ( i thought I was in to have my waters broken but it was a prostin pessary) and was bullied into it by the doctor, whom I'd never seen before, who said I would have to go home if I didn't agree to it. I thought he meant right away. It was 6 am, I had no transport and hadn't slept all night.
A nurse on the way to the labour ward, stopped the lift between floors and hissed into my face

" get a grip of yourself woman, if you're in this state now what will you be like when it gets bad."
I remember thinking " oh my god, what will I be like when it gets bad?"
20 minutes later I was holding my baby. It was already bloody bad.

It was a fast painful labour for both of us. M got stuck by his elbow because he had his fist pressed against his cheek. For months he did that whenever he was distressed.
I discharged myself that night. I never did complain. I wish I had. It might have stopped some other person being bullied.

Today we took him clay pigeon shooting for the first time.

Saturday, 14 March 2009

End of home education

We've sent the letter requsting a school place. like it or lump it but I'll soon no longer be a home educating mum. I'm not sure whether this move is the right one, but its not my decision any more.

I have loved educating the boys at home. It has been great fun and I'd recommend it to any one.
Children learn. It's what they do. They learn what they need to accomplish whatever their current goals are. And when they are ready to move on they let you know.

I'll miss the camps, the picnics in the rain, the "not back to school" picnic at Spitchwick, taking holidays whenever we feel like it instead of having term time. The actual business of being there to help answer queries and find resources etc will still go on, so I'll still be home educating on that level.

Leaves me feeling a bit jobless.

Wednesday, 25 February 2009

why mourning for pennyroyal?

Sometimes when I can't sleep, or i'm distressed, I write. It's a kind of cheap therapy thing for me I suppose. It's a sporadic habit. Sometimes I write reams of stuff, filling up notebooks, othertimes just a few lines or a poetry scrap.....and then months and months of no writing

I don't keep too much of it--it's often embarrassingly whiney -- so when I come across something i wrote a while ago, I bin it, think something along the lines of " What was I like " and vow that I'm too grown up to do the whingey,angsty diary thing again.

Sometimes though, very occasionally, something i find something I wrote (usually long ago) that seems surprising or insightful, or in some way valuable enough to keep. Those things go back into whatever drawer or box they came from for me to find again another time.

Anyway Mourning for Pennyroyal was a piece of writing from a few years back. I don't know if it was a keeper or not. I know the subject was land loss. Loss of the land the community composting scheme was on, loss of the kids basketball court, loss of another piece of land that used to have a pennyroyal patch.

So maybe even it was an embarrassingly whingey bit, it was serving a purpose. Mourning for the pennyroyal, bitching for the basketball court, documenting the amount of heathland lost under industrial units. Little losses of community and wildish land.

So this is the whingey, angsty diary bit.