“Just don’t give up trying to do what you really want to do.
Where there is love and inspiration, I don’t think you can go wrong.”
- Ella Fitzgerald.

I’ve always been good at giving up.  First came ballet and horseriding, then meat, and church and God.  At times I’ve given up trying, given up my self respect.  I never thought I’d give up something I’d worked so hard for.  Infact, I was adamant that I wouldn’t give up teaching with The Other-Half asked me to.  But, things change.

Many teachers manage to be wonderful mothers and wives, while still being wonderful at their job.  But I’ve waited so long to be a mother, that I want to give it everything I have.  We’re lucky enough to be able to afford for me to be a stay at home mum, and I believe being at home with my kids will be better for them than putting them in day care.  And so, after lots of discussion with the Other-Half, I’ve decided to give up teaching.  You see, there’s a proposal looming, followed by a swift wedding and plans to start a family straight away.  I don’t want to waste time studying for teaching qualifications, only to give up the job almost as soon as I’ve started.

And so, I’ve decided to continue with the next best thing, for the time being.  I’ve had various roles in various schools, but have recently been working as a teaching assistant in a school nursery, and the job I’ve just taken for September, when I would have been starting my teaching course, is doing the same role, but in a very different school.

‘Quitting’ my course has raised a few eyebrows.  I worked hard to get a place on the course, I was over the moon when I got one, and talked constantly about being fully qualified, having my own classroom, setting my own lessons.  The truth is, I know I’d have made a wonderful teacher.  But I don’t believe I’d have been the best mother I could be.  I have a lot of respect for working mothers, and I understand that to some women – their career is an important part of their life.  I’m not saying that women who work are bad mothers – some have to work, some want to.   But for me personally, I see no benefit in paying to put a child into daycare when you’re willing and able to afford to stay at home and care for them yourself.

The children I’ll be working with in September are in the 2% of children in the UK who are classed as the most deprived.  In other words, 98% of children in the UK are better off socially, emotionally and economically than the children I’ll be working with.  I visited the school before I took the job, and fell in love with the pre-schoolers that I’d be working with.  These kids have nothing, and are a world apart from the children I’m working with at the moment in a typically white-middle-class nursery school.  The role of staff in a nursery school is to firstly educate and secondly care for.  But in schools like the one I’ll be working in, the children are mentally younger, and require more care than education.  That is, these kids need cuddles and reassurance, not counting rhymes and art equipment.  The benefit of being the teaching assistant rather than the teacher, is that you’re able to spend more time getting to know the children and less time worrying about teaching and assessing them.  My mental stability has been questioned by friends for taking a job that will undoubtedly take it’s toll on me emotionally.  But if you’d met these kids, you’d understand.

Do I regret withdrawing from my course to be a mother, before I am one?

No, because I’d give up the world to be a mum.  And before I am one, I’ll do everything I can to be fill the gaps in the lives of  the kids I’ve met who either have no mother, or would be better off without the one they have.

I haven’t been this excited since my Mum bought me a Cindy doll in 1988.

Maurice Sendak’s Where The Wild Things Are is my favourite book of all time.  My Granddad bought me it when I was five years old, and a few months later I had listened to the story so many times that I could retell it word for word.  I made boats out of cardboard boxes and bed sheets, and pretended to sail away to the land in the story.

The book tells a tale of a little boy called Max, who’s mother calls him a Wild Thing.  His bedroom turns into a jungle, and he sails away across the sea to the Land of the Wild Things.  The Wild Things make him their king, but he misses home and sails back to his mother, where his supper is waiting for him.

Every class of children I’ve had have been told this story.  We’ve talked about our own families and about whether we’d like to go and visit the Land of the Wild Things.  Then we’ve made boats out of cardboard boxes and bed sheets, and ‘rowed’ across the ’sea’ to the other edge of the classroom, where vines hang and children in masks pretend to be Wild.

Needless to say, most of the children I’ve taught have grown to love this book as much as I have.  And I can’t express how excited I am about the movie.  Not because I think it will be better than the book, but because it will open the minds of children (and grown-ups) who don’t yet know the story.

The movie is out in October this year.  Do me a favour, and try watch it through the eyes of a child.  You never know, you might learn something about yourself.

Click here to view the movie trailer.

I am a quarter of a century old today.
(And coincidentally, this is also my blog’s 100th post)

I have done nothing I had planned to do before I hit this milestone.
And I am nowhere near.

I have done little I am proud of, and little that I regret.
My mistakes make me who I am, and my achievements are few and far between.

I am not a mother.
I am a substitute – a teacher.
Someone who borrows your children until 3.15pm, just to feel a little bit of their joy.

I am not a wife.
I am a dirty little secret.
Someone who is not quite good enough to risk a family for.

I am not myself.
I am treading water.
Someone who only knows the path home.

I am 25.  I have a whole lifetime ahead of me.
And it doesn’t feel like enough time.

The school I work in has started introducing The Creative Curriculum.  To cut a long story short, let me explain..

The Creative Curriculum is a thematic approach to learning and teaching, designed to support children’s natural curiosity and stimulative their creative abilities.  It puts a high value on direct experience and the learning experiences that the local community of the school can offer.  This allows for learning in meaningful contexts – no more learning about obscure places and events that children can not relate to real-life.  Hurrah!

For our kids, this means one thing – learning is going to be fun.  For teachers?  It means that initially, planning is going to be a bitch.  But in the long term, children are going to enjoy a meaningful learning experience that teachers actually enjoy teaching.

For someone like me, on the brink of going into teaching (by which I mean, after a year of being paid peanuts, and another year of studying, I’ll finally be there), this is all pretty exciting.  I remember being back at school, and constantly wondering why we were learning about things we would never use after we left school.  I remember sitting exam after exam, based on abstract concepts, knowing full well that I would erase the knowledge I’d learnt the second I stepped out of the exam.  Back then, graduating primary school, middle school and high school could all be related to passing a driving test…  Driving lessons didn’t teach you to drive, they taught you to pass a test, and you learnt how to drive afterwards.  School didn’t teach you how to live, it taught you how to graduate, and you learnt how to live after you’d left.

In the words of Vampire Weekend – who gives a fuck about the Oxford comma?
Or to put it another way, why teach children things just so they can pass exams?  We should be teaching them how to learn, giving them the skills to go and learn about the things that interest them.  Aside from basic numeracy and literacy, who gives a fuck about ancient history and algebra?  I certainly don’t, and I can honestly say – with a full set of qualifications, I couldn’t do algebra if someone held a gun to my head, and I couldn’t tell you one single thing about the ancient Greeks.

I fully support The Creative Curriculum, and think although it may have it’s flaws, it’s a wonderful idea.  I’ve seen the beginnings of it implemented, and the change in attitude from both teachers and kids has been wonderful.  Learning should never be a chore, it should be an interesting, exciting experience that leaves you wanting more.  The CC is the first of what I hope to be many steps to ensure learning is a positive and relevant experience, and I think it’s fab.

If you haven’t already heard of The Creative Curriculum, or you’re interested in how your school might implement it – click here.

It’s been nearly three months since I posted anything on here!  I don’t know where the time went :-\

I’ve been working far too hard, I’ve been promoted, and I’ve been accepted onto a post graduate teaching course.  I’ve (unfortunately) been promoted to Head Bridesmaid for the nightmare wedding of the year ™ – due to the other lucky bitch opting out last minute.

Other than that?  Nada.  Nothing to report – not a sausage.

Now, aren’t you glad I took the time to post this informative, interesting update of my incredibly exciting life? :-)

xxx

Have The T-Shirt’s recent post has inspired me!  With the dismal cloud of Christmas looming over us, I’m going to follow in her footsteps, and make a list for Santa!

This isn’t a list of presents I’m going to buy other people, nor is it a list of presents I’d like.  It’s a list of (mostly unrealistic!! things I would love to have for Christmas (if I had a magic lamp, and a totally hot genie)..

- I’d like a dressing room.  Yes, an actual room.  A whole, enormous room dedicated mostly to shoes.

- I’d like a disgustingly enviable collection of shoes, of which at least 60% should be made by Jimmy Choo or Gina.

- Obviously, I’d need a bigger house in which to accommodate my enormous shoe collection.

- I’d like two Shar Pei puppies, who would absolutely, definitely, not eat/bite/annoy my little bundle of fluff (that would be my erm, cat.)

- It would be wonderful to not be allergic to my little bundle of fluff, whom I love dearly, but brings me out in a bugger of a rash.

- I want an extra button in my car, which, when pressed – emits a deafening voice that says “Stop driving up my ass, you incompetent dickhead.”

- Oh, and another button which (somehow) bitch-slaps any incompetent dickheads (particularly those driving 4×4s, who seem to think they can railroad my car off the frigging road..)

- Screw it, I’d like a super fast, super speedy, kick-ass, midlife-crisis car.  I don’t know what kind…  A sexy, dirty-hot one! :)

- I’d like to actually want to give up smoking, let alone have the willpower to do it.

- I’d like to just be qualified to teach, now, without having to actually train to do it (obviously all the knowledge would be stored somewhere in my brain, without me having to learn it).

- I don’t ever want to see a child suffer.  I want all the children I teach to come to school in warm, clean clothes, after a good nights sleep and a proper breakfast. I want to see parents who actually give a shit.

- I want my own childcare business, with wonderful staff, and plenty of money behind it.

- And a great big stack of cash.

- I’d like the finances, and the guts, to travel the world.

- I’d like to put my old boss out of business, and be able to laugh a great big “fuck you, lady.” right in her face. :X (Yes, I realise that makes me a massive bitch, but she totally deserves it.)

- I’d like my best friend to just not make a massive mistake, and to either get married and have it work out, or not get married and be ok with that.  Either way would be quite satisfactory, thank you!  Oh, and if he has to get married, could I please not look like a total dickhead in my bridesmaid dress? Pleeeease?

- I’d like the prospective-mother-in-law to not be such a racist assbag.  Or, if that’s slightly impossible, to just come with a mute button, so I can stop her mouth making so much pointless noise all the time.

- I’d like to have a steamy, kinky threesome with Alan Rickman and Mel Gibson (I’m aware he’s an ass, but my God, I would totally violate that man).

- I want to no longer be reliant on medication, for anything at all – to be healthy, without help.

- I want to live in France, with a vineyard at the end of my garden, and a filthy-hot gardener with a tight little bum and some polished abs, to erm.. garden?

- I want a baby.  And for the other-half to actually want a baby. Now. Or at least in the next year or so..

- I would love multiple orgasms. On a daily, is not half-daily basis.

- I’d like someone to say ‘Thank you’ for working so hard to make a difference to childrens lives.

- I want gambling to just disappear completely.  It ruins too many lives.

- I want an apology from a whole host of people, and forgiveness from a whole host more.

- I want fifteen minutes with my Granddad, to tell him how much I love him, and to ask him if he thinks I’m doing the right thing.

- I want a Happy Christmas, this year, just once.  No tears, no arguments, no stress, no fuss.

The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other.
- Burton Hillis.

- Oh, and I want a totally hot, six foot tall Santa to appear on my doorsteps on Christmas Eve, so I can sit on his lap and tell him what I really want for Christmas. ;-)
(That’s such a sordid fantasy, I know, haha).

What’s on your list?

Visit Have The T-Shirt – you’ll love her as much as I do (I promise!).

It’s easy to make a buck. It’s a lot tougher to make a difference. ~Tom Brokaw

The other-half had become quite accustomed to me not working. He came home from work to find his dinner on the table, his lunch packed up for work the next day. His washing and ironing was done and put away, the house was always spotlessly clean, the fridge was always stocked. In short – he had little to do except go to work, earn some money, and come home.

He explained that he couldn’t understand why I wanted to go and work as a Teaching Assistant, earning an appauling wage for dealing with the kids that no one else wants to deal with. He couldn’t understand why I wanted to go back to University eventually, and train to be a teacher. He couldn’t understand why I loved nothing more than working with children who had severe behavioural problems or special educational needs.

The bottom line was, he just didn’t understand.

He made various efforts to persuade me not to go back to work.

We don’t need the money.
You don’t need the stress.
I like you being at home.
We can have kids of our own, you don’t need to work with other peoples’..

Now, I’m stubborn at the best of times, and this was one thing I wouldn’t budge on.

I had been the ‘breadwinner’ long before he had. While he was still a student, I bought a house, ran a car, and paid for most things that we shared. When I decided to give up a well paid and successful job, to try get into teaching, he was very supportive, and moved in with me, on the condition that I would let him pay for everything except my own expenses (car, phone, etc). It was incredibly kind, and gave me the opportunity to do a job I could have never afforded to do otherwise. That said, I found it very difficult to suddenly go from being able to pay for everything myself, to relying on someone else to give me money to even go do the grocery shopping.

There are two reasons why I will be going back to work.

The first, is that I will be on a piss poor wage for a few years until I’m qualified, but a tiny wage is better than no wage, and I can’t justify relying on someone else for everything.

The second, and arguably the most important reason, is that I love my job. Since the first day I spent surrounded by kids instead of men in stuffy business suits, I have known that teaching will make me feel complete, as corny as that sounds. I look forward to going to work, and in my experience, that’s a rare blessing. I’ve worked with kids who spoke no English, I’ve worked with kids who have been violent, who have been unable to sit still or to respond in the same way as other children their age. I’ve worked with children with special needs, I’ve worked with kids who know far more than I ever did at their age. And in them all, in every single one of them, I saw something that made me smile. Even in the kids who teachers dreaded having in their classroom, the kids who spat at staff, the kids who beat the crap out of their classmates. I’ve found that if you can find a way to inspire any child, you can find a way to get through to them, and you can see whatever it is about them that’s wonderful, no matter how deep it may be buried.

When I worked in a nursery school, I worked closely with a little boy who had severe behavioural problems. When I left that job, he hugged me and said

“I have lots of friends now because you showed me how to be nice. You’re really nice and everyone likes you, Miss, so I’m going to try extra hard, all the time, to be really nice so that you and Mummy are very proud of me.”

It took every inch of strength I had, not to burst into tears.

The very nature of working with children, is that you give and give, and some might argue – get nothing in return. But in my experience, I do give and give, to the extend that it’s exhausting sometimes, but I get so much in return that it’s worth every second of underpaid, overworked, time.

I recently got a position working with children who are slightly older than what I would have chosen. I miss being with the little ones, but I still love my job. And the Other-Half’s tea isn’t always on the table, the house isn’t spotless, and we often have to do an emergency grocery shop because I haven’t had time to go. But, I’m happy. And so, he’s concluded that it doesn’t really matter about all those other things, as long as I’m happy.

I’m well aware that I, along with every other educational professional, should be paid triple what I actually get paid. I’m well aware that there’s a lot of people who wouldn’t even consider working with children, let alone working with the ones that struggle to behave well.

But I’ve yet to find anything that gives me the same satisfaction that working with children does. It’s often a hard, thankless job. But I feel privileged to know the children that I do. I feel privileged to share their secrets, smiles and sadness.

And I wouldn’t give up my career for all the tea in China.

I can’t believe it’s September already.. This year has flown by..

If you’re celebrating the start of Ramadan today – may you have a blessed Ramadan Mubarak.

If you’re not, keep this quote from the Qur’an in mind anyway..

“A good word is like a good tree whose root is firmly fixed and whose top is in the sky.”

Remember, a few kind words go a long way. Tell someone you believe in them, and their limits will be endless.

Mighty Oaks From Little Acorns Grow.

This site contains a (strangely, horizontal..) list of polaroid pictures of real people, each with a caption that states what that person would like to do before they die.

Here are some of my favourites polaroids from the site..

What do you want to do before you die?

My answer is below. :-)

There’s a child in my class who very clearly has behavioural problems. He bites, kicks and pushes the other children, and sticks his tongue out at adults when they speak to him. His mother seems to think this is all perfectly normal behaviour, replying with “Oh, haha, boys will be boys!” whenever anyone mentions her son’s behaviour.

He spat at another child today, who came running to me in tears. I called the child who spat over to me, and he immediately screamed and started smacking me as hard as he could. I removed him from the group, and calmly explained that this was not acceptable behaviour, and that he should apologise for spitting at the other child, and for smacking me. Cue long explanation of why we do not spit, and why it is important to say we are sorry when we have done something wrong.. Yada yada yada.

The kid then turns to me, and at full volume screams

“I will spit if I want!”

I said, no, we do not spit, it is dirty and not how good children behave. And then it came.. Full pelt,

“I WILL SPIT IF I WANT, I WILL KICK YOUR ASS!!”

Then, he LAUGHED, right in my face!

Firstly, what the fuck? Did I fall out of England straight into USA? Who says ASS?
Secondly, that kid’s mother needs to learn how to parent her little shit of a son. This isn’t a little boy being a boistrous little boy. This is a child with behavioural issues that will severe unless his retarded bitch of a mother takes some responsibility for showing him right from wrong.

The child is a nightmare. There’s absolutely no reasoning with him. But every now and again, you can see a perfectly happy and calm child in him (deep, deep inside.. Somewhere.. Maybe..).

He spent the remainder of the afternoon throwing a full scale tantrum (which was ignored) because he’d been told off for spitting at a child, for using ‘rude words’ and for shouting at a grown up.

And when I told his ‘mother’ (and I use that term loosely.. Just because she gave birth, it doesn’t make her a mother figure..), she smiled and said, “Oh, he’ll have got that from The Simpsons.”

Then, she handed him some sweeties and took him home, as though his behaviour was perfectly acceptable – leaving me open mouthed..

I’d love to kick her ass, irresponsible bitch.

It amuses me really, that the government have forbidden any body of education (schools, nurseries, etc) to (supposedly) ‘label’ children. We can’t use words like, “naughty” or phrases like, “I am cross with you” or “That is bad behaviour”. Instead, we have to say “I am very sad with you”, and “That behaviour is not good”.

There’s too much concern over how to ‘coax’ children into good behaviour through positive sentences and removing priviledges rather than giving punishments. Parents can’t even lightly smack their children, they are frowned upon for raising their voices and using non-positive verbal messages (for example, “You are being naughty” should apparently be phrased as “Please can you show me good behaviour”). And what do we end up with? A bunch of kids who are not afraid to misbehave, who do not even have an incentive to behave well. And a bunch of parents who are afraid to parent their children properly.

When I was preschool age, I wouldn’t have dared to misbehave like that. Why? Because I’d have been given a good old fashioned smacking, told I was a very naughty girl, and then been sent straight to bed.

In my opinion, what this child needs (and what most children need), is some clear discipline. Going to bed without pudding, having his toys taken away, and a very cross voice to tell him that he is being very naughty indeed. He needs an incentive to be good, and something to deter him from behaving badly. Oh, and a mother who isn’t a total dipshit would be preferable too.