Letter I Would Like To Send

Lady, your lovely kid is a creature of relationship and habit. With all his challenges, he works best when he allows relationship to break down his walls and his fears. Over the past 18 months there has been a discontinuity of relationship: from my sessions to reading recovery; a new year group; two new teachers and the changes around hearing aids;  and back to sessions with me. And right now, when he is settled and there is continuity; right now when he is beginning to see gains, you want to move him.?!?!!

Why? Because we don't use the Listening Program? Because you don't see his progress????? He is making those small steps, which will turn into giant strides as he sees his own progress. He is happy in his relationships with teacher and support teacher.... And now you are about to undo all that?????

I am so angry with you. Apart from sending him to professionals, what are YOU doing to support his learning????

You didn't even come in to discuss it with us.

Tales From The Chalkface

As my figure, identity and sense of humour spiral down the toilet of middle age, I can at least report a few  LOL moments from school of late.

The first one concerns some plates.

On a chilly Friday morning, having been absent from my place for work for approximately 24 hours (yes, I do have a day off....theoretically), I was greeted by an extremely anxious older teacher with the news that I was supposed to be doing a play reading with her at lunchtime.

Now usually, I have a fair idea of what I am expected to be doing on any given day at any time so this came at me from left field. I rapidly rifled through the card catalogue of my mind (hat tip to Megan) and  wondered if she was going the way of all 'oldies' and basically forgetting what she had been told?  There are, after all, a number of people with the same   or similar names to mine in our workplace; surely she had the wrong person? And yet, at the back of my mind I knew this was an appropriate question to ask me. My very, good friend, the Drama Teacher, has worked with me before in a semi professional capacity so I knew it was the kind of thing she might ask me to do. But surely she would have asked me in advance?

Deciding that it was a case of mistaken identity, I left the confused older teacher and headed back to my room to start the day. However, as Drama Teacher stuck her sheepish and giggling head around my door jamb, I knew there had been no misunderstanding.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you," she laughed at my confusion, "I forgot you weren't in yesterday..."

So, exactly what did this 'reading' require?  I wondered.
Drama Teacher filled me in. Two of her Year 12s were stuck on a scene for their upcoming production. Her answer was to give them some other people to 'look at' doing the scene. Curly and I were the appointed two. Sheesh! No pressure then!!

My biggest problem was that I was scheduled to see WildBoy for his weekly 1:1 slot at roughly the same time. As he has been doing really well lately, I decided that I could reasonably invite him along as the 'audience'. I was pretty sure he would be excited by the privilege. Friday morning saw Wild Boy and I heading down to the drama centre to do the play reading. He was pumped! The idea of someone like a teacher playing the part of...anything...was hilarious! He chuckled non-stop all the way to the performance space.

The year 12 students were delightful. They gave us scripts and explained that they were going to do the scene for us first. It seemed they were 'blocked' and needed some alternate input. (That would be us!)

As I watched the scene unfold I was consumed once more by my natural sense of belonging in theatre. It has been 6 years since my tiny feet last 'tread the boards' but I buzzed with the frisant of participation and wholeheartedly embraced the nuances of character. (Why am I not doing this as a job???)

The best bit was that the scene involved breaking plates. The older, uptight character admits to the younger girl that she keeps her sanity by breaking things. She demonstrates this with plates. Younger girl initially indulges the older woman's habits and then joins in ! Drama Teacher said to me as  I mimed my heart out. "Oh, no...we want you to actually break the plate. We'd love to see how you do it...."

I glanced out into the audience as Wild Boy sat back watching me smash a plate to smithereens. The grin stretched his face from ear to ear. But there was no malevolence, no desire to join in; he rolled in the aisles at my silliness. He appreciated the humour. He talked to me about it non-stop as we walked back to the classroom!

"Oh Mrs A, hahahahah, *smash* flip, it went right up in the air!"

I smiled to myself as I imagined the conversation at the Wild Boy dinner table that night: Hey everyone! Guess what Mrs A did today in my lesson? She SMASHED A PLATE!!!!!


More later

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52 Weeks of Me: Work

 Well I am about a week behind with my 52 Weeks of Me Challenge. I started a post about work late last Friday night but it was Tuesday before I checked on the theme for the picture I should have uploaded on Saturday! As a happy result of my snowballing lifestyle, I can now put both of these incomplete posts together and bring you a real run-down on work, as I experience it!

That lunatic grin above probably resulted from the fact that I had just succeeded in catching a child who had done a runner from his classroom. Note the high flush in my heavily crevassed cheeks and the manic glint of triumph in my eye? I gotta tell you, for a 51 year old I ran like the clappers! In fact, I haven't sprinted like that since the time I tried to play rounders at school in the UK when the BA was still only about a year old. That ended badly. Recent childbirth and the attendant strain on various parts of the female anatomy do not partner well with a flat-chat sprint, a shock to one who had often represented her House at sprinting. Since then I've confined myself to gentle jogs on the treadmill and omitted jumping jacks from my workout regime.

But I digress! There's nothing like the thrill of the chase and the rush of the capture to brighten a girl's day. So, how did it happen? Well, it was like this.........

There I was, standing in the classroom as Extremely Tiny but Extremely Disturbed Boy (henceforth known as ETBED Boy) shot purposefully towards the doorway. I had thoughtfully suggested to his teacher that she lock the door as she left but had foolishly forgotten that (for OHS purposes) the bloody door opened from the inside. This fact had not escaped ETBED boy, who made a purposeful break for the exit about 2 minutes into his recess detention.
(Do not ask about why he had a recess detention. The whole thing is too hideous to repeat but involves a lot of 'I WON'T AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!!)
Knowing that I was at a make or break moment with the child and that I desperately needed to win the powerplay, I set off after him with the determination of a teacher who needs to make a point. As I barreled out  into the wet area I was a good 6 metres behind him but I pumped my arms and, doing my best impression of Cathy Freeman, I found myself gaining on him. As we shot through the side entrance door into a narrow race formed by the playground fence I was almost upon him; but knew I had to get him before we reached the open space of the playground. We skidded around the corner like  Coyote and the Roadrunner and, lunging forward, I brushed the collar of his shirt with my outstretched fingers. They closed on thin air! Fortunately, he felt me hot on his heels and changed tack. He stopped abruptly and latched himself onto the fence with a face that said 'I shall not be moved'.

I practically fell over him, so quick was his strategy change! Breathing heavily and trying to sound light hearted, I prised his fingers off the fence and carted him back to the classroom to serve the rest of his 'sentence'.

It all worked out ok in the end but boy oh boy could I feel my calf muscles for the rest of the day!!


Never a dull moment.

Brave New World Meets 1984

Today was school photo day. I love school photos because they track growth and development against an identical back ground in identical light. All change is beautifully described with none of the additional distraction of scenery, pets or family.

On second thoughts, I hate school photos.

Despite my reluctance to watch my visage wither before the camera, we get our photos free as teachers and it is always nice to have the whole staff photo with pics and names laid before you which, in the future, will help you answer the endless questions posed at dinner parties: "who was that skinny neurotic year 6 teacher who thought differentiation meant giving them 3 questions instead of 10? You know, the one who got pissed at the staff dinner and got off with the Reception teacher in the toilet at the restaurant." Of such things are memories made. Or not. Depending upon your own levels of inebriation.

So it was, with vanity aforethought, that I recently booked my cut and colour in time for the annual school photo fest. After all, much planning is required: up early enough to do ones make up without glasses; blowdry and apply product; find appropriate clothing. I felt, after all these years, that I had the whole thing under control so it was with surprise that I opened an email,  mere days before this standout event, which stated that we were required to wear blue....and nothing too bright mind you! And if we didn't do blue we had to come up with something neutral and, for God's sake, hold the pattern!!!

Now, my first response on reading this, was to glance over my shoulder to see if any security cameras were watching the way I chewed my nails when no one was around. I mean! Dictating the way we dressed for photos? Outrageous!! Big Brother is watching!!

So, what did I do this morning as I dressed for the all important annual photo shoot? Did I haul out the fuschia as suggested by an old school chum? Did I lift my metaphorical middle finger and stride proudly in wearing a pair of scarlet jodhpurs and hippy patterned cheesecloth shirt?

No.

I am so pathetic nowadays. Twenty years ago I would have challenged the edict. In fact 25 years ago I did! Given the direction to wear a white or cream dress under my graduation robe, this is what I chose.
It is a measure of how far I have come in my journey that I chose a navy shirt and a neutral, calico skirt this morning. I meant to wear a rust coloured skirt with the navy shirt but,* gasp*, that would have contravened dress regulations! So, with very little left to prove, I toed the line. *sigh*

On arriving at the hall this morning however, I wished I had gone with my gut. Everyone was whinging! Most of us felt it was a huge imposition on personal liberties to insist that everyone dressed in a similar fashion/colour. There were oohs and aahs as people who danced close to the edge arrived. "Hey! That COULD be construed as green you know!!"

Of course everyone knew who to look for when it came to bucking the system. One was away. The other sported an attractive watermelon coloured T shirt. One of the fellows argued that he had bucked the system,  but we were not 'paying' a pink tie when the rest of his ensemble included a blue shirt and trousers underneath!!!

Then there was the fellow who turned up in a wild orange shirt. "Hello," noted Office Lady,"someone missed the email!!" Interesting that she didn't believe he was deliberately flaunting the dress code. I guess he just isn't that kind of guy.

As for me, I guess I have to admit my rebellious spirit lies quiet now. Except that it doesn't really. When that one wild, crazy lady waltzed in wearing tangerine I wished it had been me.

After all, what were they going to do? Make us sit out of the photo?

It will be interesting to see how many fold before the corporate will next year!

 picture credit

A Brush With Fame

Part way through February my new school had its annual Staff Dedication Service and threw in an opening of the new facilities built with 'Julia money', for good measure.

The Dedication Service is a casual affair followed by a picnic/bbq most years and our Principal dresses for the occasion (below right), but this service was different. Who has spotted the tall, imposing figure in the crowd there?


Yes! It's our Federal Education Minister, the Honourable Peter Garrett!!

Now, for my American and UK friends who aren't in the know, I will provide a little additional information. View either of these instructive videos below to see the calibre of politicians we have making decisions in our country.







To be fair, no one said you had to be able to dance to be a politician, but I think for many of us, PG has not lived up to his early 'power and passion'. Having spent a good deal of his adult life making strident music about the hypocrisy and inaction of politicians, he has blundered his way through his first years in office like a first year Law student at the annual pub crawl. We all had such high hopes when we heard he was going into Federal politics; but let's face it, if you jump into the sewer you can't be surprised when you end up just as dirty as the next guy.

Having said all that, who was the groupie sitting in the second row snapping pictures?? Yes, it was this hypocrite here. Mea culpa.


His speech was not bad, apart from the frequent, and I mean frequent, references to exactly HOW much the government had spent here at our 'excellent' school; and afterwards, when he was given a tour of the facilities he was generous with his time and interactions, stopping to talk to each staff member responsible for one of the new areas. Our Principal was most impressed.

And no, even though we'd all threatened to do it at staff meeting, no one burst out with
"The time has come!
To say fair's fair!"
But I really would have liked a flim montage afterwards of all the parents in the audience singing their favourite line from an Oils song! That would have been very funny.

"Mrs A Has To Teach You"*

I wish I could show you a real photo of 'my' little autistic boy here. He has golden hair, blue eyes and the smile of an angel. He is 6 years old. I shall call him Henry.

"Henry? That's my name! You're Henry."
I hear a cheerful little voice call from the other side of a group of children. Henry is sitting with his lunchbox in his lap. A large 'H' adorns the top of his hat to ensure he stands out from all the other little blonde haired, blue eyed boys with school uniforms and hats on the playground. As I watch he finishes his fruit, slaps the lid back on his box and scrambles awkwardly to his feet.
"You have to put your lunch box in your bag. Put your lunch box in your bag!", he chirrups to no one in particular as the mile wide smile never leaves his face.
I try, unsuccessfully, to catch his eye.

"Hi Henry, it's time to come with me now to do some work in my room."
"You have to play on the playground at lunchtime," his smile wavers fractionally and he pushes past me towards the playground. I am a blip in the smooth sailing of his routine.
"You can play on the playground later Henry. It's time to come with me now. Good boy."
He hesitates slightly then back tracks and takes my hand. He never lifts his eyes to my face.
"We have to do some work in the Rainbow Room," he sings as he follows me meekly to my room.

On the way we pass some large, orange traffic cone shapes, cut out and laminated and stuck to a range of places such as the front gate and the top of the stairs.
"What do these cones mean Henry?" I ask him as we walk up the stairs.
"You're not allowed to go past the cone. Can't go past the cone," he chants.
"That's right," I chant back, "you can't go past the cone without a safe adult."
"Got to has a grown up." he sings quietly to himself, reinforcing and reminding himself of the rules.

In the Rainbow Room we read a social story together.
As he catches sight of his own picture on the cover his face lights up again.
"That's Henry. Let's read about Henry. That's Henry"
He clambers over me enthusiastically to get to the book and all but sits in my lap. Surprisingly he reads accurately,
"This is Henry. This is Henry's school. School is a safe place to learn. School is a safe place to play."
He examines each photo (taken that day with the digital camera) and comments to no one in particular, maybe me, who knows?
"That's the school. That's Henry. That's the playground."
We come to the crux of the matter.
I read.
"Henry is safe at school. Henry never leaves the school grounds. Here is the front gate. Henry never goes through the front gate without a safe adult. Here is the gate near the oval. Henry never goes though the gate near the oval without a safe adult. Here is the gate near the bus. Henry never goes through the gate near the bus without a safe adult."
Henry quietly joins in the chant "...never goes through the gate..."
We reach the end of the story:
"Henry stays on the school grounds at all times. Henry is a good boy."
he closes the book and looks around the room.
"Do you want to read it again?" I ask optimistically.
His answer is unequivocal.
"No."
He looks to find the blue IKEA egg chair and dashes towards it.
"Henry goes in the crocodile's mouth." he says matter of factly, and pulls down the shutter.
I guess he got the message.

Later in the week Henry was playing with the doll's house in the Rainbow Room. He picked up the dolls and placed them in their bunk beds.
"Got to go to bed. Got to go to sleep," his cheerful commentary burbled like the chatter of a creek over stones. He picked up the beautifully crafted wooden grandfather clock and began to shake it vigorously.
"Time to get up. Time to get up!" he lifted the unwilling dolls from their beds and pronounced enthusiastically, "Turn that thing OFF!!"

My two colleagues and I had to smother our laughter. We wonder where he hears these 'soundbytes'.

Later that day I see him standing silently on one leg with his arms outstretched.
"Wow!" I say," that's clever Henry," and mirror his action. He shouts something unintelligible at me; although I know it has purpose, I am unskilled in the interpretation.
"What's that Henry?" I query, looking desperately for visual cues. He calls out again.
I notice that he seems to have shoelaces wrapped up around his grounded ankle. My colleague spots the problem first.
"Henry, are you caught up in my jacket?"
She is right. Playing on the floor near her desk, he has managed to tangle his foot in the pre-tied drawstring of her jacket, hanging over the chairback. I move quickly to disentangle him and he calls out his command again. This time I hear.
"GET THE JAWS OF LIFE!" he sings majestically.

It is all we can do not to cry laughing.

I love my new job.

PS:* In the library last week I heard him muttering to himself as he wandered up and down the shelves of books. I had been shadowing him and had encouraged him to go up to the library rather than play on the stairs (next to the car park!). After a few moments I realized he was talking about me:
"Mrs A has to teach you," he murmured over and over. I wondered in what context he had heard that phrase.
Henry: I don't like that Mrs A.
Henry's Mum: But Henry, Mrs A has to teach you!



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General Guff With Gratuitous Bikini Photo and Some Patriotism

Here we are at the beginning of Term 1, week 3. Mum and Dad have made it back to the frozen northern hemisphere whilst we are knee deep in antipodean life and work.

The weather has been hot and steamy in the wake of Cyclone Yasi, even here in good ole Mediterranean Adelaide! We've been having trouble 'balancing' the pool which has lead Himself to roar, on more than one occasion, "I don't know why we don't just fill the thing in!!!"
Nevertheless, as you can see, the BA and her friends have made it up onto the rocks on at least one occasion of late.

Notable events: I have put on nearly all the weight I lost before Christmas and must seriously make an effort to get back to the gym (if you're going to eat potato you have to RUN IT OFF BABY!!!!!!!!!); the Alma Mater has settled down since the first depressing and infuriating day, all the girls seeming more positive, and the BA in particular is loving her classes. OK, maybe not so much Maths, but at least she is doing it and with 5 girls in the class she can ask for all the help she needs, which is a good thing as my Maths skills stop at Year 10 and anyway I never did statistics and Standard Deviation the first time around. As I recall. Or fail to recall. Which ever way you look at it.

More notable events: we went to the First Night at the Proms with Mum and Dad which was fantastic and funny all at the same time. Every seat had a small Union Jack laid ceremonially upon it so that as the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra cranked up "Rule Britannia', all us ex pats and reluctant UK born Aussies could bellow out "Britaaaaaannia ruuuuules the waaaaaaaaves" with gusto whilst waving our little flags for all we were worth.......

What a hoot.

Afterwards we were treated to the vagaries of Adelaide's nocturnal public transport or lack thereof although the BA assured us that it was just as bad in the daytime, particularly in a northerly direction which bemused us as the tram line is a closed loop. We concluded that there must be a black hole at the end of the line, swallowing 3 out of every 4 north going trains. As we trudged the 500 freezing cold metres between stops with father insisting we wait at every shelter,'just in case it's coming', mother looked gloomily down the road and with her characteristic Eeyore like optimism, commented that there may never be another tram ever again. Or if she didn't, she should have; she probably only didn't because we teased her about it. I can guarantee she was THINKING about saying it :-DDDDDD



And on top of all of that my beloved husband and his workmate (spoken with withering sarcasm) finally managed to restore my email to one address after two weeks, so I could pick up the several dozen communications that I knew must be waiting for me. There were 347 of them.

Having deleted most, I am now ready for bed.
Hope you are enjoying February, wherever you are.

Affirmations

Another note in a Christmas card, this time from one of the Year 12 boys in my Care Group. I am recording this here so I can look back on it when I am up to my eyeballs in frustration :-)

Dear Mrs A

It's been quite entertaining having you for a Care Group teacher as I appreciate your sense of humour, even if most people don't know that you're making a joke at the time. Having short discussions with you about Creation vs Evolution has also been quite interesting, even if we must agree to disagree in the end. I can tell that you are quite passionate about Jesus and your beliefs and your love for him does actually radiate from you. (awww bless his cotton socks.......) Finishing this with another seemingly disjointed sentence is what I must do now as I wish you a Merry Christmas , a happy New Year and many years of prosperity to come.


Gotta love 'em eh?

Well Done Good and Faithful Servant

Thank you God for this, my favourite Christmas present, received as a message on Facebook this morning:

Hey mrs a
just thought id say goodbye since i didnt get to at presentation night because i didnt go...
Thanks for everything youve done for me and my maths class. I know it wouldve been hard to persist and i admire your patience and commitment. You are the most committed teacher i had this year and now that i think of it, youre one of the most committed teachers ive had at any highschool.
Thank you for your guidance, teaching, committment, patience, helpfulness and the passion and willingness to help us all.
All though a lot of the students in the class didnt recognise and appreciate what youve done this year, i do, and i thank you immensley for your help and teaching...i actually did well this year!
Maths is the subject i struggle most with and usually give up on easily but you helped me and taught me in a way i could understand and when i didnt (understand) you explained it further til i did.
You will be greatly missed next year and i hope you are given the respect you diserve where ever you go next year because i know you didnt get it from everyone this year.
So thank you goodbye and goodluck!:):):)
xoxo

The Weight Of The World

The strain of the past 8 weeks was telling on the face of the Baby Angel as I caught her unawares, sitting in the water down at Seacliff, last Saturday. Highs and lows, decisions and goodbyes. As the last day of school arrived today it was a far cry from the carefree excitement of an Alice Cooper number. We were back in the Adelaide Town Hall tonight for the final Speech Night of Alma Mater as we know it.


It was a night of great dignity; girls were recognised for their contributions to school life, dignitaries gave sage advice and the House Cup was awarded. There was mention of the future. There was mention of the great pain of the past eight weeks but it was not dwelt upon. Most of us held it together until the Principal cracked whilst thanking her parents for their support during the last term, this followed by a soaring version of 'Somewhere' from West Side Story. For the girls it was the School Anthem at the final leaving that tore apart what thin shell of control they had left.


Himself and I battled our way through the crowds (won't have to worry about that next year) of sobbing girls and grim faced parents, stopping briefly to catch up with some familiar faces.

"We're staying."
"Really? So are we."

or

"And where are you off to?"
"Scottish Girls' School in Outrageously Overpriced Suburb"
"Really? Good luck with that."

I am still angry. I am searching deep for a shred of understanding and forgiveness but all I can find is resentment and mild disgust for all those wailing and moaning, but leaving all the same.

And my kid is hurting. That's the most bitter pill of all.

Are We HAWT???????

Spot the old lady amongst the young 'uns at the Formal last Tuesday night!
(Why are upper arms such a give away?????)
In moving schools I am going to miss this group of talented, enthusiastic party teachers.
From left to right: Dance, Drama, English/Hist, PE, Teacher Librarian/IT, Maths, German.

Confused?

Scene: Maths room at lunchtime, trying to finish off overdue projects for Year10 Numeracy so that they won't have to do Maths next year. The BA is sitting in the background having finished an exam and caught the train over to my school.

Me: So if she gets $30,000 a year, how much will that be a month?

Year 10 Girl: Ummmmm. I don't know (sweet vacant smile)

Me: Come on, you can do this...what operation do we need to use to find out?

Y10G: (looking desperately at my face for clues) Addition? No. Subtraction?No...division?

Me: Yes, well done (relieved smile from her). Now, what are you going to divide by?

Y10G: ummmmmmmm?

Me: here is a year (indicates with outstretched arms) and the $30,000 is spread all the way over that year. Now I need to cut that up into little month sized pieces. What do I divide by?

Y10G: 4...no? .....5?.....no........I'm not very good with months.......

Later the BA (who had been looking over the girl's head, rolling her eyes at me) shook her head in disbelief.
"Was she putting it on mum? And where did the FIVE come from????"
I dunno BA. Random neuron firing I think. I am so looking forward to my new job next year. Mind you, as I'm still working with Special Needs I am sure I will still have plenty of blog fodder!
Trouble is, the guys I'm working with now are not officially Special Needs.
Sadly.

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Decision Made For Now

On Monday, the Baby Angel was looking very glum and had not come to any firm decision. She wanted to stay but she was worried about being the only girl left in her year. Seriously. I suggested we try it for a term.

So that's what we're going to do. If it's too awful and sad, St Saviour's is aware that we may still come knocking.

On a positive note we heard yesterday that there are 13 girls left in her year level (out of 60). As gut wrenching as that number is, we actually felt encouraged. She had thought it was more like 5.
I still say that it is like the grain of sand in a oyster which forms the centre of the pearl. You just need that critical mass to start things rolling.

The BA's dad is not in agreement and so there is a bit of tension there. He is worried that she will not have a school the following year, to complete her SACE . This is a legitimate concern but we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. At the moment I feel encouraged.

First day back next year could be interesting though.

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Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

I never know where to start with these school posts. This one has taken a week to publish.


So much has happened and continues to happen and impact on all our lives, it is hard to summarise it in the odd moments I choose to put blogging above marking, housework and helping the BA with trig.

Where was I when we last spoke? Ah yes, I had joined the Parent Task Force and was waiting on the commencement of talks between the Alma Mater and 'The Boys School Down the Road'.

One of the problems I have is that I have only been 'at' the school for the current year. I made contact with a few of the parents through the Froggie exchange thing and have met one or two others in passing as the BA has attended parties and the like but really, I am not one of the 'in' crowd. This has meant that I have been somewhat out of the loop as far as information exchange and ideas exchange goes. This is not necessarily a bad thing as it means I bring a fresh perspective, but at the moment fresh perspectives are pretty low on most people's list of priorities.

After the hideous roller coaster of the past few weeks we were hopeful of some positive news from the meeting between the 'Advisory Committee' and 'TBSDTR' on Monday. We had sent two parent reps so we expected some idea of the direction of talks.

Hah.

After waiting patiently for a text or email on Monday night, the school released an 'update' which went like this:

"We advise that the Standing Committee Advisory Group met with representatives of The Boys School Down The Road today. Discussions are in their early stages and further meetings will be held during the course of this week."

Enlightening! A revelation!

Then three days of nothing.

In my heart I knew this was a bad thing, but I consoled myself with other issues.

On Friday we heard that the merger had been unanimously rejected by the Advisory Committee and that the Church were determined to keep the school open. My feeling was that they were in 'LaLa Land'. I finally made the calls I had never thought I would make, to enquire as to positions at other schools. I was an emotional mess.

At this point I need to tip my metaphorical hat to Prof J's daughter's school.
I will call the school St Saviour's because it may very well be ours.

We were looking for a school with a similar size, feel and gender make-up to my Alma Mater. Interestingly, having railed against the whole girls' school thing initially, the BA sheepishly admitted that she did not want to go back to school with boys, so St Saviour's fitted the bill well. Additionally, the BA would know at least one other pupil, albeit in another year group.

I phoned on Friday in a state of high emotion. I hadn't realised I was in a state of high emotion until I said to the Registrar, "Hello, I am an Alma Mater parent," at which point my voice wavered and I collapsed vocally into a snivelling wreck. The poor registrar was rather taken aback and did her best to console me whilst explaining that Year 11 was not a 'normal' intake year and that she couldn't guarantee that there would be a place available.

In one of those amazing 'turns of events', she encouraged me to download an application form and post it in just as Prof J's daughter was approaching the Principal's office for the interview which would inform her that she had been elected Head Prefect. In the fluster of my emotion, the registrar had neglected to take my name and contact details but fortunately I had mentioned that we knew J Junior.

When the registrar saw the Principal and informed her of my call, explaining that she had sent me to the website, the Principal was adamant. "No!" she exclaimed,"We MUST see these parents. We must do what we can to help these families!"

Now if that isn't an amazing advert for Catholic education, I don't know what is!

The principal went on to ask J Junior (after she had delivered the 'Head Prefect' news) if she knew anyone at Alma Mater who may have rung in a highly emotional state. It wasn't too much of a leap of logic for J Junior to identify me. Within an hour we had an interview time.

The Principal herself conducted our interview. She showed us around personally and discussed the BA's subject choices with her. She answered our questions, allayed our fears, introduced us to everyone and finally finished by assuring us that we were under no pressure at all to accept the place, but that we must make the decision that was right for us. I could have kissed her.
I still may.

Tonight we attended a community meeting. To say that attendance was down would be an understatement. There may have been about a fifth of the number of parents as there were at the initial meeting back on the 19th of October. Still, the new Chair of the Board was impressive; honest, forthright, realistic and yet inspiring. The Church stood up and said they would fund us; they know they are going to take a bath but they are committed to the college. They will guarantee positions for the teaching staff even, when challenged by a parent, if only 50 girls turn up on day 1 next year.

So what will we do?

For those of you who have stuck with me through this blog; as my posts have waxed and waned; as my topics have strayed from the original Flaming Sword intent to the petty nonsense of 15 years worth of birthday cakes......here is the pay off. I am leaving it to the BA.

I can't begin to tell you what a difficult and yet obvious thing this is to do. I can hear myself talking: "You are the adult! Do not leave this decision to her, she is too young to choose!!" but I also know that this whole thing is no longer (if it ever were) about me.

My brilliant, beautiful, loyal child has had to defend her naive, overly optimistic mother for the past 5 weeks in the face of a mass exodus of her classmates. She may be one of two or three pupils left in her year; her subject choices may be restricted and she may have to endure the same scenario this time next year if enrolments cannot be encouraged; or she has the option of a clean start at a lovely school where she can re-establish herself and settle in for a solid crack at the final years of her schooling. I know what I would do but ultimately, at this pivotal point in her life, I need to know what she wants to do. And don't get me wrong, there is no 'right answer'.

Part of being invested with the Order of the Flaming Sword is knowing when to relinquish it and when to take it up again. Through all these years you have heard me champion the cause of the proactive, assertive parent but as the years proceed we must trust that we have done our jobs well and that our children have the ability to make valid decisions for themselves (of course if this has anything to do with tattoos I withdraw all comments).

The Baby Angel is weighing up her options. A new start, with all the 'new girl' issues that entails, or a drastically changed, micro school with very few of her friends left. I have encouraged her to talk to someone outside the family about the whole deal because, I said to her, I don't want to influence her or to have her make a decision based on what she thinks I want. She laughed at me and said "Mum, of course you influence me; why do you think I am at this school in the first place???"

Wise , wise child.

Within the next few days the school will call to ask us what our commitment is. How strange, and yet perfectly appropriate, that I do not know. This is not an ordinary situation. It is not something I have dealt with before so I am in no position to give advice. I hope the BA can decide whether she wants to ride this roller coaster with the other faithfuls or whether she prefers the security another school may offer. I have given her this weekend to think about it. Make no mistake however, if she seems to be vacillating past that point or overly stressed by the responsibility I will step in and help her to make the decision. She may be brilliant, beautiful and well adjusted but she is still only 15.

The good thing about me being here and doing all this is that I can report back to you all. You can learn from my lessons and store up experience to draw on when your time comes.

By then I will either be nodding sagely or holding myself up as an object lesson! Either way I hope you don't have to go through what we have been going through these past 6 weeks.

Keep Strong This Faith

There is power in prayer and reward for faithfulness.




The ball is now in our court as a school community.

Of Paper and Pills

I managed to write this on Thursday but didn't finish it until tonight:
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Ducking in this morning because Himself has done something nasty to his knee/leg and has asked me to take him to the doctors (It MUST be bad!). So I've had to bunk off work for a few lessons which has given me an opportunity to look st some blogs and to tell you quickly about my Year 10 lesson the other day.

I have given up on my Year 10s
(Exam Question: Here is some data on the number of fish eaten by Selma the Seal each day over a 60 day period. Is this data discrete or continuous?
Answer: continuous. Cos she just keeps eating.)

After 50% of them failed their mid year exam outright,
("let's look at this positively," said a colleague,"50% of them passed."
"No," I replied,"...48% passed and the other 2 % were borderline!")
I have decided to run a Stage 1 SACE Numeracy unit for this semester. It is a very practical series of tasks based on real life situations such as renting a house, running a car and paying off a loan.

The first task involves creating a spreadsheet to model the repaying of a loan. Once the formulae are entered you can change the interest rate, size and number of repayments in order to see what effect it has on the overall cost of the loan. The class have actually been pretty engaged in the task. I have no idea how much they have learned but they have been industriously entering numbers into the speadsheet so......fingers crossed!

Anyway, on Wednesday we reached the end of the lesson and I decided I would like to see the results of their efforts. With 5 minutes to go I said,
"OK everyone, put your name onto the spreadsheet and print it out for me."

There are 23 people in the class. There were 4 pages to each spreadsheet. There was one printer.

I cannot begin to describe the chaos which ensued.

I don't think I really understood the magnitude of my mistake until one of the girls came to me with three sheets of paper.
"Mrs A, this is all I can find of my assignment."
"But what happened to the other sheet? Can you not find it?
"Mrs A have you SEEN the mess over there?"

Note to self: create a system drop folder for electronic collection of future assignments;
pay for a tree to be planted to replace the ream of paper we wasted in multiple print outs of random pages of unidentifiable spreadsheets.

Live and learn.

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Update: Himself has a torn cartilage in his knee. I suspect this was sustained during the climb to take these photos, although the symptoms did not set in for a few days.

In the usual way of men he has been dealing poorly with pain. He has been instructed to take 50mg of Voltarin (anti-inflammatory) every 8 hours as well as 500mg of paracetamol, a task which he is somehow finding difficult to manage. On Friday night he came to bed at his usual time of 2am and very quickly began to thrash about, moaning.

Me: What's the matter?
Him: Auurgh. The pain! It's really full tilt. I can't lie any way that's comfortable.
Me: How long since you took your last painkillers?
Him: Ummmmmmmmmm (sheepishly)......I had one at 2pm this afternoon.......
Me: WHAT? You should have had one hours ago!
Him: I know, but it wasn't hurting before.
Me: I don't suppose you thought to bring the tablets to bed with you?
Him: Ummmmmmmmmm
Me: (flings herself out of bed into the 2 degree air temperature, gets dressing gown and stomps off down the relatively long hallway to find the tablets, snorting impatiently.)

We had a discussion the next morning about the timing of his tablets. It was agreed that he needed to take them well before he came to bed in order to give them time to 'kick in' and enable him to rest comfortably.

Last night circa 2am:
Him: Moan, aarrrgh, moan, can't get comfortable etc etc
Me: You took your tablets didn't you?
Him: Yes, I took them 15 minutes ago.
Me: FIFTEEN MINUTES???? I thought we agreed you would take them 8 hourly and give them time to take effect before you came to bed???
Him: Well it wasn't hurting and I wanted to leave it as long as possible so I could get some sleep.
Me: fumes silently
Him: Moan, aarrrgh, moan, can't get comfortable etc etc Moan, aarrrgh, moan, can't get comfortable etc etc Moan, aarrrgh, moan, can't get comfortable etc etc
Him: (after another 5 minutes of this) I think I might need another tablet.
Me: What? How many did you take?
Him: Er, well, one.
Me: WHAT???????? The doctor TOLD you to take two!
Him: Well, yes but I am trying not to take too many and.....
Me: Please tell me that you brought the tablets to the bedroom, just in case.
Him: Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Me:ARGH!(flings herself out of bed into the -2 degree air temperature, gets dressing gown etcetcetc)

Honestly. Exactly what had changed about his condition which would have lead him to believe he required less medication?? The knee is swollen for pete's sake! There are now pills stashed in the bedside drawers >:-(

I swear if men had babies, epidurals would be a sacrament.

image credit

I Am The Pencil Nazi

NAPLAN.

First you have to understand NAPLAN.

The National Assessment Program - Literacy and Numeracy, aka NAPLAN, aka Basic Skills testing, was introduced in Australia in 2008. Pupils are tested in years 3, 5, 7 and 9 in: Reading, Writing, Language Conventions (spelling and grammar) and Numeracy (with and without calculators). The tests take place over the same
3 days, in a prescribed order, across the entire country. As of this year, results are posted on the controversial My Schools website. Rightly or wrongly, they are a big deal.

So, in each school you have to have a NAPLAN coordinator and, for my sins, at our school it happens to be me. There's a lot of receiving, counting and securing test papers; briefing test supervisors, arranging timetables and rooms and, most importantly, dealing with the pencils.
When we were first introduced to the running of the tests, the powers that be recommended providing all writing materials for the pupils so that none were disadvantaged (or able to avoid the test) through lack of writing materials. Therefore, I duly purchased 90+ plastic bags, pencils and rubbers and numbered the whole lot of them, making up packs to supply to each classroom during testing.

At the end of the first year I was approximately 10 pencils down. This included bags coming back with missing pencils or simply, bags missing altogether! What were they doing? Eating them??? I sighed the sigh of inevitability and went about topping up my losses. At the end of last year, I put the whole lot into a cupboard with the intention of checking them later. Of course, later turned out to be the beginning of the week of the 2010 testing . Imagine my horror then as the morning before the start of the tests I counted everything and realised there were over THIRTY missing!!!!!!!! And not just pencils! Thirty bags in pretty much sequential order!! Well, it was obvious. SOME teacher had simply not returned the materials from last year.

I sent out a polite but desperate email. Please check your cupboards, drawers, wherever! I know this was not intentional but I really need those missing pencils!!

Nothing.
Muttering grimly about lackadaisical teachers and gritting my teeth I bought new bags, pencils and rubbers and stayed back until 7pm that night ensuring they were ready to go for the big tests the next day. I spent an hour the next night going through the bags, counting every pencil and rubber and sharpening where needed (btw: thanks to those two willing Year 12s who helped me out because of course they had no study to do, did they? Right.).

All was well.

The next day however, was a different story. Firstly someone suggested that the year 7s had sharpened their pencils away to such an extent that they needed replacing!!!!!!!!! What the heck was that about? they were meant to be doing a test not beating a path to the rubbish bin for pencil sharpening purposes. (Later, when I checked their classroom for something I happily realised they had not been beating a path. The shavings were all over the floor.) Well anyway, pencil replacement was not going to happen!!!! They could learn the hard way about the hard heart of the Pencil Nazi.

Secondly, when I checked the year 9 boxes, I discovered that not one but two bags and a pencil sharpener were missing!
(cue dramatic music: duh duh daaaaaaaaaaah!)

(I ask you...does this look like an organised box to you?)

I immediately set about on a campaign to name and shame the irresponsible test supervisors who had LOST MY PENCILS!!!!!!!!

Email announcements went out, congratulating the one supervisor who had managed to return everything correctly. Lists of missing items were posted, although in my mercy I did not at this point reveal the names of the sloppy teachers who had allowed my stationery to be snaffled!

The following morning I found an apologetic note and two replacement pencil sharpeners in my pigeon hole. At least someone was feeling guilty. As it transpired, more than one person must have been feeling guilty because when that box came back at the end of the third day it contained, not one, but three pencil sharpeners! Not quite sure how that happened.

I supervised a test myself on the final day and pupils cowered in fear as I ruled the exam room with a fist of steel and the temper of a recently woken dragon:

GET THAT PENCIL SHARPENER OFF YOUR DESK..........NOTHING IS ALLOWED OIN YOUR DESKS EXCEPT THE PENCIL BAGS AND YOUR TEST PAPER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DON"T CARE THAT IT IS ONLY A PENCIL SHARPENER! AND WHY IS THAT PENCIL BAG ON THE FLOOR??????????

All my items were returned correctly.

Later the next day, as I headed to the supermarket and bottlo for my Friday night essential supplies, I rummaged about in the boot of my car looking for a recycled shopping bag. There's still a bit of junk from mum and dad's move lurking in my car and it was hard to find a decent bag in the dark and, hello, what's this? This bag feels heavier than the others........

I found the missing thirty pencils. But noone needs to know that right? Just between you, me and the internet.....

That's Another Swimming Carnival Off The Blocks

For some reason, every school in Adelaide seems to have held their annual swimming carnival yesterday!
Here's the setting for ours.

Swimming carnivals in Australian schools are not the 'Baywatch' events you might imagine them to be. A remarkable number of teenagers seem unable to swim; unable at least with any degree of confidence. Getting kids to nominate for events is a continual trial and even those who put their names down are frequently incapacitated on the day for any number of reasons.
"Miss, I pulled my hamstring at footy training."
"I can't swim miss, I feel sick."
"Miss...it's ladies things...you know!"

Humph. Ladies things indeed. Have modern youth never heard of tampons????? Apparently, or should I say conveniently, not! I remarked to one of my colleagues that it was amazing how 80% of the House seemed to have a period today.....and that included the boys!!!!!

My Care Group were no exception. They readily embraced the opportunity to wear casual clothes, some of them even managing to stretch to some House colour! (green of course)
But of this little group, gathered in our home room for roll call, only two actually got in the pool!

Mind you, there were those who entered totally into the spirit of the thing.
That's our House captain in the body paint! But even out of this enthusiastic group, only one was a swimmer! She was a pretty good one though.

You may have seen a picture of this before:
it's our House banner, taken at last year's sports day. On the first day back at school this year, they called for the banner, to be used in assembly as we presented badges to the new House officials. It had last been used in a similar assembly on the final day of 2009 although I had been reluctant to part with it as, on many occasions previously, it had not been returned. Well, surprise surprise, as I looked around my office on the first day back I realised.....the banner had not be returned. A quick email to the staff brought me no joy. No one was willing to take responsibility for the whereabouts of our banner! Grrrrrr. I set the new House Seniors onto the task. They had to search the basement sports store room and the offices of any likely sport related staff who may have inadvertently packed the banner away with other equipment at the end of the year. As the swimming carnival approached and our fruitless searches left us empty handed, I faced the realisation that I would have to make a new banner.

Which I did on the night before the carnival.

I finished at 3am.
Now, admittedly it is not as showy as the original, but it is bigger! It is also not perfect...but did I mention it was 3am?

Why did such a simple thing take so long? Well, first I had to go shopping for materials, home at 8pm, cook dinner, then start planning and sewing. I started off with a cheap, queen sized satin fitted sheet from The Reject Store ($25.00) and cut it down to a rectangle. The fiddly bit was the letters. Himself generated some letters for me to print out in tile formation. I then had to tape them all together and use them as patterns. I backed them all in iron on interfacing and carefully ironed over the edges to create neat letters for appliqueing. I had originally intended to put some yellow lightening bolts onto it but Himself and I couldn't agree on the design principles and it was getting late at that stage so I left that for another day. I hope to embellish the thing before the Sports day in week 5 or 6.

Oh and guess what? You've guessed haven't you. On the morning of the Swimming Carnival I went into the basement sports store to look for some random item and looked up on the top shelf. Yup. There was the old banner.

Still, we used the big one. >:-( I wasn't sitting up all night sewing for nothing!!!!! The kids seemed happy enough.

Speaking of the kids, the swimming carnival is always a great revealer of character. Usually this is a good thing; kids rising to the occasion, filling in at the last minute; setting themselves a challenge, even if it is only to make it to the end of the pool; but yesterday I had more of an ugly reveal. One of our year 12 girls is an accomplished swimmer and has always done well for the House, even though in the last few years she has become less inclined to compete and more inclined to lounge about in a revealing bikini displaying her other talents. Yesterday she just didn't show up at all. I couldn't believe the selfishness of that act. To have a gift and keep it when your House needs you? Sorry. I just don't get it.

BUT.... on the other hand.....

A while ago I wrote about this guy.....

that's him up there on the blocks! And what is significant about this is that he IS up there on the blocks. Now, as you may be aware, the African race are not known for their swimming prowess. A few years back one of the African girls jumped in during the swimming carnival and had to be rescued! No joke!

In the past, Gene has been very reluctant to participate in anything House related. He and another three African lads wander the school looking like some sort of Liberian Mafia gang and generally being 'too cool for school'. Gene turned up to the swimming carnival wearing very sharp clothes, with plenty of 'bling' and looking like there was no WAY he would go anywhere near that pool. Now, I would love to say that I talked him into giving it a go, but in truth it is an even greater joy to me that I didn't. I simply looked around at one point and there he was sitting in a chair waiting for the next race. I guess he feels like he belongs now.

I love the House system.

Over A Week? Wow. Imagine What It Will Be LIke When I Am Fulltime

I knew I hadn't posted for a while but WOW. Over a week. Life is freeway-like at the moment. I can't really even afford to be posting this as I am meant to be marking..but it is so mind numbing.
"Hah," remarked a colleague,"marking maths? Isn't that just tick, tick, tick?"
"Yes. If the children you teach get everything right. In my case it's sort of 'search for a mark'."
Having said that I am excited by the fact that only one of my year 8 babies failed his exam and that may be partly because he didn't take a calculator! I have been working on him all semester (he joined us late) to come to class with a pen and his maths book. Time after time he arrives empty handed. We agreed to have a text book which we keep in the classroom for him and that has helped. I gave him a chocolate every time he remembered his pen. I reminded ALL of them about having calculators and fresh batteries available for the exams. *sigh* I don't know what else I could have done. Perhaps this will teach him something?

In another exam, Y10 Science, I was supporting two girls with mild learning difficulties. The topic was Human Reproduction and the question asked them to describe the journey of the sperm once it entered the vagina. With some prompting it became evident that one of them thought sperm came from women and the other didn't know what it was at all. What had they been doing in class? What will happen to them in the world????? I dread to think.

Last Wednesday was the BA's Graduation from Middle School. Middle School is a new concept here in Australia. It's really just High School but they keep the kids with one form teacher and gradually introduce the concept of moving around classes. Next year in Year 10 they are into full on' find your own room and subject teacher' mode.

It was an emotional night as she leaves her dear friends to start at a new school next year. I do hope we've made the right decision. *sigh*

Isn't it terrible how you don't realise your kid needs a haircut until she's up on stage in her uniform!?

On the weekend we put up the Christmas tree. Well, I kind of left it to the kids.As you can see, Small Boy is a great boon in the process.He got minorly excited about putting up his own mini-tree. This tree is the sort of thing one has to deal with in second marriages. It is a left over from Himself's bachelor days. One year it will quietly disappear. Like that sofa.
Here Small Boy helpfully shoots baskets with ornaments whilst the BA does the whole elder sister thing. She is so mature. See?
I mean, don't we all try on the ornaments as earrings? Of course we do.

And do Madonna impersonations with Christmas wreaths.

Yesterday In Year 9 Maths Class...........

There's a single stifled giggle from across the classroom, which quickly becomes less stifled and is rapidly joined by others. I glance up from the co-ordinate geometry I am explaining in time to see several red faced pupils, a couple of desks over, looking my way and choking back guffaws.

They are too far away to be the actual source of this hysteria so my super-fast, patented teacher eyes flick down at the speed of an eyelash to take in the 'usual suspect' perched innocently on his chair, right next to me. At about the level of my butt.

Now, had this little angel been bent forward, intent on his probability revision, he would be nowhere near my butt.........but........

"What's going on Luke (not his real name)," I enquire sweetly; voice laced with honeyed venom.
His long lashed, wide eyed mock innocent baby blues look brazenly up into mine. This kid is going for the Oscar.
"Why nothing, Mrs A! I'm just doing my maths."

The stifled mirth around me cracks the dam wall and spills over into fully fledged belly laughs.

This is not good.

As any teacher knows, when you are up against it like this, it is best to work with the humour. Think fast; what has probably been happening? My bent over posture would mean he was pretty close to my butt. Was he making gestures? Sticking something on it? No I would have felt that. Gestures maybe..... I take a chance.

Straightening up I glance down at my rear end and then fix him with a death adder smile.

"Well, Luke, all I can say is I'm glad someone is still interested in my arse after all
these years."

His beetroot red flush was gratifying to behold.

The deafening roar of laughter from the rest of his classmates was the icing on the cake.

Who said teaching secondary doesn't have its moments?


Post-Script: Some judicious questioning of his mates, later, leads me to believe that what he was actually doing was taking photos of my butt with his mobile phone! Well, whatever floats your boat I guess!!!