Messing About With Boats

Because, if you've got a new boat and it isn't sailing season yet, you have to make sure it all works!

Knee Deep in Chaos

I suppose I must be seeing other children. I am certainly turning up to the classes. I think I'm teaching some of them. My brain however, is totally on...let's call him Slugger! I'm sorry but you have to laugh, otherwise you'd cry...

The day of the observation by 'The Funding Authority' saw Slugger giving a sensational performance. He shouted at everyone, ran up and down the corridor, crash tackled the teacher and eventually had to be taken home by his mother. We got the funding.

The following day he doesn't usually come in so we had a reprieve. The next day he had a headache and so it wasn't until Friday that we got him back. I sauntered down to the classroom mid morning to see how it was going and found his Minder sitting on a chair near the door. He seemed to be sitting in the midst of an up-turned box of toys.
"So, how's it going Minder?" I enquired cheerfully. He turned a long suffering face towards me and replied," He's in the corridor behind you...."

In one of those scenes from a movie, I withdrew my head from the classroom and looked up and down the corridor.
"Errrrrrrrrrrrrr, no, I'm afraid he's not...."

Therein ensued a mild panic until Minder located him, downstairs, playing nicely in the sandpit.

I stood upstairs watching out of a window as he busily dug and built sandcastles. His Minder stood under the shade of the verandah nearby and nothing seemed to intrude on his little world.

What do you do with that?

What do you do with a 5 year old who has his own agenda and will give no quarter in its following. He was as happy as a sandboy (pardon the pun) in that sandpit.

I watched him for a while and noticed that he began to look around. Finding his Minder unresponsive (we have agreed not to make the 'out of the classroom' time too much 'fun') and seeing a year 12 student studying in the sunshine nearby, he started digging in a more and more aggressive manner, turfing the spadefuls of sand over his shoulder in a spectacular arc. I watched to see if it was a one off and whether he would stop but the arcs kept coming and their dimensions were growing. Finding my Flaming Sword suddenly in my hand (I think it is related to the Sword of Gryffindor ie it appears when it is needed) I marched downstairs and silently but purposefully took the spade and bucket away from him.
"HEY!" he bellowed, in his gravelly little voice," GIVE ME THAT BACK."
I stood my ground and eyeballed him.
"No, I'm not giving it back to you, because you weren't playing with it properly. You don't throw the sand out of the sandpit like that." As I strode away I heard him start to wail and felt the handfuls of sand he was pitching at me, brush the back of my shirt. I made my way over to his Minder under the verandah and consulted with him.
"I'm not putting up with that," I said, "that was quite deliberate."
His Minder looked uncertain. The howls of anger echoed around the playground as Slugger lay prostrate in the sandpit drumming his feet and hands.

We continued to talk quietly about our next move, all the while watching him out of the corner of our eyes. He quieted. He sat up and looked across at me accusingly. I glanced back.
"STOP LOOKING AT ME!" he bellowed.
"Stop looking at ME." I retorted, somewhat peevishly.
He sat for a little longer and then got up and walked to the box of sand toys, giving the Minder and I a large berth as he did so. He helped himself to another bucket and spade and made his way back to the sandpit, watching all the time to see how we would react.
"Let's just see what he does," I suggested.
He climbed into the sand pit and began digging again. Sensibly. Occasionally he looked up and glowered at me. I flicked him the thumb up sign.

After awhile I wandered over, ostensibly to speak to the Year 12 studying nearby. He glanced up at me again and I smiled at him.
"Well, done, you're playing really nicely now."
A brief shadow passed over his face and then....he smiled at me.

The Minder and I decided that after his 'very bad day' with the observer from the Funding Authority, we would let him have a chill out day where he could do a few calming things and get himself back on an even keel. The danger of course was that he would think this was the norm and this has proved to be a real fear. On Monday he spent most of the day taking his Minder on walks around the school. He fronted up in my room more than once and nagged the Minder into playing football with him on the tennis courts. No work was done.

On Tuesday, it was more of the same, culminating in an outburst where he thumped another child quite soundly and had to be sent home. Tonight I am writing 'social stories' about the consequences of thumping someone and ways in which we can resolve conflict without punching someone.

Wish us luck....

Who Needs the Gym? *pant pant*

I have been 'kid wrangling' again recently. Our new Mid Year reception class has another autistic boy on board. We were kind of unprepared for this one as his diagnosis came through during the holidays just before he started. Previously we had been told by an assessment team at the local General hospital that he was definitely NOT autistic. Now we have an Ed Psych report and a speech therapist's report which say he is! Whether he is or isn't ...his behaviour is keeping us on our toes.

He started 'running away' in week 2 although we quickly realised that he wanted us to chase him. Now we all ignore him when the bell goes and he doesn't come to line up. We've employed a lovely young man as his 'minder' and he sort of lurks around and shepherds him up the stairs. Once you're behind him he runs in the opposite direction, which is kind of where you want him to go :-D

Sometimes he doesn't want to be in the classroom so he kicks at the door and roars 'Get me outta this place' in his funny little deep and throaty voice. If there are any children, or adults around he has no compunction about kicking them too. Last week he punched me in the nose! (that will teach me to get down to his level! :-D) Not hard fortunately, but enough for me to tell him 'I didn't LIKE that' and put on my angry eyes!

Last Thursday was a concert in the Performing Arts Centre....an area of the school he hasn't been to before. We decided that without preparation, it was probably not a good idea for him to go with the class and were prepared to divert him to another activity but unfortunately he twigged that the class was going somewhere and he wanted to come to!!! I was busy wrangling another young man who has been following the lead of the autistic boy and throwing himself on the floor when he doesn't get his own way, so I remained in the classroom, ignoring the screaming and crying coming from the beanbags in the corner until the pile of cushions had quieted to a shuddering sniffle. A bit of TLC and a quick look at the drawings around the classroom and cushion boy was ready to go to the concert; unfortunately, the other lad had already made his way back to the classroom with his minder in tow. Apparently he had decided that he wasn't sitting in that big place without his 'shark books' to protect him. We all headed back together.

Once back in the performance space, he sat himself on the floor right at the front and spread his books around him. After a few moments he became interested in the choir in front of him, so he got up to take a look. He walked across the stage area, eyeballing everyone and everything, completely unaware that he was the centre of attention. The whole scene could have been a static display at the museum as far as he was concerned. Afterwards he collected up his shark books and proceeded to tramp up and down the stairs trying out all the spare seats in the suditorium...it was moderately amusing when we weren't trying to do anything about it (ie trying to herd him into one spot, stop him running out the door, collect him from the backstage area, follow him up and down the stairs to ensure he was safe....). Of course it was very distracting for all concerned, especially when he covered his ears and called out 'This is going to be LOUD!!' when the music started....he has sensory issues....

Eventually we got him out with suggestions that he might like to play on the playground, but he was back as soon as he realised no one else was coming; then the whole performance repeated itself. The Principal, who was in attendance at the concert, rolled his eyes at me as we left and said "That was very enlightening!". I guess he realises what we are trying to deal with now.

We had been funding the special 'minder' from a Government grant given to the family until the Government told us it wasn't for use in schools (grrrrr). Today we have an observer from the funding body coming in to observe him to see if they will give us some emergency funding to keep the 'minder' in place. We intend to take the minder out of the classroom and let the observer see what the teacher has to deal with. The teacher is terrified. I'll let you know how it goes.....

Take THAT! And THAT!!

I am entering a new phase in the Flaming Sword stakes. The sword is getting heavy and seems to be burning my hand.

So I put this to you. Are these unreasonable parries?

1) I am uncomfortable with unsupervised (that's right...you heard me) sleepovers where boys (and probably alcohol) will be present.

2) Boyfriends do not need to visit on week nights (and no, I don't think he was helping her study).

3) On the majority of school nights it is advisable to come straight home through town without stopping for a 2 hour tryst with boyfriend in the Botanical Gardens, rendering arrival home at circa 7pm and in the dark!

4) Boyfriends, whilst welcome to visit on Friday-Sat nights, do not need to be entertained in the bedroom. There are two large living areas and the adults are usually in their study.

What do you think? Should I be 'chillin' the sword' at 16 years and 4 months?

Up In The Morning And Out To School

First days of school.

Everywhere I look on the blogosphere at the moment, children are starting school and it put me in mind of the Baby Angel's first day of school.

(Oct 1999)

Oh, look at that! Is she sweet or what??

Blimey, I had forgotten how yellow that hallway was! I think I was trying to inject some Australian sunshine into the drab British landscape. Oh well, it was the 90s and we had all just rediscovered colour after the beige 80s....

Anyway, look at that tiny little girl with her navy tunic!!

Here she is with her best mates, all starting Reception together (pardon the flaws in the shot. I don't have a scanner anymore so I had to take a photo of the photo and I got a bit of 'flare'). Three happy bunnies and one very unsure young lady. We used to take it in turns to take them to school in the morning and we had weeks of trouble with our little friend here. She cried every morning :-(...it was heart breaking. The others were sweet though and tried to cheer her up. As you can see though, no sweat starting school for the BA. She loved it!

Which brings me to her school situation:

You know of course she had to leave my Alma Mater when it was announced that there would be no senior school next year? Well, on her last day she went through the usual rituals...

Do they do this where you are? On the last day? It was not the norm when I was a gal; we signed each other's year books (which is what is happening in this picture)!


And similarly here where my Bestie, in her final year, is getting her yearbook signed.


Nowadays, writing on paper seems to be 'old hat' and everyone signs everyone else's clothes! Hrrumph. I got quite irrationally prudish about this.

Scene: Last day at Alma Mater

Me: Don't go getting people to write on your uniform today BA.
Her: Why-ever not? (as if she really said 'why-ever'...still...)
Me: (unsure as to the root of my own disquiet) We-ell, we-ell, (thinks furiously) well....because it's common! That's why not!!
Her: Of course it's 'common' mother....everybody does it!!!!!

Faced with this rationale I had to capitulate. When she brought it home that night I had a chance to actually look at what people had written. I was actually quite moved by many of the tributes, this one from her Business and Enterprise teacher(All the best for the future. Remember, you have lots of potential.)

And this one from her Principal:

who had confided in me that she felt very honoured to have been asked to sign the dress.

I am sure our yearbooks were easier to store, but I know the dress will be treasured for years to come too.

But then it was on to the first day at a new school.

The Baby Angel is now attending St Saviour's (as I shall call it), a Catholic girls school in the north of the city where Prof J's daughter is Head Prefect.

We did have a laugh at the beret.

When we went along to buy the new uniform ($$ouch! and we couldn't sell the old one of course as there will be no more girls wearing that uniform :-(...) the lady selected a slightly overlarge beret for the first try. I am ashamed to say that I laughed hysterically.
"You're not helping, mum," said the uniform lady, through gritted teeth.
The BA loked crestfallen. Although my Alma Mater had a boater for the summer, there had not been a maroon velour winter hat for thirty years. Since my day in fact! What cruel irony that my 21st century girl should have to wear a French Navy wool beret!!! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA


In other uniform news, she is also playing netball for her new school. Yet another lycra body suit
and more school uniform costs!



She cannot, however, let go of Alma Mater completely.

So from her first day at school in a navy tunic, to another navy uniform. It seems we have come full circle. On Wednesday night she was choosing subjects for her final year. *sigh*

Blonde Is The New Lobotomy

My Baby Angel is a blonde. If I was ever in doubt, incidents like this make it crystal clear.

We have been battling for 6 years now with one of those inferior rangehoods which only recirculate the air. This causes problems every time Himself decides to cook a steak or a sausage which fills the kitchen and then, by virtue of the recirculating action, the whole house, with blue smoke. One of the things on our "Inheritance To Do List" is to put a flue into the kitchen so that the smoke is vented to the atmosphere (as they say in the trade).

So, there I was at the appliance shop last Saturday, checking out all the range hoods.
Turns out there is quite a variety to choose from.

There's your 'full on' open plan style exposed flue,

your under cupboard hood,


and the retractable slimline version


which puts most of the 'workings', ie that square box thing on top here,

up into the cupboard above.

After some discussion with the salesman, I realised I was not entirely sure what kind of hood we actually have and whether it could be flued easily or would require a whole new unit with removal of cupboards, tiling, the whole ensuing 'kitchen renovation catastrophe'.

No problem in this age of technology. I called home and got the BA.
"BA, could you do me a favour and have a look in the cupboard above the range hood for me."
"The what? "
"The rangehood, the thing that (purportedly) sucks air out from over the cooktop!"
"From over the what?"
(For Pete's sake)
"THE HOB..the GAS BURNERS....the..."
"Alright, alright, I get you.....(rustling and general movement).......ok.....what am I looking for?"
"Can you tell me if the guts of the thing, the workings, are up in the cupboard?"
"WHAT???"
"Is there like a box up in the cupboard, above the rangehood?"
"Ye-es...."
"RIGHT! Like containing the workings, the motor...."
"Ye------es"
"OK. Now, can you see if..."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.....do you mean this box?"
"What? (highly confused now)"
"Well, there's a box here....."
"YE-ES???????"
"But it says :Sizzle Stone Table Top Grill"
I may have to kill her.

Hey, It's Only A Game: And Other Lies We Tell Ourselves

Oh. In an addendum to the 'Bulletstorm' texting post, I went into EB Games one night the week after his birthday to see if I could find the game. Not that he hadn't been delighted by his 'Rango' dvd (he was actually, I was pleased to note), but I still suffering from that thing I told you about before where I hate to disappoint them (over little things...no problem disappointing him over a laptop).

Inside the store I was confronted with an obscene array of 'on sale' games of every colour and persuasion. Want to crochet on your computer? There's probably a game for it. Unfortunately, there's much more likely to be a game which allows you to steal cars and mug old ladies, for points.

After sifting gingerly through the morass of 'Kill or B Killed 4' (I made that up, but it is probably a title) style bargains, I came upon 'Bulletstorm', reduced from $98.00 to $69.00. $98.00??????? Huh. Just as well it was on special.

With distaste, I picked it up between my first finger and thumb and carried it over to the checkout like something the cats had recently dismembered on the back porch. The young, male assisitant smiled at me quizzically,
"Do you want that?"
"Do I look like I want it?" I grimaced. "Apparently however, I am going to buy it."
The young man, bearing the pallid dermis and probably negative vitamin D rating of a seasoned game player, looked dubious.
"Do you know what it's about?" he queried."What age are you buying it for?"
"Well a) I assume its about shooting, with bullets, and b) for a 13 year old." I growled, my disapproval running from my pores and forming a large puddle about my feet. He looked thoughtful again.
"This is a pretty full on game you know," he informed me."It's mainly about killing people in the most spectacular way possible and also there's LOTs of swearing."
His off-sider sauntered across with a collection of boxed excreta for pricing and shelving.
"Which one are you talking about?" (yes, I guess it's hard to know...there's so much choice)
"Bulletstorm dude. Have you ever played it?" My assistant's face grew rosy and cheerful. "It's awesome! You spray this guy with bullets and it takes off the top of his skull and the brains like fly out in a spray and splatter across the screen!!!!!"
"AWESOME!!!!" his mate nodded and grinned.
And then he turned back to face me. "It's a pretty full-on game for a 13 year old."


I had been prepared for it to be about death and killing, most of Small Boy's games are >:-(
I hesitated.
His mate's face changed.
"Oh wait, I do know that one. It really IS full on for a kid." (what? and how old are you?)



I left the store a richer and somewhat bemused woman. I really had not expected the consumers and salespeople of the industry to talk me out of 'Bulletstorm'. It inspired a small, but brilliant, gleam of hope in my heart. And anyway, I now had major justification for failing to buy the thing for Small Boy!

This episode raised a whole lot of issues for me: firstly, shame that I was willing to buy the thing in the first place; secondly, relief that even seasoned gamers a) recognise when something is over the top and b) care about kids enough to dissuade a customer; minor fear at the feverish excitement in the young man's eye as he described the game to his friend; disbelief that people sit around using their brain power to create these things and finally, the ubiquitous discussion over the classification of games.






Here in Australia the most severe rating classification has been the M15+ label. Many games which did not fit into that category were basically not sold here and some that did were squeezed in under the lesser classification. Many of the games on the 'sale' table were there because, as the classification system changes, they will soon be rated R18+. Retailers are emptying their shelves of the MA15+ versions. This prompted me to wonder why. Are we too lazy in this day and age to stick a new classification label on a case? Are they too easily peeled off? Might this open retailers to prosecution for illegal sales of games to minors?

But then there's the bigger issue: has the lower classification ceiling kept a lot of unsavoury games out of Australia? (clearly not, thinking of 'Bulletstorm') Will the new legislation, meant to improve the standard of viewing available to our younger audiences, actually encourage the import (and thus availability) of even worse material? What do you think?



Oh and in an addendum to this addendum, to our absolute horror, the Small Boy's mother bought him the game this week, after also being advised against it by the shop assistant.
"She just said 'it's only a game'," Small Boy reported.