Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts

Monday, 16 September 2013

Near enough is good enough, right?

"Ahh, you must be Campbell's mum."

I'm not sure if that's a good thing to be instantly recognised as your child's mother when you've just entered a room to hear all about the expectations of Year 8 students. I have a simple expectation that my son does not have a criminal record by the end of Year 9. High school has an expectation that you are toilet trained and can sit still for 6 hours. Or at least close to.

But to be instantly recognised as your son's mother, well -  is it an insult to you that you have the face of a 13 year old boy, or an insult to your son that he looks like his overweight 42 year old mother. Either way, that's messed up. The closest Campbell has looked like me was when he was in kindergarten and had a massive mop of hair on top of his already massive head. I had the standard 1970's big doll-like hair on the top of my massive head. Our eyes, our smiles and our massive boofy heads identify us as mother and son. Back then. Certainly not now. 

"You must be Campbell's mum."
Like mother like son? Appearance is where it stops.

What had my cackleberry done this time? Do I look like the parent of a slack smart arse? Did I smell like the parent of a slack smart arse? How did this teacher know that I was the parent of a slack smart arse? 

Genetically, Campbell should have been an overachieving nerd. Both Tim & I were teacher pleasers, suck holes, perfectionists. Sometimes, it hard to understand how Cam is the way he is - lazy, unmotivated, near-enough-is-good-enough schlemiel. I did not take drugs or drink when he was wombing it, so the chemical excuse can't apply here. 

But I don't think Campbell is alone. I think our generation has spawned a generation of I-really-don't-give-a-shitters. I agree there are still many kids out there who try hard, do well and are ambitious, but so many of our youngsters are...well...dickheads. And it's not entirely their fault. To a degree, our generation has fucked them up and have let them down. Some of our little cotton wool kiddies are finding out that near enough is just not cutting it as good enough. 

As some kids thrive on enquiry learning and exploring their own learning needs independently, others - and by others, I mean Campbell - see independent learning as a time for a nanna nap or an opportunity to destroy his school shoes with some liquid paper and some tacks. While others are keen to complete their assignments to the best of their ability, my lad is thinking of ways he could do the least possible work in the shortest amount of time and still hand it in two months late. His Couldn't Give A Rat's Fat Arse chromosome kicks into underdrive. Zzzzzzz.

Before you ask, yes he has seen an educational psychologist, an auditory processing specialist, a visual processing specialist, a speech pathologist, school guidance officers and a kinesiologist. He is a smart kid. He's just a fucking lazy one. And he's not just smart in brains smart. He's smart enough to recognise the lack of consequences for being lazy. He knows that if you don't hand in work on time, you are told to bring it in the next day. And then the next day. And the next day. Detentions are not like they were in my day. Teachers dished them out daily. No parent permission required. You stayed in. And nothing scared you more than knowing your mum was outside waiting in the car while you were in detention. But these days, notes need to be sent home asking for permission to keep your child in for half an hour after school. Lunch time detention is for ten minutes only, and only after they have eaten and had some fresh air. 

And it's not like all his marks at school are bad. He received a brilliant mark on an assignment that was handed in almost two weeks late. Coz he knew he could. He knows he will succeed whether he performs now or when he feels like it. A control game? Possibly. Fucking lazy? That's a given.

In primary school it was much the same. Towards the end of Grade 5, the kids were able to apply for a school leadership position. Sounds like work, doesn't it? Needless to say, he didn't apply. He didn't want a position. But he was given one anyway. School Leadership hierarchy is this: Boy and girl School Captains, a boy and girl Captain for each of the four Houses, then Peer Support, Community, Media and ICT roles are shared across the students. No one is left out. This way everyone feels needed and loved and self esteem is elevated. Ahhhhh. Ok for primary school maybe, but in secondary school I'd like my son to be shaped into a driven man. Someone who knows that with effort comes reward, and consequences - good or bad - follow actions. The 'near enough is good enough' attitude will not float in adulthood and the workplace. 
"Dr Campbell, did you remove all of the tumour?""Sure. Maybe. Near enough. Now where'd I leave that scalpel? I'll look for it later."

This isn't every child. This isn't even every child of mine. But we need to start grow strong, resilient, and responsible kids or the real world is gonna give them one hell of a kick in the nuts. Mind you, there might be a job for them at Microsoft...

justmotivated.com

Tuesday, 28 May 2013

Jackpot!

I've just won the lottery!

Ha! I wish!

Would it change me? 
Nah...
But I probably wouldn't have time for you anymore.

After locking up my modest suburban house and changing my phone number, I would slink out of this little town called Melbourne and hide from all of you wanting a slice of my pie. 

MY pie.

Some of you need money way more than I do, and for some of you a little bit of my fortune would change your life forever. But I wouldn't want to play favourites. So it's probably for the best that I don't start sharing.

And what have the charities done for me except call me while I'm scoffing my hot meal in my warm and comfortable home?

So, with my loose change I would make small modifications to my current lifestyle.


I'd go from this:
...that somedays feels like this:
...and downsize it to this:
The Bugatti Veyron. The second most expensive car money
can buy. I don't want to show off. And the best thing?
Only seats two.

I'd move from this:

...to this:


I'd trade this:
...and get me one of these:



I'd go from this:
...to this:
I've hidden her identity as I don't want
people to know it's Mila Kunis.

Take my kids from government schools:
...and stick dump throw hide enrol them in a 
brilliant Boarding School far, far away, like this one:
Institut auf dem Rosenberg, Switzerland


Instead of holidaying like this:
...I'd go here:
Canada
...or here:
Tahiti

And instead of having these:
winetimes.com
...I'd have a couple of these:
mtviewestate.com.au

Nah...just kidding. There's some family I'd throw a couple of bucks to, and some friends. I'm sure I'd make lots of new friends very quickly after winning the lottery, and find some friends I haven't heard of in many many years in the process - some I bet I didn't even know I had.

What's the first thing you'd do if you won a stupid amount of pretend money and lived in La-La-Land with me? 

Linking up with Deb at Home Life Simplified's Listmania.

Monday, 18 February 2013

A day in the life...

In this weeks episode of Listmania, see what I saw on Thursday 14th February 2013. This is a day in my life...

7:15am (I feel like it needs a dramatic Law and Order introduction for each time)
Scarlett wakes me up by trying to force her dummy into my mouth. I haven't got a photo of this, so I drew it for you.
7:30am 
Time to get up Campbell. Grunt
Time to get up Ella. Grunt.

7:45am
Campbell, get up. Grunt.
How pretty is Campbell's pink wall? We will get  around to painting
it one day. Until then, Cam's friends will think it's adorable.
7:55am
Campbell! Get the hell up! What? Wha..? Why didn't you wake me? Now I'll be late.

8:00am
Morning chaos begins. Same 'ol same 'ol.
The photo looks so innocent. If only still photography had
volume. The fight between the older 2 behind me & the 

squeals from a baby just don't do this picture justice
8:30am
Can you drive me? I'm late coz you didn't wake me.
Ella strapping the ferals down

The drop off 
9:00am
Dora the Explorer for the Wondertwins, fridge magnets for Baby Scarlett, last night's dishes for me. Yay.

9:40am
The first of three loads of washing. The fun never ends.
10:10am
The first pooey nappy for the day. The first of many. That'll teach me to have three kids in nappies. Down you go for a nap Essie.

11:10am
Pancakes for an early lunch. Nutella sandwiches are not good enough today apparently.

11:45am
After a frantic last minute search for bathers, goggles and swim caps, we head off to Grace and Lily's swimming lessons. Forgot the towels. Bugger. And the change of clothes. Fffffff...
Grace & Lily
1:15pm
Home from swimming, dried, changed. Now to make new playdough. The other batch was mashed and dried on the rug and other miscellaneous objects.
This brilliant literally 5 minute play dough
recipe is the closest I get to actual 'baking'.
2:50pm
I'm desperate for Double Trouble to have a nap. They won't. They grizzle. They fight. Soon it will be too late for a nap if I want them to go to bed before 11pm tonight.

4:30pm
Load the Grand Carnival up with twins, toys for twins, snacks for twins, a 9 month old and an 11 year old, to go pick up 11 year old's 11 year old BFF and drive them to said 11 year olds' dance class at 5.

5:35pm
Damn it.
It took me ages to find Grace. This toy box is in her wardrobe
 Damn it.
I said I not tired
6:00pm
Better start thinking about what to feed the little bastar... darlings. What crap can I serve up and call a meal tonight?

7:20pm
Dad's home. Finally. Dinner. Finally.

7:55pm
A relaxing bath to calm the savage beasts before bed. God I'm funny.

8:15pm
I have to lie with Scarlett until she finally drops off, usually in an hour.

9:15pm
Tim's asleep on the couch. As usual. I'll pick this crap up & fold the washing while he snores. Who am I kidding? It'll still be there tomorrow.
Does this photo of my lounge room make you feel good?
You're welcome.
10:35pm
The last kid takes their final curtain call.

11:00pm
I get my blog on and stalk people on Facebook.

Unfortunately, I was not able to photograph the many tantrums and stupid arguments the kids had during the day, as I was busy ignoring them. I want to make this visual diary every week and turn it into a coffee table book called Ask Me Again What I Do All Day. I Dare You.


See more of the daily crap I put up with on my Facebook page.

Monday, 11 February 2013

You mean I have to work to earn money?

When I was in primary school, all the girls (and the occasional boy) wanted to be hairdressers or air hostesses when they grew up. I wanted to be a hairdresser and to be the first girl to play for the Collingwood Football team. In high school, I saw myself as a psychiatrist, a librarian or a drama teacher.

I became none of those.

As I told you in my first blog, my year 12 English teacher told me I would be nothing more than a housewife. Sure, I'm a housewife now, but I'm more than 'just a housewife'. We all are.


My first job was for the local pharmacy delivering medicines to people's homes after school. I would ride my bike around the suburb through strong winds and hail, the scorching heat and the freezing cold. I hated it. At 15, I then worked in the pharmacy helping customers. Mums would come in and ask me where the S26 was. What the hell was S26? My boss was a nasty sour old lady who rarely smiled and scared the life out of me. I only lasted a couple of months.

I picked up a weekend job at a garden centre during my later high school years. We checkout chicks had the best time. I was there for 2 years and the only thing I didn't like about the job was having my nose full of black snot from the dirt and dust at the end of the day. 

After high school, I tried to get into a drama and literature teaching course. I wasn't successful. I took a year off before trying uni again and worked for a newsagent, until I realised how unsuited I was to customer service. I spent the rest of the year, to my Mum's delight, on unemployment benefits, going to nightclubs and sleeping until 2 in the afternoon.


My shitbox was red, with the inner roof
cloth sagging down and puddles at your feet.
And the kids complained..?
I began my primary teaching degree the following year, and did an extra year in special education with a focus on hearing impairment. While studying, I was babysitting for a few wealthy families - one lot of children refused to get in my 'ugly old' car to get to school. I stopped babysitting when I couldn't find the two boys I was caring for during a storm. They were climbing across the roof and I was climbing up the walls. Their parents simply told me, "Yeah, they do that sometimes. Cheeky monkeys." Okey doke...

After graduating, I worked as a prep teacher in a regular primary school (so much fun) and in a few schools for the deaf in Melbourne and country Victoria. I have travelled hundreds of kilometres to get from one remote school to the next as a visiting teacher for students who are hearing impaired. I loved, with a passion, being a visiting teacher. Then I had kids. That stopped that - for a while, anyway. Ironically, my daughter was diagnosed with a hearing loss.


Deafblind signing
When my first two children were quite young, I worked in respite, providing support for people living with deafblindness. What an amazing experience that was! I then went on to coordinate the respite program - until being a working mum proved to be too bloody hard. I managed to pick up a short term job with the Multiple Sclerosis Society, promoting awareness of MS and of the MS Readathon in schools.

Eventually, when the kids were both at primary school I returned to work as a visiting teacher, supporting hearing impaired kids in mainstream kindergartens, primary and secondary schools. I managed to squeeze in a Master's Degree in there as well (well half of one) until the twins interrupted that idea. Because I was so bored with four kids (yeah, right) and because I had so much time on my hands (of course) I hung out at a kindergarten helping a little three year old friend who needed Auslan and language support. So cool.

When that was finished, and I could loiter around playgroups with my Wondertwins, a friend and I decided to embark on a business of our own. Both of us were teachers, both doing our Master's Degree in something, and both lamenting how hard it is to keep our skills up with rugrats under our feet. We began a language intervention playgroup for preschool children. Most of these children were from Sudan and many others families had English as their second language. The Wondertwins could join in, too. Sweet! 

Oops. Pregnant again.

And here my employment journey comes to an abrupt end. Again.

Now with five kids aged 13, 11, 3, 3 and 9 months, I wonder if I will ever enter the workforce of adult conversation, regular lunch breaks, a time to clock on and off, and be known again as Mrs M, or Lisa, instead of Mmmuuuuuuummmm!!!!

Thanks again Home Life Simplified for another great Listmania treat. 

Wednesday, 30 January 2013

43 Freaking Days

Oh my God! It's wonderful! Sniffle, sniffle. Wipe away tears. Bloody wonderful!

It's the last day of the Victorian School holidays for my kids! I can't believe it's finally here. And boy, how those 43 days just flew by...

Nooooo.

I've been reading through friends' Facebook posts of beautiful and sometimes teary stories of their youngsters returning, or beginning, school. Lovely photos of tidy uniforms, rows of bags and homemade lunchbox treats. That's not me.

Tonight, as I count down the hours until Big Grade Six Girl returns to class, I have jobs to do. Jobs that I'll admit I've been a little delayed in doing. With Ella just settling in bed after several curtain calls to remind me to wake her at 6 (WTF?) and to iron her school dress (again, WTF? - in her six years of primary school I have never ironed her uniform, and I do not intend to start now. You will not teach this old dog new tricks) I have decided the most important thing I could be doing with my time now is to blog. You are welcome.

I should have learned from last year's 11pm run to Kmart. My nearest store is open until midnight and is specifically designed for mums like me. We walk through the store with purpose, make-up-less and daggy, heading directly for those last minute first-day-of-school purchases. This would be a great place to meet likeminded mums who are just as crap as I am at getting their shiz together. However, we all walk fast, heads bowed, eyes bleary, moccasins shuffling on the vinyl floor determined not to make eye contact as we race for the checkout before they lock us in there overnight. 

I'm proud to say I will not be doing the Kmart run tonight.

Instead, I will be finding matching, or close-enough-to-be-matching, socks, lengthening a school dress (which will probably not even be worn tomorrow as she'll change her mind, again) and labelling brand new lunch boxes and drink bottles. My bad - I forgot to clean out the lunch boxes from last year and they were stashed in a box of 'hide for Christmas' stuff until now. I didn't have the courage to open them. I just threw them away. Shudders.  

I had Ella empty her own school bag this afternoon. In front of me. So I can see first hand how she 'emptied' it at the end of the last school year without me present. Needless to say, the ghosts of bananas and ham and cheese sandwiches of terms past that had been fermenting in the summer heat, are still haunting my nose. Apparently it was my fault. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble and just emptied it for her in December. I'm terrified of what might lurk in Campbell's bag. I know it's not school work.

You'd think that with my excitement to have them return to school I would have had them all packed and ready the first day of January. So would I. I just can't figure myself out somedays. But here we are, 10 hours before school starts, and I can't fucking wait. It's not that I don't love having them around. I just don't love having them around all the time. But after 43 freaking days, Mummy needs her sanity back and maybe her ears will stop ringing from the competitive shouting from dawn to dusk. 

Forget the Tea and Tissues morning at school - who's up for a Wine and a Whine at ten past nine tomorrow morning?

56 days until the end of Term.


Facebook - a place where stalkers meet.

Friday, 21 December 2012

Pressure

The pressures and stresses of this time of year can be extraordinarily hard to cope with. I'm not talking about Christmas this time, but the nerve-racking period Year 12 students from around Australia experience each year waiting for their results to appear in the mail. I don't actually remember the intense pressure of sitting my final exams, knowing that these results could mean my future. I've probably blocked it out. I didn't really know what I wanted to do beyond High School. I knew it would be some kind of teaching. Back in the late 1980's, anyone could be accepted into a teaching degree. You didn't need exceptional grades and in some cases it was a second or third choice for many students who didn't get their first or second university preference in Law or Accounting. 

But in recent years, it seems that so much emphasis is placed on excellent results. Don't get me wrong - I think it's a wonderful thing that to be accepted into a university degree in education you need to be able to demonstrate a very high level of skill - but there are still some students, and families, that place so much anxiety and importance on producing the perfect result. 

Dr Michael Carr-Gregg, a passionate child and adolescent psychologist, writes about surviving end of year results. I've always told my students - this is not the be-all end-all. There are options. There are other pathways to get where you want.

Recently, I've been stunned by the pressure my little 11 year old, Ella, has been under as Year 5 comes to a close. The school had encouraged the 5ers to apply for senior school leadership positions. Ella does not need encouragement for these sort of things. As soon as she heard of the positions, she set about writing drafts, rewriting, editing, recording, rewriting again, her formal application and speeches for School Captain and House Captain. I wish she could show this kind of tenacity in helping out around the house. She's a driven, ambitious girl and I admire her determination and courage. 

Her application submitted, her speech delivered, her wait began. Every day we had to hear of how exciting it would be to get a captain role and how her friends say she'll get one for sure. The girls threw these comments to each other daily - Oh my God, you'll soooo get captain for sure. Oh my God, no! You're so there! There were 5 positions for girls up for grabs and practically every Year 5 girl going for them. Someone - no, most of them - will miss out. Some will be disappointed and will have a very sudden lesson in resilience. To help the kids who missed out, roles have been created so that every Year 6 will have a special responsibility. No one will lose. So much like real life.  

My Ella-Bella
Sleepless nights and tummy aches past, the school announced the leadership positions yesterday. I had a nervous day wondering what kind of child will return home from school. I had worded her up in the morning before she left, trying desperately not to get her hopes up and to also be confident in herself. To accept defeat with maturity and integrity. To accept success with modesty and humility. To take deep breathes. This is Year 5. I'm hoping by the time she reaches the end of her secondary school years she has developed the resilience and skills to cope with these anxieties. I know I still haven't.

Well done, Ella. I'm very proud of you.


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