Teaching an old dog new tricks

There are still things I'd love to learn. Some of them are academic, some are personal, some of them are pointless. Is it too late to teach an old dog new tricks? Nah. 

I'm linking in again with Home Life Simplified's Listmania listapalooza to think about things I'd like to learn. After pondering it for a couple of minutes, I now know what I don't want to learn. I don't want to learn how to dig my own camp toilet. I don't want to learn how to milk a snake. Nor do I want to learn how to become a hillbilly hand fisher, as much as wading through muddy rivers and shoving my arm up to the shoulder in a dark underwater hole sounds appealing. I'd rather learn how to crap my dacks and have others be none the wiser.

But the things I'd like to learn, in all seriousness, are surprisingly quite a few. 

I feel the pull to continue learning. I would like to return to Melbourne Uni one day and finish my Masters Degree in Deaf Education. I would love to learn how to become an audiologist so I can return to the real world of work and adult conversation. I would love to improve my Auslan skills.

I would love to learn German, Swedish and read braille.

I would love to learn how to crochet, paint with oils and keep plants alive.

I would love to learn how to ski, to meditate, to relax and to like myself.

I want to learn how to do at least one really amazing magic trick, or to do that flippy thing with a coin across my hand and back.

I want to learn to do the cup song just like Anna Kendrick can do. She is so awesome.

Now all I need to do is learn where I'm going to find the fecking time to do these things.

So, Old Dog - what new tricks do you want to learn?

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. 

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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How rude am I?

Three posts and I haven't introduced myself properly. How rude.

Imagine a 30 year old, svelte brunette with deep green eyes and perfect skin who loves to cook, visits the gym every day and finds housework rewarding.

That's not me.

Not a total lie though. I am a brunette.

I'm a 41 year old mum of five who's let herself go beyond letting herself go, uses Pro Active and visits the fridge every day. I find housework impractical.

Oooh...so close.

In a life that seems sooooo long ago, I was a teacher. I loved being a Visiting Teacher of the Deaf, ironically becoming one before I had a daughter who was diagnosed with a moderate hearing loss. I loved teaching in country Victoria and I loved teaching in the 'burbs. I think I'm over teaching, though. My kids have put me off kids in general, particularly being around them all day. And a school won't pay me to hide in the laundry and drink wine. Not these days.

I'm half way through a Masters degree in Deaf Education. The twins interrupted that idea. I promised myself I would complete it, but now I feel drawn towards audiology instead. I'll need an income to support my husband in supporting our four girls with expensive tastes, so looking into other people's ears seems an appealing option.

I have depression. 

This blog is a way of escaping the repetitive and emotional drainings of psycho-therapy, cognitive behavioural therapy, counselling, etc, that I have had in the last 12 years. I haven't been well in the past (I have a certificate to prove it) and I'm probably still not that well in the present, but I'm here, and I'm writing about my days with hope that laughter really is the best medicine. And hopefully you'll get a buzz knowing that your kids aren't nearly as crazy as mine. 

My 12 year old soft-centred first born is Campbell. The poor lad is surrounded by oestrogen and pink. I worry about him a lot because looking at him is like looking in a mirror emotionally. I worry about him because I sometimes feel I have broken him. 

Campbell

He hates school with a passion and loves scootering with just as much passion. 

He cries more than the average 3 year old.

Spunk.

Ella

Ella is my smart dumb kid, or my dumb smart kid. Either way, she blows me away with her maturity, wisdom and creativity just as much as she scares me with her sometimes strange and out of context comments. Ella's 11, hearing impaired and a brilliant artist. 

I think so anyway.

Grace & Lily. Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.

Grace and Lily are feisty 3 year old, believe it or not, identical twin girls. They are not 3 months apart as someone once asked me. Don't get me started on epigenetics (the study of heritable changes that occur without a change in the DNA sequence, thank you dictionary.com) because you won't win and you'll be bored in the process. 

They are, at the moment, very very hard work, very very entertaining and very very cute. 

Baby Scarlett

Lucky last, and I mean last, is baby Scarlett. She's only 5 months old but I can tell she's picking up tips from her older siblings who will have a lot to answer for. She's gonna be one hell of a tough kid growing up in a zoo like ours. I love her to death.

Tim

I am married to the biggest kid of all, Tim, who works so hard I barely see him. I must be doing something right because he's still here after all these years. However if he learns to cook for himself I might not see him again. Until then, I think I'm safe. You can't teach an old dog new tricks can you?

Oops, sorry - that's Joshua Jackson.

But if you sorta squint your eyes...

This is my Timbo.

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