Enraptured...

I think I'm in love....

I just fell across a fantastic blog that has had me LOLling all over the place. (As a sideline... is it just me who hates to see LOL everywhere? Honestly, how often when we read do we really do it, yet people (apparently) spend their time LOLling here there and everywhere.)

(Ok, maybe they're just jollier than me.)

Anyway, this guy would've had me spraying my champagne all over the keyboard and screen if I had've been drinking champagne at 8 in the morning.

Here he is. I swear, if he was in Melbourne, single and older than me, he'd be number 87 on my list of eligible-men-I've-been-on-a-first-and-usually-only-date-with. Unless he's a smoker. Or wears white trousers. Or says "Woo!" when he dances. Or dyes his hair a blatantly unnatural shade of dark that just makes him look like a pathetic wanna-be. But I don't think this guy would do any of those things. Anyone who writes this well would clearly never commit these cardinal sins. The power of humour in seduction should never be overlooked......

After reading his post on ESL teaching, it got me thinking about the times that I've had similar heartwarming situations in class. I too, have had to explain to an adolescent male from Korea who had yelled out a genial greeting to a friend what the word 'cunt' actually means and why it isn't a socially acceptable word to use in a mixed gender classroom. He had no idea of the connotations, so I had to go through why 'vagina' is one thing, and the good old C word is quite another. The whole class hung on my every word. They didn't take notes, though. Obviously I'll have to lift my game.

Then there was the time that a beautifully demure, softly spoken Chinese girl in year 11 asked me to explain what a 69 was. She'd heard the expression being bandied around and she didn't understand why it was so funny when boys in her class asked her to say that she'd like it. I began to tell her, and then imagine my horror when it became obvious that she'd never even heard what oral sex was.......

We both got an education that day. She learned a few things about human behaviour that she'd never dreamed of, and I learned just how coddled and protected some of these kids are. Still, she'd never be bullied by those infantile wagsters in year 11 again. (I just asked her to never tell her mother that I'd talked to her about this. I really didn't want to have an outraged parent up at the school, even though I was clearly fulfilling my duty of care.)

Earlier this year I had a girl in my year 11 ESL class who is a bit of a tomboy. One day she thought it might be amusing to take an unused tampon, colour it in with red texta and then throw it at the boys. I came into the room and saw it on a desk. I went ballistic. In fact, I was more than ballistic. I was operatic. I practically had the viking helmet with the horns and long plaits on by the time I'd finished. After a good five minutes of me talking about boundaries, about some things being private, about how even though feminism has broken down the barriers between men and women there are still some things that women with any degree of class don't stoop to do and there are some things that guys simply don't want to know too much about etc etc.....

I stopped for breath. Then Chris from Korea (the same guy from earlier) gingerly put up his hand.

"Miss?"

"What?" I snapped.

"Umm.... what is a tampon used for?"

I looked at him. At first I thought he was trying to be funny, but he was honestly bewildered as to why I was going mental about this. My heart sank. It was going to be the 69 situation all over again. Then Jason from Hong Kong raised his hand.

"Yes Miss. I don't know either."

I sighed. Then I glared at the girl who'd started this.

"Ok, hands up who doesn't know what a tampon is for."

A few of the boys who'd been here for a while knew, as did most of the girls. Amazingly though, some of the girls didn't know either. This is 16, 17 and 18 year old here. So they had a quick biology lesson, which wended its way into the wonderful world of feminine protection products. A couple of the boys looked as if they'd been clubbed over the head by the time I'd finished. But by gum! They were educated that day.

It's not just these delicate topics that have to be covered. Melbourne isn't a tropical climate, (though after yesterday you'd be pardoned for not believing me .. 42C/108F), but we certainly have a climate where God's Greatest Invention (deodorant) is needed. Some of these kids come from cultures where they've never seen, heard of or used such a thing. So nearly every year there comes a time where I sit the class down and we talk about why daily showers are necessary. What deodorant is and why Aussies would rather step in dog poo than reek of B.O. Why their shirts have to be washed every day, not just every week. Why people who stink are never actually told about it.... people just avoid them.

These aren't kids coming straight from a war zone or anything. These are well-off, middle class kids who you'd think would know all of this from the cradle. But they don't. They're coming to a different society where some customs and values are the same, and some are pretty different. And if I don't talk to them openly and honestly about this stuff, then who will?

But I have to say.... they don't cover this sort of thing in Teacher's College...

OH HAPPY DAY!!!!

This is how I felt when I woke up today. It's the last day!!! Oh hoo-bloody-ray! O love my job, I really do, but I'm exhausted. I'm so glad the holidays are here... I'm planning a few days of sleeping, reading, knitting and sleeping, with a few nanna naps thrown in before the serious business of holidays kicks in. I have to finish 4 quilts for the boys because I told some people at work I would, and I have to do some painting around the place to stop my home looking like a slumlord's pre-renovation project, I have to catch up with people who probably think I've died because I haven't been in touch for so long, and who knows? I might even go on a date or two. I've had 18 months off but maybe I'd better get back on the horse. I've found that I really enjoy my life without the trauma of romance in it, but my dear friend Widget kindly informed me on the weekend that I was turning into a nanna. Just because I preferred to stay at home, watch 'Survivor' and knit on a Saturday night. Personally, I don't see what the resemblance is (my Grandma would rather die than watch 'Survivor'; especially a double episode) but perhaps she might have a point.

The VCE results came out this week. I was happy with how my English class went (5 kids scored over 40, which was nice, though only 1 of my ESLs did, which was disappointing). We're now busy getting class lists for next year. It looks like I'm going to be teaching the daughter of one of my besties, the blogless Sandy. I've known Kate since she was about 3 or 4, so it should be entertaining. Ohhh.... the skeletons I could drag out if she misbehaves in class..... I could bring in the happy snaps of the time it rained and she, her brother and my boys all ran out and danced in the rain in their underwear. Who cares if she was only 4 at the time? Other big school news is that we now know the name of our new principal. We're so fortunate that the current Assistant Principal was chosen by the selection committee. She is absolutely incredible at her job, works harder than anybody and I believe has been hugely instrumental in lifting the school to the current position it has. She really deserved to have the chance to have the top job and show what she can do, and I'm so pleased that she got it. It could've been a vastly unsettling year next year if the wrong person was given the job (I don't have any candidate in mind here, I'm just speaking generally), so I'm very happy that the decision fell how it did.

Here is a photo of Brennan (boy number 3) graduating from primary school last night. I snared front row seats for Connor and I, (Tony, Vivienne and the other two boys got the seats I grabbed for them 3 rows back.... well, that's what you get for being an ex husband...) and we had a lovely night. Brennan spoke really well, said his ambition was to be a guitarist and was one of the most confident actors in his little skit that he was in. I was so proud, though considering his mother is a Drama teacher you'd expect that performance would be tucked away in his genes somewhere. (I said g-e-n-e-s, not jeans. He's far too young for any of that nonsense.) I got slightly teary when a photo flashed up during the slide show of Brennan in prep. He was so gorgeous back then. How they change....

(That was a joke Bren, in case you ever read this. You're still gorgeous. Just taller.)

I'll finish with a photo of the Christmas gifts I made for the year 10 form captains to thank them for putting up with them. (No one thinks form assemblies are the highlight of the job.) Most student managers take the easy way out and buy bottles of wine or something, but I don't think form assemblies are so hideous that I have to spend half my week's grocery budget on people (there's 10 form groups at year 10) and so I made Christmas muffins instead. I invested my time, creativity and love in these gifts. I found these really stylish square china dishes and they were perfect for cradling a big colourful muffin. Who doesn't love a muffin with chocolate on the top at morning recess time?

I had a plan in my mind to make half the muffins with bright green icing and half with red, to make them all Christmassy, but my plan came unstuck when I was icing them at midnight. The school had its Presentation night to celebrate the high achievers, so i didn't get home till 11.30 or so. At that hour of the night, I made an executive decision that one colour only would do. I was also going to sift through the mini M&Ms to just use the Christmas colours, but that didn't happen either. Before school the next morning I was wrapping them with clear cellophane over the top, and that made the colours really zing! They looked fantastic. At midnight the previous night I was cursing my 'hand-made with love' idea, and if Dan Murphy's had've been open at that hour of the night I might've made a quick trip down to the bottle-o's; but once they were wrapped and I could see how bright they looked, I was rapt that I'd done it. Yes, it's true. Cooking can be fun.

Busy busy busy.

What a busy few days! My weekend went pretty much as planned. I didn't see a soul the whole time, though before you think I got too antisocial I talked my my friends widget, Pitsa and Sandy on the phone. I baked so much that I can't fit anything else in the freezer... and I've got a full length freezer... I did a bit of gardening and housework, knitted and sewed. Put me back 100 years and I'd fit right in. Except for the bit where I was knitting in front of a double episode of 'Survivor: China'. Knitting a boring thing like an afghan demands a rollicking two hours of junk tv.

(Incidentally, future Frogdancer owes me a big debt of gratitude. Do you remember a couple of weeks ago I said that I'd put the afghan away for this summer when I'd knitted four out of the eight balls that this mammoth thing demands, and I'd pick it up again next year when it got nippy? Well, I was dying to get started on the two jumpers I've got wool for, but when I got up to the 'put-the-afghan-away' stage, I thought "I'll just get a little bit of next year's knitting done." So far I've knitted six out of the eight balls. Future Frogdancer had better send me some kind thoughts when she's blissfully knitting away on wool that isn't acrylic afghan yarn. I'm so bored with it, but I have to get the stupid thing finished. That girl owes me... big time.)

I went out to the veggie garden and realised that I've left the purple beans for too long. One lot are fine, but the others have started drying on the vine, and the leaves were turning yellow. What an idiot I am. So I frantically picked what I could save, and then brought the really dry ones inside to finish drying on the windowsill. With a bit of luck we'll get perpetual beans out of our one packet of seeds. (Even if the amount of seeds I harvested is a little more than I'd planned.) Ah well, you live and learn. The cucumbers are growing up to near the top of the side fence, and I'm harvesting one a day already, which makes Brennan and Jack happy, as they love to crunch right in to a whole cucumber. The lettuces are threatening to go to seed, so I'll have to pop down to Bentleigh market on Sunday to get some more baby ones. Everything is growing like crazy, and the plants all look happy.

I ended up leaving my quilt cutting and sewing till Sunday. I thought that I'd get all that I had to get done first, and then do the thing I was itching to do. So Sunday afternoon at 1pm I set myself up. The kids don't get dropped off till 6pm, so I had a huge chunk of time. I had so much fun. It's ridiculous when you step back and look at it. All I was doing was cutting out little bits of fabric and sewing them together while singing at the top of my lungs to my shuffling ipod. (By the way... I've got awesome taste in music. My ipod doesn't have one bad track. I never listen to it through headphones; I bought a thingy that lets me plug it into my stereo speakers. I love it, on the childfree occasions that I'm able to listen to it.) I was in heaven. The owl fabric I bought with the chunky, cute yet manly owls was big enough that I could play around with what I was including in the small squares. So I have owls peeping in from the sides, or up from the bottom, or squarely and chunkily in the middle. It looks so good!!!! I got most of the squares done, but then I started to run out of stash. (I can almost hear gasps of dismay coming from the quilting community....) I have about 10 more owl squares to surround with other fabric, and I'll have to go and buy a few more pieces. My rationalisation for this is that I must be doing a terrific job in using up the stash of fabric I already have, because none of the pieces I have left are big enough to use. So my frugality kick is appeased, and sometime soon I'll pop down to Spotlight and have a wander.

Anyway, there I was, singing away, happy in my own little world, when at 4.30 I heard a car door slam. I glanced out of the window, at first casually, and then with increasing shock and horror. Tony had brought the boys home an hour and a half early.!!! That never happens..... Within 30 seconds of them walking in the door my music full of awesomeness was switched off and they were in my face. "Mum, guess what happened yesterday...?" "Mum, where's my footie?" "Mum, I love you what can I eat?" *sigh*

But the extra time I had with them enabled Connor to begin his own blog. Since looking at photo blogs like 3191 , TJ Sky's Photo Journal and the photos on Pleasant View Schoolhouse he's become more and more interested in photography. Since I bought my new camera for Phuket, my old Canon digital has been for family use, and Connor has had his 11 year old self stuck behind the viewfinder, experimenting with different ways to look at the world. His blog is called Swarming With Tadpoles . If you've got a spare couple of minutes please pop over and give him a hello. Keep in mind that he's only 11, so the photos aren't gallery quality. (Yet. He's a Virgo, so he's driven to get better. I don't know who he takes after....) He has full artistic control over what goes onto his site (and it's interesting for me to see the choices he makes about what goes on and what stays off.) Who knows? This could be the baby steps of a future career...

Isn't having kids and watching them grow up the best fun? All of the possibilities they play with.... I love it. With having four kids all close together in age, I guess that this is magnified in my house. They've reached the early to mid adolescent stage where their worlds open up. They're old enough to have developed skills and tastes and young enough not to have boxed themselves off from any opportunities, and now they're exploring everything that grabs their interest. Photography for Connor, and to a lesser extent Brennan; music for Brennan and Jordan, and now Jack has jumped on board with huge enthusiasm too; art for Jordan; knitting for Brennan... who knows what will come next? I think it's fantastic. Life gets busy here but it's rarely boring.

And speaking of rarely boring... yesterday at work I moved desks. I vacated the year 10 office and went back home to staffroom 1... back with my besties. I'd forgotten how nice it is to be with a whole lot of people instead of just one. I'm back to back in the same aisle with Scott , and the rest of the staffroom is dotted with the people I really like here at work. We asked Widget to move from staffroom 3, but apparently she likes her desk because she can put her feet up on the windowsill and correct work in comfort. That sort of indecorous, wild and free behaviour just wouldn't do in our staffroom, so she's staying where she is.

Ho hum! It's seven thirty. Time to wake the primary kids and get them moving.

Life is Good.

What a day I had yesterday! You know, sometimes I love my life. Actually, most of the time I love my life, and yesterday was one of the days why.

I now know how to drive the sewing machine. Sandy came around after dinner on Wednesday and showed me. She hasn't used it for 5 years or so, and when she sat down she gazed at it for a long moment, then said, "Gee, it would've been a good idea to bring my glasses. When I last used this I didn't need them!"

She studied the manual, apparently learned a whole lot more about what her machine can do, and we got stuck into it. I learned about bobbin threading, tension (apart from the one in my shoulders when I'd tried using it before) and I even tried whizzing around and around with the line of sewing as if I was freehand quilting. It was on an old baby's bib, so I couldn't get too far lost. It was a evening of sophisticated fun and frivolity. The boys kept well out of it and played guitar in the back room. Thanks Sandy... I'm now an expert and no doubt sewing machine mishaps will never happen to me again.

Yesterday started at 5.30 when I was up writing student manager remarks to go on the front of every year 10 child's report. Sarge, my partner in this job, and I split the classes between us, so I have 5 classes x 26-28 kids to do. The remarks go something like this:

"Ermengarde has earned a fantastic/pleasing/pitiful set of reports which show that her studies in year 10 have been outstanding/diligent/nonexistent. Blah blah blah for the rest of the paragraph, talking about specific results and problems. Good luck in VCE next year"

As is often the way, the good kids are easy to do and you can whizz through them. The lazy kids and the failing kids are the ones that take ages, because you have to tailor each remark carefully to ensure tact without totally lying. This semester I had to write Jack's remark. I found out something really interesting about how I parent. I read his report, looking at his marks and the levels that each teacher assigned him for effort and classroom behaviour, and I wrote a remark that was far harsher than one I would've done if he was some random. (He's improved immeasurably since last year, but his effort rankings were still a bit low in some classes. Understandable. It takes time to get back to speed when you've slacked off for two years, but I really sunk the boot in.) I was driving to work and it dawned on me that what I should've done was give him the remarks of a 'very good' kid, but just modify them slightly. This is what I was doing with all the other kids like him. After all, in 3 subjects he scored a 10 and a couple of 9s. (Out of 10.) Thank goodness for computers. With the press of a keyboard it was done. But how interesting. Obviously nepotism has to struggle to survive in this house!

Next year he begins VCE, which for those non-Victorians is a two year study, where the student can pick the whole course, except English is compulsory. (Naturally. It's the bestest one of them all.) I've never seen Jack so excited about school. He's chosen a year 12 Maths (which he loves), Maths Methods (again... he says it's fantastic), Economics, Music and Physics. He begged me to go and buy the text books on Wednesday, so nearly $400 later we left the shop. This week they're doing an orientation week for VCE, so they're back at school doing classes, and he's loving the work. If only I'd known this was going to happen. I've been stressing out for years about how slack and disinterested he was. If I'd only known that it was going to take a course almost entirely consisting of the devil's work (ie: maths) to make him happy, I would've breezed through the last two years with a happy smile on my face.

Speaking of $$$, yesterday I paid the school fees for next year for Jack, Jordan and Brennan. This wasn't one of the things that made yesterday a nice day. They all do music, so that adds a couple of hundred to each boy for the tuition. Hire of instruments will be paid next year. A New Year's treat. I grabbed my trusty MasterCard, walked up to the bursar and braced myself.

Are you ready? (This isn't a private school, it's a government school. So private school parents will roll their eyes and say "I wish!" The rest of us will freak.)

$1900. This doesn't include school books or uniform. It's just the subject levies and music tuition. I tottered away from the bursar's window, a broken woman. Or maybe just a broke woman. I've bought Jack's books, a mixture of secondhand and new, which cost over $400. Jordan's books have cost me $65, but I still have to pick up a few new ones. Brennan, thankfully, uses Jordan's books from this year. And Connor, next year, will do the same. I knew there was a reason why I had these boys so close together. But still! This 'free education' costs a lot of money. The hire of their instruments will be around the $400 mark, I think. Probably 3 months of child support will go towards just outfitting them for school, once I buy bits and pieces of uniform and new leather school shoes as big as canoes for 3 pairs of galumphing feet. (Yet, as Lou from the bursar's office said, "Just be thankful you're getting it." True. The days when Tony wasn't paying child support were happening when the kids were small, young and cheap. Phew!)

And now.... the quilting class. It was great! I was rotary cutting all night. It's very addictive. I was waving the square ruler around and eying up my pieces of fabric and cutting into them with gay abandon. Woo hoo! Bits of material were going everywhere. I found it hard to get the hang of all the measuring at first, but once I gave my inner Virgo a stern talking to, and told her to get her nitpicky eye out of whatever place she was burying it and come and take over, then it went surprisingly well.

And I wasn't the only beginner, thank God. Two other women were first timers, though they were more advanced than me. One had sandwiched all her layers together and was starting to hand quilt, while the other had bought a Kaffe Fasset book and was doing one of his designs with his fabric. She was having a crisis of confidence about whether she'd end up liking it. The teacher was laying out all the squares she'd already done, and was speaking soothingly and encouragingly to her. I knew I was probably seeing into my future, but as they say in 'How I Met Your Mother' (great show), "I'll let Future Frogdancer take care of that. That'll be her problem."

There were two other people there. One woman wore very thick glasses and sat quietly all night, hand sewing teeny tiny triangles and saying very little. To be fair, if I was sewing triangles that were that small, I probably wouldn't be waxing lyrical about stuff either. The other guy was fantastic. He was onto his second quilt, the name of which was 'Hectic Eclectic' with lots of colours and rectangles, and he was also making a tote bag for his partner's Mum's Christmas present. Again, he used lots of colours and it looked fantastic. He was very funny and so helpful. At the end of the night I grabbed all my scraps from the rotary cutting and was looking for a bin. He saw what I was going to throw away and nearly had a coronary.

"NO! Wait! Look, you've got so many usable scraps here. If you make a 'Hectic' next time, you can use all these strips for your little squares."

He grabbed the scraps and started going through them, measuring any that looked a bit dicey, talking all the time about what I could do with them. My frugality kick was purring like a purring thing with fur and a tail. It was fantastic. I now have a stash. I asked him and he said so. That's how I know. "I love my stash!" he declared. It was all very exciting.

So today I have the day off to complete my reports. (I'll be doing a spot of patchwork during the day, I suspect.) Something funny happened this morning. Quilty people will appreciate it. Or else I'll just look like an idiot. I was showing Connor the squares I cut out. He was bobbing up and down beside me, eyes darting everywhere observing all that I've done. I was laying them on the bench, with the 9.5" squares lying alongside the 3.5" squares. It is supposed to go 3 little squares fitting alongside each big square. The squares didn't match up. The little square row was way overhanging the big square. I was devastated. I grabbed a ruler and measured the squares and they were all accurate. What had gone wrong? How could I have made such a huge mistake? I was having a stress attack, while darling Connor was patting my shoulder and saying, "It's ok Mum. Just have uneven rows. I'm a guy, I don't care if it's not perfect." Oh, my son, but I do.

Then it dawned on me. The little squares have more .25" seam allowances. All was fine again. I was still the master of the rotary blade. This measurement stuff with quilting is really going to do my head in until I get used to it.

Tragedy has struck!!!!

I've been cut off from accessing my blog from work!!!!!!

The school has a new internet provider, and it's labelling my blog as 'porn'.

I'm outraged. The only things having sweet sweet lovin' on my blog are the pumpkins... and even they don't have flowers to have nookie with, so basically my blog is as pure as the driven snow. (Though why anyone would want to drive snow anywhere is beyond me. The northern hemisphere can be quite strange at times...)

It's awful. Bloglines still works, but only in patches. Imagine my torment when I popped on to check out Crazy Mom Quilts and she kept saying "Look at this quilt I made" and "Look at this square" and "that quilt" and there were no photos allowed through!!! I had to come home at lunchtime just to have a look. Obviously this situation is totally unacceptable. If this continues for too long, all the bloggers on staff will be forced to look for alternative employment. Which will put me out no end, as I like working only two minutes from home. Still, it let through Kelley's pictures about her Christmas tree next to the toilet, (I'd be hosing that thing down thoroughly before I put it away into storage for next year!), so it wasn't a complete bust.

(Speaking of bloggers on staff, if you want to read a funny comment on yesterday's post I did, hop down and read it. I laughed myself beyond stitches. I work with some very funny people.)

Well, I'd love to stay and keep chatting, but I've got to go back to work. Hopefully my car park space will still be empty. Otherwise I'll have to park in the street, which will add at least 1 minute extra walking time to my trip home. It's turning into a day filled with the utmost tragedy and woe........................

Brennan's abandonment...

Last night I sat down at the sewing machine to figure out how to drive it. Within a very few moments long-buried childhood memories of Mum swearing at her sewing machine in the back room surfaced. Now, many years later, I can feel her pain. The bloody thing wouldn't work. The thread kept snapping, the bobbin tangled up and I had to carefully ease the thread out with a knife, (don't worry Sandy. I was very careful). I'd look at the diagram in the instruction book because I am a female and I don't mind asking for help, but nothing worked. Profanity emerged. I knew there was a reason why I was scared of this whole sewing thing. Wasn't so irrational after all. In the end Jordan asked me to "Put it away until tomorrow." I think the profane language was interfering with his enjoyment of the episode of 'Heroes' we had taped. Sandy happened to ring a few minutes later, so I swore at her machine to her as well. She's coming over between now and Thursday to help me work it out. She's good with diagram thingies. Sadly, I am not.

Brennan has his Orientation Day at school today. I'm so rapt. Only one more kid to go at Primary school, and then they'll all be with me. Yay! And no, this doesn't mean that I'm a control freak who has to keep her kids under her watchful eye at all times. I'm just really over primary school stuff after 12 years of it. The day I wash my last bright yellow school top will be a happy one. Brennan's been put in a form group with his best friend Marcus. I don't think he has any other kids from his friendship group in there, but that's ok. He never has any trouble making friends. He's miserable at the moment, though. Last night we went to the orthodontist and he's got the separaters in between his teeth. Apparently he's in a fair bit of pain. (When we got to the orthodontist's, I asked if Tony had paid the deposit for Brennan's braces. Nothing. I couldn't believe it. I went home intending to ring him, but I was a bit tired so I thought I'd have a nanna nap first. Lucky I did! I was woken by the lady from the orthodontist. Tony had just rung them, and had paid the deposit over the phone. So that was one unpleasant conversation we didn't have to undergo.)

Anyway, he's in the same form group as Jordan is this year (7D), but I'm desolate to discover that Mr Abode, Jordan's form teacher, has managed to weasle his way out of being involved with next year's crop of year 7s. Was being a leader.... nay... a father figure to my second son so awful that sweet helpless Brennan has now been abandoned? Where is the dedication to the young folk that we as teachers are meant to subscribe to? The little baby year 7s are like wriggly puppies. They need someone of high moral stature and great knowledge to gently but firmly lead them along the paths of academia and personal growth and self-worth. They need a form teacher who will guide them, nurture them and instill a sense of aspiration to live up the high ideals of personal behaviour and achievement that Mr Abode embodies. When young Jordan is faced with a moral/career/personal crossroad at any time in his life from now on, I know that the first question he'll ask himself will be, "What would Mr Abode, my idol, my mentor, my ideal of all that is upright and pure do?" So how in good conscience could he deny my little Brennan the same example? I'm shocked, people. Shocked and saddened.

(After writing this, I think I understand why I have never been asked to be a year 7 form teacher. )

Lunchtime with the YMTs.

Connor is home alone today. An upset tummy, so he says. I have my doubts... it just seems funny that every time he says he's thrown up it's always when I'm in the shower or in the loo. I come out into the hallway and he's mopping up a patch on the floor where he says he splattered on the way to the toilet, or I hear the sound of a flush and he totters out to tell me the news. I never actually see the event.

So when I left today I gave him a list of things that he had to have done around the house when I arrive home. Run the dishwasher and then unstack it, do the folding (the clean washing pile is looking horrendously large), hang out the load of washing in the washing machine, etc. If he's there, he can spend a bit of time being useful. He'll need a break from the Playstation anyway. The rules for kids at home is that everything has to be locked. No phone calls and definitely no leaving the house. I'm only two minutes drive away if anything goes wrong, and my work number and mobile number are by the phone.

I was in the staff common room at lunchtime and remembered that he was home, so I picked up the phone in there and gave him a quick call. I was near a group of teachers, most of them young males, who were sitting having their lunch.

Phone rings. Connor picks up, says "Hello?" warily.

"Hi Ugly, it's me! How are you feeling? Have you been sick again?"

"Yes...."

"Yuck! Did you make it to the toilet?"
(Young Male Teachers (YMTs) start laughing. Connor can't hear them.)

Yes, I did."

"Good! Have you eaten anything today?"
(YMT start saying things like "Well, by the looks of it I had carrots, some corn, some curry"... "I had a Big Mac, some cheesecake"... "Do you want to hear about my diarrhoea?" etc. I start laughing, and can't hear what Connor's saying.)

"Look, Connor, just cook yourself some 2 minute noodles without the flavouring. You'll be fine. Now, have you done the housework I asked you to do?"
(YMT's fall about in disbelief. "But he's sick!!" )

Connor says "Ummm... no." It's obvious he's been playing the Playstation and completely forgotten.
(YMTs say things like "Great mother you are..." and "Have you thought of hiring a maid?")

Mainly for their benefit, I say, "OK. Do this bit by bit. Run the dishwasher. Hang out the washing. Make sure shirts and Tshirts are on hangers. Do the folding. Now honey, you know I'm only getting you to do this so you don't get bored."
(YMTs start killing themselves laughing. "Gee, thanks Mum."... "Thanks Mum, cos the Playstation and the telley just weren't cutting it..." Then they crank it up a bit further. "Mum, you're breaking up..." ..."Mum, I'm driving into a tunnel. I can't hear you...."))

Connor, a little mystified as to why I'm laughing so much, says "Ummm, thanks Mum."

We hang up and the whole staffroom is laughing.

"Well, I'm bringing up my kids to be independent," I say defensively to the room at large. I go and sit down at my usual table.

"How can he hang the washing out if he's got to keep the whole house locked up? asked a Maths teacher. (Trust one of them to have a diabolical eye for detail.)

I got a mental picture of Connor at home with this list of things to do, and the rules he has to follow. I started laughing.

"Wouldn't this be funny?" I ask them. "I get home and he's done all the housework, and he's expecting to be told what a good boy he is. Instead I rip into him. "You fell into my trap! You know you're not allowed to leave the house!!! Just how did this washing get hung out???" Can you imagine his face?"

The kinder hearted among them say things like, "You can't do that to him!" while the others who know me better just laugh. They know I'm not going to do it. It'd be funny though. But I couldn't do it.

He'd never do any housework for me again....

Apologies for the Boring post to follow...

Phew! I was a bit worried that Scott might be a little perturbed about my post yesterday, but thankfully he appears to be fine. I'm enjoying blogging, but sometimes I think the dialogue that goes on in the comments section is even more fun. He left another very funny comment ysterday, which begged for an answer....

Interviews at work are just about over. Today we're just mopping up the remnants of the kids who are left, (those who were too vague and disorganised to come to their first interview and so they've been threatened with death on the phone by me yesterday, and one very sad case of a Chinese boy who's been here a year, and his English is still so bad that he can barely make any sense out of what's being said to him. We've strongly recommended that he stay down in Year 10 for another year to give his English time to kick in. His parents are very reluctant, but there's no other way. He wants to do medicine, so his results have to be among the best in the state. He's failing or scraping by with a bare pass in everything at the moment.)

I am so looking forward to the weekend. My partner in the student manager job has been away riding in the Great Victorian Bike Ride with a group of our students, so I've been left with everything. (The Great Vic is a ride where hundreds of people take off for about 8 or 9 days and ride over a course that takes them over much of the countryside. They ride roughly 80 or 90 kms a day, ending up back in Melbourne on Sunday. Our school always sends a team of kids, and a couple of teachers to supervise. It's fantastic that he wants to give up his time so that the kids can experience this. It's just my bad luck that it falls when we're doing interviews.) The house will be quiet. My first totally free weekend for over a month! No kids here on my child-free weekend. Yay!

Jack's already gone. His Dad picked him up yesterday to work in the shop for a few days, and he'll come back with the other boys on Sunday night. (I haven't heard an apology from Tony about his insinuation that I was ripping him off about the braces, just a text message that he received the letter with all the bills in it, and thanking me for sending them.) Last night was so peaceful with one of them gone. We had dinner, watched tv for a while, and then Connor wanted me to lie on my bed while he gave me a neck massage. (I've strained my neck a bit. It's sore.) The others came too, so we ended up lolling on my bed watching Dr Phil with some losers who were "judgemental". What a pack of geese. (Oh no. I think that judgemental thing is catching...) Then they went to bed, and I watched Oprah who had Suze Orman on. They talked about financial rescues for people who have been spendthifts to the max. My frugality kick was beaming. I love this stuff.

Well, it's time to wake the kids up and get off to work. Only two days to go until the weekend. Whoopee!

Purple beans and Breadcrumb patties.

Look at my harvest! Enough beans to feed five people, and there are plenty left on the plants. Brennan and I ate a couple while we were picking them. Bright green inside. I made some breadcrumb patties for dinner with mashed potato and steamed carrots and beans. Look at how the beans turned out...

Green! Isn't nature an amazing thing? Who would've thought that simple beans would evolve over thousands of years into something that can change colour with the simple application of microwaves. How did the beans know that microwaves were going to be invented? Imagine if humans slipped up and missed how to use microwave technology. There all the purple beans would be... hanging from the vines, really cross that no one would be able to appreciate the amazing colour change they were capable of. "All that trouble manipulating our dna for nothing", they'd fume. How lucky that some science guy tinkering with stuff in a laboratory discovered the key that now lets them mystify and delight my family instead. Ahh, the fun you can get from simple veggies!

The bread crumb patties are something I make very rarely, but the kids love them. Mum used to make them when she was flour/egg and breadcrumbing schnitzels in the olden days. Any of the coating left over she'd mix together and fry along with the actual dinner. Absolutely gorgeous. Last night I came home at about 5 so I thought I'd use the beans and have a meat and 3 veg meal. Just like Mum used to make! I was a bit tired so I wanted to do something easy.

Breadcrumb Patties.

All I use are packaged breadcrumbs, eggs, parsley (my parsley plant went to seed, so I threw it out. I used the leaves from the top of a celery instead), salt, pepper and a bit of milk. Mix until it gets to a nice consistency, drop into a frypan in pattie sized portions, and there you go! Great with tomato sauce. (Don't make them too thick, or they might not cook in the middle. Then they're not so nice, as you can imagine.)

We're into the last stages of interviews now. The difficult ones. These are mainly the kids who wouldn't work for an ipod with $1000 strapped to it. Of course by this stage of the game they can't rely on natural ability to get good marks like they may (or sadly, may not) have been able to do in the past, so these interviews are a wake up call for some. Most end up getting a bit of a shock and walk out a bit shaken. Others walk into the room with their head so firmly buried in the sand that you can practically see the bucket full of the stuff they have on their shoulders.

There are only three kids who we simply can't promote to year 11. They are totally different, except for the fact that they've failed just about every subject. One is lazy and hasn't done a stroke of work since year 7, one just doesn't have the wattage but she's a lovely girl who tries reasonably hard, and one covers those two bases but is also covering a world of other problems. I'm dreading her interview. She is a head burier. In fact I think she's buried everything but the tip of her nose. She hung up on me yesterday when I told her it was pointless to have an interview with just her, and I rescheduled it to tomorrow so her Dad could be there "to talk about her future". She'll have to either repeat year 10 or maybe go to TAFE. Trouble is, I don't think she's mature enough to handle TAFE. But she's not mature enough or bright enough to handle the work at year 11 either. It's an awful situation. I really feel for her parents. When I called her Dad at work to organise the new interview time, the weariness that came into his voice when I said who I was and why I was calling was sad.

The other girl is a totally different story. She and her parents opened up the interview by saying that they all feel that she should repeat the year. She's new to the school anyway and she's one of the youngest in her year level, so they don't see a social problem with it. She's happy, so are they and I can't tell you how relieved I was! Problem solved before I even had to bring it up. I love clear sighted parents.

Heigh ho! With a bit of luck these interviews should be over by the end of the week. Then I just have to write student managers reports on the front of 130 kids reports (bleuch!) and then the rest of the year will be a smooth ride down to Christmas. I'll be preparing for next year's classes, moving back into staffroom 1 (I've hopefully got a desk right near some of my friends) and looking forward to the holidays. Only 4 weeks to go till Christmas!!!

My squandered day off......

A photo from Phuket. It's a lump of an island.



I could have today off. I should have today off. It's report writing day and I've finished my reports already. But I put my hand up and volunteered to come in with the careers teacher to get more year 10 interviews done. I need my head read. Damn these students and their irrational thirst for knowledge and their ridiculous desperation to be placed into their chosen subjects for next year! Except for Jack. His thirst and need are totally understandable.


Just as an aside from my whinge about voluntarily giving up a holiday (I can assure you that this has never ever happened before), on Friday we had Jack's second interview for his subjects for Year 11 next year. He wants to do a year 12 subject next year, and we have guidelines about the study score average (8.5) and behaviour/conscientious/maturity levels that each kid has to reach. He has been a real twit over years 8 and 9, and it's only been this year that he's started to pull his head in and knuckle down. (With some inevitable slips back. He's a boy, after all.) He's improved a lot, but it's hard to reach egghead levels in one year from a standing start, so he was a bit short of where he needed to be.

In his first interview he was told that he had to get a certain level for his exams, to prove himself. He'd already started studying, but after that he was galvanised into study activity. He even gave up going to his Dad's on the weekend before the exams to study. (Like me with today, this has never happened before.)

Anyway, the exam results showed that in 3 subjects, he'd made it, and in 2 subjects he was only 1 mark short. In his second interview we had the other year 10 student manager, the careers teacher, and myself. For this interview (as opposed to his first) I had the Mum hat on. I went and sat on the other side of the table next to Jack, because even though I'm his student manager, in this interview I was going to fight for Jack.

(In his first one, I was on the other side of the table helping the others stick the boot into him. Well, he deserved it. He had to prove to me as well as the others that he was prepared to fight and work to get this subject.)

He really wants to do Year 12 Further Maths and he's more than capable of doing extremely well at it. He's into statistics (it's amazing that this kid has any personality at all considering the subjects he loves!) and this subject apparently has statistics all through it. After a lot of discussion, and Jack putting his case very eloquently (maybe he has inherited something from me after all!!) he ended up getting the course he wanted. He also dropped accounting to take up physics. He's thinking he might become a pilot, so he needs physics more than bean counting.

On the way back to the car he asked ,"Did I only get Further Maths because you work here?"

I was honest. "You showed that you've lifted your game, which was good. I think that they gave you more of a chance to show what you can do because I was here. But I wouldn't have gone in to bat for you if I didn't know you could do it. Now your job next year is not to make us look like idiots."

He's so excited about next year. He can't wait to have a course that's totally chosen by himself. His course is truly revolting. English (well, that's the only good subject. It's compulsory), Year 12 Further Maths, Maths Methods, Physics and Economics.

I know. Hideous, isn't it? If I was enrolled in a course like that, they'd find my body swinging from a tree with a noose around my neck. But he's a strange child. He can't wait for next year.

And as a teacher and as his parent, that's something I'm so very pleased to see.....

Bloggable Scandal!

Isn't life wonderful? It always delivers just what you need.

I didn't blog before work this morning because I woke up with a completely vacant brain. I had nothing to say. It was awful. I was walking around bumping into things, probably drooling slightly, with a blank look on my face. So I went to work, because I can still educate while I'm in a state like this. I know, because I do it frequently.

Then something bloggable happened!!!

You may recall that I was elevated to the high and mighty rank of ESL coordinator last week. In that capacity, I was stopped in the hall by a year 9 teacher who asked if I'd heard about the year 9 ESL kids who were caught cheating in their exams. I had a look at a dictionary that was confiscated from one of the boys. I don't know his name, but by gum! he'd put a lot of work into his cheating. (If he'd channelled all of that effort into study, he would've earned an A+.) He had lists of grammar definitions pasted into the dictionary, along with introductory paragraphs for the text responses, scientific equations and chemical formulas. Yes, he'd spread his endeavours across most of the curriculum. It was the most amazingly blatant thing I've ever seen. So I hastened over to the hall to have a quiet word with these kids after their last exam. It was beautiful.

These kids are in the junior school, so I don't know them from Adam. And they don't know me. But we got acquainted during the little chat I had with the class after all the year 9s had gone, and we were left in the huge dark echoey assembly hall for me to bellow at them.

I was operatic. I harnessed the inner witch. It scared the bejeebers out of them.

They gathered around me. I brandished the dictionary at them.

"WHO OWNS THIS?" I asked.

Everyone froze. One kid slowly raised his hand.

"That belongs to my friend..." I didn't allow him to go any further. One thing I hate more than anything else is when a kid doesn't take responsibility for his actions. (Just ask my kids..)

"Don't you dare try and run that sort of garbage by me! Everything in this book is related to this year's course. Unless your friend is in this class with you, you're telling me a lie. Now did you take this dictionary into this exam???"

He nodded. I let rip. I had the pointy finger, the narrowed eyes, the shrieks of rage happening. I told them all that anyone caught cheating gets zero for the exam. They blenched, (particularly the Asian students. Asian parents are famous for putting their kids under immense pressure to perform well.)

"If I had my way I'd recommend not just zero for the exam, but zero for the whole year. I'd like to see you go home and explain that to your parents!" There was a horrified silence after that remark. "I'm cancelling the excursion to the movies that your teacher has organised." Which I was going to do anyway, but they didn't need to know that. Then I threw in the killer. The one to bring them nightmares.

"I will be teaching you next year, and I'm not impressed!!!!"

I could see that they were appalled. They obviously think I'm a harridan who'll make their lives a misery. I'm delighted. I had that audience in the palm of my hand. I've got the dictionary on my desk, and I've been showing it to everyone. I'm hoping that the kid doesn't want it back because I want to keep it as a souvenir. The most elaborately inept piece of cheating I've yet seen.

Just when you think you're settled....

Well, things at work are certainly happening!

The list for the extra jobs that teachers have to do came out yesterday. I am now running the ESL faculty. It's not a large faculty, but it is certainly looking a bit shabby around the edges, so I (reluctantly) put up my hand for it. The downside is that I have to kiss the student manager job goodbye.

Annoying in one way, because I've been doing it for 18 months and I feel like I've just got a handle on it all, but in other ways it'll be good. I don't have to be at work at 8am and leave at 5pm, reports are FAR easier when I just have to write my own and not also collate and write comments on the front of the whole year level (do you realise how time consuming that is???) and I no longer will have to deal with parents. Most are nice, but occasionally there's the odd one who can be a bit of a fruitcake. (And I don't eat fruitcake. It's yuck.... the devil's food. Like bananas.)

The best reason, though, is the house and kids. They've been running on autopilot for a year and a half, and they're looking shabby around the edges too. Well, the house is. So next year it'll all run on an even keel again, which will be a good thing. I find that if things get cluttered and too dust-bunnyish at home then I feel like I'm not coping and I get snappy at them. It'll be nice to get back to creating the kind of home environment that the kids and I will look forward to coming home to. (I'm coming over all nesty. Don't be concerned. There's no possible way I could be pregnant. The speying and the 18 month (so far) break from dating make sure of that!!)

The funny thing will be watching how the two people who will be doing the job next year will share the office space. The woman who is taking over from me is incredible efficient and anal. Everything is lined up, colour coded, filed to within an inch of its life and regimented. The guy who shares the job makes the office look like a tip. His desk is a glorified pile of paper and there's absolutely no space for him to sit and work at it. As days go by a wave of paper comes from it and advances towards the desk where she'll be working. It really started to do my head in, so every time he was out of the office for the day I'd do an emergency paper throw. I'd put important things in a box by his desk, and the rest I'd chuck. I used to find stuff dating back to 1995. I'm not exaggerating. It might be entertaining to step back and watch the fireworks. The mess drove me crazy, but I'm not as neat or as ...um.... up-front about things that bother me as she is.

Scott and I have come to a civilised agreement about the NaNoWriMo challenge. We're not doing it. Technically I beat him, because I reached 20,000 words, (yay!) but I've reached the conclusion that with these interviews happening in year 10 at the same time, I will definitely not finish my novel in a month. So we agreed to be merciful to each other and desist. (I've just realised.... maybe next year I could do it. Unless I decide to mark VCE exam papers to get some $$$. All may not be lost....)

Today will be a teaching Brennan to knit day, a tutor Jack in Romeo and Juliet day and a BARF day. I have to make biscuits and cakes, and sometime this weekend I want to go out to Diacos nurseries in Dingley and get some tomato plant cages. The stakes I bought last year didn't work so well. (Got to stop those damned tomato plants from roaming all over the backyard!!) I've got Brennan in my ear asking about when I'm going to make pancakes for breakfast, so I'd better get off here and start the day. Hope everyone has a lovely weekend.

Happy again!

Sorry for my rant yesterday, everyone. Here's a flower for all of you who waded through the venom and invective. I am now all unruffled and ready to go forth and conquer the day. And weekend. I will rise above the petty vexations of day to day life, and glide (ruffledless) serenely through.

Actually, I don't have time to do anything else. The year 10 interviews are sucking the life out of me. Seriously, it's as if the little darlings are psychic vampires who come into the room and one by one extract all the energy and will to live from me, so by the end of the day I stagger home and fall, lifeless but for one small spark, on the bed.

Truth in that last statement? Well, I am having a 15 minute nanna nap when I get home, before I get up and make dinner, etc. These interviews do take a lot of energy. But they're interesting, and it's good to catch up with the little vampires/students and see what they've picked for next year, and whether or not we can help them with better subject choices to get them into the courses they want to do. We`allow 15 minutes per interview. Some (usually the good kids) are over either a little earlier or on time, but some go longer. They're the ones who have chosen subjects that either they shouldn't have if they want to fulfill their stated goal of becoming a doctor/engineer/rocket scientist/whatever; or the ones who want to do the real egghead subjects that they clearly shouldn't attempt because their marks so far have been ... well.... not flash. So we have to design new courses. Ho Hum! There's a couple of weeks yet of this. A sushi train of students every day.

An update. Remember when I was caught on camera 'kicking' a student on the news? I was in the background of a news report while our assistant principal was talking about the VCE exams being the culmination of 13 years of study, etc. Anyway, I was talking to the assistant principal a couple of days later and decided to tell her about it. I'm a big believer in admitting up front when you've mucked up. I'd rather do that than have trouble lurk around and leap on me all unexpected. She laughed like mad and said, "There's the difference between theory and practice!" So that's ok. I live to teach another day.

This weekend is supposed to be child free, but I'll have half the kids with me. Brennan has a sleepover party to go to on Saturday night. Jack, on the other hand, is one of those problematic students I was talking about. Exams are on Monday and Tuesday, and unless he blitzes them he won't get the Year 12 Maths subject he wants to do. He was one of the kids who left the interview very quiet and somewhat shaken. So he's elected to stay at home and study. I'm (cautiously) a very happy mother. I never thought the day would come. Tony's happy for Jack to do it. He and Viv are having the kids for a full week between Christmas and New Year (but not New Year's Eve), so he knows he'll catch up with Jack then. Plus Jack wants to work at the fruit shop over the summer to get $$$$.

(I wonder if Viv is aware of what it's going to be like to have 4 lumpy lolloping teenagers around for a full week? All she'll hear is Playstation, Wii, Evanescence and other assorted music blaring from their rooms all week, and she'll be constantly having to insert food into their mouths. I'm used to it, but she doesn't have kids. Hmmmm.... I wonder if there's a cruise leaving Melbourne for a week on those dates??? I'm looking forward to a few consecutive days of peace and quiet.)

So this weekend I'm looking at yet another sophisticated social whirl of veggie gardening, study buddying, housework, writing, exam marking (year 11 ESL) and knitting. I know, people, I know. Curb that envy you're undoubtedly feeling. Jealousy's a curse.

Ruffled feathers.

http://pages.prodigy.net/hpdevo/quiz/

My friend Widget had this quiz on her blog. She's Hermione (explains a lot) and to my complete surprise (and joy) I'm Harry. No wonder I love the books so much. It's all about MEEEEE!

Something happened yesterday that has me a bit ruffled. I'll preface it by saying that I'm not a sooky-la-la about my kids. I see them pretty clearly, and I have no hesitation in admitting their flaws. (It's easy for me, as I don't have any flaws myself. Naturally.)

I'll be the first to say that Jack was a hideous beast when he was in years 7 and 8. He was very immature, loud and didn't fit in with the other kids in his classes. He had a very lonely two years until he started to grow up a bit towards the end of year 8 and met some mates. He's thriving now. Thankfully, the alchemy that occurs in year 10... the alchemy that instead of turning lead to gold turns revolting adolescent kids with raging out of control hormones into reasonably human-like people by the end of the year has occurred with him. He has turned into a funny, creative kid who is good to be around. (He still has his moments, but he confines them to home, a gift of love to his nearest and dearest.) Other teachers who have known him over the last four years are also very complimentary about how he's turning out (though they'd still like him to do more homework with greater detail), so it's not just me. He's turning out ok.

Unlike some other teachers' kids who also go to the school. Who are in the same year level. Who are female. Whose parents don't have the same degree of clarity when it comes to their offspring. Whose parents have no hesitation while talking to another parent in insulting said parent's child while insinuating that their own female child is vastly superior.

Am I speaking in vast generalities??? Or do you get the impression that this is probably not a very large group of students I'm referring to?

We're doing interviews with the year 10s at the moment, which I've referred to in an earlier post. This particular girl had her interview yesterday. She wanted to do an enhancement subject (a year 12 subject) and after a lot of see-sawing and humming and harring we let her. Her behaviour and attitude (she's a real little 'miss') and her marks were borderline, and during her interview she talked as if she was one of the teachers instead of a student, which got up our noses a bit. She loathes Jack and ignores him totally, so he finds it amusing every so often to greet her with a cheery "Hi Bleep! How are you?", just to watch her turn her face away.

(She's not really called Bleep. That was my subtle way of disguising her identity. I don't care that they're not fond of each other. That's none of my business. As long as they're not being openly nasty to each other, bullying or beating the living daylights out of each other, then I'm keeping out of it. I think they've got a delicate balance and routine worked out, so good on them.)

After school I was tutoring a year 9 girl, and I saw...(lets call him Mr Bleep) walk past the door. I'd heard another teacher say something nice about the daughter he has in a junior level of the school (I'm not giving that kid a pseudonym), so I ducked out into the hallway to tell him. We all like to hear nice things about our kids.

"Yes, my child who doesn't have a pseudonym is very different to Bleep," he said. "Bleep and I are very similar; almost too much alike."

I smiled, because he evidently thought that was a good thing, and then I told him about something that was said in the interview before he got there. Bleep had said something that absolutely sounded like something Jack would say. I knew she'd hate that, (who likes to hear that they're similar to someone they don't like? ) so as a joke I said, "You really shouldn't hate Jack so much, Bleep. In some ways you think alike. He'd say the exact same thing that you just said." She shuddered and laughed, I laughed and we moved on.

I told that to Mr Bleep, expecting that he'd have a chuckle. Instead I get a genuine shudder and a remark that was delivered in a way that implied that I would totally understand where he was coming from.

"Oh dear. That'd be terrible if it was true.... Bleep's nothing like Jack."

Umm... pardon?

Would it have been impolite to say "Thank Goodness, it's such a relief to me. Jack doesn't have teachers handing me written complaints about his attitude and his inability to shut up in class. He doesn't walk around the place with his chin jutted up at a very slight but discernable angle that shows that he thinks he's a cut above the rest. He doesn't go up to you and make bitchy sly comments about what a pain Bleep is. (yes, she does this occasionally. The next time she does it I won't be very polite.) It makes me wonder what Bleep says about Jack to you, because you've never even taught him, unlike me with your daughter. Jack never mentions Bleep. She's not even on his radar. Yes, Mr Bleep, I'm very fortunate that Bleep's nothing like Jack. How glad I am that you can see the difference between the two."

(Don't get me wrong. I actually don't mind Bleep in a lot of ways. She's a nice enough kid when she wants to be, and she has a good sense of humour. But she's certainly not vastly superior to Jack. Or anyone else in year 10, come to think of it. It's just that I'm a bit miffed at Mr Bleep at the moment.)

Fortunately for the sake of good working relations I have manners. I smiled politely and we kept talking, then I ducked back in to my tutoring kid to see if she'd finished her story.

I know it was only an off the cuff comment, and he meant it as a joke..... well, half meant it as a joke...we get along really well and I like him a lot.....

but there was something in the delivery that I really don't like.

I don't think I make comments about other people's kids to them with an undercurrent of criticism and dislike. I've discovered that I really don't appreciate being the recipient of remarks like that. As I said, my feathers are a bit ruffled. I understand that Bleep is probably the president of the "I Hate Jack " club, and that her dad is probably an honorary member. That's fine. I approve of family loyalty. But don't expect me to join in with jokes that cut him down. I'm not a card carrying member of that club. Never will be.

Now I wish I didn't duck out into the hall to make his day brighter with a remark about his other kid, the one with no pseudonym. Next time I think I'll keep it to myself.

Whinge over. And out.

Weak minded? Or simply Creative?

I must be very suggestible.

Ever since discovering the wonderful world of blogs I've been hopping around, sampling what's on offer. I entered this world via some blogs of people who belong to Simple Savings, so there were a lot of craft oriented, knitty/quilty/gardeny ones out of that lot, and of course people prefer to read the blogs of people who share their interests, so when I go down the list of 'blogs I read' ... what do I find? More of the same. I had no idea there were that many quilters in the world. And they're all doing quilt swaps, and sending each other fabric and buttons and care packages when someone's sick or pregnant. It's amazing. I knit, so I'm all enthused about beginning 47 new tasks, once the afghan is done. (Almost at the half way point!!!) But now I want to make a quilt.

Do I sew?
No.
Do I own a sewing machine?
Years ago I did, but I sold it.
Have I any experience in anything like this?
I sewed together knitted patches for the afghan I made for Jack last year.....

But yet I want to start.
Jane at Yarnstorm, and all of the other ladies out there (you know who you all are) have a lot to answer for.

The trouble is that I can so easily rationalise this as being a practical decision. About 5 years ago I painted the walls of my bedroom a deep, dark blue. I had visions of crisp white voile curtains, blue drapes and a vividly coloured doona cover to make this room my haven from the world. I've got most of it, but do you think in all that time that I've been able to find a doona cover that works? I should go with plain white, but the cats sleep on my bed, so plain white with dark grey cat hair is sadly not the look I'm going for. I found a $30 doona cover in Harvey Norman 4 years ago that I thought would work. I brought it home with great excitement and put it on the bed.

Do you know the feeling you have when something almost works? So that's been the 'stop gap' doona cover until the perfect one comes along. But it's been five years..... actually, it might be even longer, come to think of it. So either I paint the walls again, which I don't want to do, kill the cats and buy a couple of white ones who'll get their ears burnt off by skin cancers and look hideous (eeeww), or make my own doona cover. See? It's really a very practical decision.

I'm thinking a log cabin quilt. If Laura (or was it Mary?) in 'Little House in the Big Woods' could piece one together by hand when she was only 9 years old, how hard can it be? Working by candlelight too. With wolves and bears outside, which would have to take your concentration away a bit. And let's face it; patchwork has GOT to be quicker than knitting. I can hear the roar of the sewing machine now as it speedily eats up the seams.

I'm wondering if there's a book anyone can recommend. Mum does patchwork, so she'll know about fabrics and whatever other quilty knowledge I need to learn. Is it better to start hand sewing, or should I hijack Mum's machine one day?? (Hi Mum....) I'm thinking blues, oranges and whites. Should I just go to Spotlight or should I go to a patchwork shop?

I should finish my novel and the afghan first, I know. I am a good finisher of projects I start. But that doesn't mean I can't do a little preliminary scouting around and work out whether this is doable or not.

Quick note: had my last class with the year 11 ESL class. We had a drama lesson. They had fun, and it was hilarious to see most of them come out of their shells. I've found that it takes them (particularly the asian girls) almost a year before they'll relax a bit and become more open. The best part of the lesson? Seeing Doo Rhi... the shyest, most withdrawn kid I've ever met... laugh so hard and so openly that she had tears streaming down her face. Yay! It only took two years!!!!

Interviews begin....

The afghan is growing. This means that the story is not. I woke up at 5.30, and knew that I should toddle off to the computer like a good girl and churn out some more drivel. Instead I knitted 3 more rows. I'm kidding myself that I'm still being productive, and indeed, it's exactly the same sort of obsessive activity as NaNoWriMo. One has a word count, the other has 30 rows of pattern before you can change onto the next pattern block. (I'm up to 21 rows on the current block. Did that since Tuesday. Word count: 18000.) It's not a good sign when writing on my novel.... my beautiful child of the imagination..... is less enticing than doing a few rows of glorified stocking stitch. But here's why I've been writing as much as I have:

Today is the day we start interviews at work with all of the year 10s. Me being a year 10 student manager (Oh bow down before my awesome power) I have to be there at them all. Hmmm, let's see. 250ish kids @ 15 minutes each + intense discussions of which subjects will get them where they want to go in two years time = my life being sucked away by these students and their maniacal ambitions of qualifying for high status courses and ultimately ruling the world.

Whatever happened to the three R's? Don't these selfish adolescents know that I've got a novel to write? (Or an afghan to knit?) Actually, once I'm embroiled in the whole process it's interesting, and it's good to touch base with every kid. Some of them have done brilliantly, and it's lovely to be able to congratulate them on how they've done and rubber stamp the courses they've chosen. Then there's the bulk of them, who have done ok and are really nice kids, but who may lack direction and need some help tailoring their courses. Some of them want to do subjects that blind Freddy could see are beyond them, so there's a bit of negotiating involved. Jack is in this group. He's done far better than last year (straight C's.... and C = crap.... so boy did he get into trouble. One of those kids who should be getting A's, especially in Maths and Science, but took things a bit too easy.) He's lifted his game, but not enough to be in the first or second round of interviews.

Then there's the group of kids that are heartbreaking. They're the ones who have either slacked off during their whole school lives, or who just don't have the wattage upstairs to be able to cut it in VCE. Actually, the 'low wattage' kids aren't so much of a problem. By the end of year 10 they know that a glittering career in rocket science is beyond them, and they don't care anyway. Their interests lie in other, usually more practical areas. They're fine with that, and so are we, as long as they're happy. It's the smart kids who haven't lifted a finger for 11 years and have nothing but shocking marks and bad behaviour on their records. They swish in with their high falutin' list of subjects they want to do, and the look of absolute shock in their eyes when they're told that they can't do Chemistry or Maths Methods or whatever is awful to see. They've finally run up against the brick wall of consequences.

This is why I really hate the state of affairs when kids are automatically promoted every year. It's a really hard one, because to be kept down does nothing for them socially or emotionally; but when year after year a bright but bone lazy kid gets put up in the next year level when his results are mediocre he gets to believe that having a good work ethic is a waste of time, because you get what you want anyway. It's like seeing a kicked dog when they get the look in their eyes that says "oh shit. I can't get out of this one."

Sometimes they cry. Sometimes the really smooth talkers negotiate a position where they get at least some of what they want because they're going to reform and become saintly. Sometimes that actually happens, because usually it's all a maturity thing. By the end of year 10 they're well on the way to growing up, and over the next two years there can be an enormous change in kids. Or not. We've got to have a crystal ball to peer into the future to decide....

So my life at work over the next month will be full swing boogie-woogie. It's interesting, because I really love the kids we have at the school, (well.... most of them, anyway....) but it's tiring. And today I say goodbye to my year 11 ESL class. I've had these kids for two years now, and they're fantastic. They don't know it yet, but they'll be getting another teacher for year 12. There's only one class of year 12 ESL next year for 20 students (don't get me started on the stupid state government and their pathetic cost-cutting measures for education), so the teacher who has taught this level of ESL for years naturally gets them. That's not me. I'll be sorry to see them go. I've trained them up beautifully in the art of sarcasm as humour, the Aussie vernacular and an appreciation of Vegemite.

I'm lying about the Vegemite. You really have to be born here to appreciate the glorious taste. They call it 'kangaroo poo.' I'm going to miss the little horror-heads.....

YouTube - Bonds Kaleidoscope Ad

YouTube - Bonds Kaleidoscope Ad

This is a little something to show why we get up and go to school in the morning. How could we not, when we're teaching such twits?

This is one of the clips that the year 12s put together for their end of year assembly. It makes me laugh every time I see it.

And in other news...
I wrote my fingers off yesterday. 12000 words...
That's the overall word count; not the amount I wrote yesterday. If that was the case I'd be drooling and banging my head against the floor. Though I felt like doing that at some points.
I'm so sick of looking at the keyboard. (I'm a two fingered typist.) All the kids except Jordan were at their Dad's, so I knew I could kick it along when the house was quiet. Every now and then he'd want to get onto the computer for irrelevant boy things like Limewire and research for his Science homework, so I also made 6 cakes, knitted a bit more of the afghan (mmm, the afghan. It's as long as my arm now) and had a twenty minute nanna nap. I was planning on sleeping longer but I got an idea for the novel and had to get up and start writing it before I forgot. (I'm a bit over it.... luckily Meg is coming over this morning, and I've got to take Jordan to piano this afternoon. I can have a break.)

We have a long weekend in this house. Tomorrow is Melbourne Cup day ( I love living in a city that gives everyone a day off because of a horse race!), and today is a teacher PD day. I must make sure to think of something educational as I drive Jordan to piano.

If I could turn back time....

Why do these things happen to me?

Yesterday was the day our year 12 kids had their English exam. Every year when it's time, all the teachers wait outside, and when the kids come out they all swirl around and debrief. There's people everywhere, all clustered around their teachers, smiling and waving their arms around (or quiet and downcast if they felt they botched it... one of my girls didn't finish and she was nearly crying). However, apart from that, it's a good time. They've finished 13 years of English classes, it's the first and most important exam behind them, and we all touch base and connect. I had one of my students give me a hug and say that this is the first year of English that he's really enjoyed, he thanked me and that he felt he'd nailed the exam. It was a lovely moment. So what could possibly go wrong?

The media, that's what. Those cameramen and their all-encompassing lenses. We had the minister for education at the school opening a big computer centre that we've built, so tv cameras were there to shoot her making a speech, and to show our kids writing their exam and celebrating afterwards.

When I got home last night from taking the boys to their Dad's place for the weekend, there's a message from my friend Meg on my answering machine. She's laughing so hard I can barely make out the words.

"Frogdancer. I've just seen the most hilarious thing. I was just watching channel BLEEP news and saw you kicking a student."

(Now before you all jump onto the comments page and demand my immediate sacking... let me explain. It's true and it's not true. There was no mayhem or violence. But I did kick. I remember what happened, but I don't remember who the student was or what he actually said.

A lot of my mainstream English kids and I were mucking around and laughing, when someone walked past and made some sort of Smart-Alec comment. Nothing rude, but just cheeky, because he knew I'd see the joke. I laughed back and said "Why, you naughty rapscallion!" (or something) and as he raced past me I aimed a joke kick at him. I didn't connect with any portion of his anatomy, and I never meant to. You've gotta believe me....

As soon as my foot left the ground I remembered the cameras. I glanced furtively around, but they were all focused on our Assistant Principal as she was doing an interview. 'Thank God!' I thought, and then went back to debriefing the kids. Promptly forgot all about it until the phone call.)

Of course I rang Meg straight away. She is a cruel, heartless sort of person who thinks that my embarrassment on national television is a source of merriment. Apparently I was in the background of the Assistant Principal's interview. Our A.P is talking earnestly about how this is the culmination of 13 years of educational achievement, while over her shoulder Meg could see me laughing with the kids, and then the teacher brutality was there in all its glory for the world to see.

Fantastic. I'm going to be in so much trouble. The admin normally have a good sense of humour, but they're a bit sensitive about how the school is perceived by the community. I thought that maybe I'd be ok if I went in with the defence of
"He told me he'd mucked up the exam. What else was I supposed to do?"

But then again, that mightn't be such a good idea. It's not fair. Scott and Meg would never be caught on camera kicking students willy-nilly. Scott is too dignified and Meg is too crafty.

But hang on. I've just had a thought....

Since I've had this haircut Scott and I are virtually indistinguishable. Well, maybe not close up, but I bet we are from a distance. I was wearing long dangly earrings and a pink roll neck jumper, but if I swear that it wasn't me, I bet the admin will blame him. They're sure to overlook the fact that he's dressed like a girl, is at least a foot shorter, has aged 10 years and has make up on, (probably to disguise his rapidly advancing years). He'll be caught up in a world of trouble, unable to write his novel by November 30 due to the stress, while I can calmly type away and BEAT HIM.

It can't fail. Anyone who doesn't know what Scott looks like can jump onto his blog, (Scott's Abode... it's on the list of blogs on the right) and see. I'm feeling much happier now. And the best thing is that he'll never see it coming.... so ssshhhh... don't tell him.

Anyway, I'd better go and get started, because this novel won't write itself. I know that this is a scientific fact, because I didn't write a thing on it yesterday, and the word count is still 598.

Why I'm a technophobe.

Oh, I'm loving writing this novel. Here's a picture of me doing it.

I woke up at 4.30 with characters nibbling at me. (Well, I guess I should look on the bright side and be grateful that something was having a go at me!!) I lay there and drifted till 5.20, then gave up, got up and switched on the computer. Maybe I'm still a little sleepy, but a 5.20 - 6.10 ability to get onto the internet and onto Word seems a tad slow to me. Lord knows I'm no computer expert, but methinks the kids have downloaded something that has constipated my computer. By 5.40 I was swearing black and blue that I was going to dash down to the computer shop and get my own laptop. I'd hide it from the kids and dust it for their fingerprints every other day and laugh maniacally as I watch them cry in front of this bloody slow old crock of a thing. Then I thought maybe I could kill the kids, get a computer guy to give the computer an enema and then I'd save myself a couple of grand. (I'm on a frugality kick, remember?)

But now I'm happy. The kids can live. I can't remember what I was going to write, but that's ok. It was going to be brilliant and those words were going to live forever in the annals of Great Literature Of The World And Indeed The Universe, but never mind. I'm sure it'll come back to me. Meanwhile Scott has scooted ahead of me in his word count. I cannot let this continue....

My year 12 kids have their English and ESL exams today. Whoopee!!!!! Yesterday my office was wall to wall kids brandishing practise essays under my nose and having mini meltdowns of anxiety. They all left convinced of their genius. Without fail, the day before the exam, the words each kid hears is something along the lines of...

"Wow, these essays are some of the best things you've done this year. I'm so happy that you've peaked at just the right time. If you're writing like this now, you're going to cope with the exam just fine. Maybe there's a couple of things you could look at...(insert minor instruction here such as :add a little quote after your topic sentence to back up your opinion; use more emotive words in your persuasive piece; spell Hamlet's name correctly... that sort of thing), but they're easy to keep in mind. Go home, get a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow." Big smile, couple of pats on the shoulder.

Translation from teacher talk is:

"Wow, I'm surprised to see you here. You haven't worked all year. It's too late to suddenly decide to learn to write an essay the day before the exam, but at least it shows you've hit a peak. I'm not saying how big this peak is, but you've written an essay of your volition, so good on you. The essay shows that you've at least read the text, or possibly just watched the movie, so you have a sporting chance in the exam of at least writing something that won't make a fool of both of us. Here's an instruction or two so that you feel the effort of climbing into school uniform and walking to school during swot vac wasn't a waste of time, but frankly at this stage of the year, you've got to go with what you already know. Go with God, my son/daughter." (put sign of the cross over them even though I'm not Catholic.)

All of my good kids have been in to see me, but they tend to be organised and come in before the hysterical brigade arrive. The best quote from a practise essay this year surprisingly comes from one of my best kids....

"When the ghost of Hamlet's father exposed himself to Hamlet...."

Phew! No wonder Hamlet was so traumatised for the rest of the play.

What is an emo?

I was having a look on the Simple Savings site this morning as I normally do, and I came across this link. I had never heard of videojug before. It's incredible. It has all these short videos explaining how to do things. I downloaded instructions on how to get a podcast, how to take a shower, how to pitch a tent, how to be a good neighbour.... the list is endless. (And just so you know... I DID know how to take a shower before I saw the clip. I just wanted to see if I was doing it right.)
It's a handy site to know about.
http://www.videojug.com/

Here's a helpful instructional video on how to identify an emo.
http://www.videojug.com/film/what-is-emo

I've noticed at work that there's more and more of our students evolving into these creatures, particularly in the upper levels. I find it helps to stay alert to the newfangled trends of the young folk.
Now I'm off to water my veggies.