Decisions, Decisions

Hello avid reader, have you missed me? I have missed you! Have you noticed how life happens in waves. Nothing for bleedin' ages - same old mundane day to day - then BOOM! A million things land on your plate at once and you're struggling to remember what a lazy Sunday morning felt like!

Well that's been my week - or two. Toddle along towards half term and then suddenly we realise we've only a week left and year 11 haven't done a mock question and the drama classes haven't had their baseline test marked yet and scurry, scurry, scurry away trying to catch up on things you didn't realise you were behind on. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't bring any books home over the half term, and to my credit I haven't... just 19 essays and 8 classes of test papers... Joy.

Now, of course I hear you say reader "But you had a whole 6 weeks to get those things done! Why on earth are you bringing it home!" and do you know why? Why I really have to bring these things home? Why I can't just sit at work and plough on through? It's not for wanting to, or idleness, oh no. I already have slaved my way through DiPs and SiPs (no, I don't know either) through baseline test after baseline test, through each and every child's book or folder checking for each and every piece of homework and classwork in the right place... There is always more. That's on top of the meetings, and the training, and the meetings, and the after school rehearsals, and did I mention the meetings. I think recently, I have spent more time in meetings about my job than doing my job! But that is the nature of the beast...

So seeing as it's half term for me at the moment (They made us work 4 days too many accidentally last year so we all get an extra week this HT!) it's a chance to recuperate and recover from the speed of the last half term! Not going to lie - was so much more full on coming back after maternity leave than I expected! This of course leaves me questioning my life decisions. Working non-stop and whirling through life 6 weeks at a time seems unproductive. Or maybe it's really productive but not really living? I don't know. But that's how it is right now. Then there's our kitchen - decisions to be made on final design thoughts, which company to use and how soon we want things doing. Then there's decisions for darling son. Does child continue his routine for the simplicity or do we shake things up as he grows - opening up ourselves to judgement and ridicule when it potentially goes wrong. There's probably another million decisions I'm just not admitting to needing to make yet on top of those...

All very enigmatic I'm sure but it's because the answers to all these question are really quite clear and it's more a matter of being brave or organising myself or just getting the heck on with it all! So here goes...

Playing Grown Ups and paying the price

Dear reader, you'll never guess what... I have been out! Oh yes, amongst babies colds and teething; amongst teaching and filing; amongst grading and marking; amongst dieting and surviving I have been to the theatre! Not just any old theatre as well, I went "up London" for a night watching the breath-taking Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellan in No-Mans land.

I put on make up! I got on a train! I ate dinner with a close, old friend! I got cultured for a night! And most importantly, I was alone! No child, no husband, no work, no worry to follow me on my journey. Just a book of interest and my thoughts to keep me company until I arrived.

No-man's land is a Pinter play which focuses on the evening and morning after two older gentlemen meet at The Bull's Head in Chalk Farm. It delves into the murkiness of Alzheimer's and destroys our preconceptions of life in old age. Beautifully acted (of course) by even the two lesser known adjoining actors to our big stars. The audience was abuzz with laughter and sorrow.

Child was lovingly palmed off onto Granny and Grumpa for the night, so coming home after dark to an empty house was a completely bizarre experience. I even naturally went in to check on him before heading to bed myself, only to realise with a mixed heart of longing and relief, that he wasn't there. After a blissful night of deep sleep, he made up for his absence since by teething all night with the most horrific cold and only settling if suspended upright - using my face as the scaffold to his tiny body - writhing every few minutes in helpless pain and anxiety at his situation. My heart bled for him all night as I sat up and cradled him - tiny and limp yet whimpering - trying desperately to fix a problem I couldn't control; but I feel my kids at work probably paid the price for the approx 3.5 hours sleep I got as a result of his tossing and turning.

So now, I sit at the end of a another week, a little closer to half term and the prospect of day time naps, wishing myself in to a bed of softness and bliss and yet, I am expected to be a grown up again this evening and head out to a local for birthday drinks... The price we pay for having it all I guess. Only a few hours til bedtime... right?!

Here it goes again...

So a while ago now there was this band called OkGo and they did an awesome upbeat song which I have shamelessly thieved the title of to use as my blog post title this evening. The video was particularly great as I'm pretty sure it was shot in someone's basement, after Sunday lunch, when the kids are bored as their folks have gone to sleep... It reminds me of college days and making our own videos, replicating favourite movies or tv shows. Seriously... Go to that famous video streaming site and watch it. It's awesome in the truest 90sesque form of the word.

But why; I hear you call; are you using a repetitive title? Well, dear reader, this is the night you hear of darling husband... as he's gone and abandoned me again!

I shouldn't jest really. He is away on a course trying to improve his position at work - some thing which is commendable and I love that he is constantly trying to be more innovative and work smarter at his role. But I shouldnt say too much as I can already hear his smugness floating in from far away and we wouldn't want his head getting to large now, would we!

The biggest impact he seems to have is on darling son. My boys are thick as thieves really. Man could not be a better father to boy and boy relishes in the games they play and the time he gets to spend with his Da. Boys particular favourite at the moment is to be thrown about the house like Spiderman: "pffp! Pffp! Pffp!" Goes the sound effects. Zip! Zip! Zip! Goes the boy. Giggles ensue. Repeat. I can't help but smile even thinking about it now.

I am more of a cuddly mama. We don't go gallivanting about the house like the boys do; but instead snuggle in toasty nests made of blankets and love. Boy tries to practise kissing. An enthusiastic, if dribbly, affair; with lots of opportunities for having the side of your face sucked if you time it badly. He means well.

All this is made slightly more gross and boyish by the fact that boy currently has a stinking cold.. and is probably teething again somewhere under all the bunged up snottiness. Love him anyway for all the rattiness in the world.

Tonight, C's absence feels clearer. Boy keeps tossing in his sleep from not being able to breathe right and I know Da would know what to do. Instead, I try to sleep alone and listen out, half dozing half awake, more murmurs of tiredness and torment... I just want him to be well. Cuddles will have to do...

Bzzzz bzzzz bzzz

Hello dear reader. I know you are probably wondering all about the interesting things that have been keeping me away from you all but I have to be honest and say sheer procrastination has...

So, I am now trying to relax after a long weekend of work - God bless Open Day parents and their tiny, tiny, primary school minions - and there is the most giant sodding fly I have ever seen bzzzz bzzzz bzzing about my head. Every time I get comfy and think about calling it a night.. off it bzzzes again! So I figured it must be a metaphor for my conscience telling me to get a move on and write to you all. I am hoping that Fate will look kindly on me for doing so and send the bastard thing away. 

This week the open days come thick and fast. After a delightful Saturday morning, with a painted smile and a sore throat, we now get to continue the thrill of parading ourselves for more tiny minions in a hope of scoring their appreciation and - like a kid watching an advert for MacDonald's in the 90s - will use the dreaded pester power to 'encourage' their parents into allowing them to come to our school. 

The balloons are out. The marking criteria is up. Let them come in their droves...

I was particularly proud this week of my year 11's. They are not destined to be the shiniest tins on the shelf (we all know the types) and it's pretty impressive that they all even make it to class without causing a riot sometimes but his week we were observed with our groups. My class absolutely blasted the Head of English away with their knowledge of Shakespearean context and it's links to Macbeth. I even had the kid who was most likely to leave by the end of year 10, discussing freely his thoughts on how James I impacted Shakespeare to include witches in the play (he was obsessed with them if you don't know!) and how Lady Macbeth reflects the evil within them. I could have kissed all of them on the way out if that wasn't highly unprofessional and downright gross.

He said to me "are they always like this?" 

And I had to be honest (and pray it doesn't change) when I said "yeah... pretty much."

Have remained smugger than Lady Macbeth at the beginning of Act 2 ever since. ;-) 

Last Minute Dot Bake

Good evening dear reader. You will notice that once again, I am writing to you from the depths of the night. Now, you may think this is something to do wih darling child not going to sleep. Or darling husband wanting attention. But no... alas not. Husband has taken himself off to the computer room to transfer a million tiny files we have unashamedly created due to taking a million picures, videos and general memories of boy. And boy himself took himself off to bed at 8pm with no tears  and no arguments. (Busy day playing with cousins has tuckered that one out no end. Happy days!)

Oh no.. I've been baking dear reader. No pleasant socialities for me. No long, deep conversations with my man, putting the world to rights. Nope - like some frantic, bastardised Lucille ball - I have been concocting all manner of delicious item for our bake sale tomorrow.

Now, don't get me wrong dear reader. I love to bake. And said bake sale is for Macmillan Coffee morning tomorrow at work and thus is a cause I hold dear to my heart. There's not a person I know that hasn't seen the ugly face of cancer rear it's despicable and devastating head in their direction. Some of the people I love most dearly are even now being directly impacted by this terrible, violating disease and I hate the toll it is taking on them. So I bake. And I donate monthly. And I'll donate more tomorrow. And I do what I can to help the people I love. And I hope.

I know that the coffee morning is an annual event that seems to be reasonably nationwide these days. They are going on all around us. If you spot on near you. Pop in a buy a cake. It may taste kak, or be shop bought; it may be some delightful Delia Smith nonsense that even Mary Berry wouldn't shake a stick at and that would be lovely but that's not the point...

We all have a responsibility to do our very best to fight against the evil in the world. That starts with cake for cancer.. I reckon bumping off Trump would be a good next step... 

Tra la la la la!

"Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf
The big bad wolf
The big bad wolf
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf
Tra la la la la!"

Rather apt tune buzzing round my head today. After an unfortunate brush with the media my school has had recently, OFSTED swooped down on us after circling our exposure. And - to be honest - who can blame them? I love my school but I know it has a bit of a shady history..

Long before my time, the school had a bit of a bad rep. All sorts of unsavoury shenanigans occurred and our boys were often named. Since a particularly low point in the school history, a lot has been done to turn the attitudes of the boys around and in our most recent inspection we were awarded a 1 (outstanding in old money) for our behaviour/attitude for learning. That's a big achievement. To get almost a thousand teenagers on side for not 1 but 2 whole days. Their parents should be proud!

Unfortunately, you'd never know this was the case if you read our local media. I don't know why but it seems  they just have an unsatiable urging to tie us back to that old reputation. Not caring to convey the massive changes we've been through or how far we've come... but happy to (often falsely!) Spout left, right and centre on "misdemeanours" and mischief! I know I shouldn't feel personally affected by their thoughtless words but that's my reputation they choose to tarnish with their brush when they paint us all as vandals and thugs.

As it stands, I know I cannot discuss any outcomes that we may have been given just now. But rest assured. I will sleep long and deep tonight... I poke my tongue out at the paper that shan't be named and urge you, if you had any doubt, to pop in and see for yourself the care and hard work my working family has. Kids and adults alike. Not a few lines of type but real, unfaltering love and care for one another... x

Thank you

Hi all,

Just a quick one from me tonight. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read my little blog. I didn't start writing again to gain notoriety (that said, I don't think I'm that high on the Blogasphere's Ones to Watch list!)  or to drawl on about a bunch of stuff that no one is really interested in. I write for myself. As a teacher it is so hard to find things that are easy but fulfilling to do. I'd love to say I read reams of books, like I know some of my more noble colleagues do - but that would be a lie. I spout all this lovely advice to my students on the value of reading and have all these wonderful books lining my shelves - but can I really say I've read.. even half... of them. Sadly, no. I will one day! I think I am like an Egyptian, I will save all my books up and build myself a little book pyramid and when I die, they will go with me to the next life; where I shall have much more time to sit and read them because I'll be dead. Ahhh... Morbid bliss.

The difference with writing is that everything you read here is already going on inside my head. Instead of me having to interpret what was going on inside someone else's head, I can just open up and let you in. Some people have said that the inside of my head must look very funny considering some of the outpourings they have read so far - maybe it is? Unfortunately for me, it's the only head I know - so I just have to get on with it I guess.

I hear you again gentle reader: "what's all this got to do with thanking us. I thought we were here to be loved and admired for the silent beauty that we are!"

And you are. Without your support, some known and others not, I wouldn't choose to continue to write. You are the driving force behind these witterings you see. So you can't blame me. You brought it on yourself... Besides, after the few rather embarrassingly lovely comments that I have been given, I am a little scared to stop and let you all down...

Today an Assistant Head job opened up in my school. I thought of applying just for the craic of it. Sitting in the interview where you have to prove amazing results and saying "Well if you just ignore those ones, then I'm golden aren't I?"

..yes, maybe one to leave in my head...

Survivor

Day 2 of lone Mama and I must admit I'm glad to have my husband back. (As I type these words he tells me.. "You should write about me more, I'm awesome"! Soon my love, I'm sure I'll discuss you at great length on a day you annoy me.. be careful what you wish for! X)

Back to today. After a rather impressive bit of backwards driving, upon discovering I could not escape our parking area via our normal route - unless of course I was willing to take off the front of some else's car (I wanted to: Oh yes! But alas, my yellow mini is just too beautiful to waste on destroying some spotty teenagers red Nissan.) I managed to get on the road to in-laws even later than yesterday.

On top of this, boy had been a pickle for feeding (I fear more teeth are on the horizon!) And so knew I didn't want to be late as he'd soon be calling for food! Are all boys that fussy about boobs?.. Actually, don't answer that.

Thankfully, M-I-L was waiting cheerily to take boy from my flinging arms the moment I arrived and I still managed to scrape into work on time! God bless grandparents. A whirlwind of lessons later and I found myself leading the first rehearsal of our latest school play.

So, we're doing the Merchant of Venice, right? Catch is - we've gone a bit Fawlty Towers here - we're not mentioning the Jews. I know, I know reader and drama aficionados alike: How can you possibly not mention the Jews in a play like MoV?! Well, as it turns out, quite easily. Which in itself makes me a little uncomfortable (It felt too easy to rip out all mention of an entire race considering much of the play depends on its presence in the plot!)

"So what are you doing instead?" I hear you call! Now there is the ingenious part! In modernising the setting. Bringing Portia's challenge and Antonio's blight into the contemporary,  we can eradicate Shylock's segregation from society due to race. Instead, he is cast aside as the miserable old miser; out of touch with the young carefree hipsters of the world.

See, what with my newly emblazoned kindness to self and others policy I just couldn't stand the idea of a play which only focuses on some 400 year old stereotype of a race as justification for portraying them as cruel and deserving of their fate. I had to make that change for my own sanity (and that of SLT of course.. could you imagine the meeting to discuss what we're doing...

"So there's this Jew right."
"Right..."
"And he's completely slagged off by everyone because he's a Jew"
"Riiight..."
"And he lends his enemy a load of cash so he can entrap and murder him"
"Go on..."
"And is then told that because he's being an unreasonable Jew, he must convert to Christianity, give all his money to the daughter that betrayed him for another Christian and deal with it or die..."
"... you know we're a Catholic school right.")

So yeah - it got edited slightly. Same old story.. slightly different angle. We'll see how it pans out! 

Leader of the Pack (Vroom Vroom!)

I know, avid reader; you have been waiting with baited breath to see how/if I survived night one on my own. I can hear from here the feminists among you are screaming at your screens, "Stop acting like you can't do it - you're giving us a bad rep!" and you're probably right that I am but I really was worried that I wouldn't be able to go it alone.

However - I have conquered! 9:04pm and I am sat - with a alcoholic beverage (of your choice as you hear my voice inside your head) swirling around a glass - curled up in bed. Dozy, contented, smug. After what was clearly an exhausting day with Granny and Grumpa; a huge dinner and the most frivolous bath I've ever seen (Pretty sure I had to save him from attempting to drown himself on at least 4 occasions!) My beautiful boy was drifting in and out of sleep. Laid down (awake!) turned on all the various nightlights, singing/wave/uterus machines that he enjoys, told him I love him and pushed the door to. Not. A. Sound.

Bloody Miracle. 

Of course, I still have to get through another night (and another early rise!) but for now. I am wallowing in my Mama-hen-ly smugness. No, I didn't do the washing up. No, I didn't mark those 12 books I brought home even though I promised myself this year I wouldn't bring any work home. No, I didn't unload the dryer. No, I don't care. I get to have an evening to myself where I'm not tired. I mean I am, of course, completely exhausted what with full time teaching, recovering from illness and being a generally completely under-slept new mother. But that's not real tiredness - that just the perpetual tiredness that we all seem to endure! 

On those lines, the other day I saw another staff member run, breathless, into the staff room. Grab a cup and down a glass of water. I asked him if he had a bottle. He shook his head as he downed another. I have found myself to be the keeper of the stash of water our school hides in case a pipe bursts or we have parents visit (heaven forbid they drink tap water!) and so saw an open pack in one of my cupboards. I took a bottle up to him and, due to his valiant teaching efforts with what could only be described as a particularly testing group of young people on a final lesson of a Friday, he never noticed my leaving it on his desk. It wasn't until I emailed him later asking if he had drunk said water that he even realised it was me. The email in return was simple:

"My Guardian Angel."

But here's the thing... that's not how it should be. As I said, we all seem to live in this perpetual tired haze. Rushing and running from class to meeting, meeting to department, department to training. We forget to look after ourselves. How can we be expected to look after others if we cannot look after ourselves? I didn't give him the water to brag, to be an angel, to gain some sort of personal superiority complex. I didn't even know I was going to tell you all until I was suddenly writing it. I gave it because I care about him. He works hard, he cares about us and he cares about the kids. It made me feel good - of course - but it made me feel good because I knew he wasn't looking after himself and I could do something tiny to remind him he should be... Be an angel for someone - it feels awesome and it takes next to nothing. 

Most of the time people need the tiniest of things to finish them off. A kid smirking at them when they're trying to help; a bad lesson review; a split cup of coffee. They blow up. At the time it feels completely justified, then immediately completely stupid. Ultimately, you even out but your self respect goes down a little for a while. The thing is, that tiny thing. We forget that it's just the last thing. It's not the whole thing. There's so much stuff that we bury under the surface of happy families, confident employees, loyal friends that we don't confront the things that stop us from looking after ourselves. That's why we need each other... No one can do it alone. Who ever you are, what ever it is. 

I want to be an angel to more people. It's contagious. 

Lone Wolf

So today, for what I think is the first time, my husband is away training for a few nights and I am on. my. own.

Now I have kept my beautiful son alive for 9 months so you'd think I'd be dab-hand at the idea of hubby leaving me to it. After all, he went off to work every day while I was on maternity leave and besides a few very minor questionable decisions, child has been broadly-speaking very well taken care of. So why do I feel nervous today?

It would seem going back to work, with all the stresses of a real timetable and the prayers/voodoo rituals/wishful thinking I'm currently reciting to encourage our darling boy to remain asleep and in his crib all night have got me panicking about the few short days ahead.

Deep down I know everything will be absolutely fine. I have a fantastically supportive network of family and friends around me, many of whom I know would drop everything in an instant if I really needed their help, and yet.. the idea that impending doom is about to occur is settling in.

(Big shout out right now to all single parents out there... I am bricking it at the idea of 2 days alone - you guys are heroes! How you bathe baffles me - I am fully prepared to rely on dry shampoo and air freshener if necessary!)

My mum was a single mum for a long time and has worked her butt off my whole life to make sure none of us had to worry about food, clothing and the odd treat. She is my inspiration in life in so many ways and I know I don't tell her enough. She reminded me the other day, when I was complaining about my life, of something she has often told me. "Do something that makes you happy. I know you'll be successful in anything you do so focus on doing something that you want to do." I love her for that unbreaking trust in me to make the right decisions for my life. I trust her absolutely to do the same and hope I can provide the same support for her now I am grown as she has done for me my whole life.

It reminded me that I decided I wanted to enter teaching when I was about 12 - I know; most kids at 12 want to be Spiderman or an Astronaut or something but I wanted to help people and figured I would be good at teaching. Deep down, that 12 year old is still in there. Unfortunately, in recent years, that naive, wide-eyed lover of learning has been buried beneath bureaucracy, paperwork and data. Data - eurgh - I mean... I know you have to measure achievement at some point, some how. But much of my subject goes on feeling, on talent, on the moment, not on the numbers. But maybe more on that another time. For now, I pledge to let that 12 year old find a path to the surface. By looking after myself so I can look after others, help others and find that love and drive to succeed once again.
If you need me, I'll be daydreaming.

Year new. New rules

So, I went in and faced the music. I knew it wasn't going to be great, all singing, all dancing A*s across the board. I had warned the powers that be that in the end, my hopes weren't high. And yet, I secretly wished (and put my all in to achieve!) The very best I could in terms of grades.

It wasn't enough.

I had come back to a mess. My results were terrible. My school hadn't offered drama at GCSE so I had no way to redeem myself. And I was coming back to exactly he same situation in terms of knowledge base for drama that I had when I first started.

My biggest fears were that it would end up being the same.

 It all felt too familiar. Like some sort of horrific groundhog day thats on a 5 year cycle. I couldn't let that happen again.

I cried. A lot. It was tough to hear that your best isn't good enough. I barely made it through the exam analysis meeting I was supposed to have. I just couldn't hold myself together. There I was; new mother, just returned after 9 months out, all the curriculum for GCSE had changed, the grading had changed, the kids I knew had left. I was out of my depth. I was told it didn't matter that my opinion was that throughout the process of the GCSE,  the kids had improved - some had gone up by 4 GCSE grades between exams done in July 2015 and November 2015 - all that mattered was what OFSTED were going to think when they saw I had failed.

I didn't just want to quit. I wanted the group to swallow me up and never be seen again.

But life doesn't work that way and I resolved to make changes. I scrapped everything we had used up until that point. All our SOWS.  All the curriculum maps. All the assessment and their criteria. It all had to go.

I'm starting again...

It's been some time...

And I'm sorry for that dear reader. As I'm sure you can imagine, things get hectic fast in your first year of teaching.

A number of years on, many things have happened. I worked my butt off that year and did achieve my goal of becoming Head of Drama within my 3 year goal.

I also have put on 3 fantasticly (and 1 slightly less) successful shows. Got my first set of GCSE boys through their exams. Got married and had a baby!

As my maternity leave is coming to an end and I look forward to starting back into teaching. I hope to reignite both my passion for teaching and my confidence in a profession I feel I have missed some pretty massive changes in!

I went on Maternity Leave In November last year (2015) and will be returning on August 1st 2016 (so luckily have the rest of the summer holidays to get my head around everything!) Therefore, I will have had just 9 short months off, and yet, I can't help but feel that extensive changes have already paved our way forward in the teaching world. A new (female!) PM. An impending separation from the union in our continent. A world torn apart by fear and hatred. An education system on the brink of collapse and no real indication on how we are going to be moving forward on any of them!

A brave new world we are heading into. Feels like NQT year all over again!