Dear So-And-So, the children's edition

Dear Adorable Boy-Child,

We're heading into rough waters, you and I.  Every year has been uncharted territory - you are the oldest child I've raised, the oldest grandchild, I am the oldest of my family and I had never thought of having children until suddenly and surprisingly you were there. Your younger years were amazing, your middle years were survived through the grief, and now we are heading into your older child years.  I have never seen the teenage years up close.  This morning, my up-at-0530-child was still in bed at 7am and had to be dragged out.  Who are you?  Where is my boy?

On the other hand, you are brave, bright and strong.  You have played for school teams and will again.  You've been selected to represent school in sports you've never done, just because they think you can do it.  Your teachers tell me how lovely you are and your friends hang out at ours.  You have survived so much, with a beautiful smile and a gorgeous attitude.

Even on our worst ever day, your first thought was for someone else.

That's how I know we will survive this.  We'll work out the teenage hormones and spots and so on.  We'll get through the angst and the trauma.  I'll stand on the sidelines of your games and support you all the way, even when I don't know what the rules are!

Love you my boy,

Me

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Dear Beautiful Girl,

I wonder how you are.  I wonder what you are doing, and how school is going for you.  This year I cried on your birthday because I don't even have an email address for you or your mother any more.  I know your birthday, I know how old you are, I know that you are bound to be gorgeous and that you always have had your father's eyes.  It is almost 6 years since we had a picture of you, and only slightly less than that since I heard from you.

It's almost ten since I saw you, crying at the airport as your mother took you away.

I still blog to you, randomly, but I know you don't see it.
I write to you in my head, and sometimes actual emails, but I know you'll never see those either.
I think about you, pray for you, love you in the depths of my heart.
I am here for you, just like I always have been, just like I always will be.

One day we will find each other and I will tell you all about your daddy, all about the man he was.

Love you beautiful girl.

Me

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Dear T-boy,

We aren't getting on at the moment.  I keep making you do homework because I am evil and hate you.  You keep not doing it because you need the attention that you get from us when it needs doing.

Except I don't keep making you do it because I'm evil and hate you, I'm doing it because I want the best for you.  Even the German homework, which I hate because I don't speak German.  Even the maths online homework, which doesn't give second chances.

The trouble is, it's going to get worse.  You'll head up to GCSE levels and I'll do my best to help you and encourage you to get homework done.

I want you to achieve.  You are not a child of my blood but you are a child of my heart.  Your future matters to me like the Boy Child's does.  I want the best for you, a life full of choices and chances, not a life with a dead end job and no hope of anything, or worse, no job and no hope of one.

I can't explain this all to you though, because you are full of anger and the unfairness of the world.

I won't give up on you though.

Not ever.

love
Me

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Michael Rosen wrote a post....

..... and it was on Facebook and called "A Guide to Education."

It was, as is usual with a Michael Rosen post, bang on the nail. I apologise for the screenshots, but I had to share it.






But then I started thinking about my classroom, and I wrote this in reply.


"A guide to education (in Miss Cook's Class"

You get education in Miss Cook's Class
To find out how much education you get,
You need to think of a question.
If you don't know the answer,
You need educating. Easy.
And then we find the answer.
Together.
The government tests are done and dusted
And we didn't know we were doing them
Because we did them early
So Miss Cook knew what to teach us for the rest of the year.
We are on the right tables
Because they are our tables.
Except when we aren't on our tables,
Because we are on the floor
Or in the playground
Or in the park
Or at the Art Gallery or the War Memorial
Or Parade or anything else she can find
That might be interesting.
When we went to the park to have symmetry installed
To meet the old and new objectives,
We used mirrors
And looked at plants and bricks and animals
And anything else that was interesting.
(We could have done it on a worksheet,
But we don't like worksheets!
We like real life!)
Education is getting better and better in Miss Cook's class,
We have LearnPads and soft blocks
and counting things,
And clay and paint,
And games from the charity shop because the budget is small,
And time to read whatever we want
And time to think and time to be us.

She even has a soup machine that makes soup whilst we wait!
(She made us cut all the veggies up though.
With knives.
Sharp knives.)

But that's because Miss Cook doesn't like that Education Secretary.
She likes children and teaching,
And learning something every day.

Because tests don't matter.
Children do.

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I won't be changing for any government. My children come first, last and every step inbetween.

Not because I am an enthusiastic NQT - I've been teaching for 16years - but because if they don't, then what is the point? If my class are not my work-everything, then why am I even doing the job?

(For my other recent anti-boring lessons and pointless SATs poem, please read Dear Mr Gove)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone so don't mock the spelling and I'll be back later to sort the layout!

Broken hearted? That sneaky grief!

This is a cup. It's not a lot of use any more really. It's broken.




I remember when this cup arrived at the house, amongst excitement and a little mockery. It was a birthday present for Rich, and it's a Terry's Old Gits mug from the days of Terry Wogan's Radio2 breakfast show. Rich loved listening to him, and so I treated him to a mug and a calendar.

I suppose, to be fair, the cup has lasted nine years. It's had countless coffees in it and a fair few teas. It's been a 'go to' mug for when I wanted something of his to hold and cherish and drink from and feel like we were sharing something.

And now, through lazy thinking from a child, it's broken and I want to cry and wail, but I'm not. I'm calmly helping him with his homework that he doesn't want to do and is moaning about every sentence.

I am a saint. I must be...

But sneaky grief is a pain in the heart.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone so don't mock the spelling and I'll be back later to sort the layout!

Dear So-and-So

Dear Frank,

I know you love me. But it's 0309. As in, just past 3am. I know you like sleeping under the duvet, preferably with your head on my arm and your paws on my belly, but please stop snoring in my ear. And I know you have to go to the loo as soon as you hear a noise, but your feet get really cold!

Love you though,

Me

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Dear Kevin,

Yes, you love me, you big hairy ginger fool, and I love you. You've made me smile so much in your six years with us. Your part-Burnese self needs to put a sock in it though. You are sleeping in the crook of my knees, alternating purring and snoring and I can't move without disturbing you. And I have cramp.

So...... Sorry, but you're the cat and I'm the human and I win. I am going to move...... In a minute.....

Love

Me

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Dear J,

Cuddling is lovely. Snuggling is lovely. Sleeping with your arms like a dead weight on my chest is less than lovely because of Frank and Kevin.

But you aren't snoring, so it could be worse.

Love you more and muchly,

Me

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Dear Insomnia,

Bugger off.

I don't love you and I have a busy day ahead. If I go to sleep now I can score at least another 90mins.

Bye bye now,

Me

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Dear Me,

Do not give up and just go and do work. No.

(If you are still awake at 4:30, you can start on the RE planning!)

Love,

Me.

P.S. Put the so-and-so badge on here tomorrow. Well. Later today.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone so don't mock the spelling and I'll be back later to sort the layout!

How do people with no faith manage?

This isn't a post about Christian smugness, although I've known several that need a good slap with a reality haddock to wake them up. It's a question.

When Rich died, I knew everything would be ok. I didn't know when, or how, or what would happen, but I knew it would be. Rich used to tell me "itwillallbefine" and I believed that. I also had a belief in God, that this GoodFriday of mine would eventually come to the Sunday. I'm not equating Rich and Jesus, although I suspect both would laugh at that, I mean that my sadness, like Mary's sadness, would turn to joy. Not because Rich would rise again, but because God loves me, he loves Sam, and He would fix it. Somehow.

My question is though, I relied so heavily on my faith, that I wonder how people without faith do this. I don't mean, people without Christian Faith, I mean without ANY faith.

Just wondering.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone so don't mock the spelling and I'll be back later to sort the layout!

Dear Old Me....

Dear Old Me,

For reasons best known to myself, I've just read back over July 2009.  For reasons best known to blogger, this is done backwards.  I'm sitting here in my front room now, listening to the dishwasher, and reading, and thinking.

I know it seems hopeless Old Me.  I know it seems like nothing will ever be sunshine again.  But you know what?  You get through it.  It doesn't get 'better' and time is *not* a great healer, but it gets better and more liveable with.  You'll learn to manage and then one day, our of the blue, you'll fall in love all over again.  It'll be unexepected, and if anyone had asked you earlier that day if you were ready for anyone else, you'd have said no, but you didn't turn your back when the time came, so well done.

I'm proud of you, Old Me.  Through it all the job was done, the child was fed, there was no need for misery to be on the outside, and you made it through.  What you don't know yet, is just how long that will take.

Right now, it's 2084 days since you got The News.  5 years, 8 months, 15 days.  Right now, you are just about back to the You you used to be.  You've applied for an Assistant Headship (you didn't get it, but it's ok!)  You've got really good friends and more importantly, the AC has made it through in fine form.

You got there.

Well done.

love,

Now Me.

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Dear Now Me,

You've got work to do, even if it is the holidays.  Well done for making chicken stock from last nights bones, doing the dishwasher and tumble drier before 7am.  School work beckons.  Chop on.

You'll thank me later.

love,

Now Me.

(P.S .  Don't forget to buy cat litter)

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Dear Future Me,

How are things?  Hopefully you did get the Assistant Headship in the end and you're living on Easy Street.  More likely, the AC has discovered lots of new places he *needs* to go, and you are brasic as usual.

Did you get through the menopause ok?  You've been through tougher stuff, so that should be a doddle.  It'll be early for you, apparently, but that's not a bad thing.  One child was all you were given, and that's the way it is,  He's gorgeous.

How many sphynx are there now?  Currently you have one and plans for 2 more, plus Kevin The Hairy One.  They are the loveliest animals, but I do hope Frank has grown out of his habit of biting feet to get people out of bed.  It is effective, and he only wants me up so I can feed him and then he can get back into my warm bit, but it's a shock at 4:30am (Can he work out the clock changes yet?)

I hope everything is as lovely for you as it is for me now, if not lovelier.

So far, we've done ok.

love,

Now Me.

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