Polishing my D of E badge

I was one of thousands who gained a D of E award when they were a teenager. I don’t even know why I wanted it. I went to the first meeting with my chosen friend, who when they found out that they had to contribute £5 said they weren’t going to do it. I had a choice. I could either walk out of the room with her, or stay.

£5 was a lot of money back in 1988. But I stayed. I had never thought about a skill, service, physical challenge or expedition before so everything was new.

I gradually enlisted help from adults, attended the police service training and learned the phonetic alphabet. We even went on a police station tour and was able to get locked in the cells!

The thing that truly changed my life though was the expedition. I had no idea how to read a map and the people in my group were not the friends I would have chosen. We barely knew each other but I grew to really appreciate the skills and talents of my team. Andrew helped me pass when I would have failed.

For some, D of E was another social club. I was never that good with teen socialising but I have appreciated the determination and perseverance needed to achieve my award.

Since then, those lessons have help me to gain the career I wanted, move up through experience. I have run 4 marathons and countless half marathons and raise money for charity. The lessons I learned then have helped when my daughter became really ill last year, resulting in a 9 hour emergency surgery.

It has helped me look at the bigger picture and to manage my wellbeing and been a gauge for my emotions.

I will polish my badge and wear it at school next week because there is a lot of my development wrapped up in that little badge. Not bad for £5.

You learn something new…

We had been out for our first ‘play date’ in about 6 months. The weather was fine, but changeable. It had been a good morning of catching up and letting the girls, who are now teenagers, run around outside as if they were still 8 years old.

On the way home I spotted a pheasant and told the girls to look. ‘A pheasant’. My youngest, nearly 13 year old replied that she couldn’t see it. ‘That bird’. I stated.

‘Oh? I thought Pheasants were like rabbits. Small and furry.’ It then transpired that my daughter had muddled up pheasants and ferrets for several years.

Glad we got that one sorted.

A scream

At two minutes to six yesterday evening I heard a terrifying scream. I had been in the process of logging on for Zoom church Easter service. It was a scream of shock rather than pain, I thought it warranted my immediate investigation.

My 14 year old daughter stood before me, pond weed in her hair, trousers and jumper soaking wet, stammering that my 12 year old had pushed her into the pond.

The cause of concern wasn’t so much the wet and cold, although that contributed to the reaction of shock; but the fear that she would be attacked by untold varieties of pond life. Newts, frogs, pond snails and probably the Loch Ness monster.

I mopped her up, physically and emotionally. Suggested she have a warming and cleansing bath. Then I turned my attention to my 12 year old.

My 12 year old is an incredibly adept defence lawyer, and started her explanation that ‘pushing’ was entirely the wrong way to look at things. Apparently, the girls were playing ball. The ball landed in the 4 ft by 2ft pond, which is only nearly 2ft at its deepest point. A product of lockdown 1. They knelt beside it to reach the ball. However, instead of using teamwork to achieve a desired outcome, my 12 year old leaned against my 14 year old in an attempt to reach the ball first.

The difference between leaning and pushing is slight. However, the outcome was obviously not what either of them expected. At 6pm my 12 year old was ordered upstairs to change into pyjamas with no access to social media. Sometimes the old sanctions are still effective.

When everyone was warm, dry and apologetic, I returned to my church service; I’d only missed the first two verses of the opening hymn and afterwards we settled for a family viewing of ‘The Railway Children’ to celebrate more of our wonderful ‘Shows must go on’ theatre, just in case our evening hadn’t been dramatic enough. A lovely end to our Easter day.

The energy of Spring

A strange thing happens when Spring starts, when the clocks go forward and when I know my birthday is on the horizon. It almost as if I reset. It’s almost like my New Year.

March is such a mix of winter and spring. We are told we can start planting, but only under cover or in greenhouses; we go on walks but be careful of mud and wind and, towards the end of the month, the clocks go forward in that archaic event that people have argued about for years.

I love March. I love the ‘coat and scarf in the morning – t-shirt in the afternoon’ weather. I like that I can get to 4pm and it’s still light outside. Even with the year pandemic and the threat of a global climate crisis looming, March still manages to hold its own.

Connecting to our environment is so important. When my girls attended nursery we were given strict instructions that they would play out in all weather and would therefore need clothes to suit the weather of the season. It’s a privilege to witness children reacting to new experiences, especially when they see rain, wind, snow and storms and begin to recognise a power beyond themselves.

Spring brings it’s own energy. Life seems easier to manage if you can see that daffodils have struggled though snow storms and still manage to blossom.

Even though the weather reporter warns of early morning ground frosts, I know it won’t be long before my seedlings can go outside.

A small posey

Usually, today my daughters and I would go to church. When they were little they would be asked if they would like to hand round small bunches of daffodils to all the ladies in the church. Every lady, regardless of whether they were a mother or not would get three or four bright nodding flowers.

They loved being these little flower girls, mainly because it was a moment of excitement in a calm service but also for the connection it gave them to people they saw every week but didn’t really know much about.

If I asked my girls why we gave flowers to ladies in church they would probably say that it was Mother’s Day and you do nice things on Mother’s Day. To an extent that’s true. But my interpretation goes deeper than that.

God is often referred to in masculine terms. Mothering Sunday is one of the few times when God’s relationship with the worldwide church is referred to. The idea is that maternal characteristics are not necessarily bound up in gender. It’s an out moded convenience that we have started to move away from.

Being able to nurture, care, seek and secure the lost, to feed and love. These are not just feminine qualities. I know plenty of male friends who are excellent ‘mothers’ in the same way that I know women who do the mother and father role by themselves.

So what is the church saying? Why are these little bunches of flowers given to women? It comes down to hope and promise. That God has powerful and gentle sides to their character. If we were truly made in the image of God, then when we stand together, attempting the be the best version of ourselves, then we will reflect small facets of God’s image.

The flowers may originally have been a pagan symbol of life, spring and all things waking up after winter. They may have been given to women because it shows the potential for new life to come into this world. But I would argue now that Mothering Sunday is less about the potential for new life and more about the attitude of love and nurture in society, regardless of who has that love or who does the nurturing. So perhaps we should give our small posies to everyone on Mothering Sunday.

It’s only Tuesday…

From another of my blogs…

I have spent most of the day believing it to be Wednesday. This has included setting up lessons and sending emails. I’ve confused so many people while obliviously working in my little bubble. It’s made me wonder how we keep ourselves grounded and away from that ‘Christmas is a series of Saturdays, Sundays and a […]

It’s only Tuesday…

Soft and Fluffy stuff

It’s the end of the Autumn term and I have finally logged off and taken my shoes off. I’m not going to spend much time explaining how my colleagues have worked this term. If you know a teacher, then you’ll know, if you don’t, you’ll probably think we finish with Christmas Carols and a buffet.

There are some amazing things I am grateful for during this term. I appreciate the way teachers as a community have come together to share resources. I was part of an online team of over 100 practitioners who each created 1 substantial lesson with resources. In return for that one lesson, I received 99 back. It has solved my planning issues for a year!

My department at school is another reason to be cheerful. I haven’t heard a cross word and I suspect I might have been the grumpiest member, but as I was in a work room by myself it didn’t affect too many others. The near constant supply of tea and biscuits that we provide for each other make for a cosy atmosphere on our floor.

My daughter commented on how cheerful everyone always seems to be. Although we all wear masks around the building there is a genuine wish to know how everyone is and staff take time to say hello and talk. In fact, because of the bubbles, if we see a colleague who isn’t in our bubble it can make for a refreshing catch up – at a distance.

We have done well. I would have liked to prepare our students for an online return, I’m concerned how many will voluntarily log on on the 4th January, but I and my colleagues will prepare full online lessons and smaller revision sessions depending upon the tide of student engagement. After this year, I think I feel confident delivering in just about any medium!

Finally, thanks to all my readers. This is only a little blog that helps me piece together my thoughts, almost like a diary. I am grateful that when it hits the ground a few others pick it up.

Season’s Greetings to you all.

A day in the life of an influencer’s mum

‘What can my next youtube be about?’ My daughter, an aspiring actor and YouTube presence asks me on a semi-regular basis. My answer is always the same. ‘Research’.

It doesn’t seem to matter much what the platform is, if the knowledge is there, then the skill will follow.

I’ve been watching my daughter develop her skills and although I’m not advocating a profession as a professional You Tuber, the market may be saturated already; it is a great learning tool and an interesting project for her to hone her presenting skills, video editing, script writing, critical eye and audience awareness.

The best thing for her is that because so many others have gone before, she only has to research and notice what they have done for her to improve herself.

She hasn’t had her channel a month and she is happy with her lovely group of followers, who all seem to enjoy her madcap sense of humour! Take a look and you’ll see what I mean.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4UlZ6AzqKSOcGAA81GJ9OQ

An explosion of tinsel

I was talking to some students this week who couldn’t believe that it was December already. I made the observation that we seemed to have six months of one day – our own Groundhog day. Then, Boom! Back to normal. Ish.

That normalish has included my youngest daughter having a circuit break for the last two weeks. I can’t fault school who have set up a comprehensive online curriculum, where every lesson is accompanied with a PowerPoint, a teacher, a google classroom and homework. My daughter has engaged as much as I expected her to, especially when we were able to print off tasks and give her ‘screenless’ learning time.

Still, there’s quite a lot of time to fill for someone who needs to stay home with only ‘Insta’ and ‘WhatsApp’ for engaging company.

Enter Christmas stage left.

We have been truly tinseled. I came home from work to discover the tree, tinsel, nativity and lights. So many twinkly lights.

Single handedly my youngest daughter has decorated the house (with some help from daddy) and her efforts would have made her late grandma proud.

It is by no means the true meaning of Christmas. The wisemen didn’t arrive with glittery sparkly foil decorations. But for my 12 year old her preparations have helped her think about others, the reason why she wants to make things pretty, the evenings entertainment and the small but comfortable Christmas that she is privileged to know.

Tinsel may be fluffy nonsense, but this year, with the absence of a bigger celebration, my daughter has brought Christmas to us. And for that I’m thankful.