Old before time

Amazingly, I managed to have lunch today in the staff dining room. Sounds normal enough but I generally don't have a proper sit down lunch and tend to spend the hour catching up with duties. So, today was different.

I have to say that there's something special about traditional school cooks and Mrs Briggs is no exception. Her team of kitchen die hards always come up trumps and all staff are fed and watered with a variety of tasty dishes to maintain our stamina for the rest of the day's triumphs and challenges. As I sat down to enjoy my home cooked shepherd's pie and salad, I began to hear about the day's events from the perspective of staff gathered around the dining table.

Much of the news centred around the triumphant results of many of our Year 6 pupils gaining offers, including scholarships, to the local Dulwich foundation schools and other highly regarded independent seats of learning. Hurrah, such successful team work. I'm so proud and delighted with everyone especially the children.

But I also heard about about poor Bradley. During his Drama lesson today, he was an absolute pain. Uncooperative, sullen and displaying behaviour of considerable challenge to his extremely competent teacher. I agreed to have a word with him. This child is in deep pain and exists in a world full of sorrow and deep angst. Sadly, his mother died when he was very young (pre-school) and he's seemingly, never really had the opportunity to talk about his feelings. Indeed, he doesn't really know how or why his mother died and that pain has been with him ever since she passed away. Bradley and I talked about his drama lesson but we gradually turned the conversation towards 'his pain' and the real root of the issues he hides but, in truth, reveals each and every day.

Within moments, I was faced with this poor crumpled soul spilling his grief with wails, sobs and floods of uncontrollable tears. His distress was painfully raw and tangible. We talked and I think it helped but my one regret is that I didn't hold him, like a babe in arms. He needed the warmth and security of a mother's embrace right at that moment but I'm ashamed to say that I allowed modern protocol to prevail.

It's a moment that I'll never forget and I hope that Bradley feels that in some small way, his years of pain, grief and confusion has turned to follow a different, more positive path.

Bradley left the room on a much happier note and I wept like a child. After composing myself (and then breaking down again whilst relaying the tale to the Head), I rang Bradley's father and left a message asking him to call to make an appointment. Within the hour, he was in school and spoke to our ever sympathetic and supportive Headteacher. As a result, I'm delighted to say that counselling is being arranged and maybe, in time, there'll be a happier soul (and departed spirit) able to deal more readily with life's, often cruel, challenges.

Sweating the small stuff

With African blood coursing through my veins, I'm afraid I feel the cold. Even though the sun often peeks through the clouds at this time of year and global warming is doing its best to convince us that it's summer, heating in our house will remain on full blast until we have another hosepipe ban in the South-East.

My dear husband, who spent much of his formative years in the wild, open countryside and picturesque village dwellings without central heating (NO CENTRAL HEATING, CAN YOU IMAGINE?!!) he has learnt to accept my idiosyncracies with commendable sang-froid. Sweet angel.

However, to my horror and confusion, I have a child who simply doesn't feel the cold - she is truly her father's daughter. Although she's prone to coughs, fevers and has the most congested respiratory tract in the northern hemisphere, she is hugely averse to winter wear and all things warm and cosy.
Alex decided to express this preference at 8am this morning, refusing to wear tights 'because they itch and I want to wear socks!'. Sounds reasonable enough if you don't suffer from frost fear, as I do.
'But your legs will freeze darling, especially when you're out at play at lunchtime.' I protested. She gazed at me incredulously with an impatient, wry expression that almost screamed, 'Have you ever been in a playground? Do you think we just stand around?'

Now, this could have developed into an almighty battle but being severely time poor and sleep deprived, I gave in and Alex promptly produced regulation grey school socks, beaming with delight as she triumphantly pulled them over her little legs, and all became soothingly quiet. As for the cold legs and frost bite...well, it'll take more than half bare pins and an irrational mother to bring on these fearful states by a child like Alex. Unlike me, she doesn't sweat the small stuff she simply likes to work one up.

Full marks?

I learnt today that the interviews for my replacement begins tomorrow and I'm to play an integral part in the process. I'll be spending the entire day observing the candidates teach a classes of 9 year olds. Quite honestly, it is an honour and a privelege to be asked. My imminent departure was accepted with such support and understanding by the Head but I wouldn't have been surprised to have been entirely sidelined on this one.

I can tell you that being observed whilst teaching is akin to retaking your driving test after motoring for 20 years. Well, can you recite the Highway Code inside out and back to front wearing a blindfold whilst standing on your head? Neither can I. But, teachers are expected to be perfect...every time. In these situations, there's an unwritten expectation that you are to perform thus:

• Stride into the classroom with authority and confidence. You lose marks if you give the slightest indication that you may be nervous.
• Ignore the fact that the pupils before you are complete strangers but NEVER forget their names.
• Provide paper evidence (lesson plans) to your observer showing how you will ensure that every single child has progressed, despite the fact that they may well not accessed the previous stages of learning required for true understanding to have taken place.
• Identify those who could recite Tolstoy and those that can't quite spell it. Provide for their needs accordingly.
• Throw most of your knowledge about child development and how learning works out of the window.
• Speed through your lesson and prove that, after 40 minutes, they'll all have grasped the concept...ready to move on to the next stage of learning.
• Replicate outstanding practice as indicated in the professional textbooks and manuals as long as you ignore those that wish to go to the toilet, have an instrumental lesson to attend, hardly slept the night before, didn't eat breakfast, have worries or arrive late.
• Smile, praise, smile and praise some more.

Actually, not much different to classroom reality in most schools ..... this guy or gal better be good. Non-negotiable!

Brum, Brum here we come

Back to school tomorrow and I've spent the whole half term considering my backlog of things to do...marking, letter writing, rota updates, planning Red Nose Day, staff meeting agendas, policy updates, lesson planning, scheduling, cover arrangements, classroom reorganisation, staff training, resource allocation etc. etc. And ended up mellowing in the West Midlands (yes, I do mean urban Birmingham) sight seeing and house hunting! We had an absolute ball. Admittedly, we were based at the Hilton (Bromsgrove!...our usual base at the Hilton Warwick was bursting with Valentine and castle lovers) with a free evening meal on our 1st night, baby listening facility and 18m swimming pool with jacuzzi, steam room and sauna. Tacky I know, but heaven nonetheless!!

Mitch and I spent our evenings alone together in the brightly lit 'designer' lounge/bar planning our next move. Quite literally. We had arranged to view various properties in the 'less urban' sectors of the city (with outstandingly decent state schools) within an arm's reach of affordable properties. Our business rendezvous with the vendors of the company that we are planning to buy was scuppered by the latest flu bug, so we planned to spend our time whizzing 'round local properties in Harborne and Moseley alongside entertaining the girls with the multitude of activities that are available for children to do locally. Property No. 1 was a typical Edwardian house - pleasant enough - but it had the misfortune of being neatly settled opposite the most monstrous 60s houses you ever did see. Not that I'm strictly opposed to modern houses (as I do have the misfortune of living in one) but the scorching tones of the garage door across the road would test the tolerance of the most enthusiatic of colourists. Also, at £50 short of £400,000 (i.e £100,000 a bedroom) with no scope for improvement or development, we were promptly out the door with the agent still munching the remains of his egg sandwich (breakfast we were told...at 10am?!). Now, Property No. 2 (same road, £50,000 less with an abundance of bedrooms, a patch of a garden and severely suffering from a crazed builder's pickaxe) made us swoon with nervous excitement. We were intoxicated within seconds of stepping across the threshold and the children skipped delightedly through the maze of reception rooms, bounded the numerous flights of stairs and confirmed that this house (with bright pink walls in one of the rooms) was an absolute must have. Even the pigeon poo littering the top floor (courtesy of an open skylight) and the fact that the house is allegedly built the wrong way round (I'm serious!) didn't put us off.

We were so taken with the house that we returned after dark and began introducing ourselves to the neighbours. I stepped out of the car with the girls in tow to find out who our neighbours might be. We were welcomed with opened arms - one dear soul practically invited us in for dinner - with sorrowful tales of the neglected nightmare that we are convinced will be our next home. We exchanged contact details so that one of the other neighbours (away for the night) could contact us about the local schools. As we raced back to London the following morning, my mobile rang. I assumed that it was one of the agents needing feedback for their client. But no, amazingly, it was the absent neighbour with a full history of 'the house' and great news about two of the excellent schools within walking distance of the house.

Now, about that second mortgage....

Heads you win

That was some week. But, it's my birthday today and I can breathe a laden sigh of relief as half term is upon us and I've time. I had the pleasure of a lie in..well, almost (the workmen are arriving at 9am instead of 8!) and awoke with the children's shouts of excitement at my 44th birthday and the 'surprise' (hidden gifts, cards and chocolate treat) that had been orchestrated by my beloved. Aaah! To be honest, I'd rather forget the fact that I'm the wrong side of 40 and concentrate on my rare lie in but I played the game and the girls were as happy as if it were their celebratory day!

My body simply aches with fatigue and stress such is the load I carry during the week as a senior member of staff at a large London prep school.

My dream job ...truly. A hop, skip and jump from the front door which enables me to push past the heavy Victorian doors (with even heavier bags) minutes away from being reprimanded for being late (and I usually drive!!).

You see having two daughters with beautiful, soft woolly hair means that it takes more than a couple of quick brushes to make my beauties escape potential playground ridicule each day. The girls sense the build up to the torturous daily routine and fight to be the last to endure the physical pain and wretched head twisting and tugs at the strands that have been miraculously woven and knotted during the night's slumber. "No not me, Alex first!" shrieks Erin as she dashes across the breakfast room with terror and wilful determination etched in her eyes. Meanwhile, Alex has suddenly remembered that she has some homework to complete and simply cannot be disturbed or Mrs Lowe will be most displeased with her efforts. Meanwhile the clock's ticking, I'm sweating and my mobile trills with another message from a sick member of staff who's unable to work today. So, it's 8.00am and I have to comb my daughters' hair (no, sorry, I mean gently caress their African heritage tresses), encourage attention to detail with last minute homework, book a supply teacher to arrive in school in 30 minutes from goodness knows where, get dressed, apply make up that I can't find (bathroom is being refurbed) and eat breakfast. Then sprint to school to arrive looking like the calm professional that I'm employed to be. Is it any wonder that I've resigned?

Method in the madness

I've spent most of this evening worrying. Thoughts have been flying ...no, attacking me with such voracity that I am compelled to alleviate the stress by starting up this blog. Who else will listen? At least I'm being productive. When I think about it, I normally spend alot of my time fretting about what I've to do and the time that I've wasted thinking about the ever increasing work or list load that grows with every thought.

The truth is I'm still reeling from a major decision that I made 32 days ago. I RESIGNED!!!! Not quite a New Year's resolution (don't really believe in them) as I had, subconsciously, had a pretty uneasy vibe before I started the job! Looooonnnng story and more of that in a future posting.

Don't get me wrong, I'm ecstatic and delighted about my decision and can't wait to move on with my/our - super husband, georgeous children, trophy house (OK then, Dulwich location but house with potential) life. Anyhow...I did it and can't quite believe that I didn't allow the rational side of me to talk me out of maintaining financial security and my high local profile.

Perhaps I ought to explain. I live in the not so leafy part of Dulwich but have the coveted postcode that locals crave like a winning lottery ticket and bought the house (modern and ugly but with that all important postcode). We used to live in the not so sought after SE27. The estate agent's drawl is one that still lingers...'You are practically living in Dulwich here (NO WE'RE NOT). Buyers will love the fact that they're not really in West Norwood (YES THEY ARE!!!!!) and avoiding the Dulwich house price premium. Was he for real?

Our beautiful, perfect turn of the century WEST NORWOOD house had a rather large problem... a tiny garden. Having bought it as a wreck, listing from its neglect, my genius of a house developer husband with his avant garde ideas, transformed this weeping disaster into one of the most desirable houses the street had ever marketed and sold. Coupled with the fact that it bordered the mecca of SE London and was adjacent to a hugely successful and popular independent prep school, we struck gold (hate to admit that the agent was spot on) bought our new home minus a mortgage and I continued my life as a stay at home 'middle class' black mother of two.

There was certainly method in our madness...but more of that later.

Work tomorrow and I'm counting the days!