School blues

I feel I am at school with them. Its a full time job getting them there with the correct stuff completed on the correct day, never mind the voluntary and money contributions required.

So far, in the 2 weeks and 2 days they have been back, I have supported, helped the children with or been asked to:

1. 4 sets of spellings
2. 2 sets of times tables
3. 3 sets of x 10 spelling sentences
4. 4 lots of maths homework via the computer
5. 1 drawing and labelling for science homework
6. I project curated, ordered and paid for (sewing kit)
7. One Victorian costume cobbled together
8. Wellies in school on the right day
9. One assembly organised and delivered
10. Pestered them mercilessly to read their books
11. Make cakes for fundraising teas
12. Sponsor a Dragon boat race
13. Pay £20 voluntary contribution
14. Pay £30 deposit towards a £400 school trip (yes you read it correctly, £400)
15. Filled in countless medical and permission forms
16. Bought new shoes, trainers, shorts, cardigans, dresses etc
17. Paid £5.95 for a reading book they were all required to have, yes we have to buy our own books
18. Donated 2 bottles on non-school uniform day for the fete tombola
19. Required to donate time or spend at fete
20. Dress them for school photos and purchase
21. Asked to volunteer to hear the children read, offer time in school garden and help on school trips.


This is a state primary.

Song of the Sea

It's the most beautiful film I have seen in a long while, and had I been alone I might have cried a lot more than did. I would have allowed the tears to really flow rather than hold them back, not wanting to scare my children or all the other people in the cinema.

The animation was just exquisite, magical, entrancing and entirely enthralling. I am sure it was lost on the children although they seemed happy enough when they left the cinema. My heart was heavy with loss, with bottled up feelings, with characters I wanted to meet, with storytellers and faeries. 

It was a truly incredible little film, heart warming and heart wrenching. For all ages, but especially mamas. 

Hope in Trafalgar Square

It's been a tough couple of weeks, there seems to be sadness and unfairness all around. My screen is filled with those images, so terrifying and helpless. The radio gets switched off regularly so as not to give the children nightmares, they may not even be listening. We still don't have a telly so are cosseted from the moving pictures of grief.

There was hope in Trafalgar Square on Sunday. A man writing his feelings in poetry on the ground. An eclectic band of people and musical instruments making the crowd smile. A Turkish man spreading some love by making rings for free, to passers-by who could not quite believe it. We all crouched with him, looking at the intricate curls of the electric wire, his array of cheap beads, a real Aladdin's chest to us all as we chose our jewels. I wanted to ask him about himself, fuelled by the media's fury on immigration and desperate refugees.

But he just wanted to smile with us, enjoying making us rings from electric wire - it would have been rude to ask.

For a moment, on the surface, not scratching anywhere below that - humanity smiled, mingled and took selfies. For just a moment, there seemed hope in Trafalgar Square.

My favourite place

"What's your third favourite colour?" P asks while wandering along a farm track.

"Which is your second favourite animal...and you're not allowed to say horses, cats or dogs...?" she might ask. Or my personal favourite;

"What's your favourite light bulb, Mummy?" P queried in all earnest.

It's a game that can last for a long while, especially on walks or tedious car journeys which involve the M25.

"Where is your favourite place?" is a game we have played often, even partying around a pool in Ibiza with over 18's.

My favourite places are the ones which produce calm, awe and near-tears. In no particular order:

Exmoor
Where moor meets the sea, wild weather and wonderful walking

East Africa

 The raw wilderness

Spain 

The islands, the cities, the culture, the language, the countryside

Where's your favourite place?

Back to basics

We arrived in a village called Rasca, with two large rucksacks - a hangover from student days when back packing was the only way to get about. They were full of medicines, underwear, just-in-case dresses, three books perchance I should suddenly increase my reading speed, clothes for all weathers, sun creams, wires and gadgets. The children had two mini rucksacks full of things to do, pens and the like - all ready for our great Romanian donkey trek.

I thought I had packed light but after deciding that two donkeys between eight people was more than adequate, we halved our loads. And then realising that most of the space in the donkeys panniers would be needed for food and water - I halved it again.

Eight people's stuff for 9 days

We took two pairs of pants each, two pairs of walking socks, a couple of tee shirts, one pair of shorts, a long sleeved top and absolutely nothing to play with. We travelled lighter than I ever had before and washed our pants in the shower nightly, we washed our socks and didn't bother with the shorts and tee shirts. It was liberating and I felt completely free.

We survived on very little and managed. The children played in puddles and ponds, ran in grass meadows and made nature art, they went to bed early with stories from our imaginations. Everything felt just a little bit more alive - magical almost.

To come home and see all the unnecessary clutter in the house has caused manic clearance and recycling. Just owning what you need gives the mind so much space - I intend to halve our possessions - and then halve them again. And if I'm feeling really brave, halve them just once more.