A Bed of Flowers

An image

Of the season’s

First daffodils

Brings a lump to

My throat.

A rebirth

That springs from the soil,

A smile to brighten

The winter gloom –

A reminder

That life

Is not

Diminished

By being within

The earth.

A yellow glow

Suffuses the

stone cross

And the lantern

Promises

Illumination

When the way

Is dark.

Sleep well,

On this

Mothering  Sunday

Your Mother

Brings you flowers…

daffodils

Prickles and Pongs

Bribery is the order of the day and, like a carrot, the children are allowed a couple at a time to peer in the box from a safe distance and say hello to the temporary new classmate…in return for producing the required piece of work beforehand. It works. Even the most reluctant scholar perks up and completes the allotted task on time! Unfortunately this coconut-sized bundle of prickles, seems allergic to its fellow students and keeps sneezing – unless it was Pandora’s new perfume which could also be used as an insect repellent as the weather warms up!
Prickles and pongs

Vertiginous

They are climbing the walls today – literally. Enrichment offers the climbing wall experience. I get vertigo trying to look up and see how high some have reached. Some have been watching a lot of Spiderman by the look of it, fearlessly they swing from side to side on silken ropes, others lean back and walk back down with straight legs. I watch the ones ‘bouldering’ and stay safely near to the ground. Besides I have the first aid kit!

How to jump to all the wrong conclusions while eavesdropping.

If you could have seen my Dad’s face. I tried to ignore him, I really did, but sitting in the doctor’s waiting room at half past six on a Monday evening when his appointment was at 5.15 it was hard not to overhear the rather loud conversation going on between two teenage girls behind us. I could just imagine what he was thinking. I could see him sort of try and turn around to see what these delinquents looked like. I knew that he wouldn’t be disappointed. They were sitting about 10 feet away so each had to speak up to make sure they were heard by the other. The furthest one away started talking about how her newly-pierced lip was agony, while the one directly behind us admired it and asked how much it hurt to have it done. Their conversation then widened out to compare how different places convey pain at differing levels. I knew where this was going. I knew that they aimed to shock. My Dad didn’t. He was shocked. He tried to catch my eye while I pointed out a potentially interesting magazine article in some attempt to distract – an upwards movement of the eyebrows, which I ignored and went back to looking at my riveting copy of Trainspotters Monthly.
The two sets – Lippy and Dad, Teen Mum and her Mum – started complaining about how long they were having to wait and how they were getting rather hungry. I turned and offered them some chewing gum using Lippy’s real name (Jasmine) and cooing over the cutest little pink-enveloped infant who belonged to the other girl. My Dad disappeared into his appointment and the rest of us had a chat. Jasmine’s Dad was still doing his historical re-enactments and his other two daughters were getting on well, as was his wife.
On the way home, in response to his disparaging remarks, I explained that he was too quick to judge – they were one of the loveliest families I had ever taught (all three girls having gone through my class at some time) and Jasmine’s lovely mother had gone out of her way to help him to paint the school play scenery about ten years before.
A cliché but never truer: books can’t be judged by their covers!

Spirit

MWM
Bittersweet late Christmas present…
…………….
First day of the Spring term and a bag full of presents greets me on the table at the back of the class. I couldn’t come in on the day we broke up – these offerings have sat patiently, biding their time until today. When I get home I sit and unwrap them.
Chocolates by the ton and body cream, vouchers and candles, my lovely class, still the presents come…wine and a beautiful Guardian Angel to sit and watch over me. I leave one until last. The child is away, mourning the loss of her sister and we grieve for her grief. I open her gift, carefully wrapped and thoughtfully chosen. I am ‘someone special’, according to the pen, also enclosed is a plaque to celebrate Christmastime – tears sting the back of my eyes as I read; ”Believe in the spirit of Christmas”…
Bittersweet offerings

Like Dr Who?

We are thinking about career paths in class today – ok they are only 8 years old but it’s good to plan ahead. Caleb tells me with a sneer that Sam wants to be a time traveller.
“You need to tell him that he can’t be one Miss!”
This proves to be a little harder than anticipated, Sam is adamant that is all he wants to be when he grows up.
“Maybe you could be an inventor and discover how to travel in time…?”
“What like in Back to the Future?” asks Caleb with round eyes.
“I want to be a Time Lord and save the world!”Sam can’t be dissuaded and at this point I am suspecting that he is suffering from Dr Who overload.

Caleb says he would like to act in some adventure movies. This seems to be a little more reasonable and something that we can work with (I am hoping that Sam will get inspired to think of something more suitable).
“I’d like to be James Bond and get lots of gadgets from a man in a white coat.”
There’s nothing like aiming high.
“So you need to work hard at maths, so you can crack codes, and technology so that you can work the gadgets Caleb.”

Harry decides to enlighten us as to his own plans.
“I want to be a prankster.”
I am a little perturbed at this.
“Do you mean a comedian?”
“No I want to play pranks on people.”
“Maybe a magician?” I am hopeful.
“No, just a prankster.”

I think it was easier talking to Sam about his plans to shift space and time…

Fighting Back

A jab in the arm, to ward off the flu
A second of pain then we’re through;
I can’t afford to be off with the lurgy,
This year I shall enjoy my faux turkey!
There are plans afoot so I better be well
To enjoy the festivities come Heaven or Hell.
The children at school get all the bugs
They pass them on – along with their hugs,
their coughs, their colds, red noses and slime.
They’re contagious I’m told, just give ‘em time…
Sneezing all over the classroom you see,
Their books and tables and worst of all me!

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