Monday, 14 April 2008

Photoblog, Monday

Photoblogs are good. I need not blog, but can pretend to, while catching up the zillion things I have to do before breakfast: Laundry. Dishwasher. Complaining. Picking up unicorns. Add to that lot: Work. Typesetting the world's crappiest copy. Now I need to squeeze in several hours a day part-time for that. Not forgetting the education thing. We need to fit that in somewhere before bed time.

I've split the day into three. First is mummy duty, so I'm getting up an hour earlier. Second, I work in the office. Third, something educational with Shark, Tiger and Squirrel, and not just watching while they bury Furryhorn in her gravelly grave at the bottom of the garden. Breaking this lot down, my day basically is composed of suffering, earning money in the morning, and spending it on kids in the afternoon.

Here I am, a working mummy before lunch and a home educating teacher before tea. But teachers are not supposed to lose their tempers, and slam their bedroom doors, sulking. That's what mummies do, or at least this mummy. No. Teachers are supposed to bear up with good grace and better humour. Teachers are supposed to be organised, reflect on good practice, and plan activities ahead according to age, ability and aptitude.

On the other hand, mummies are supposed to ask about socks, fruit juice and find out where the pink coat with the furry hood has gone. They are not supposed to say 'Here! Look at these lovely books for our science project! And while we're about that, I've organised a workshop on Darwin and booked you in for a trip to Kew with the education officer! Who's got that book on science experiments for the kitchen? And where are the test tubes?'

Well, for now I will leave you to draw your own conclusions about this lifestyle. I may just give the highlights.

On Monday, after work, we went to see one of these...

Yes, it's a cheetah. Shark, Squirrel and Tiger played a game to see if they could outrun a cheetah. Being a good teacher, I could have made this moment educational, what with maths and kilometres per hour. Here it is, just about to get started. The pout was a warning sign, and I should have known better.

Five minutes after this promising educational moment, the incident ended in tears when everyone had a big screaming fight and mummy Grit huffed and puffed 'I am never bringing you to see the cheetah again'.* Then we all went home and talked about correct behaviour in front of carnivorous mammals. Which, being a now struggling teacher and a frazzled mummy, I'm counting as citizenship and family bonding.

* This is one of those empty threats, the like of which Dig uses. In his case, it is something equally vacuous, like 'You are grounded for the next month'. Tsk. Dig, when are you going to learn that you cannot expel or suspend them, or write a note home to their parents in the home/school liaison books?


Brad said...

Give yourself a break Dear. Teacher's don't have to be Mommies at the same time. But you know all this. Off to the Co-op and a beer for you! I say in my most masterfully school master way.

Grit said...

great idea! but i can't go to the co-op until the bell rings.

Mean Mom said...

I've done a bit of door slamming, in my time. On occasions, I would lock myself in the bedroom for a few minutes, because I had become dangerously close to strangling my little darlings. How did they reduce me to that? I am the most patient person I know, believe it or not!!! I have an older friend, who insists that she never lost her temper with her children. Has she got a bad memory or did she just have placid, undemanding children?

Grit said...

i am very glad you write thus, mean mom, and it makes me feel a whole lot better. i am sure your friend has memory loss.