Big words and stylistics (but not The Stylistics)     

Two books for my September course arrived today, and I got that familiar 'what have I let myself in for?' feeling. Luckily I recognise it from other courses now. I like to get ahead by ploughing through as many of the books as I can before the courses start, and there are always lists of words I've never seen before and which make me panic and feel stupid. I suppose it does show that I actually learn things, though. I can read back through the Children's Lit stuff that made me buy a new dictionary, and understand it perfectly. (Well, apart from anything written by Kimberly Reynolds but as her name is used as a swear word on the course forum, I'm not too fussed by that.) Anyway, the new course is in two parts - the first is on sociolinguistics (which I must learn to spell correctly), and the other is on stylistic analysis of poetry, plays and prose fiction. It looks fascinating, but involves lots of Big Words. And every time it mentions stylistics, I think of the soul group from the 70's, which doesn't help. 

Other courses-wise, I've finished. The final, big assignments have been sent, and now I just wait until August to see how well or badly I've done. I sent them in a bit early, as I wanted to get them out of the way, but it meant I had to leave the course Facebook groups. People kept writing about all the topics they'd covered, or they were asking questions about things I'd not thought of including, and it was all making me wonder if I'd done everything wrong. And I don't think I have...

On another topic, our school library is in the process of being catalogued by a lovely lady who's throwing most of our books out. I think she was pretty shocked that lots of our non-fiction is almost as old as I am, and politely told me that we need to buy new books. To which I politely replied that we had no money. 

Yes, we know what happens next, and 

I'll try not to...

Anyway, it turns out that our library is a bit of a mess, and she won't have time to catalogue all of the books. As I had eagerly agreed to be trained to run our library, it looks like I'm going to be in for quite a bit more work than I'd bargained for. And as I don't get any time out of the classroom, I may have to do some negotiating, timetable-wise. (I will try not to cry this time, though.)

On a happy note, The Daughter travels up from Cornwall tomorrow to stay for a few days. We haven't seen her since Christmas, so I'm looking forward to properly chatting. She's driving up, as the price of train tickets has gone through the roof, and I shan't be able to relax until I get that text saying she's arrived (she's staying with my parents as her allergy to our cats makes her quite ill now). I'm in awe of the way she will happily hop in the car and drive anywhere. My journeys take great planning and I play 'what if?' scenarios through my mind all of the preceding night. 

So if I'm not back for a while, I'll either be catching up with The Daughter, or buried under a pile of books. I'm hoping for the former...

Don't get mad, get the tissues...       

After yesterday's rant (sorry about that), I decided I would go into work and calmly explain how I would rather supply teachers took the class until behaviour issues could be resolved, as I did not want to be the one held responsible for children getting hurt by flying chairs, etc., etc. Well, I got as far as, 'Is it too late to get a supply in...' and then I burst into tears. Embarrassed is not the word. Why can I never get angry, or admit defeat without making a total arse of myself? I retreated to the staff room to make myself an industrial-strength coffee, and someone asked me if I was all right. Not a wise move. Half a box of tissues later, I made it into the classroom (too early for the children, thank goodness), where the teacher thought better of commenting on the state I was in, and admired my trousers instead. So I was fine. Until Ms Fab saw me, dragged me into a side room and was nice to me. And then Mr Chaos came in to ask if I was okay, before hastily backing out of the room. (By the way, what were you drinking? That was one strange-looking cup of tea you were holding...).

I must remind the caretaker to order

more tissues...

Things got sorted today, anyway - not in a pleasing way, but not everything has a happy ending for everyone. My faith in the way things run has kind of been nudged back in the right direction, but I feel sad for those involved in the dramas that angry and confrontational people cause. I know this post probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but I can't go into details, and I don't have enough tissues, anyway. 

I know I work with the best people anywhere, but they really must learn never to be nice to me when I have mascara running down my face...

Making allowances and other really annoying things     

You know that the children I tend to like best at school are the mischievous ones - the ones with a glint in the eye and a sense of humour. I don't like the ones who throw tantrums, get in moods and make life hell for everyone. I know that some of these children have 'problems' (and I don't mean Special Needs - that's a totally different issue), but I am really fed up with being asked to 'make allowances' for the vile behaviour and abuse that gets hurled our way. In most cases, these children are how they are because of their parent/s. They're getting a hellish childhood, which has turned them into angry little balls of fury. But I don't understand how 'making allowances' helps. Surely it sends a signal of 'Oh, okay, so you've just told me to f**k off for the third time today, but it's all right - you're having a hard time, poor child. Why don't you go and have a nice, quiet time in the library while all the well-behaved children have to get on with their work?' When I've just seen the books an innocent child got for their birthday hurled across the room, it makes me furious that the hurler gets sympathy because he's 'obviously stressed'. By accepting this behaviour, aren't we just allowing it to continue? The angry children go on to be angry parents who carry the whole cycle on and on, making more people miserable. Perhaps I'm wrong. I'm sure some child psychologist would tell me I've got the wrong attitude, and that I should be flattered to be on the receiving end of so many middle-finger salutes. I sympathised with one boy who said recently, 'My mum says that X is like that because he's not had enough hugs from his mum, but sometimes I just want him to go away.' Me too, sorry. 

I guess this makes me a f***ing b**** 

On the other hand, and just 'mild annoyance' rather than 'going-home-and-ranting-at-the-husband fury' we have the limpets. They are the ones who make a point of rushing across the classroom to give you a bear-hug, staring at you adoringly and sighing your name with added rainbow sparkles. I hurry to add that this is from the infants, (although there was one year 6 boy I had to avoid a few years ago - it's amazing how boring and matronly you can be when you really try). I know I should be pleased that these little children like me, but it makes me cringe. I feel wrong that children who are not mine are sharing that much affection, and I want to scrape them off with a stick when they grab my hands and hang off me. I'm not a holding-hands-with-children-while-on-playground-duty sort of person. I say stupid things like: 'Oh I'm really boring. Who shall we find for you to play with?' In other words, 'Please go away and get your hand out of my pocket.' 

I'm aware this makes me appear to be a child-hater, but I'm not, honestly. I do like all of the children, actually - even the chair-throwers and the leg-huggers. They just irritate sometimes, and today has been hugely irritating. Even Ms Fab got fed up, it was that bad. I just hope tomorrow will be better as I don't have any alcohol in the house. And there's a Brownie trip on Saturday that I'd forgotten about, and it's meant to rain. I think I may have to bribe Son Number One to share that bottle of schnapps he's had in the fridge for yonks.  

Back to normality (and I don't like it...)       

The courses are both finished. The final assignment was sent in yesterday, and I'm trying to get used to being able to do what I want. I'm feeling guilty writing the blog, as I'm so used to using it as a diversion from studying. I've been looking back on what I suspect are going to be my two favourite OU courses - so, what have I learnt?

Creative Writing: Never to write poetry again. I didn't do too badly on that assignment, scoring 75%, but I felt a fraud and a bit of an idiot writing it. It made me think of a guy I used to work with, who published his own poetry. The other bookshop staff and I read it, and asked what it meant, to which he replied that if we didn't understand it, it was because we were uneducated and didn't have poetry in our souls. Henceforth, he was known as The Pompous Tosser. He was actually sacked after a month of 'work' as he would turn up at lunchtime saying he'd been up till 3 that morning writing, which was much more important than selling books to ignorant peasants. The other thing I learnt about writing was that (and I really hope this doesn't sound arrogant) I knew pretty much how to do it anyway. I just hadn't really sat down and written since school, and probably would never have done so without the course. I needed that strict timetable to actually do some writing. What's helped me most with Creative Writing was not the course, but reading hundreds of books. 

Children's Literature: I desperately need to read the whole 'Mortal Engines' series by Philip Reeve. I love 'Treasure Island' and hate 'Junk'. Apart from that, I learnt a heck of a lot about the history of childhood and how every book (irritatingly) seems to have a hidden agenda in there somewhere, even if the author emphasised that it didn't. I learnt that Patrick Ness can get away with not describing his characters, even if I can't. I've always loved children's picture books, but I've learnt a lot about their history and how they they're continually evolving. I learnt that I love illustrations by Molly Bang, and must buy a book with more in:

Name that fairy tale...

I have learnt tons of booky things, and it's been money well spent, even if it's just to keep the brain working. 

Now, I have a huge pile of books awaiting, so better get started...

Halfway to getting my life back      

Yesterday I finished my Creative Writing course. Finishing my final assignment was an act of procrastination in itself, as it was a way of getting out of my Children's Lit work. These final two assignments are worth 50% of each course result - if I fail them, I fail the courses. 

For Children's Lit, I have to write about how the latest winner of the Carnegie Medal fits into the history and traditions of children's literature. Fortunately, it's an amazing book - A Monster Calls, by Patrick Ness - and I know I can write loads about it. The book was unique in that the illustrations also won the Greenaway medal, and I am much more impressed with the illustrations than the story, I must admit. Fellow students said that the book left them in tears (it's about a boy who has to face his mother's death through cancer), and one woman couldn't face reading it, choosing the other option to answer instead. Perhaps I'm too cold-hearted, but it didn't have the same effect on me. The pictures, on the other hand, portrayed emotion and atmosphere so well that I'm glad the course had a section on picture books, as I really want to write about them. 

 Some of Jim Kay's illustrations for A Monster Calls

I have my notes. I kind of know what I want to say, I just need to get in the right mood to get on with it. It has to be in by the 23rd, which I know I'll do easily. I just need a kick up the backside. 

The Creative Writing assignment didn't have to be in until the 30th, so logically I should have done that last, but I wrote the first paragraph so I wouldn't forget it, and the next few thousand words begged to be written, so how could I refuse them? I ended up editing huge chunks to get down to the 2500 word requirement. I then had to write a 700 word commentary on how I'd done it. As 'It just came,' would not have sufficed, I lied and wrote about how I'd used particular chapters of the workbook I've not looked at for months, and had taken note of tutor feedback for previous assignments. All lies, but it was what they wanted, so I typed it with my fingers crossed (very tricky).

I know I won't get distinctions for either course, but I'm hoping for a pass 2, especially for Creative Writing. Getting that for both courses will mean I'm on target for a 2:1 for my degree, which will do me fine. 

Other news: well done to my Daughter, who has got into college for her first step towards training as a psychiatric nurse. I can't tell you how incredibly proud I am of her. Not just that she's happy to start a new career, but that she's willing to support herself through her training and then work in a sector which will undoubtedly be challenging. That she has a heart big enough to treat people with empathy and respect just makes me love her even more. I think she's amazing. 

Actually, her attitude's probably that kick up the backside I was needing...

Following 'The F**k it Way'    

In a bookshop recently, and in my mood of apathy (for everything bar book-buying), I saw a book entitled F**k it Therapy. As it fitted my feelings perfectly (and was half price), I bought it, read it in a day, and was finally able to get back into a 'wanting to do things' mood. And so, over this weekend, I have written and submitted the plan for my final Children's Literature piece. I have also written 2500 words for Creative Writing, and sent that on its merry way. I'm particularly pleased with the latter as I've finished it nearly two weeks early, which takes the pressure off everything else. I do feel emotionally wrung out though. Our CW assignment had to be written to a professional standard and aimed at a suitable magazine. Although I got my highest mark for fiction, it took ages to write, and I didn't have long (my own fault for taking on two courses at once), so I wrote to an American magazine on speech problems, about how the paedophile bastard struck and left me with a stammer. He's got to be good for something, surely. 

Obviously, saying 'F**k it' to everything only gets you so far. The main thing that banished my negative mood was seeing a kingfisher by the stream at the bottom of my garden, so, in case you're having a bad day, have a kingfisher instead: 

Frustration         

Why now, with just three assignments to go until the end of two courses, have I been hit by a great wave of apathy? A quick bit of maths has informed me that, whether I score 35% or 100% for my next piece of creative writing, I'll still only get a pass 2 for the course (provided my final, separately marked piece scores over 70). So I'm tempted to put in the minimum effort and save my best for last. Actually, it wasn't a quick bit of maths - it was lots of pieces of paper and a calculator, and it's interesting that I was willing to put in lots of effort to see how little work I could get away with. I'm also starting to leave everything until the last minute. I'm meant to be e-mailing my children's literature tutor with a plan for my final piece, but I've not even decided which books to use. I have a horrible feeling I'm getting bored with it all. I'm hoping that a few months off and a new topic in September will be enough to engage my interest again. 

Actually, it's not just OU work that's filling me with can't-be-bothered-ness. Trying to catch up with the hours of tv that have been recorded while I've been studying, the Husband kindly asked me to choose what to watch. 'I don't mind,' I answered, which, he tactfully pointed out, was said in a very 'I don't care,' kind of way. But I didn't care. He could have deleted the whole lot, including the gruesome and somewhat disturbing serial-killing thing I've been glued to, and I wouldn't have cared at all. At work, I've been praised for being adaptable and willing to change plans at a moment's notice - it's because I don't care what I'm doing, or where, or why. Don't get me wrong, I want to do a good job, and I'll work hard to do it, but other than that.... 

I want to subtract thirty years from my age, do a great shrug of the shoulders and sigh, 'Whatever...'. But I need to get a grip and stop being stupid and negative. In 35 days, my courses will be finished (35 days!! Oh blimey!) and I'll be able to read anything I want. The sun's out (shush, yes, I know it's meant to rain at the weekend...), I've been told I can help run the school library, the blossom is coming out, and life is good, so I need to stop whinging and get on with things. Okay... sigh... where's that assignment plan?

I just can't Lego of anything...            

I was very good today, and had a sort out of the various bits of junk in the bottom of my wardrobe. Charity bag and bin bag to hand, I hauled out tons of shoes and bags and sorted them into relevant piles. Having done this several times in the past, I was determined to be ruthless. I would not hang on to the hopelessly outdated boots on the off-chance that they would come back into fashion. If something was broken, it went in the bin, rather than me thinking I would mend it 'one day'. Anyway, I ended up with a big bag of rubbish, two charity bags and some 'can't-bring-myself-to-throw-it-away' things which went in the loft (probably to be thrown away sometime in the future).

Our loft is full. One day, we really need to get everything out and give it all a proper sort out. We have boxes that have been moved from the loft in our old house to the loft in this one, and we moved nearly ten years ago, so I'm sure that stuff isn't needed. Most of what is up there belongs to the children. There are boxes of soft toys, which have been looked through several times by the owners, who dragged everything out, exclaimed over fondly-remembered teddies, and then put everything back again. (I do have sympathy here, I must admit. How can I ask the children to throw a once-loved teddy away? It would lie there, looking up at me every time I dropped something in the bin, making me feel so guilty I'd no doubt rescue it.) We've tried selling things in yard-sales, but no-one seems to want that sort of thing. We need to be hard-hearted and take slightly less-loved things to a charity shop. I remember when the children were young and wanted to swap the piles of soft toys on their beds, and give something in the loft a turn. I used to get instructions not to tie the top of the bags too tight, or the toys wouldn't be able to breathe. God help me if the children saw me leaning on the top of a bag to squash everything down. 


Apart from soft toys, we've kept some of the nicer stuff the children had, things I want to hang on to as future grandchild fodder. A whole shelf is taken up by a Playmobile doll's house, with assorted miss-matched furniture. Then there are the Sylvanian Family boxes. We have a canal barge, a cafe, a Gypsy caravan and thousands of tiny little accessories (well, the ones that survived the hoover...). I loved the Sylvanian Family things. In fact, I think I wanted them more than the children did. 

And then there's the Lego and Duplo. Days were spent on ambitious building projects, with frequent whines from the Husband and me of, 'Are you going to clear this up soon?' Of course, the answer was always yes, followed by another few days of building and demolition. My eldest two still argue over who stole the solitary black brick, which was essential as a finishing touch. I have a suspicion, that if I were to get the Lego bricks down from the loft, there would soon be two large teenage boys reliving their building days (and the Husband would no doubt join them when he got home from work. I, on the other hand, would be quite happy setting up the Sylvanian Family department store...)

So, I guess the stuff in the loft isn't rubbish at all and is probably there to stay for a good few years yet. You know - to hell with it - I'm going to get the Lego out...

Lost for words    

I think I mentioned a few posts ago that I wanted to do an OU course on religion and controversy but was having problems due to one of the assignments being a spoken presentation. I was told that arrangements could be made so the course would be accessible to me. I found out that, for those arrangements to be made, I had to register with the OU as being disabled. I have done so, as I really want to do the course, but I did it with very mixed feelings. I've had a stammer since I was 11 years old (the reasons are another story), but now have it more or less under control so it only tends to show when I'm tired, nervous, or had a few too many. (I'm the only person in the pub that gets quieter as the night goes on...) I don't see it as a disability. Yes, it holds me back - I would love to be able to phone people on the spur of the moment, but phones are a stammerer's worst enemy. Yes, people have judged me on it - lack of words seems to equal lack of brains in some people's opinions.

When I started working at school, I knew I wasn't going to get away with hiding things for long, so made the decision, for the first time, to tell a select few colleagues about the problem (I don't stammer in front of the children for some reason). The result? They didn't care, which was such a relief and surprise that I wondered why I'd tried to hide everything for the previous 20-something years. I think the only staff member that's truly seen me in action is the school secretary, when she took a call for me and passed the phone over. After seeing me standing in tortured silence, she now drops everything to make calls for me, for which I love her dearly. 

I can't stand Dr Seuss, but this 

turned out to be true.

I would like to go to OU tutorials and amaze fellow students with my verbal dexterity, but I went to one and made an idiot of myself, and once was enough. Actually, it wasn't such a bad experience as I met a fellow sufferer. She was a rather scary-looking girl around my daughter's age who was paired up with me for discussions. We had to introduce ourselves to each other. Why do so many courses start that way? I like learning things, but hate going on courses for school because I dread that first 'ice-breaker' from the moment I sign up (which is sometimes weeks in advance). I tend to end up going to courses with fellow teaching assistants, and we've often made great plans on how my colleague will go first, and then kind of introduce me at the same time. Sometimes it works. Other times, they've started at the wrong end of the table and I end up having to go first. I went on a course with the Boss Lady once, (on staff well-being, ironically) at which there were over a hundred people. No problem, I thought. No way are they going to ask all these people to introduce themselves. But they did. Our table was near the back, so I had ages in which to work myself into a cold sweat. I got so anxious, the Boss Lady asked if I was ok. She said later that she thought I was going to pass out. Now that's a good one - I may try that next time. Anyway, back to the OU disaster. My punky partner and I made attempts to introduce ourselves to each other. 'Sorry, I'm rubbish at this,' I said, 'I've got a stammer.' 'Me too,' she answered and so we got on fine, and broke the tutor's rules by writing everything down. Her stammer was caused by MS, which made my problem seem tiny by comparison. We got into trouble through laughing and writing notes to each other and both decided never to go to another tutorial again.

Whilst looking for Creative Writing inspiration, I found this article which explains everything better than I can. It's a few years old and starts by mentioning the film The King's Speech, which I found incredibly hard to watch, and continually cried through, making the Husband and Son Number Two want to move seats in the cinema. 

Anyway, I've written far too much, perhaps bolstered by the bit in the article about how a stammer can make writing such an enjoyable experience. I don't see it as a disability, though. I think in some ways it's been the making of me. 

Productive procrastination       

Whist trying to ignore the latest Children's Lit assignment, I've actually got things done that needed doing. Usually, assignment avoidance involves made up work: a book that 'has' to be finished, my Sky box only has 20 hours of memory left, so I must watch eight episodes of The Following, plus, while I'm there, a film I've already seen four times but can't bring myself to delete. No, this time I've done real 'needs doing' stuff. 

On Saturday (I think it was Saturday - it's the holidays, so I've lost track of what happened when) we took delivery of a ginormous bookcase. A friend's parents needed shot of it and my Husband managed not to tell me off for saying we'd have it. Ok, so he closed his eyes for a minute and sighed heavily, but he knows he comes a very close second to my books, so he nodded and went to bang his head against a wall somewhere. I have spent a wonderful couple of days organising books. Non fiction is now in the kitchen, on the new shelves. That freed up loads of shelf space in the living room, so books could be stood up straight instead of being piled up. The teetering towers on the floor were put on shelves, and then came the most satisfying bit. Because my books were no longer piled up, I could put them in alphabetical order! I had such a great time being geeky. Nearly 2000 books later, I can sit back and luxuriate in all those stories in all the right places. Ok, so I still have piles of books under the bed and in the loft, but I need a bigger house or less sorry, fewer children before I can deal with those.  

So, the books are sorted. My Creative Writing assignment has been sent (I didn't count that as work, as I enjoyed it), and my next one has sort of been planned. We have to do a piece of writing as if we were going to submit it for publication. I know what I want to write about, I just have to find a magazine that would be likely to publish it. I've found an American one, but need to ok it with my tutor first and she's on holiday, so that's all I can do for now. I've also applied for my next OU course, which starts at the end of September. 

So I may not have written about advances in Children's Literature, but I have been fairly good so far. There are a couple of cupboards that need tidying, but I'm not that desperate for distraction.  I also need to hoover the house, but I think I'd rather do the assignment...