Category: Challenging times

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The sands of time

2020 has not been an easy year for anyone. There has been uncertainty and loss in abundance and trying to juggle work with home-schooling (during lockdown 1) certainly tested the parenting skills of even the most adept of multitaskers!

However, venturing out for local walks and bike rides (during the permitted daily exercise slot) became our way of looking after our emotional and physical wellbeing, and I found myself feeling immensely grateful for those precious family moments and (by association) the many opportunities for self-reflection that they afforded.

Being a Sagittarian, I have just ‘celebrated’ another birthday (groan) and I have to admit that my natural instinct was to dwell (rather unflatteringly) upon the ‘sands of time’. After all, feelings of frustration, a loss in confidence and (to some degree) a sense of inadequacy are incredibly common in women whose career path has (understandably) been re-routed in order to accommodate the raising of children.  However, I have tried instead to acknowledge some of the aspirations that I held when I was young, whilst also being mindful of the ‘bigger picture’. Let’s hope that I can carry this (frankly rather uncharacteristic) brand of positivity into the next decade – when the time comes! 

Another year older

When I was but a tiddler, I dreamt of being a teacher,
(My brothers said my bossy streak would be a useful feature!),
I’d line up all my teddies and issue clear instructions,
Or take a crafty polaroid of their end of term ‘productions’.

When I moved up to ‘juniors’, I thought I’d be a dancer –
Not Ballet (requiring elegance) but ‘Tap’ the obvious answer…
I had an excellent memory for dance routines straightforward,
I just lacked poise or presence, and looked extremely awkward!

As I approached my teenage years, I decided to become a swimmer,
(I’d entered a single gala and been proclaimed an ‘almost’ winner!),
I joined a club and practised hard – the lengths offered time to think,
But a lack of pace (or stamina) caused my dreams to quickly sink!

When I was in my twenties, my love for music flourished,
Spending hours at the piano and keeping my soul well-nourished.
I rattled off countless ‘études’, ‘rhapsodies’ and ‘sonatas’,
And still I lacked the confidence to really raise the rafters.  

When I was in my thirties, I yearned for far-off lands,
The type you see on postcards – turquoise waters, golden sands.
I set about visiting heritage sights, monuments great and small,
Sampling different cultures; in truth, I had ‘a ball’!

And now that I’m in my forties, wondering what’ll come next,
I find myself re-evaluating, and feeling truly blessed,
I may not have ‘set the world on fire’ – but perhaps there is still time…
But I’ve found my soulmate and borne two sons, and I’m proud to call them ‘mine’.

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Reading between the lines

I’m not sure whether acute cynicism has developed with age, or if I have always been just a little bit suspicious of the true message behind school reports. I know for a fact that as the various deadlines approach, there is often a sense of extreme trepidation on the part of the teacher. Exactly how truthful should one be? After all, honesty often equates to parental discontent, and ‘the path of least resistance’ can often seem like a wiser (and safer!) option. So, here is my attempt to capture both sides of the story:

Reading between the lines

“Eddie’s had a fantastic term,” wrote Mrs Addison-Cole,
“He’s settled in well, made new friends, and even scored a goal.”
He’s made no attempt with his writing, his spellings or his phonics,
In fact, we’ve not had a single day without his histrionics!

“Eddie has a real flair for using his imagination,
He’s constantly thinking up games to play at lunch, during recreation.”
He’s maimed or injured most of the class, at one time or another,
I’ve a list of complaints as long as my arm from every other mother!

“Eddie loves to share his thoughts, he’s a confident little boy.
He always knows just what he wants; be it a book, or a favourite toy.”
He does not listen, (or like to share) he simply makes demands,
And woe betide the little stooge who ignores ‘Big Ed’s’ commands!

“Eddie is lovely and punctual at the beginning of each new day,
He’s often the first to arrive at school – and reluctant to tidy away.”
He appears whilst I’m eating my breakfast, you can hear Dad leaving the site,
He’s obviously desperate to get into work, just not to collect him at night.

“Eddie is brilliant at helping his peers to locate all the things they have lost,
He seems to know where everything’s gone; he’s a real live ‘Detective Frost’.”
Most of the items have not gone far, snatched by his thieving fingers,
The looks of disgust that his classmates share, a deep mistrust that lingers.

“I’d like to put Eddie forward for some extra 1:1
In English, Maths and Science – this would really bring him on.”
He’d be out of the room each morning – for half an hour at least,
And I’d be so much happier, with just a moment’s peace!

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Divine intervention?

It never ceases to amaze me just how fickle the human memory can be! These days, it can be a gargantuan struggle to recall the name of a recently discovered perfume or restaurant, whilst certain events (dating back to the previous decade!) remain perfectly preserved, as if they have undergone a sort of mental embalming process.

Some 13 or 14 years ago, I had all but completed a full week’s examining work in the South East of England. I was still relatively new to the whole process, but I was beginning to feel reasonably confident about the various procedures, and I was gradually developing a style of my own. I had looked at the candidate list the previous evening, and there was seemingly nothing out of the ordinary. Friday, (I felt certain) would be a relatively straightforward end to a busy, but rewarding, week.

Always one to err on the side of caution I rose early, ate quickly, and checked out of my accommodation. I set off down the road (at the behest of my ageing Sat Nav) for what was purported to be a 15-minute journey to the exam venue. However, it quite rapidly became the proverbial ‘journey from Hell’…

No sooner had I pulled away, than the heavens opened, and the windscreen wipers of my Renault Clio battled heroically against the deluge of water that was waging war upon them. Meanwhile, I was fighting a battle of my own; I was desperately trying to maintain some degree of visibility whilst every conceivable viewpoint promptly misted up. Heavy traffic (and strategically placed roadworks) all conspired against me, and the minutes ticked stubbornly away. Having missed my turning a couple of times (to the extreme displeasure of countless unforgiving local drivers) I finally pulled into the car park of the exam venue.

I could hear the wind whipping around the corner of the building (in near apocalyptic fashion) so I decided to wait in the car for a while. As I surveyed the outside of the building, I wondered if I would be spending the day inside the church itself, or in the rather gloomy looking hall to the side. I later discovered that the exams would be taking place in the church hall, and began making my way towards a (frankly quite intimidating) steel security door.

Just a bit further along the path I spied a billboard. It sported a rather garish looking poster, that was curling up at the edges:

 ‘Jesus Lives Here!’ it claimed (rather optimistically).

“Really?” I thought. And then (having briefly considered the many other options that must have been available) I muttered, “I’m quite sure that He doesn’t!”

Determined not to ‘judge a book by its cover’, however, I strode confidently inside and called out a greeting. A few moments later, a man that could quite easily have been Mr. Filch’s doppelganger (from the Harry Potter movies) emerged, looking mildly irritated that I had arrived before he had finished ‘setting up’. I apologised for any inconvenience caused and followed him dutifully down a series of gloomy passageways, to a remote room at the far end of the building. Once inside, I noted that there was a piano, a narrow desk, a wooden chair, and a somewhat rickety music stand. At the edges of the room were stacks upon stacks of chairs and various other pieces of discarded furniture. The only light cast was from a single bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. Not exactly welcoming!

Not to be deterred I unpacked all my materials, affixed my warmest smile, and braced myself for the morning’s exams… The door opened and the steward introduced the first candidate; a young girl of about 7 or 8, immaculately dressed, and wearing the most beautiful smile. My spirits rose.

The rest of the working day passed without incident. A large percentage of the candidates were extremely well prepared and even those who were not, managed (by and large) to meet the requirements. I swiftly packed everything away (keen to get home) and I began retracing my steps along the myriad of passageways, towards the exit.

About three quarters of the way there, the lights suddenly went out and I was plunged into darkness. I called out to the caretaker, and he obligingly responded that there was “a switch on the right-hand side – just in front of the door”. All very well, but this was total darkness that I was dealing with…

Anyway, after some increasingly frantic searching, I eventually located the light switch (on the left-hand side, incidentally!) and I flicked it on gratefully. I was immediately confronted by another poster, attached to the back of the steel security door that I had been trying so hard to locate. It was a striking gold colour with the words:

‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness but will have the light of life’ emblazoned upon it.

As I left the building, the irony was not lost on me!    

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Who’d be a parent?

I woke up just this morning, determined to be bright,

And headed for the shower before the morning light

Had fully cast its splendour, on all things great and small,

But then I heard a rumpus, beyond the bedroom wall.

The sound of toys being flung about – with large amounts of force,

Doors being slammed and insults yelled until their throats were hoarse.

You’d think a nation’s army had just been redeployed,

Rather than a ‘fall out’ between two headstrong boys!

And so, I ventured forward, much wisdom to impart,

My plan to help them rationalise, polite exchange a start,

And yet the scene unfolding was enough to make you faint –

A room in utter disarray, both children mid-complaint.

I tried to be the grown-up, all calm and in control,

But as the volume rose again my eyes began to roll.

With every accusation, a counterattack ensued –

My blood began to boil and yet the cause I still pursued.

I tried asking questions, to establish facts or fault,

But every time that someone spoke, it led to fresh onslaughts!

I prised my youngest’s fingers from around my eldest’s neck,

Yet still they were connected, but where? I’d have to check.

A punch was thrown, their nails dug in – it really wasn’t pretty,

And still the insults flew about, all moist and terribly ‘spitty’!

I used my strength to separate the writhing angry bodies,

All the while making futile threats to do with cancelling hobbies.

I sent them to their bedrooms for some quiet self-reflection,

And set off, once again, a calming shower my intention.

I let the water shroud me as the tension ebbed away,

There was still a tiny chance that we could salvage our day.

Once dressed and dry (with breakfast served) I spoke of the morning’s folly,

They ate and drank (half listening) no sign of guilt or worry!

I expected some reaction, some words, a gentle nod,

But all I got were sideways glances, a silent path they trod.

They left the table demurely as I tidied their things away,

And headed out to the garden, on scooters and bikes to play.

But before any time had passed at all their ‘friendship’ (recently mended)

Hit further subtle obstacles and the ceasefire promptly ended!

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One step forward, two steps back…

Do you ever get the feeling that ‘the man upstairs’ is having a jolly good laugh at you? Or that, instead of sailing through the day’s challenges with consummate skill, you have somehow managed to chalk up another ‘epic fail’ in this thing that we refer to as the ‘rich tapestry of life’?

Like so many people, I often go to bed feeling that I haven’t handled things as well as I would have liked, promising fervently to myself that I will do better tomorrow.  Guilt (it would seem) is a privilege reserved for over-stretched parents struggling (and inevitably failing) to be something to everyone. However, New Year’s Eve 2019 sticks out in my memory as being one of those rare occasions when things had gone surprisingly well…

The day itself had passed without incident (i.e. the boys had managed to refrain from maiming each other) and the evening was one of high spirits, optimism, and good cheer. Ok, Ok, I might have been tucked up in bed with a cocoa chaser shortly before 11.30pm – but let’s be honest; none of us are as young as we were…

You get the gist though – 2020 was meant to be a fantastic year all round.

But even before Covid-19 reared its ugly head, I had a feeling that this was not going to be a chart topper of a year.

2020 began with a dismal January (aren’t they always?!) and as February crawled reluctantly into view, I was struck by a deep sense of foreboding. The boys were seemingly hell-bent upon vying for my attention at all costs (sibling rivalry being very much alive and well, chez Hall); there was an inspection looming at work; and my examining work was on the verge of going paperless – a truly terrifying prospect for a self-professed technophobe like me!

With characteristic tenacity (and one or two bouts of slightly unhinged ranting) I managed to gradually bend the boys to my will. The inspection came and went relatively painlessly – with resounding endorsements that we were, in fact, doing a good job. The new examining software arrived and, after two fairly gruelling days of CPD, I dared to believe that I was, in fact, not as incompetent as I had first thought. Whoop, whoop!

Cue half term (and some much-needed R & R) followed by a period of normality and the opportunity to test out these newfound technological ‘skills’ of mine. Surely, things were set fair…

But ‘Covid’ had other ideas…

The prospect of teaching without an inspection,

A rare opportunity for private reflection.

Letting the children evolve and develop,

Allowing them time for their dreams to envelop

Their daily pursuit of excitement and fun,

Had sprung back to life; it had finally begun.

But then came the briefings from Boris and friends

“This virus from China is showing no end.

We need you to distance, stay home and save lives”,

Cue the mad rush for basic supplies…

“Schools need to close, you should all work from home,

But keyworkers have our permission to roam”.

Never before had parents felt so tested,

“Teachers have it easy”, they’d previously protested

But now they could see just how much was involved,

Two hours in, and a fading resolve

To get little Charlotte to practise her sums,

Whilst Joshua argued and twiddled his thumbs.

Bike rides and baking all came to the fore,

Countless disruptions on Zoom, Skype and more,

Exams were now cancelled, bright futures on hold,

Jobs were to suffer; the virus grew bold.

No time for trialling the examining app,

Face to face teaching now (sadly) ‘a wrap’.

But amidst all the sadness, restrictions, and fear,

Some positive elements began to appear.

Parents took time to reflect and respond

To children who needed them, craving that bond.

Neighbours enquired of each other more freely,

A much nicer world (if we’re honest) really.

Pollution diminished, our skies morphing blue,

Roads less congested; used by so few.

A sense of community slowly reviving,

Stories of encouragement, patients surviving

This silent enemy, the source of such fear,

Let’s pray we can vanquish it early next year.

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