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Tonight as my little prince toddled around making a mess, picking up everything he could reach and dropping it into a bathtub, I read, sort of to his sister, but mostly to me, some more of this wonderful book.
I am intentionally reading it slowly, drinking it in. We read tonight about how sheep eat flowers with thorns and I regained my daughter’s concentration as we began to hear the voice of the vain little flower that the Prince loved.
Of course it has so many parallels, as you know if you have read it and if you have not… I will not spoil it for you!
This is how I’m beginning to feel about my son’s Steiner school. Don’t get me wrong, there are huge benefits to this system of education and our son is much happier here than he was in his previous school, thanks largely to the dedication of his new teacher in helping him to become part of the class.
However, there is defiantly a culture of, not quite secrecy, but a sort of ‘in crowd’ amongst the parents. It’s almost as though there was an unspoken assessment of our ‘hippy’ credentials at some point and we didn’t pass muster.
There is quite a lot of participation by parents expected in the school and many groups and events are organised by the same small group of parents. When we first joined the school we thought ‘these poor sods end up doing everything, lets help out’. But after several attempts to muck in have failed or been ignored, I have to start to wonder if the help is just not wanted?
We are now on some sort of ‘pr’ committee, to help set up a school website (our family forte) and the one other parent on it also seems to be an ‘outsider’ to this mysterious inner clique. She is the one who first compared this situation to the above mentioned movie. What do we have to do I wonder? Get a tattoo? A special haircut? -or, judging by the other parents, no haircut…for quite a while…;)
My three year old is addicted to the ‘high’ she gets from our homemade swing. All by herself she has come up with the request to be pushed ‘as high as the o’. She tells us the ‘o’ is the sun, isn’t that amazing?
Walking along the street yesterday in the sunshine she also anounced ‘mama, I love holy god’, again completely unprompted.
Children are humbling aren’t they?
All my life friends and family were telling me that I was going to become a teacher. From the little things like the way I played with other children, ‘this is my game and this is how you’re supposed to do it…’ to the fact that there were teachers down the years in my family. But it was also because my chosen subject in college, ie art, doesn’t hold many prospects aside from teaching.
And of course when I came into my late teens, when your ability in certain subjects in secondary school (ie Irish) becomes important for getting into college, the last thing I wanted to do was what every one was telling me I should do. So I chose to switch off in pretty much all subjects except art.
Of course when it came to finding work after college, I naturally graduated towards teaching but kept coming up against the stumbling block of my lack of an honour in Irish. I even tried to study Irish again, but gave up when the task of bridging the gap between my level of Irish and that needed to achieve an honour seemed impossible.
As I became a parent and began to work in childcare, I was struck by the amount of hypocrisy involved in our attitude to the teaching and care-giving of children in Ireland, one is held in high esteem, the other is little better than slavery.
In Ireland teachers are highly paid with a short working day and an even shorter year, there are many perks to the job. On the other hand the majority of those working in childcare are on minimum wage. Until recently with the introduction of the ECCE scheme and the requirement for staff to have FETAC level 5 or at least be in the process of getting it, most childcare staff were largely untrained. It is often argued that you are not required to train to become a parent but nature plays her part there in ensuring in most people at least, a protective instinct when it comes to the care of their own children. Most staff, especially in the larger childcare facilities are also young and inexperienced, this comes about due to the low levels of pay in the sector.
So the double standard is that in order to relay prescribed information, in a prescribed manner for a few hours a day to children who are expected to sit in desks and give you their full attention we require no less than a degree (and honours Irish of course) but in order to offer full time care for other people’s fragile, helpless young children, to feed them, clothe them, bathe them and yes, teach them, all day long, we require no training and give no respect.
It was in the course of my own studies (FETAC level 6 in childcare) that I came across the phrase ‘Pedagogue’. In many of the northern European countries that are acknowledged as leading the way in childcare, the term pedagogue is used to refer to early years childcare workers, as well as teachers. This comes of course as part of a whole change of attitude, the staff are respected, trained to a very high level and paid appropriate to their training and experience.
Irish national school teachers would do well to remember the words of a great pedagogue, Maria Montessori who once said ‘The task of the teacher becomes that of preparing a series of motives of cultural activity, spread over a specially prepared environment, and then refraining from obtrusive interference. Human teachers can only help the great work that is being done, as servants help the master. Doing so, they will be witnesses to the unfolding of the human soul and to the rising of a New Man who will not be a victim of events, but will have the clarity of vision to direct and shape the future of human society”
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At the moment I am swinging slowly back into gear after an extended maternity leave and beginning my practice again as a childminder. This work is very important to me, in fact I think that the care and education of young children is the most important job there is.
I am the type of person that loves to learn and to extend my knowledge, particularly if it will benefit the children. I am fascinated by child development and the various theories. However, an inheriant humour about these subjects and a practicality which is part of my personality but also comes with the practice of being a childminder, prevents me from taking any of this to extremes.
My eldest son, for instance, has been in a Steiner school for over a year now. Their ethos, on the whole is one which I agree strongly with, ‘educating the whole child – head, heart and hands’ is essentially what they practice and my son is thriving there.
I have read some of Steiner’s writings however and while some of them are very true and practical, I find others more questionable in their wisdom. Have I seen any benefit to my children by giving them the appropriate grains on the correct days(which I tried out for a time)? – no. Do they seem measurably happier when they only come into contact with natural materials? – no why should the ‘teacher’ wear a long skirt???
I can say that my home life is calmer and more enjoyable with less tv, (I allow it, just in a measured way) and that it is nice to have a rough rhythm to the day for young children but much of this is now common practice – Steiner or not.
I’m afraid that I must admit that I sense an ‘attitude’ from some steiner-heads – ‘my way or the high way’. Music is good for children, we all acknowledge that but I am as happy if my daughter is singing the theme to ‘winny the pooh’ as any high pitched praise of the spring time sunlight!
I approached the Steiner association about listing my childminding service but in return I was sent a document which essentially outlined the ways in which I didn’t qualify. I am inspired in my practice by the writings of Steiner but I cannot swear my undying devotion and promise to never again read the teachings of another pedagogue! (slight exaggeration but you get the gist)
I think that extremes in any form are unhealthy, no teacher as all the answers, it is left to those of us working with children on a daily basis to test the theories and decide what is right for our setting and our homes.
and this is not the one for weaning. As I posted recently, I’ve been finding the lack of sleep very tiring recently, I think baba was going through a bit of a night feeding surge. It didn’t help that his three year old sister picked up a little eye infection in playschool and passed it to him, then he was really miserable!
At the same time little things have been bothering me about my own health, not just feeling tired but also lacking energy and appetite. Add to this some tingling moles and a family history of cancer and it doesn’t take a hypocondriac to head off to the doc’s for a bit of a check up.
Although my G.P. is a woman she doesn’t have any children yet and I must say I came away a little taken a back at her attitude. She was very sympathetic to me but she did see my exhaustion as being completely down to the baby and night feeding. She told me to wean, cold turkey. She also suspected post natal depression (I know she might be partly right here but i do think it is wearing off). She got a full blood work up done and told me to come back in two weeks for results when she would assess my mood and I may need to start on meds.
Now to a certain extent, she has a point. Is the exhaustion partly down to the baby and lack of sleep? yes, of course it is but is it worth weaning cold turkey? I don’t think so. I tried for one day and night to not feed and I got so painfully engorged I think I was on the verge of mastitis again and he was miserable, definitely not worth it. I met the local la leche leader this evening because my eldest was playing at her home and she agreed that now is not the time for a rushed weaning if neither of us feels ready and he is not feeling the best.
And my mood? Well yes, I certainly experienced some post natal depression this time, I am a person who feels things keenly anyway but I think that this is part of the reason I write. I get emotional when I’m driving in the car and there is a story on the news of a child being abused. I get emotional when my children are ill or for lots of different reasons and it sometimes gets on top of me and I have a bad day, but thankfully its not so bad that I feel the need to take the medication. At least, not today.
My last post set me thinking. Yes, its disappointing to experience rejection but don’t I set myself up for it? Aren’t I aware, in some part of my being, that the writing I am sending out is not as good as it can be? So I decided that I needed to change my focus and concentrate on improving the quality of my writing. I am not, yet giving up on the idea of having the poetry I write for children published but to date, the writing I am happiest with is when I write poetry intended for an adult to read. So for now I am going to set myself the task of becoming a better poet.
To this end I went to the library on Friday for inspiration and came home with the most wonderful book. It is called ‘The poem and the journey’ by Ruth Padel. Padel sets out to help us to become better readers of contemporary poetry. She starts out at the beginning, explaining the development of poetry from ancient to modern in such an easy enjoyable way.
As I read I realised that this book was something I really need to devour and soak up. So as the evening wore on it began to develop in my mind that I could start a blog which would chronicle my development as a better reader and hopefully eventually, a better poet, beginning with this book.
I realised that I would have to devote a whole new blog to this so my old blog ‘http://andthentherewere.wordpress.com‘
will spilt down. For now my parenting posts will stay here but my writing on poetry, publishing etc will be found at: http://thispoeticlife.com/
Thanks for following!
again, another oh so polite rejection. Well, I’m told get used to it, its ironic that writers who, in my experience tend to be on the senstitive side (myself very much included) that such a cruel process is inflicted. Definitely in need of a champion, an intermediary between myself and the real world…
Or perhaps I should take a hint. The work that I have had the most success with to date is my poetry. Perhaps I should stick with this…
Where’s the wine…
It seems to me that sometimes, family members become so much a part of your relationship that they actually come between you and without intending to, actually become an enemy of the state of marriage.
This can happen if they involve themselves in how you parent your children, correcting you in front of your children, or worse, over ridding your decisions. This can also happen when one of you ’sees through’ a family member and the other doesn’t. When one of you can always predict when the other will be let down or disappointed and yet the other continues to hope, and to trust. Inside we are all still the little child, holding our parent’s hand, gazing up at them in awe.
Yet at some point don’t we have to make an effort to break out of these damaging old cycles, to say, no I’ve given you too many chances, I’m not going to fall for it again. To not allow the person that disappoints us to cause an argument with the partner who is trying to protect us.
Today I attended the anniversary mass for my aunt who died three years ago from cancer, we were very close. Growing up her daughter and I were best friends. As a teenager I spent part of most weekends at her home, it was where I used to date, giving me the double advantage of being the exotic girl from all of 10 miles away, when back in my school, I seemed to have an exotic social life…10 miles away – win win. She was the adventurous one, the climbing out of the attic bedroom to meet boys one, the going missing when you went with her to discos one.
I thought that was all behind us, we’re both married, both living in the countryside with nice husbands and three children each. It seems however that I was the only one who thought the days of illicit rendezvous were behind us. A few weeks ago she confessed to me, with our toddlers in the next room watching Dora, that she had kissed another man. She played it down but I guessed she wasn’t telling everything. She pawned it off, saying that she and hubby had also engaged in ..other activities with other couples, no big deal, when were we next going to all go out together! Inside I was screaming ‘don’t tell me any more.’
I could hardly drive home, I felt so sick, thoughts of her children and her husband swimming around my head. That night talking to my husband about it he pointed out that she was wrong to include me, to make herself feel better by sharing the guilt with me, making me complicit in the deception. The next day, still swimming with queasy thoughts of rampant affairs, I deleted my facebook profile, which was how we kept in contact, but which for this and other reasons, was beginning to feel like little more than a seedy pick up joint.
So today, as I drove to her mother’s mass, my thoughts were not on the death of a beloved Aunt, but on meeting my cousin’s innocent hubby. I was almost relieved to find she didn’t bring her husband and children, so I didn’t have to face him, though I found it sad that she chose to exclude her children, from a family event.
‘When I start a book it’s a lot of fun. After a while it is work, then it becomes labor. Towards the end it feels like slavery! After I have delivered the finished illustrations to the publisher, I become sad. But when I see the printed book, I am happy again!’ – Eric Carle
At three in the morning I was sharing my bed with a one year old, a three year old and my husband, and I was getting up to get a drink of milk for the three year old. Needless to say, it was not my best night’s sleep. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep for over a year now. I don’t believe in allowing them to cry in the darkness, I just can’t do it, but that has resulted in the situation I’m in now, namely, sleep deprivation.
It’s so difficult to function the next day when the night has been particularly disrupted.
What followed was one of those days where I couldn’t remember why I had bothered to start writing again, what I had hoped it would lead to and why I had been so foolish as to hope it would lead to anything. Luckily, because I knew I was exhausted I was able to take these thoughts with a pinch of salt and not allow them to engulf me, but how to go on? What can possibly motivate you to continue to create something that takes so much, time, thought, love, energy and seems to give nothing in return? How do you continue to hope?
It was such a basic, throw away comment but my husband’s response when I confided some of my thoughts to him tonight, made me feel instantly better. Not one for flowery, intricate speeches when asked if I was wasting my time he said simply, ‘no, keep at it, it will be a hard slog, but it will be worth it’. Just to know, that he doesn’t think I’m wasting my time, I will begin again, tomorrow.
After days of being cooped up in our house in the hills, bound by a snow fall that would be considered mild elsewhere in Europe but proved too much for the services of a country used to a climate that varies little year round from mild & moist, I was itching to get out for some exhausting exercise.
Back in 2005 I turned from an almost 17 stone woman who had suffered a pulmonary embolism to an 11 stone woman who had completed her first marathon. It is no exaggeration to say that crossing the finish line having run a marathon is one of the best feelings on earth. In my humble opinion, it is the closest those not endowed with a womb can come to the feeling of childbirth. It gives you an amazing perspective on life when you experience that though your body is in the depths of pain and exhaustion, you are elated! it makes you realise that there is a seperate you within.
So ever since then, I incorporate exercise into my everyday but I still get an urge to push myself every now and then, to feel completely out of breath, to get to the top of a hill (and we have some challenging ones around here) and see my breath beat out into the air in front of me.
so last Sunday I loaded up the two smallies in the double buggy and hit off for the village which lay two miles and many hills away. It was brilliant getting up to the brow of the highest hill, exactly what I needed. The trouble came as I had to descend and much of the down hill was coated in ice. There was no way I was going to be able to push a 3 year old and a 1 year old back up an icy hill, the only way was down. So I headed for the ditch and walked in that while pulling the buggy along sideways, well I got my workout anyway. The hill got its revenge on me today as the ice is still there and my car skid on it, I was in the ditch again, this time on four wheels but luckily no one was hurt. We are not cut out for this weather in this country!
good luck!
wish to read your poems…
thank you Jingle, like your poetry btw, good luck to you too. x dee