Phonics

This week the school has been running something unusual - the chance to go in for the first twenty minutes of class in year two and sit in on their phonics session.

I should point out at this point that my husband's company makes E-Learning and in particular made the Big Cat Phonics package for Collins. This is THE ONLY reason I had any clue what phonics was when Tilly first started school. Obviously "they didn't teach it like that in my day" so even some letter sounds I found baffling. Isn't it "n" for nest rather than a nasal grunting sound? Apparently not.

Then in reception they did an assembly where the kids demonstrated the first level of phonics and some fairly crackers actions that seemingly go with the sounds. They gave us a list of them which I glanced at, thought I ought to learn, then forgot about entirely.

In the meantime Tilly learnt to read very quickly and it's hard to tell whether turning her head from side to side while making the "t" sound had any part in her progress. And I suppose it doesn't actually matter - it's the end result that counts.

Watching the year two lesson was fascinating though. It's weird to think that you have literally no idea what a lesson looks like. No idea how their school day begins.

But it wasn't so much what they were being taught that fascinated me of course - I'm much more interested in people really.

I liked the fact that the children read the graphemes  aloud in unison from the screen (ignore the fact that I have no clue what a grapheme is). But I liked even better the fact that at the end of the slide show they all chanted "Slide show is over. Click to exit." It's clearly something a bright wag mentioned several weeks ago and now they do it as a matter of routine.

It was also hilarious, and I suppose a little unsettling, to watch many of the kids blatantly copying each other as they wrote words on their whiteboard. When asked to write a word that began with the sound "z" the word "ziply" appeared on more than one board. And despite poor Xander's protests that his name actually starts with an "X" once the idea was circulated the kids all wrote it down anyway. Kids will be kids I guess.

The whole thing has left me wondering though, does it matter that I couldn't actually have read the graphemes in unison like they did? Obviously I read words not sounds and the teachers teach it broken down so do I need to know? Does it matter that I have no idea what a phoneme or a grapheme is? I hope not because I'm going to be too busy learning how to do long multiplication and division. They don't tell you any of this when you sign up to be a parent.  I wonder if Paul can make me an e-learning package about that...

Not such a yummy mummy

Never let it be said that I only write about triviality. This one is about hair cuts.

With new found time for myself things are getting a bit weird. Yesterday I went to the gym. Yes I've now rejoined the first one I joined 10 years ago. I clearly like to share my support around for the Sheffield fitness industry.

And today I went to the hairdressers. Yes I know, mind blowing isn't it? But all of a sudden I can fit these things in and have no excuses for looking unkempt, apart, of course from my innate scruffiness.

I stumbled across this particular hairdressers a couple of months ago when I had, as usual, not left myself enough time to book an appointment and was beginning to look like Jon Bon Jovi in his worst hair period. This was the time after the hair plucking incident.

Anyway I've been there twice now (not least because I had a discount voucher) so I feel I can give them a proper review. Although I daren't name them of course because then they will know how much of a fraud I truly am.

It's the sort of place where you feel you should have had your hair done before visiting. There's all mod cons, real coffee and beautiful staff. They send you text reminders before your appointment and there is an air of self tan about the place, but in a  'with just a little effort you too could look like us' sort of a way. Which of course would be wholly untrue in my case.

I always feel like I'm a visitor looking in on how other people live. Other people who take proper care of their appearance and pluck their eyebrows more than once every 36 years.

Anyway as a customer you sit somewhere plush waiting to be collected and then the consultation begins. Now I have a background in HR and do like a bit of consultation. But usually I hope to have a vague inkling about what I'm being consulted about. Or at least that I am invested in the conversation to some extent and know roughly what to say. When presented with the subject of hair care it all goes a bit wrong.

Firstly there's the question of what my opinion is regarding hair styles, lengths, and type of cuts. I'm pretty sure choppy isn't as violent as it sounds. I bumbled through this today as usual trng to sound like I had an opinion at all while actually letting the hairdresser decide what to do.

The real trouble always begins when I get asked about my hair care routine. What products do I use before, during and after styling my hair? What's more how do I feel about them?

This is the point where I start to lie. I'm not proud of myself but it is either that or feel woefully inadequate. So yes I know what serum is, I don't just use whatever shampoo is on BOGOF at Tescos and I regularly use wax and a host of other things I can only occasionally remember exist.

I nearly let myself down today by asking how I could ensure my beautifully straightened hair could stay that way once I left the house. She tried not to look too patronising when she mentioned the difficult to grasp concept of hairspray.

The real pinnacle is when she asks me how I dry my hair. The real answer is four days out of seven I don't bother and the other three I blast it with a dodgy hair dryer while simultaneously making packed lunches and plaiting hair. Fortunately her questions were all closed ones so I came out relatively unscathed. "Do you use a flat brush like this to dry your hair?" "Yes of course I do." "Do I roll it over the bristles like this?" "Absolutely.

Before I left the salon I got a bit over enthusiastic and booked highlights for my next appointment as a pre-Christmas treat. It was only when the price of £82 flashed up on screen that I realised my rookie hair related error.

Fortunately they have a very efficient receptionist and computer system which will enable me to cancel that one...

Letter to the Council

To Whom This May Concern

I requested a litter bin at the Abbeydale Road end of Bannerdale Road back in April as you can see by my email below.

I received various responses to my letter including that my letter was on a list to be read, then on a list to be thought about and more recently that I am now on a specific bin waiting list. 

The last email I received explained that the priority criteria for getting a new bin includes whether the site is near a school (yep) and whether it is near a bus stop (yep, it is near one of those too). You can imagine how boosted I felt when the odds seemed so much in my favour. I celebrated my near win in all the usual ways like updating my status on Facebook and telling my mum. 

But sadly now things seem to have come to a standstill on the bin front and I'm feeling litter related angst.

I'm not naive. I imagine that now we are on the final list further bin related nagging will achieve very little.  But when you hit 36 years old complaining to the council is an inevitability so, sorry, but I was compelled to write another email.

I have gone one further this time and attached a photo I took today after school drop off. Unfortunately I didn't have a child with me at the time to look forlorn in the shot but I think you get the picture. 

I understand that the council has no money. I feel the council's pain. I don't have any either. If I did I would buy a bin myself.

I look forward to hearing from you in the hope that we have at least inched up the list a little, or that a surprise S7 bin fund has been discovered. Or even better that Nick Clegg or some wealthy Sheffield business man has decided to fund our bin personally. You never know your luck.

Yours sincerely

Katie Hilton

The best kind of treasure hunt

As you know I've waxed lyrical about Endcliffe Playgroup many times before. They were instrumental in preschool fun and chaos as well as helping my daughters to grow up enough to move on. Despite school starting I'm still on the committee and this weekend it was our treasure hunt in the Botanical Gardens.

It was the usual simple strokes of genius that little ones love - rushing about following picture clues, chasing pigeons and terrorising squirrels. They collected stuff of course like feathers and sticks and our lovely treasurer ignored the cries of her 7 year old ("you look ridiculous mum") and dressed up as a pirate. Just a week too late for International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Phoebe loved seeing her friends again, as did I. And the sun even shone.

It made me think once again about why all this stuff is important. This group let me have time off to myself each week. But it also allowed me to be involved in the childcare of my preschoolers. Whether it be as an extra pair of painting hands on playgroup days, raising money for the group or messing about at spin off sports days in the park.

It has a sense of community and friendship for children and adults alike. Phoebe has several little friends she loves to see outside school now, and some of my closest friends were met through playgroup. (They are wonderful even if they are terrible at pub quiz questions).



The structure and routine for my two to four year olds was invaluable to me (and the kids) and at my hardest moments the time away from the girls playgroup gave me for a few hours a week was a godsend. Plus it didn't cost the earth.

So if you are a Mum or Dad who needs a little time and space to themselves during the week but doesn't want to commit to whole days in nursery, I urge you to think about Endcliffe Playgroup in Sheffield. The Playgroup would love some new 2-4 year olds to join the lovely children who go every week, and I know there are parents out there for whom this would absolutely fit.

This isn't about signing up, this is about joining in!

My little girl is growing up

This post is going to read as pretty dramatic I suspect. Most people don't quite understand how emotional I get about things. I am highly strung. Paul says it's that everything matters to me.Which could be described as "easily stressed and soppy" but at least it's never a dull moment.

I used to cry regularly. I don't cry so much anymore. Probably because my life is in general much happier. But it does occasionally happen. And when it does I go fro broke and do it in front of the head teacher usually. Just to make me look like a complete numpty.

So my reputation as dramatic sop is due to be reinforced in the morning because my youngest daughter starts school tomorrow. It's the first time I'm felt so very sad in a long time.

I can understand if people think I'm being dramatic. Yes it's sad but come off it, she's four now and growing up, and think of all that spare time I'll have. I can finally lose a stone and write a novel. Or at the very least set myself some unachievable targets and clean the cooker.

But it goes without saying really that I'm going to miss her. We have fun and she hugs and kisses me all the time. It will never be quite the same again. She is my youngest and final child (I couldn't go through that again) and therefore my days of being a stay at home mum are numbered. God help us if my title changes to "Housewife". I'll be dismissed for poor performance.

I have never been embarrassed that I chose to stay at home with the girls, and feel proud that I have done it. It has been hard at times and more recently easy and downright fun. I wouldn't have missed a moment of it. There were times when I didn't believe people when they told me how fast the time until school goes by, but wow does it zoom.

So here we are. I just hope I can get out of the room tomorrow before I start turning red and blotchy. It won't help either of us (or the teacher, other pupils and parents) if I start blubbing in the book corner. Sunglasses aren't an option inside in rainy September so my only option is a quick hug, kiss and a fast exit. Maybe this is the time to begin my running regime.

So Phoebs, maybe one day you'll read this. Know that I've loved staying home with you and you're wonderful. Tomorrow is a new chapter for both of us. I imagine I'll embarrass myself on the way out, but that's nothing compared to how embarrassing I'll be for you in the years to come.

I love you.

Love Mum.

P.S. Pass me the tissues and no you cannot have a go on the Ipad.

Children

I'll be honest and admit that I wasn't entirely easy with the idea of looking after other people's children initially. Largely in case I didn't like them. Let's face it some children are horrible. Or in case they didn't like me and spent the time screaming and throwing stuff. Or worst of all that my kids wouldn't like them or they wouldn't like my kids. Because how do you handle that? I mean I'm allowed to not like my children sometimes but other people aren't (see irony of my first point).

The desire to run screaming from other people's kids conflicts with the large part of my personality that desperately wants to help people out. This is highly fortunate as it forced me out of my comfort zone  and, do you know what? It really isn't that difficult. Although to be fair I've probably only been exposed to pretty lovely kids. And nowadays it's even easier because after school they take themselves off to play and barely need me.

Obviously there is the mess to contend with but I'm not exactly a neat freak (you're kidding right?) so I make do with picking up the camouflage blanket off the lawn and occasionally emptying out bottles of perfume onto the flower beds. The rest I mostly step over.

School started back on Tuesday and things are going pretty well already. I think this afternoon shows clearly how far I've come:

Tilly: "Mum can we have some flour? We want to do an experiment"

Me: "Yes, provided you are playing with it outside"

Pause

Tilly: "Can we now have some plastic bottles and some water?

Mum: "Erm yes certainly (raids recycling).

"Mum can we have some pizza dough?

"No."

"Ok what about some butter and yeast?"

"No."

Ten minutes later

"Mum can we have a cheese grater?"

"No."


So there you have it. I feel like I'm getting the hang of this...

The pros and cons of staying in a yurt

There's is nothing like a new experience so this year, instead of an idyllic week's camping the sunshine in Robins Hoods Bay, we opted for staying in a yurt in the pouring rain in Pembrokeshire. If you've never stayed in a yurt this entry might be a useful guide. Or maybe not. Anyway I've decided to do some pros and cons of yurt because, well, the world needs to know frankly.




1. Yurts look really beautiful from the inside. Wooden balcony and fire pit overlooking the view, carved wood, wood burning stove and logs, and in our case two gorgeous leather sofa beds. Lovely.

Of course once you get the beds out and manoeuvre them into the only configuration possible in the limited space you won't turn them back into sofa beds for a full week as it's just too damn hard. So then it looks less beautiful and more like, well, a squat.


2. It's dry and warm in a yurt in the rain. And you don't have to worry about loosening guy ropes and leaking seams. The sound of rain on the roof while you are snuggled up inside warm and dry is truly lovely.

But in the rain it pretty much doesn't matter what camping residence you choose you are going to be going to bed at the same time as the kids. Or if you're lucky you could be swigging warm wine from a mug whilst trying to read the guidebook's short section on "wet weather destinations" by the light of an inadequate torch before you hit the sack a whole half hour after they drop off. I've never felt so relaxed.

3. If you worry about bugs let's just say a yurt wouldn't be your best option. I can still feel the inch long beetle inside my shoe as I type this 5 weeks later.

4. Equally if you worry about rodents you might want to give a yurt a miss. We shared a packet of honey roasted peanuts with what I'm hoping was a very small cute sweet toothed fieldmouse. Of course it could have been a rat.

5. Our yurt had a stand up hob and sink. Really this is a good benefit. I could cook bacon sandwiches inside while other more hardy campers were having barbeques under umbrellas.

But because of the size of a yurt it only came with one table and four chairs. The table was permanently positioned on the balcony, which was frankly optimistic in Wales. The chairs were movable, of course. But just as inevitably we forgot to move them out of the rain and back inside the yurt on more than one occasion. The thought of sodden bottoms made breakfast in bed the only option. I didn't appreciate the kids getting porridge on my pillow.

6. All good points and minor amusements aside there is one factor we still can't ignore. Better than a tent or not, a yurt still doesn't have a toilet. So maybe not getting to drink much wine with my husband was actually a good thing. At least it meant I spent less time trudging across the field in the dark and rain to have a wee watched by a swallow. Ah the countryside.

But don't let me put you off...