The Scooter Grand Prix

A fundraising event was recently held at pre-school.

Basically, Anna was asked to get sponsors for a Scooter Grand Prix where she would endeavour to complete 5 laps of the track (They have a race track painted on the playground, complete with zebra crossing and bus stop) on her scooter.

We had been training for weeks, at Anna's insistence. The problem was that Anna thought she was Jenson Button and going way too fast to cope with and ending up falling off. Anna had so many grazed knees and bruises that I was sure social services would be called any second. It didn't help when we saw all the other toddlers in training too as they proceeded to race down the path at astonishing speed.

Being the ultra competitive mum that I am (I am not proud of the fact but I can, at least, acknowledge my faults), I dared to ask the question over dinner one evening: 'Do you think Anna needs a better scooter for the Grand Prix?' James just rolled his eyes and went to fetch a bottle of cider. I explained that the other children seemed to have tiny little scooters that were very fast and lightweight. James reminded me that Anna had enough trouble staying on hers (Anna was out of earshot by now) which had bulky wheels which was supposed to aid balance so staying on the 'micro scooter', which everyone else had, was not going to happen. I was not convinced but then a stroll around John Lewis confirmed that Anna would not be getting a new scooter. It turns out that the scooter which all of the other children have is £60. Anna's Peppa Pig scooter was fine!

So it came to the day of the race and I was fearing the worst. I had visions of Anna throwing a major tantrum when she kept falling off or being overtaken. Of course, I had forgotten that Anna was going to be in the presence of 'greatness' in the form of Mrs Latham and Mrs Heath (Anna's teachers). Anna thinks that these two women are the best people in the world so it was best behaviour all around, especially from Anna's mum and dad!
Before the race, came the small matter of the raffle. The parents had received letters in the previous week, asking for raffle prize donations. For a split second, I had considered donating the old tin of sliced pears that I had found in the back of the cupboard but thought better of it. I am so glad that I did. Prizes for the pre-school raffle included a cookery lesson with Simon Rimmer (famous TV chef who happens to be friends with one of the parents), a day out at Silverstone and the chance to drive a Lamborghini, a meal for 4 at a Michelin starred restaurant, a signed print by some famous artist (a friend of one of the parents!) and, not forgetting, a homemade cake baked my Mrs Stubbings (one of the staff who is also a parent and who also thinks she is the best thing since sliced bread and can only be seen to be talking to the 'popular in crowd' of mum's). Needless to say that I didn't win anything!
So on to the race.

All of the children lined up, ready for the start. Anna listened intently to the instructions and they were off!

Now, I realise that these children are only 3 and 4 years old but rules are rules and I saw a huge amount of cheating going on, cutting corners and saying they were on lap 4 when they had only done one! There were also some very quick boys who were very good! I did expect the mum's to be cheering their children on and reminding them of their personal best's but it was quite a dignified affair (I think the kids had their pre-race talks before they arrived in the playground).

It wasn't long before one of the boys had won and, after much cheering and clapping, Mrs Heath announced there was juice and biscuits and suddenly there was a mass of children running towards the school building as scooters were abandoned mid-lap, piled up high.

At this moment, Anna was still merrily scooting along the track, slow and steady but making sure that she didn't miss any corners or go over the white line. I told her what a clever girl she was and that she could go and get a drink and biscuit now.

"No Mummy, I have to do my 5 laps' said Anna.

I reassured her that it didn't matter and that she had tried very hard so could leave it now if she wanted.
"No Mummy. I need to finish the race'.

So, while all the other children ate their biscuits, Anna continued to scooter along at her own pace and finish the race!

She certainly didn't come last because most children had abandoned their scooter half way through the race but my little girl insisted on completing her own race, even when everyone had gone and, in my opinion, that makes her the winner. I am always proud of my little girl but I was bursting with pride at Anna's Scooter Grand Prix.

Thank you so much to everyone who was kind enough to sponsor Anna. You are all fantastic and Anna is very lucky to have you as her family and friends. xx

The Neighbourhood

You know you need to go on a diet when an elderly neighbour says 'I don't envy you being pregnant in this heat'. (I put the 'elderly' bit to make it sound slightly less mortifying and to make it sound like she may have been losing her marbles but, in fact, she was rather sprightly with a fully functioning mind!). At this point, I should have corrected her and just pointed out that, rather than being pregnant, I was just having a disastrous love affair with Mr Kipling. I should have told her that I wasn't pregnant and that, in fact, I was just fat! Instead I just smiled sweetly and walked on, keeping my back straight and trying to maintain a good posture so my tummy didn't stick out too much! After all, I didn't want to embarrass the poor lady, just like she had just embarrassed me (as I silently screamed for the ground to open up and swallow me). I have a feeling that her husband may have corrected her later on (Her husband and I often have daily discussions about the weather, the government or anything in between!) because they both happened to walk past later on Saturday, just as James was cutting the lawn and I was no where to be seen. Thankfully Anna was her normal charming self and started telling them all about her new shoes, to which the lady asked James 'So are you having another child?'. At which point, James politely smiled and said 'No, I think not'. At this point, the husband quickly intervened to save an embarrassing situation from escalating even further by offering us a tray of tomato plants. The lady just snapped' Don't be ridiculous Clive, they're not into all that'.

It has been a weekend of getting to know the neighbours.

On Sunday morning, James spent a good 45 minutes gossiping with our next door neighbours about every single occupant of the estate. They were very proud to announce that they had lived on the estate for the last 40 years, ever since the estate had been built, so knew every single person. They also made it quite clear who were the 'in' people and who had upset the others so were deemed 'not Tattenhall' people!!! There is now a part of me who just wants to go and introduce myself to the 'not Tattenhall' crew and form a little club. Our next door neighbours also told us about the 'Secret field' behind the estate (Maybe only 'in' people get to know about it so this is a sign that we may be 'Tattenhall people' after all. Maybe not!) Basically, it is a huge field that is owned by the council but which they can do very little with, as there is no room for access apart from a little pathway which then opens up into this huge meadow. We knew nothing about it!

On Sunday afternoon, James and Anna went to explore. 5 minutes later they were back. Anna seemed slightly unimpressed due to the lack of play equipment (Apparently, Cheshire council had given a grant for swings and slides but Tattenhall parish council deemed it 'unnecessary' so spent it on paving slabs instead!). However, just as Anna and James were telling me about the 'secret field', a lady with her 2 year old daughter came to the house and said that she had hoped her family hadn't scared Anna off. She then invited us to go and play with them so off we trooped. She had 2 older boys who had called at all the houses en route to pick up other boys on the estate and they were having a game of cricket with their dad. Anna began to play with Eva (the 2 year old daughter) and it quickly emerged that this mum was also a teacher. We had something in common!

Anyway, an hour later, we have finished gossiping. I have found out what it is like to work in an outstanding school (the closest I will ever get to actually knowing!) and we begin to walk home. I end up telling Kirsty (Mum to Eva) about how I am useless at chit chat and struggling to break the ice in the preschool playground at which point, she offers to help. Basically, she tells me that she will look out for me in the playground tomorrow and will introduce me to the 'mum's to know'. At this point, her husband is telling James about a family social event at the sports club on Friday night and how we should go. In fact, they will 'call for us' as they walk past on Friday night and we can go together! Why do I suddenly feel like a teenager again?

All night, I then sit there worrying about what I am going to wear and what I am going to say. I don't think anyone realises just how painfully shy I am! I have a horrible feeling I just come across as rude when I sit there, not knowing what to say and nodding like that stupid insurance dog on the telly.

So Monday morning comes and I am dressed in an outfit that James assures me, does not make me look pregnant (The outfit I was wearing when the lady accused me of being pregnant has gone into the bin!). I have to get it right. I don't want to look too dressed up that I have made too much effort but I don't want to look like my normal bedraggled 'just got out of bed' look either.

I feel like it is my first day at school as we walk up to the school gate. Anna is chatting away as always and my mind is trying to think of things to say when they all greet me with their cheery hello's.

Kirsty is lovely and has been waiting for me in the playground. As I thought, she is stood with the 'designer' mum's but at least Kirsty looks normal. I soon find out that Kirsty knows EVERYBODY and is very popular. She starts telling me who is related to who and who's child belongs to which mum. It is all very confusing and I forget all of it in two seconds flat! Then she tells me that the 'mum' who knows everybody and who can 'get me in' is not here today but she will work on it.

We end up walking home with another mum who happens to run the family social event on Friday. Kirsty tells her how I have just moved in and trying to get to know people. The social event lady then tells me that with a daughter like Anna, who talks to everybody and smiles so wonderfully, it should be easy to get to know people. The trouble is that Anna is the complete opposite of me. Anna insists on talking to everybody, approaching them with a cheery 'hello' and 'how are you today' and if they don't answer, Anna then shouts 'I SAID HELLO, HOW ARE YOU TODAY' so they have no choice but to answer. On the one occasion when someone chose not to answer on the 2nd time of asking, Anna ran after them and said 'HELLO. WHY ARE YOU NOT TALKING TO ME?' with a huge smile on their face. They ended up having a conversation about postmen! I need to start taking lessons from my own daughter!

We then come to the fork in the path and my house is to the right and both Kirsty and 'the lady whose name I have forgot' (I am useless) houses are to the left. They are talking about some family who I have never heard of so I mumble something about my house being this way. Kirsty just looks at me and says 'No, you don't. You are going to walk home the long way and you are going to chat. It is the only way you get to know people around here'. So off I go. The problem is that the path is rather narrow for 3 people so, in my endeavour to keep up, I then get whacked in the face with a low-hanging branch. I make such a great first impression!

So I now feel like I am living in goldfish bowl. Everybody knows everybody else and must know everything about each other (including the fact that they think I am pregnant. Oh God!). In order to be seen to 'fit in', you must be able to talk to the right people and you must NOT, under no circumstances, be socially inept and unable to hold a conversation about small talk! This is going to be very steep learning curve for me and one that I am failing miserably at the moment. Let's hope I can only get better!

'Thought of the Day' by Anna, Aged 3

Last night, I was attempting to wash Anna's hair. This is not Anna's favourite pastime and she was verging on the edge of a tantrum. She began to shout at me that she didn't want her hair washed.

I silently counted to 5 and then said, in my ever so calm and quiet voice 'Anna... shouting isn't very nice is it'?

Anna went from scream to silence in 1 second.

Had my calm and soothing voice actually worked for a change?

Anna then looked at me and, in an equally calm and quiet voice said,

'Well ... having your hair washed and Mummy getting shampoo in your eyes isn't very nice either... is it?'.

There were no words as I was trying to think of a witty or intelligent comeback.

I am still trying to think of one...

Having It All???

The only conclusion that can reach is that it is impossible. I am not convinced that a woman can have it all - the career, the perfect mum role, the perfect wife, the perfect anything really.

For the past few months, I have grown incredibly itchy feet. I have felt like there has been something missing that I can call my own. I have heard the world of education and teaching calling my name ever louder and it is starting to annoy me!

I even feel guilty writing this. This is not something I am meant to admit to. I am meant to feel completely fulfilled and happy looking after Anna. As you all know, I adore her with every aching bone in my body and more but yet, I feel like she is about to embark on pre-school every morning of the week, making new friends, exploring new things with teachers challenging her along the way and I continue to return to the ironing board and hoover. Anna is starting to get a little world of her own without me there every second of the day and I am left with an empty house.

I realise that, as a mum, you have to be there when Anna has had that bad day at school or feels under the weather so that is when returning to work seems a little harsh. I then feel even more guilty when I admit that I have applied for a teaching post. Am I mad?

It seems to be the perfect job for me. I am a specialised in Early Years education and Literacy. This post combines the two. It is basically to become a Reading expert and deliver intensive teaching sessions to those children who are struggling to learn reading techniques within the class. It would mean working 5 mornings a week and going back to college for one afternoon per week for specialist training. I would also lead the school staff in how to teach reading more effectively. I did bits of it whilst I taught full-time (in my 'Head of Literacy' role) and loved it. It combines a 'management' role with teaching the two areas of education that I love.

I still don't even know if it will work. I would have to be in school at 8.30am at the latest and I'm not sure what my contracted hours will be. If it was until 12 noon, it could work really well. Anna could go to the Breakfast club (dropped off at 8am), go to her normal pre-school session and then stay for lunch. I would then pick her up at 12.45am and afternoons would be ours. It is all with the same staff and in the same rooms so she would not be pushed from one form of childcare to another.

However, I then get this incredible guilt that I shouldn't even be contemplating this job. The housework would get completely neglected, I wouldn't be able to attend the Sports Days and Open Mornings at pre-school and, dare I say it, James and Anna might end up with something that isn't cooked from scratch on 1 evening per week. I know that I would feel rushed off my feet and that there just isn't enough hours in the day. I would also feel incredibly guilty about not spending as much time with Anna as I have for the first 4 years of her life.

The job would also make me feel guilty. I always believe that you must go above and beyond in whatever you do. My dad once told me that if you don't put 100% into whatever you do and don't do your very best, then you are wasting your time and everybody else's. I have always had that work ethic. Hence why I was always the one who arrived at 7.45am each morning and was still at school at 6pm at night and the one who worked all day every Sunday to make sure my planning and resources were perfect. I just wouldn't be able to go above and beyond with this role. I could fulfil all of my contractual obligations but there just wouldn't be the time to be able to stop and do the after-school club or attend all the staff meetings. I would make sure that my teaching was the very best it could be but would I really be happy to do the minimum?

To be honest, the role has come a year too early. If this had been this time next year, Anna would be starting Reception in Primary school so she would be going full-time anyway. There would be no childcare issues and Anna wouldn't even notice that I was working (apart from the huge bags under my eyes).

Yet, there is still this niggling feeling that this job is the only way back into teaching. I don't particularly relish the idea of full class responsibility again so I was contemplating a Teaching Assistant role. My teaching friends tell me that I am crazy and that I would get bored within 5 minutes and frustrated if the teacher isn't doing as good a job as I would do (I very much doubt that one!!). With the role advertised, I still use my teaching qualification and experience that I have gained (Minimum requirements is Qualified Teaching status, 4 yrs experience and Literacy specialism) doing something that I previously loved. The twist to the tale is that this is the last year of funding for the role being advertised. If Mr Cameron is elected, it is certainly the end of this type of intervention work being funded (It is incredibly expensive to train teachers who have clocked up a few miles!!!) and there are no guarantees with Mr Brown. It seems like the gate is slightly ajar for me to enter the world of teaching again but about to close tightly shut.

It was a very surreal experience completing my application form. I was writing about being 'Head of Literacy' and 'Head of Infants' and it felt as though I was writing about somebody else. I had to go back through my old diaries and notes, just to make sure that I had done all of these things. It feels like a lifetime ago. Was I ever capable of doing that? To make it feel even more surreal, I have been talking to my 2 previous headteachers, who I worked for, this week. I wrote to both of them, asking their permission to use them as a reference. They both contacted me out of the blue and said some extremely nice things about me. I had to pinch myself to actually believe that they were talking about me. It sounded like they were talking about some random teacher who just happened to be called Louise and who happened to achieve all of this stuff. That surely couldn't have been me who had a career and promotions and was actually quite good at what she did (so I am told), once upon a time!

In the letter to Mt Stephenson, my opening line had been 'I'm not sure if you will remember me'. When I picked up the phone, at first, I had no idea who this voice from my past was and he started to laugh (in his very distinctive deep voice, sounding very much like Father Christmas and looking a lot like him too but with less cheer).

He then said "Remember you Miss Gwynn (as I was known for the majority of my time at his school), I remember your eyes as wide as saucers and a smile as wide as can be when I presented you with your first class and I remember the moment you came screaming down the corridor when you announced you were engaged. I remember you running for your life when you spotted a mouse and yelling at me (!!!) and I remember all those times you had a fit of uncontrollable giggles in staff meetings (We were like naughty school children in those staff meetings!) but most of all, I remember what a fantastic teacher you were. How could I forget you?"

Mt Stephenson had made me cry!

I have so many mixed responses too, depending on what group of people I talk to and how they know me. My friends that I have made since having Anna all think that I don't know how lucky I am to not have to work and think I am mad for even thinking about returning to it part-time. My friends I made whilst teaching (including working mum's) all think I would be mad to not go for the job.

So I now sit here contemplating my future. My first and foremost priority is Anna and always will be. If I thought, for one second, that my decision would cause her unhappiness, I could instantly make up my mind and not give it a second thought. However, I don't know!

If I took the job, I have visions of me regretting it and learning a very hard lesson about 'grass being greener...' but, on the other hand, when Anna is at school next year full time, will I look back and regret the opportunity I missed to get back into teaching as I probably end up taking a Teaching Assistant role.

To sum it up - I don't think a woman can have it all. If you stay at home, you feel like you could be stretching yourself more and feel the whole world is at work while you are behind 4 walls. Meanwhile, those working mum's feel incredibly guilty and wish they were at home playing 'house'. Even part-time workers, feel like they don't give enough time to work and/or look after their child as they feel spilt in half!

Anyone out there with any answers, opinions or suggestions, please let me know because I given up trying to work it out!

P.S: I might not even get an interview and all of this would be a waste of time anyway! Oh well...

Playground Politics

Well, I am still standing in the corner of the playground looking like the new kid in town.

I really don't know how I am going to break the ice with the other Mum's. It seems like it is an exclusive club which I do not have access to.

Anyone would think that I had two heads or my child was running around the playground hitting all the other children. Instead, Anna is being cute playing Hopscotch while I stand there trying to look like a nice person to talk to!

I am the first to admit that I am not great at making small talk with people until I get to know them. I simply can't enter a room and go up to people and start random conversations because I am utterly useless at it! It is even more intimidating when all of the mum's are standing in a huge circle with no room for me to even stand on the perimeters.

However, I fear that I am going to have to have lessons or something. I am just going to have to take a huge breath and stroll into the playground, smiling and shouting 'Hello' to anyone within the 50 mile radius. I am still not convinced it will do any good but needs must.

The problem is that they all seem to know each other in one capacity or another. Either they have attended the really popular Toddler group in the village (for children who haven't started pre-school yet), are members of the Friday Running club, meet at the stables or have older children in the school who are in the same class. That doesn't leave me with a great deal of options.

Option 1: Kidnap a toddler (aged 1 month - 3yrs). I wouldn't be very good at making small talk in prison either so that seems like a bad choice.
Option 2: Join the Running Club. You already know the answer to this one! I would be running around the first corner while they were all heading to the coffee shop after their 20 laps of the village.
Option 3: Buy a horse. Unless I want to end up with a lame horse while I sit in A and E, this isn't an option either.
Option 4: In order to get noticed, I could perform an all-singing, all-dancing act in the middle of the playground while dressed in novelty costume.

So it looks like Option 4 then.

On second thoughts, this may not be a good idea either.

To make matters worse, it seems' to be 'birthday season' and all the children are giving out party invitations. Unfortunately, none seem to be coming Anna's way. I have a horrible feeling that it is the mother's who decide on the guest list and, seeing as though I don't know them, Anna is getting overlooked!

I never seemed to have this problem at Anna's old playschool in Hoole, but then I did know some mum's who went to the Mum's and Tot's group so I already had a head start. I think it is also a symptom of village life. Everyone knows everyone else and a stranger is viewed with some suspicion and threat. James reassures me that we will no longer be viewed as the 'newcomers' in about 20 years from now. So that is something to look forward to!

Growing Up Fast

I present you with some pictures of Anna, looking far too grown up in her (pre-)school uniform.

This is exactly the same uniform as proper Primary school except the tree logo is a hand-drawn version created by one of the pre-school children and has a smiley face too!

I confess to being one of those soppy uncool mothers who had a silent tear roll down her face when I saw my daughter looking like a little girl and all traces of babyhood gone (including nappies. My daughter is now using a toilet. I will write a blog about it soon.)

Where has the time has gone?? (Sounding even older than I am!!)

The Mummy Club

Aghhhhhhh! It is not often that I feel compelled to write this blog immediately after the event has occurred (It normally takes me months!!!) but I feel that somehow writing it down might act as therapy! I feel the urge to get things off my chest and, as anyone who knows me can testify, with a chest the size of mine, that is hell of a lot of things I need to get off!!!! It will probably come out as garbled mess but feel free to just scratch your heads and wonder what on earth I am talking about! (If proof were needed... I have just written that sentence in capitals and have had to go back and write it again!).

I have just dropped Anna off for her second day at Playschool. Any fears of Anna hating her new school and begging to be taken back to her old one were quickly evaporated as she emerged from school on her first day.

'I love school Mummy. I don't want to go home. Can I stay?'

She talked about it all afternoon including names of all the teachers, all the toys and children who were there along with their parents occupations... and that is where the current problem lies.

I have just been stood in the pouring rain, feeling cold and wet while I have listened to the trials and tribulations of owning horses, taking the Range Rover for a service and not having the leather interior cleaned properly and how that last 2 pounds of weight just won't shift! Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

I knew I was in trouble when Anna and I strolled up the front gate of the school and saw three brand new range rovers parked on the road.

In the playground, there were 2 distinct groups of parents. The one group of mothers were all dressed in the latest running gear with immaculate trainers looking like they have never ran more than 100 yards in them. Apparently, this is the 'Mummy Running Club' (That is what they call themselves) that takes place in the village every Friday morning at 9.15am. It is ran by a man called 'Owen' who is (and I quote) 'Absolutely delightful and very pleasing on the eye'. One mother informed the group that she was considering hiring him as her personal trainer but would just tell her husband that the money was going to charity, where she volunteers on a Wednesday.

The second group was the horsey set. They were all dressed in their barbour jackets and Joules jumpers with their muddy wellies (At this point, I have to admit that I was in my wellies too but it was raining and at least I was not about to go mucking out and bragging about it!!). The conversation went something along the lines of ' Stable Fees are ghastly at the moment and don't even get me started on the fees to re-shoe. Poor Willow had a stumble in the paddocks yesterday and I could not get her back in her stable. Now she needs new shoes which are going to cost, at least, a good few hundred. It is all a ghastly nightmare' while all the other mum's nod in agreement. I am not exaggerating!

They are all dressed immaculately without a hair out of place and make-up looking pristine. Meanwhile, I am stood there with rain dripping off my nose, my hair looking like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards and not an inch of designer clothes on me. Oh dear! I bet they all serve organic food to their little darlings every day and insist that Waitrose is the only place to get their groceries. It was like one of those scenes you see in a comedy sketch but, unfortuantely, this was real and these mother's do exist!

For any passer-by, they would have been able to pick out the passer-by from a mile off as Anna and I stood in the corner on our own! You are probably all thinking that I should have just joined in but I have not the faintest idea about horses and would struggle to tell one end of a horse from another and, as for the running... Ha Ha Ha! If I turned up wearing Running gear, people would think I was off to a fancy dress party.

So I have 2 choices, I can continue to look like a complete outsider who has stumbled into the wrong party and doesn't know what the hell is going on or I can become one of them! I don't relish the prospect of either. If I ever start whinging about stable prices and the fact that Anna needs a bigger pony as she has outgrown her pony called Jasper, you have permission to shoot me! I may own a pair of Joules wellies but that is where the similarities between me and the horsey set end.

Maybe I could be accused of positive discrimination. Maybe I am being an inverted snob who expected it to be like this and so fail to see the true picture. However, I find it hard to believe that talking about the millions it costs in stable fees and how the kitchen needs 'tradesmen to look at it' can be perceived as anything other than rather well-to-do! Maybe you are all sat there reading this thinking that I only have myself to blame. After all, we were the one's who chose to move to the country and live in a nice village with nice houses. However, is it to much to ask for a nice school in a nice village with some normal down-to-earth parents who don't look and sound like they have just walked off the set of a Jilly Cooper adaptation!

Therefore, I am on a mission to seek out the mum who is feeling like me and we can become an exclusive little club together. Unfortunately, they seem rather thin on the ground at the moment but I can live in hope! Then all of those other mother's can all look at us and not have the faintest idea what we are talking about as we discuss the latest going-on in Eastenders or how Fish Fingers just dont taste like they used to!

Right... I am off to do the ironing while watching Jeremy Kyle, just to feel normal again!