They do warn you that you lose all dignity from the moment you become pregnant.
I would have to agree, especially when I think about a scenario involving stirrups, 4 midwives, 2 student doctors plus the tea lady all watching as Anna travels down the birth canal and me saying 'I'm feeling tired. Can I go home now? We can continue the party tomorrow night'.
However, I actually thought that dignity could be restored once the horrors of childbirth had been cast to a long and distant memory. It appears not!
Now that Anna is fully potty-trained, she is using public toilets like everybody else. So, whilst out shopping, Anna and I occasionally find ourselves using the facilities available. Unfortunately, I sometimes need the lavatory myself and I have no choice but to take Anna with me if we are on our own. I suppose I could leave Anna to wander around outside by herself but I'm not sure that it would be the wisest idea.
Sharing a toilet cubicle with a 3 year old is not good. During these occasions, Anna has been known to:
Shout, in a very loud voice, "Mummy, are you doing a wee or a poo? before then shouting 'Mummy is just doing a big wee and then we are coming out' so that the whole queue can hear us.
Or, and this is her favourite option and the one that she does on virtually every occasion,
Open the locked door whilst I am mid-flow and say 'Look everybody. Mummy is doing a wee-wee. Isn't she a good girl. Give Mummy a clap".
Meanwhile, I am sat on the toilet trying to kick the door closed with my foot, pull Anna back into the cubicle and pull my trousers up, all at the same time.
Of course, most people then laugh at Anna and so this just encourages her to do it the next time that we find ourselves in the same situation.
You will no longer find me in any public toilet anywhere until Anna decides that public announcement officer is not the career she wishes to pursue!
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Saturday, 3 July 2010
How to Alienate Your New Neighbours
It appears that we are living in Gardener's World.
This has proved a problem, seeing as though James and I are not the best gardeners in the world.
We have moved to a house with a much bigger garden than we had previously. Even our electric lawn mower took one look at it and refused to start. Hence why James is now the proud owner of a very shiny mower with automatic start and petrol fumes. He is taking great pride in cutting the grass at the moment!
Our cul-de-sac does boasts rather a lot of houses with spectacular gardens. There is a covenant on all the houses on our estate that states that the front garden must remain open (No hedges or fences) so that it has an 'open-plan feel' and that it is a very friendly place to be, with no boundaries to make us feel enclosed from each other. (What a shame that the school playground doesn't adopt the same approach). This all works very well except you then get a huge pressure to make sure that your garden is 'up to scratch'. One of our neighbours actually told us that maintaining a nice garden is for the benefit of the neighbours more than yourself. (His garden is actually amazing and the best in the whole estate. He spends 3 whole days per week out there, he uses a fork, normally used for eating your dinner, to prick the soil and even measures the space between plants and ensures the strips on his lawn are matching!!!)
All of this is fine if you have 3 whole days to spend manicuring your garden (and many of our neighbours do have the time, being retired). However, some more sensible people have taken the approach of having perfectly manicured lawns but without the bedding plants and shrubbery.
We have moved to house which boasted a very impressive bed of plants and shrubbery but was beginning to look rather wild after a harsh winter and no love and attention. Therefore, we felt that the best thing to do was turf most of the beds, leaving one or two, including the beautiful magnolia trees, for colour. After all, what would the neighbours prefer - a garden full of wild shrubs and plants with weeds galore or a nicely mowed lawn.
Therefore, we took a number of quotes from (what we thought) respectable gardeners. There was one gardener who took one look at it and said it was too big a job for him. Eventually we chose a gardener who seemed very polite and knew what he was talking about. Unfortunately, he then sent his assistant round.
Gary had 5 earrings up each ear and a tattoo of a completely naked lady on his right arm. He was shaven-haired and had a black eye. None of this bothered me so much. You shouldn't judge a person by what they look like.
Unfortunately, when he opened his mouth, it became quickly apparent that Gary was not that far from the stereotype. This guy could swear like you have never heard before and he was also not backwards in coming forward with his opinions. Within the first hour I had heard all about his 3 ex-wives who were all described in very non-flattering terms, how he was currently going though his 3rd messy divorce and was sleeping on a mate's floor, how he wasn't racist but that the BNP did have a point and how he had been beaten up by a load of Bouncers in a nightclub and he hadn't done anything except smack a guy around the head because he stood in the way of the TV when Manchester City were playing.
He also insisted on having a coffee (made by me) every 40 minutes while he phoned his solicitor to consult him about his ex-wife or the impending court case about the bouncers.
As you can imagine, this didn't go down brilliantly with the neighbours, who are very skilled in overhearing conversations and matters only got worse when one of our neighbours tried to consult him about the work he was doing. The conversation went..
Neighbour (Posh voice with a Poodle on a lead): "Excuse me young man. Would you mind telling me what you are doing?"
Gary: "I'm ripping these plant out."
Neighbour: "And what do your propose you are going to do with them?"
Gary: "Dunno. Ask me boss. He'll probably burn 'em like."
Neighbour: "That is terrible. I think it's a disgrace. And what is the home owner proposing to do with this garden?"
Gary: "With all due respect, it is none of my business. I have just been hired to rip it out."
At this point, the posh poodle and it's owner walks off to go and consult with the other neighbour who had come out of their house to see what was going on.
It was at this unfortunate moment that I happen to come outside with the 11th coffee of the day. Gary then proceeds to tell me all about the conversation. He then follows this up by whispering to me 'Don't Worry love, I know how to really wind them up' and before I get a chance to say anything, he shouts out
'Ay Mrs Gibson. I think the hot tub will look really great here, you sipping champagne in your bikini and being able to watch the neighbours coming and going'.
Oh God!
The neighbours, after over hearing this, have now gone into information overload while I just go red and wonder what to do next. Do I go over and make some half-hearted attempt at a joke with them all or do I just smile politely and go back inside?
I chose the latter.
3 days later, Gary has finished (in a job that was meant to last a day and a half maximum) and the boss returns to level the soil and turf the beds. Thankfully, he is extremely polite and actually knows some of our neighbours so calm is temporarily restored.
However, another neighbour then decides to approach him to enquire as to the whereabouts of the plants that have now disappeared. On informing her that these plants were now no longer around, the 'helpful' neighbour informs us that the people living here 6 years ago were actually botanists and their job was to keep plants from going extinct and to preserve extremely rare and precious plants. Our beds were full of them apparently, "bringing much enjoyment to the neighbourhood'. Great!
Apparently, our gardener didn't have a clue. So much for qualifications in Horticulture! Thankfully, he was polite enough to diffuse the situation and convince our neighbour that it was individual choice and that a neat garden was better than a scruffy one, albeit with rare and precious plants in it! If it had been Gary who had been presented with the same information, I fear that the neighbour would have been told where she could put the rare plants.
Since then, I have had yet another neighbour comment on what a "neat garden you now have. Shame about the beautiful plants though isn't it".
Oh dear!
James and I are currently undertaking studies in 'How to Survive in a Small Village'. At the moment, we are failing the course in spectacular fashion. Certainly makes life interesting though!
This has proved a problem, seeing as though James and I are not the best gardeners in the world.
We have moved to a house with a much bigger garden than we had previously. Even our electric lawn mower took one look at it and refused to start. Hence why James is now the proud owner of a very shiny mower with automatic start and petrol fumes. He is taking great pride in cutting the grass at the moment!
Our cul-de-sac does boasts rather a lot of houses with spectacular gardens. There is a covenant on all the houses on our estate that states that the front garden must remain open (No hedges or fences) so that it has an 'open-plan feel' and that it is a very friendly place to be, with no boundaries to make us feel enclosed from each other. (What a shame that the school playground doesn't adopt the same approach). This all works very well except you then get a huge pressure to make sure that your garden is 'up to scratch'. One of our neighbours actually told us that maintaining a nice garden is for the benefit of the neighbours more than yourself. (His garden is actually amazing and the best in the whole estate. He spends 3 whole days per week out there, he uses a fork, normally used for eating your dinner, to prick the soil and even measures the space between plants and ensures the strips on his lawn are matching!!!)
All of this is fine if you have 3 whole days to spend manicuring your garden (and many of our neighbours do have the time, being retired). However, some more sensible people have taken the approach of having perfectly manicured lawns but without the bedding plants and shrubbery.
We have moved to house which boasted a very impressive bed of plants and shrubbery but was beginning to look rather wild after a harsh winter and no love and attention. Therefore, we felt that the best thing to do was turf most of the beds, leaving one or two, including the beautiful magnolia trees, for colour. After all, what would the neighbours prefer - a garden full of wild shrubs and plants with weeds galore or a nicely mowed lawn.
Therefore, we took a number of quotes from (what we thought) respectable gardeners. There was one gardener who took one look at it and said it was too big a job for him. Eventually we chose a gardener who seemed very polite and knew what he was talking about. Unfortunately, he then sent his assistant round.
Gary had 5 earrings up each ear and a tattoo of a completely naked lady on his right arm. He was shaven-haired and had a black eye. None of this bothered me so much. You shouldn't judge a person by what they look like.
Unfortunately, when he opened his mouth, it became quickly apparent that Gary was not that far from the stereotype. This guy could swear like you have never heard before and he was also not backwards in coming forward with his opinions. Within the first hour I had heard all about his 3 ex-wives who were all described in very non-flattering terms, how he was currently going though his 3rd messy divorce and was sleeping on a mate's floor, how he wasn't racist but that the BNP did have a point and how he had been beaten up by a load of Bouncers in a nightclub and he hadn't done anything except smack a guy around the head because he stood in the way of the TV when Manchester City were playing.
He also insisted on having a coffee (made by me) every 40 minutes while he phoned his solicitor to consult him about his ex-wife or the impending court case about the bouncers.
As you can imagine, this didn't go down brilliantly with the neighbours, who are very skilled in overhearing conversations and matters only got worse when one of our neighbours tried to consult him about the work he was doing. The conversation went..
Neighbour (Posh voice with a Poodle on a lead): "Excuse me young man. Would you mind telling me what you are doing?"
Gary: "I'm ripping these plant out."
Neighbour: "And what do your propose you are going to do with them?"
Gary: "Dunno. Ask me boss. He'll probably burn 'em like."
Neighbour: "That is terrible. I think it's a disgrace. And what is the home owner proposing to do with this garden?"
Gary: "With all due respect, it is none of my business. I have just been hired to rip it out."
At this point, the posh poodle and it's owner walks off to go and consult with the other neighbour who had come out of their house to see what was going on.
It was at this unfortunate moment that I happen to come outside with the 11th coffee of the day. Gary then proceeds to tell me all about the conversation. He then follows this up by whispering to me 'Don't Worry love, I know how to really wind them up' and before I get a chance to say anything, he shouts out
'Ay Mrs Gibson. I think the hot tub will look really great here, you sipping champagne in your bikini and being able to watch the neighbours coming and going'.
Oh God!
The neighbours, after over hearing this, have now gone into information overload while I just go red and wonder what to do next. Do I go over and make some half-hearted attempt at a joke with them all or do I just smile politely and go back inside?
I chose the latter.
3 days later, Gary has finished (in a job that was meant to last a day and a half maximum) and the boss returns to level the soil and turf the beds. Thankfully, he is extremely polite and actually knows some of our neighbours so calm is temporarily restored.
However, another neighbour then decides to approach him to enquire as to the whereabouts of the plants that have now disappeared. On informing her that these plants were now no longer around, the 'helpful' neighbour informs us that the people living here 6 years ago were actually botanists and their job was to keep plants from going extinct and to preserve extremely rare and precious plants. Our beds were full of them apparently, "bringing much enjoyment to the neighbourhood'. Great!
Apparently, our gardener didn't have a clue. So much for qualifications in Horticulture! Thankfully, he was polite enough to diffuse the situation and convince our neighbour that it was individual choice and that a neat garden was better than a scruffy one, albeit with rare and precious plants in it! If it had been Gary who had been presented with the same information, I fear that the neighbour would have been told where she could put the rare plants.
Since then, I have had yet another neighbour comment on what a "neat garden you now have. Shame about the beautiful plants though isn't it".
Oh dear!
James and I are currently undertaking studies in 'How to Survive in a Small Village'. At the moment, we are failing the course in spectacular fashion. Certainly makes life interesting though!
Monday, 14 June 2010
How Not to Win Friends: Get Anna to Wee on Them!
'I am a grown woman. I am not some teenager in the playground. I can string more than 2 words together and not sound like a total idiot'.
I am having to repeat this mantra on an hourly basis at the moment.
It truly feels like I am 13 again and have started 'big school', not knowing a single person and trying to break some crack code in order to be accepted as 'one of them'.
Yes, you guessed it. Bloody playground politics again.
I actually thought I might be making some very tiny but significant steps in making friends but today's episode has just confirmed that I have never been further away from actually holding a nice conversation with one of them.
Today was the school trip to the local Farm where all the mums were expected to go in order to supervise their child. The first words spoken out of the teachers mouth this morning was 'Today, we may have organised the trip but you are responsible for your children. We don't want accidents but if your child did get hit by a moving vehicle, it would be your fault as they are your responsibility'! So on that cheery note...
It started badly when Anna was offered a biscuit! For some unknown reason, Anna has developed an irrational fear of biscuits so burst out crying at the Farmer who offered it and started having a general rant. In order to calm her down, I then had to take her out of the barn and pretend to be fascinated by some cow poo (It was the only thing around that I could pretend to get excited about and therefore get Anna's mind taken off the offending biscuit). By this point, all the mothers had raised their alert systems so that they had Anna marked as the child who was going to cause the nuisance.
For some inexplicable reason, Anna also lost all power of speech today so that, any time that one of the parents asked her a question, she would just talk complete baby language so that nobody, including myself, could understand a word. This is the girl who, only 2 days ago, was having a conversation about the differences between a helicopter and aeroplane and yet she couldn't answer a question about what colour her wellies were! At one point, one of the mum's asked me how old she was and looked very shocked when I told her. 'Oh, My daughter is a month younger than yours' and then walked off, feeling all smug with herself, thinking that her daughter was far better spoken than mine.
Anna then decided to have a rant when the Farmer tried to take her decorated egg box off her to put with the others, ready for collecting eggs later. Every other child managed to do this without an issue but Anna was claiming unfair treatment!
It wasn't long after the tractor ride has begun that Anna started to ask for the toilet. This is despite the fact that I had asked her if she wanted a wee literally 2 minutes before we embarked on our journey. At the very moment that she asked to use a toilet, we were in a field full of cattle who had just given birth so there was no way they would have allowed an irate 3 year old to threaten the newborn calves. As soon as we got to the next field and the farmer had described the activity to be completed (counting how many different green leaves you could see in a hedge!!!!), I asked if we could go into the next field to use as a toilet. Thankfully, the farmer was very kind and agreed. However, Anna refused point blank. I have taken her once before in a field when we got caught short and she hated it. She kept telling me that the field did not come with a flush and we couldn't just leave the wee sitting there. After an argument, I had no choice but to give in. Everyone was now gathered back on the trailer and waiting for me. I was going to be standing here all day having an argument whilst Anna was using every muscle to hold her fluids in! I told Anna that she would have to hold it if she refused to do it here and now. She promised me that she was able to do it.
Now imagine the scene: we are all sat on hay bales (which wouldn't have been so bad as they do tend to soak up moisture rather well) which have been covered in plastic sheeting (Bad!). All the mums, kitted out in their Joules jumpers, Jodhpurs and Hunter wellies, are sat in a row talking about how the best teacher at the school gave gifts to the parents last year which included manicures at a local beauty salon (I kid you not).
The field is rather bumpy when Anna gives me on of those 'looks' and I know what is coming. I have a choice, I can either let Anna have a wee where she is sat and have the entire plastic sheeting covered in wee, I could stand her up and let the wee flow over everyone's brand new footwear or I can save everyone else and soak myself. Therefore, I waved goodbye to sanity and picked Anna up in that split second and put her on my lap where she then proceeded to wee on me! My jeans were soaked but, at least, I had saved everyone else.
Oh if only, but it appears not.
You see, Anna had saved a little bit left so that, when I placed her back down on the plastic sheeting, the second half of her bladder emptied. She is now sat in a puddle of wee. This situation might have been saved if I could have been quick enough to wipe it up in time but, in the milli-second after she had done this, the tractor then went down a rather steep hill, meaning the wee then flowed down the plastic sheeting and seeped under every one of those mum's bottoms, soaking everyone!
At this point, Anna is in meltdown, crying and yelling that she wants to go home and go to bed. Meanwhile, I feel like doing exactly the same thing and joining in with her but have to pretend that I am in control of the situation.
Of course, all of the mum's are far too polite to say anything so just avert their eyes and refuse to acknowledge we are there, which is exactly what they continued to do for the rest of the day!
I am a walking disaster! How do I find myself in these situations?
It doesn't help that I am a complete stressed mess in front of these people. The Friday night where we went out with our neighbours, I was awful. My mouth goes dry and I can't seem to remember my own name, let alone anything else they may ask me. I don't have anything intelligent to say when they talk about topics I know nothing about and I seem to be an alien from another planet to most of them. I come out in a cold sweat and I even called Anna by some random name! This happens every time that I have anything to do with them. There is no point saying 'Be yourself' either because I have tried that and it hasn't got me anywhere! My instinct is to just run to a corner and hide. In fact, James had to come and find me on that Friday night as I had found my comfort zone playing hopscotch with some 5 year olds. I am a lost cause.
It is not as though I hate the village. In fact, I know every single neighbour who lives in our row and they all come out to chat and joke when Anna and I walk past on our way to school. They seem to like me and I genuinely like chatting to them. However, this is not a good sign when they are all OAP's.
The 'mother mafia' is just like those stereotypical people you watch in those observational sketch shows but, where I thought they were all an exaggerated truth, they really do all exist in the Tattenhall playground. It also appears that us 'normal' mum's are slowly eradicated. We either become 'one of them' or the normal ones amongst us seem to resort to dropping their child off, with literally one second to go before the bell goes so that we don't have to look like we are Billy No mates.
So what do I do on Wednesday morning and, indeed, every morning that I have to face them?
Well, my only solution is to put on my best smile, hold my head high and pray for a miracle!
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
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
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
Monday, 24 May 2010
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!
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!
Friday, 30 April 2010
'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...
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...
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
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...
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...
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