Cosmetology

I’ve learnt a new word this morning. Cosmetology.

I was having my hair cut, and on the wall in front of me was a certificate, telling me that the stylist was licensed in cosmetology. I thought it must be a New Age activity: a blend of cosmic things, comets and astrology. So I asked her what cosmetology was. I thought it would be a good topic of conversation, since I don’t have a boyfriend and I’m not going out tonight. She looked a bit surprised, and said “It’s what we do”. “And what does it involve?” I continued. At this point she included a colleague in the conversation. “Yes, it’s everything we do. Everything”, added the colleague. I must have still been looking a bit blank, because the colleague did elaborate for me. Unfortunately, as she was the other side of the salon and I had taken my glasses off, I couldn’t hear very clearly what she said (this statement will make sense to fellow severe myopics, the rest of you will just have to go with me on it). So I just nodded and said “Ah” in that way we do.

Cosmetology, as I now know (what did we do before Wikipedia?), means beauty treatments, including hair styling. This is rather good. It means that I no longer have to make mere hair appointments. I can arrange to see my cosmetologist. That’s much better. I’m already wondering how I managed so long without one.

The Pledge of Allegiance

Patriotic Americans of tender disposition, you may wish to skip this post.

I don’t know if this is universal, but my children stand and recite the Pledge of Allegiance each morning at the beginning of the school day. It goes like this:

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America
and to the Republic for which it stands,
one Nation under God, indivisible,
with liberty and justice for all.

After we’d been in the US for a week or so, I received a note home from 6-yo’s kindergarten teacher. It was very kind. It explained how the children recite the Pledge daily, and said “I’m sure 6-yo feels a little awkward standing in silence, so here are the words for him to learn”. I read the note to 6-yo and he said “I know the words already. I don’t want to say it, and I don’t feel awkward at all.” He then proceeded to give a word perfect rendition of the Pledge. When I say “word perfect”, I mean he gave a rendition that showed me that he knew it word perfect. In actual fact, (patriotic Americans, you have been warned) he replaced a few of the keys words with words pertaining to the bodily functions that small boys find so amusing. Shocking behaviour. I didn't laugh. Obviously. Not even when his rising crescendo finished in the joyous flourish "liberty and *** for all!" accompanied by a long, triumphant and carefree laugh - the kind of laugh you would want to hear from your child when he has just moved continents and started a new school.

What would you have done in my situation? Insisted that he recite the Pledge along with his classmates in a respectful manner? Told him just to say the words but cross his fingers so that it didn’t count? Just be glad he chose to keep silent rather than recite his own personal version? I thought long and hard. We are, after all, guests here in the US, and as such, I think we should respect its people’s values and traditions. But should we pledge allegiance? That’s strong stuff. We pay taxes but we don’t get a vote. If the government doesn’t like us, they can require us to leave. There’s no long-term guarantee of a continuing relationship. And anyway, doesn’t freedom of speech, a tenet so firmly entrenched in the American mind, also imply freedom to remain quiet? In the end, I decided to leave it up to 6-yo (mostly on philosophical and political grounds, but partly on the basis that I didn’t have any way of policing him anyway). I asked him the other day if he says the Pledge, and he was vague and slippery in his reply, so I expect he doesn’t (although he might just have been bored by the question – one never knows with children). I admire him hugely, actually. To be so firm in your views and so ready to stand apart from your peers, to be so protective of your own identity at the age of 6: this is the stuff of heroes. Spiderman, eat your heart out.

The daily reciting of the Pledge is led by one of the fifth graders, who goes to the office, and addresses the school through the microphone, under the eagle eye of the Principal. The job is billed as something of an honour, although I think they all get a turn if they want one. This week, 10-yo has the honour. He brought the scripts for the week home. It’s a bit “’Morning, Campers” at the beginning, but by the time he reaches the Pledge, he knows he has to use the appropriate serious tone. So yesterday, for example, you would have heard him announce the following:

“Good morning, Panthers [that’s the school mascot.] This is 10-yo. Today is Monday, September 24. We will be eating Country Fried Steak for lunch. It was the first day of fall yesterday, so please look out for all the lovely colours on the trees. Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance.

[The Pledge.]

Goodbye, everyone. Have a magnificent Monday.”

(This becomes terrific Tuesday, wonderful Wednesday, etc.)

There is one thing that giving the daily announcement has done for 10-yo. He hasn’t seen the Pledge written down before – he just picked it up verbally in his early days here. Now he has done so, he realizes that the USA is one nation under God. “I thought it was under guard”, he told me.

.

The Tiger who came to tea

In the list of favourite books in my profile, there is the title The Tiger who came to tea. This is the one book on the list that has prompted people to say “me too, that’s one of my favourites”. I suspect there are many fans of this book out there. And now Tiger-lovers have been spotted in the northern heartlands, up there amongst the bears (perhaps they hope the Tiger will keep the bears away). I think it’s time we had a Tigerfest. I am hosting it right here. I am going to write a list of the things I like most about the book, and then you can use the comments section to add the things you like about it. If you haven’t read the book, then you will just have to mosey on over to Amazon and get a copy. It’s written and illustrated by Judith Kerr. There you are. That’s all you need to know. Whether you’re a regular commenter, a lurker, or a passing browser, if you’re a Tiger-lover, this fest is for you.

Let’s start with the Tiger himself. He’s so approachable and kindly. Sophie cuddles him and hangs onto his tail. Kindly and cuddly, but enigmatic. He’s a riddle. I love that mystery about him. Who would want their visiting tiger to be anything other than mysterious?

Sophie’s clothes. They’re so wonderfully dated (the book was first published in 1968). Of course it’s not just Sophie’s clothes. The book is a wonderful snapshot of domestic life at the time. Her mother’s clothes, the table with the yellow formica top, the blue star pattern on the crockery, the design of the kitchen units, buns for tea, "Daddy's beer" and "Daddy's supper", the excitement of going out to a cafe – they all speak of another age. It is the age in which a huge swathe of the mother-readers of the book were the Sophies of their time. I think that’s why Sophie’s clothes head the list for me – I’m sure I had a shift dress (we’d have called it a pinafore) and patterned tights like hers.

I love the way Sophie and her mummy are so unfazed by the tiger, so hospitable to him. Then when Sophie’s daddy comes home, he sits in a chair with an expression that one can only describe as fazed. Fazed and gormless. I think the tiger experience passed him by emotionally as well as physically. To give him credit, he does come up with the café idea, but the gormless expression doesn’t leave him. He is a man out of his depth here.

My children’s favourite bit is the ...good-bye…good-bye…good-bye… weaving out of the tiger’s trumpet, curling in the air as the smile curls on his face. I imagine the editor saying to Judith Kerr “we’ll take those words out; they’re not really adding anything, are they? And they look a bit odd”, and Judith Kerr fighting her corner and saying “you might not like them, but children will love them. Trust me”.

And to finish, back to the mystery. The book is full of mystery. First, and on a rather mundane level, I am puzzled as to why her parents take Sophie to the café wearing her nightie. Second, and this is both mystical and mysterious I think, look at the ginger cat on the pavement, whom Sophie and her parents don’t notice as they head out in the dark to the café. Is he somehow the tiger? It is a full moon, after all.

Your turn now.

In another life

I have other lives. Do other people have other lives too? This was my other life tonight.

“Dinner-time” I called. “Ooh, goody goody” chorused the children, as they gathered round the table, their eager faces aglow with anticipation. “Oh, wait a minute, Mummy”, said 10-yo. “Would you mind if I just picked up my dirty socks from the middle of the sitting room floor before I came to the dinner table? It’ll only take a second.” “Oh, that’s a good idea”, said 6-yo. “I’ll do mine too. Perhaps we could tidy the whole room while we’re at it.” “No problem,” I replied, with a chuckle. “The food will taste all the better for the wait.”

“Mashed potato and home-made vegetable stew! My favourite!” said 10-yo. “Oh mine too” joined in 6-yo and 3-yo. If I had been left with any doubts as to their enjoyment of this simple yet nutritious fare, the silence, punctuated only by the sound of expertly-manipulated cutlery on china, would have dispelled them. “Tomato ketchup anyone?” “Oh, no thank you, Mummy. It just disguises the flavor of the food. Why would we want tomato ketchup?”

“Seconds?” I asked. “Thirds and fourths too, please”, came the answer. “Certainly! But remember to leave room for the stewed fruit I’ve made for pudding” I laughingly replied. “Ooooh, stewed fruit! What a treat!” rang the little voices.

“Please may I leave the table, Mummy, and thank you for such a delicious dinner. Shall I help you stack the dishwasher and clear up the kitchen. There’s nothing I want to watch on television and the Playstation is so boring.”

More on Emily Yeung

Letter to Managing Director
Marblemedia Production Company
Toronto

Dear Sir

I believe you produce This is Emily Yeung. It’s very good. She’s very good. I hope she has a future in television. It’s an imaginative programme. Kids like it because it is very much on their level, and adults like it because they picture their child doing the activity that Emily is doing, and being much more cute and clever than she. Don’t get me wrong. Emily is very cute and clever. It’s just that parents are smitten with their own children. You knew that already.

I like the theme music too.

This is Emily Yeung
She’ll score a goal, play pretend,
Make a bunch of brand new friends.
Learning laughing sharing smiling
We’ll have lots of fun [pause]
With Emily Yeung.

I’m afraid that, being English, the “bunch of brand new friends” creates a bit of an odd visual image. We don’t say that, you see. I see her with a clutch of Barbie-like plastic people in one hand, like a bunch of flowers or a bunch of carrots. Still, I suppose if you said “a lot of brand new friends”, as we would do in England, your North American audience would visualize an auction room with groups of children awaiting their turn amongst the drab second hand furniture. I like the tune too. Very jolly, with a reflective bit, almost like church music, in the middle.

You do what I was going to call a sister programme: This is Daniel Cook. I’ll have to call it a brother programme. He wears Emily’s trademark orange t-shirt and blue pants. He is very good in front of the cameras too, quick and intelligent. I think Emily, with her natural curiosity and ease with people, might become an investigative reporter of a soft kind. Daniel has more of the political interviewer about him. His adult companions don’t get away with any loose explanations, and he interrupts them shamelessly if he is ready to move on. Today he told the nice lady who was helping him recycle paper that pulp should be called pawater. A mixture of paper and water, you see. It’s a clever word. The nice lady had to agree that it was a better word than pulp.

I like This is Daniel Cook too. I have just one quibble with you. Cook doesn’t rhyme with fun. Didn’t anyone notice? You’ve changed the words to the theme tune, but you stuck with the last couplet:

We’ll have lots of fun [pause]
With Daniel Cook.

It doesn’t rhyme at all. Actually, Yeung doesn’t really rhyme with fun either, does it? We’ll give you that one though. It’s near enough, although you’re aiming at a preschool audience here – you ought to be more careful with your phonics, since schools all seem pretty keen on them. However, we’ll let that one pass, since the theme tune overall is so very good. But I’m sorry, I just can’t overlook [pause] Daniel Cook. I could forgive the lack of effort here if he had a name that was particularly challenging in the rhyme-finding department. Daniel Defoe. Daniel Fortescue. Daniel Molyneux-Cholmondley. These would present a challenge. Let’s face it though. Cook. That should have been pretty easy.

Come and take a look [pause]
With Daniel Cook.

There you are, you see. Easy-peasy. If you don’t like that, how about this?

Resistance he will not brook [pause]
Not Daniel Cook.

No? Well, I suppose it is a bit literary for the preschool audience (although you shouldn’t underestimate them, you know). Actually, Cook is a bit of a gift if you want to do some subtle merchandise advertising. I’m surprised you didn’t come up with

Watch the show, then buy the book [pause]
Of Daniel Cook.

There you are. Lots of ideas for you. I’ll be watching out for the next series to see if you’ve incorporated any of them. Don’t forget to credit me. Doesn’t have to be anywhere prominent – just a little nook.

We enjoy your shows, 3-yo and I. If you ever want to do an episode This is Emily Yeung in the Midwest then please do contact me. Or I could do something suitably English if you like: This is Daniel Cook baking scones. We’d be happy to host a production team here.

Yours faithfully

Iota

PS Since drafting this letter, my Canadian media informant has told me that in fact Daniel Cook preceded Emily Yeung. I just can't believe that. Do rhyming couplets mean nothing to you people?

Emergencies

Emily Yeung was visiting the 911 call centre. I don’t think they call it a call centre, actually. That’s something else. Something you wouldn’t really need in an emergency. Or at any other time. Anyway, emergency control command operation central centre, center, whatever. That’s where Emily Yeung was. Ah. You don’t know who Emily Yeung is? She is one of television’s best presenters. She is charming, intelligent, probing, polite, and very natural in front of the camera. She is 6 years old (and therefore “a big girl”) and she goes and does interesting things, or even everyday things, along with a film crew. It’s then edited into a very good 5 minutes of television for children. “You said that American kids’ tv is rubbish” I hear you say. I know, I know. Well, I’ve found another little nugget of good watching amongst the relentless cartoons. And actually, Emily Yeung is a Canadian production (I mention this because if I don't, some other smart alec will; a smart alec or a defensive Canadian).

Anyway, Emily Yeung was at the 911 place, and I started thinking to myself whether I wanted 3-yo to know about 911. She might get bad ideas. After all, Emily Yeung made it look rather fun. You get to pretend your teddy bear has fallen off a swing, and the paramedics come and play hospitals with you. Hm. I must remember to keep the phones out of reach.

This brings back memories of 10-yo, who loved the phone, and the times he dialed 999. Times. Yes. Three of them. But this is the sneaky thing. It was from three different locations: our house, and once from each grandparental home. So I avoided getting on the “very bad mothers who let their children play with the phone” register. In his defence, he didn’t mean to dial 999. Of course 999 was invented when dialing meant dialing, not pushing buttons (although we still say “dialing”, which must be rather confusing for the younger generation). It's clear that 999 would never have been chosen in the push button age. It is too obviously the combination that a wobbly toddler, pulling himself to stand at a desk on which a phone sits, and patting happily away at the buttons, is most likely to hit. That and the speaker on/off button, so that when his mother comes into the room, she is confused by the voice that is coming, seemingly out of nowhere, “Is Mummy there? Is anyone there with you? Where’s your Mummy?” Most disconcerting.

Yes, 911 is a much better number. Well done America. By the way, for those of you who have a phone-obsessed toddler, and want to know what happens if he dials the emergency services by mistake, don’t go out to a call box to try it. I’ll tell you for free. They confirm that there is no reason for the call, and then say “this is a service for emergencies and you are using valuable resources; please keep your child away from the phone in the future” which is totally fair enough, and you deserve to feel as small as you do. Don’t ask me what happens if they know your child does this repeatedly. That’s one for the public call box. Or we might find out if Emily Yeung ever visits a maternal correctional facility.

Auntie Clara

Now I don’t normally like being tagged or memed, but this one from Jo Beaufoix has tickled my fancy.

The rules:

1) players must list one fact that is relevant to their life for each letter in their middle name. If you don’t have a middle name then use a name that you like.
2) the other rules are to do with how to pass the tag on to other bloggers, but instead of doing that, I'm just going to say, if you want to have a go, please feel free, and go to Jo's blog to get the full rules. (Sorry, cheating, I know).

I don’t have a middle name, so I am going to use the name Iota.

I is for Iota. Iota is the letter i from the Greek alphabet. Iota is I. Iota is me. I is therefore also for identity. I have long been fascinated by the relationship between fiction and fact; The Purple Rose of Cairo is one of my favourite films. I’m sure any blogger will tell you, blogging means you are drawn into this puzzle in your own life. I am Iota, but it's not as simple as that. She has developed a life a little apart from mine. She has her own friends. (I think she might be rather nicer than me, actually. And I fear more interesting.) This is part of the fascination of blogging.

O is for Olbas oil. Obviously.

T, as in a nice cup of.

A might be for America, a big part of my life at the moment, but that would be too obvious. It might be for A nice cup of T, but that’s a bit repetitive, and anyway, I wouldn’t want to limit myself to just the one. So A can be for Auntie Clara, Husband’s sister, who is coming to visit us this week.

Auntie Clara plays a pretty good initial letter game herself. I played it with her not all that long ago. I got the atlas out, and we went through it, seeing how far we could get through the alphabet on countries she has visited. She is the most widely and most interestingly travelled person I know. I was trying to remember which letters she has left, and have just discovered that she has helpfully put a map on her Facebook page, with a little pin in every country she has been to. It's a pretty crowded map. According to that, she still has K, O, Q, X, Y and Z. I remember from our previous discussion that we decided she needed a trip to the Middle East, which could get her Oman, Qatar and Yemen. Then Africa for Kenya (unless she fitted in Kuwait when in the Middle East) and her pick of Zaire, Zambia and Zimbabwe (she’s been to Zanzibar, but we decided that didn’t count, although we thought it a pretty good try). X is always going to be a challenge, unless she can find Xanadu.

I’m afraid the Midwest will be very tame by her standards. She ideally likes her destination to be remote, full of dangerous diseases, a recent war-zone, and closed to foreigners unless you know someone in the Embassy. We can’t offer much in the way of exotic excitement. We do have trump cards though, in the form of a fine pair of nephews and a splendid niece. They are all excited at the thought of Auntie Clara’s visit. 3-yo has been mysteriously busying herself getting plastic tubs out of the kitchen cupboard, filling them with water, and picking leaves and grass from the garden to float in them. When these had been sitting on the kitchen counter for a couple of days and were getting to that slimy stage, I asked her “could I tidy these away now?” and she was horrified. “But they’re for Auntie Clara”.

So Auntie Clara, if you’re reading this, I’m afraid we can’t offer the kind of curious and astonishing foreign adventures that you are used to, but you do have some strange and wondrous vegetation arrangements to look forward to. Strange, wondrous and beginning to decompose.

Answers

Well, you got them both. Well done to Dan who was first with Olbas Oil, and Someonesmrs who was first with Savlon. Intriguingly, these are both people who know me from my pre-Iota UK life. I wonder if that gave them a head start. I didn’t have either of them down as the kind of people who would snoop in other people’s bathroom cabinets, so maybe it’s coincidence, although it does also cause me to reflect on the way we come to know people. Am I more obviously an Olbas-Savlon type if you meet me in person? Or is it just easier to guess these kind of details from the picture of someone built up and fleshed out over years rather than weeks?

So glory and smug feelings to you, Dan and Someonesmrs, but I loved some of the other answers. Oatcakes, oint ment, oxo cubes and ooo marmite – very creative. Lucozade (welcome, Strickley, and I’ve enjoyed your pictures of Cumbria this morning) does indeed always make me feel better – it’s another of those childhood comfort memories. We only drank it as a very special treat when ill and in need of building up our energy (although I later discovered that my mother used to keep a bottle of it hidden away for herself for secret swigs, which was definitely not fair play). Slimfast is a good guess, Beta Mum, and boy, could they use some of it here, but that’s another story. But cod liver oil with added malt? No. I can live without that. (Do you really like the taste? Have you seen anyone about that?) As for Sudocrem, another good guess, although sadly, I am pretty much through the Sudocrem stage. I am always tempted to spell it Pseudocrem anyway, so that would have been a P.

I did promise to tell you about the Savlon alternatives here. The leading brand is called Neosporin, but, along with the others on the shelves, it isn’t an antiseptic cream, it’s an antibiotic. Call me lax, but I really don’t think my children need antibiotic treatment every time they graze, bump, cut or otherwise mutilate themselves (by scrubbing a tattoo off their cheek with a facecloth so vigorously that they remove a patch of skin an inch and a half square which takes 3 weeks to heal, for example). I don’t want to contribute to the emergence of superbugs resistant to antibiotics, and my children’s immune systems seem to do the job perfectly well without. The real issue here, though, is the Neosporin commercial. You know I hate commercials, and this one really is one of the worst. It is almost impossible to avoid (or do they just have it programmed into my personal Cox Communications box?) and irritating to the point of… doh, I can’t think. Irritating to the point of self-mutilation with a facecloth.

The commercial shows a mother telling the story of how her precious daughter once had a clean cut on her finger, a good, oo, 3 or 4mm long. She washed the cut. She didn’t do anything else. It went a tiny bit red round the edge. She went to the doctor. He suggested she try Neosporin. The cut healed up. She will always use Neosporin. She hates to see her child suffer. She thinks all parents feel this way. She is sure we will all want to use Neosporin.

Where do I start? I can’t even begin to unpeel the layers of why this annoys me – it would make for very dull reading. It’s to do with manipulation of parents by playing on their worst feelings of inadequacy; it’s to do with commercialization of health issues; it’s to do with the way some mothers tell you how hopeless they are as a mother when what they really want you to draw from the story is how good they are as mother; it’s to do with the American obsession with medicine and drugs; it’s to do with having to get to grips with yet another brand name I don’t know.

I told you I shouldn’t start. How I would like to finish, though, is by refashioning the commercial for a UK audience. It would go like this: the mother is telling the story of her daughter’s cut finger. She phones up her GP. The receptionist says “is it an emergency? otherwise the next available appointment is a week on Thursday.” She blags her way through that one (although I’d like to see her do it), and when she sees the GP, he says to her “I can tell you’re a first time mother” (this is a direct quote from a real life GP - perhaps he’d like to appear in the commercial.) She hates to see her child suffer. She thinks all parents feel this way. She goes to her local friendly pharmacist who says “och Hen, the bairn’ll come to nae harm frae tha’ wee bitty scratch” but since she is set on purchasing a product of some description, she leaves the chemist’s with a little sky-blue tube with a white lid and white writing – that marvelous stuff Savlon (and a small bottle of Olbas Oil which was by the till and on special offer).

Competition II

I'm going to run another competition. Why not?

Husband's sister is coming to stay next week. She asked me if there was anything I'd like her to bring. There is, and you've got to guess what it is. Usual easily-transportable restrictions apply. I haven't seen it here, so US readers may struggle, but go on, have a guess anyway.

This is something that, if my experience is anything to go by, you use in childhood and then never think of again until you have your own children. Then the brand name comes winging its way into the forefront of your mind, and when you buy it in Boots, you are heart-warmed to find that the packaging has changed hardly at all. The very colour of the receptacle makes you feel better about life. Perhaps the product doesn't actually do any good at all, but just makes mothers feel better, and if mothers feel better, children seem to feel better too. Of course if your mother happened to use one of the competitor brands, and therefore you do too, this one might not spring so easily to mind, but I'm sure you'll know it. According to my sister-in-law, it's not actually available at the moment - something to do with a scare caused by animal rights activists. She asked if the Boots own brand will do, and I've said yes, although somehow it won't have quite the comforting familiarity. It begins with S.

I'll tell you the answer on Friday, but I think you'll get it before then. I'll also tell you why the US equivalent (which isn't really an equivalent, otherwise why would I be burdening my sister-in-law with this?) is a source of particular annoyance to me.

This competition is not open to members of my husband's family...

Competition

I'm going to run a competition. Why not?

I have one English friend here. When she went back to England for the summer, she asked me if there was anything I wanted her to buy me. It would have to be small, not fragile, not too heavy - easily transportable, in short. When I made my request, she said "oh yes, I was going to get some of that myself". Last week, a couple of days before I met up with her again, I saw the item in a health food shop, so I guess it's known over here, though not widely (and actually, it's not a food). I wonder if I've given you enough clues. Hm. I think I'd better tell you as well that it's two words, and begins with O (though you were expecting T, weren't you?). Too easy now...

No prizes, I'm afraid, except glory and smug feelings. I'll tell you the answer on Friday.

Back to School

The school year has got well and truly underway. The supplies are in, the children are in too. 3-yo has started preschool, or “free school”, as she first called it, which is a bit ironic as it isn’t. It would be in the UK, but here it isn’t. I don’t feel we’re quite getting our money’s worth yet. She missed her second morning as she was violently sick (that’s vomiting, for my US readers) the night before. And she will miss her fourth morning, as it’s Labor Day. Still, this week’s two remaining mornings, she took in her own inimitable 3 year old stride. More about her another time.

The boys look like American school boys. It’s something to do with the Henman-length white socks above trainers and below Bermuda shorts. It’s more than sartorial though. It’s something about their bearing. Their shoulders are held a bit more squarely, pushed a bit further back. There’s a small bounce in their stride, and their arms swing a little more. It’s a confident gait, but not a swagger. They sound more and more like American school boys too. When you ask them a question, they don’t reply “I don’t know”, but “I have no idea”. And when I picked them up one afternoon, 10-yo greeted me with “Today sucked”.

Classroom pets have been an important theme of the first week. In 10-yo’s class, they have a rat. We can opt to welcome it home at a week-end if we wish. I wasn’t too keen initially, but having met the rat at Meet the Teacher night, I felt better about it. She wasn’t too vermin-like, and really quite cute (the rat, that is). The class voted on a name, and the rat is now called Oreo. She is dark brown. 10-yo said he preferred one of the other suggested names. He thought Elizabeth suited her better.

In 6-yo’s class, they have a leopard gecko. Geckos and rats. The pet/pest line is fairly thin these days, isn’t it? I don’t think the gecko has a name yet. Meanwhile, in science, 6-yo is learning about mealworms. Each pupil has five of them in a pot. He has named one of his “Longy”, because it is longer than its friends. I asked him whether the others had names too, and he went a bit quiet. “Can you tell the others apart?” I asked. “What do you mean, pull them apart? In half? That’s not very nice.” By the time I’d explained, the moment had passed, so I never did discover if the other four have names. I suspect not. The girl at the next desk has one called Tricksy, because it does tricks. She said to it “roll over” and it rolled over so vigorously that it rolled right off her hand. Wow. Only a week back at school, and they’ve already learned to train mealworms. Not bad for First Graders.

6-yo wondered if they are called mealworms because they eat a lot. Of course, the leopard gecko might have a different take on it. As his teacher laughingly explained to us at Meet the Teacher night, she has set herself up for some delicate logistics. The pots of mealworms being studied and trained by the pupils have to be kept carefully separate from the one containing the gecko food.

In 10-yo’s class, the teacher has a reward system based on coupons. You earn coupons for A+ work or good behavior, and when you have enough, you can trade them in. If you trade in a small number, you can get a sticker or a pencil. Larger numbers will get you candy, extra recess, or a night off homework. The top reward, worth 150 coupons, is lunch out with the teacher (she pays first time, you pay subsequently). This shows how different school is since my day. I would have died a hundred deaths rather than go out for lunch with the teacher. It would have been painful in the extreme, and the kind of thing one wouldn’t have wished on one’s worst enemy (who for many children probably was the teacher). I can still remember the dreadful embarrassment of bumping into a teacher in a shop or the street, and willing my mother with all my might not to stop and talk. I am pleased that for my children, a teacher is someone who you would want to spend time with outside the classroom. And as marketing types know, there’s nothing like the promise of a free lunch to keep the punters happy.

You usually have to wait till the end of the school year for prize-giving, but this time round, it has come at the beginning. I am proud to collect the following:

the Thoughtful Blogger Award from Missing You Already,

and the Nice Matters Award from three people: the Rotten Correspondent, Ingenious Rose and Missing You Already (again).

You can picture me, shoes polished, socks pulled up, tie straight, hair neatly combed, walking briskly across the platform, shaking hands with the Head Teacher, remembering to smile and say thank you, as rehearsed, and returning to my seat, awards in hand. In hand. Not on computer as jpeg file ready for easy upload to blog page. I'm hoping they will teach me that now I'm a Second Grader at blogschool.

Thank you so much, Mya, IR and Rotten Corres.