Just the ones who misbehave and think that they can hide behind their mothers to sort out their battles.

There is a mum at schoolwho seems to think that her kids can do no wrong and at the slightest thing, she storms into the office and threatens to move her kids.
Shame she’s never done it though. They’re horrid.

Anyhoo, I wasn’t in a great mood. I’d just been crying in the car, due to some questions that B had been asking that I was finding hard to answer* and as we were walking through the gates, B’s cousins arrived.
The older kids at school are off on their residential today, so spirits were very high.
B ran over to one of his cousins to show his pencil case, and this kid, lets call him Jacob, put both hands out and pushed B in the chest.
B went flying, but somehow didn’t fall, I’d seen it all and shouted at Jacob.
“Oi. What do you think you’re doing?”
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were darting around looking for his mum.
I bent down to him and said “If you touch my son again, I’m going to make your life so miserable at this school. There’s only just over a week left of school and you’re away for the rest of this week. Stay away from B.”
Then I walked off around the corner with B to his class.
When I came back towards the gate his mother was waiting for me.
She asked what Jacob had done and I told her.
She said that Jacob had told her that B had been pestering them.
I said “No, B was showing something to his cousin. He wasn’t even talking to Jacob”
Jacob then started shouting that B had been bothering him and I just looked at him and he shut up.
His mum, just said, “Right, never mind, we’ll just leave it”
I said, “No. Your son just pushed B for no reason. If this were the other way round you’d be ranting and raving and complaining to the school. Maybe I ought to go and have a word with the Head?”
The other mum, just said “Oh come on Paws, we don’t need to do that, do we?” and kind of laughed.
I told her that I’d leave it this time, but if it happened again, I’d be making an official complaint.

The fucking woman does my head in. I wish she’d just move her kids instead of threatening to do it.

This is the same woman who complained when there was an “incident” at the beginning of the year involving Jacob and B.

They had been playing roughly and another kid was hurt. Not seriously, but enough to cry. Jacob and B both had their playtimes cancelled for the rest of that week. Fair enough. B knows that they’re not supposed to play roughly and as far as I’m concerned, he misbehaved ~ he gets punished.

But the other mum didn’t agree. She went into the office on the following day and kicked up a storm so the punishment was cancelled.    I was not impressed with this, at all. So off I trundled into the school. Told the Headmistress that I wasn’t happy about it. Told her that if she dishes out a punishment, she has to see it through, otherwise the children would never learn their lessons and wouldn’t take her seriously in the future.  I also told her that if she didn’t punish the two boys, I wouldn’t allow her to punish B ever again, as she can’t just pick and choose what rules to enforce.

The punishment was reinforced and Jacob’s mother didn’t speak to me for about two wonderfully quiet weeks.

*My Dad died 15 years ago today and B had been asking me about him on the drive to school.

Two years ago, this month we had the God awful floods here.
Apparently one of the main reasons that Gloucestershire was so badly affected by the sheer amount of rain was that our gully’s were blocked.

Look what’s going around my village at the moment.

I don’t know when it started, but apparently for your birthday, you’re expected to take cakes, sweets and whatnot into school to share with your classmates.

This did not happen when I was at school. In my day, you were lucky if the teacher would even remember to wish you a Happy Birthday, but then, I fucking hated school and did my best not to go on my birthday, so maybe that’s why.

But, having said that, in my day, just going to a party was a big enough treat. Nowadays the kids expect a fucking party bag as well. Full of all kinds of shit, that I’m sure the parents chuck in the bin as soon as the kids backs are turned ~ or is that just me?

Anyway, back from that tangent.  B’s birthday is in August when the school is on holidays, so today I have spent the morning baking M&M cookies for him to take to school to share with his mates tomorrow.

There are thousands of the buggars. Bearing in mind that there are only 12 kids, maximum in B’s class.

I have at least 80 of these cookies ~ and that’s not counting the ones that I’ve eaten.

I made a couple of really big ones for home. Next to a pen to show the sizing scale.

Final products. There were cookies still in the oven when I took this photo, so I have ended up with 3 cookie tines full of M&M cookies as well as a tuperware box.

Considering the amount of coverage that Michael Jackson’s death has received on both the TV and the radio, I’m surprised that it took so long for B to ask me questions.

This conversation took place the day after Micheal Jackson died and I was watching the news.

B ~ “Mummy, who is Michael Jackson?

Me ~ He was a singer and a very good dancer.

B ~ But he’s dead now?

Me ~ Yes, he is.

B ~ How did he die?

Me ~ I think he was poorly.

B ~ Did he take poison?

B is rather obsessed with poison at the moment.  Not sure why or where it’s come from , but we’re hoping that it’s a phase that won’t last long.

Me ~ No, I don’t think so. Although I think he may have taken some medicine.

B ~ But medicine makes you better!

Me ~ Yes, but if you’re really, really poorly it doesn’t always work.

B ~ Like when I was sick after I had that medicine for my cough?

Me ~ Yes. Just like that. But you got better soon afterwards, didn’t you!

B ~ I suppose.      Was he married?

Me ~ Ummm, he was, but I don’t think he was when he died.

B ~ Maybe it’s his Mum then.

Me ~ Maybe who is his mum?

B ~ The lady that they always show on the news, when they talk about him.

Me ~ I haven’t seen a lady.

B ~  Yes. They always show the picture.

Me ~ Ok. I’ll keep an eye out for it.

A few moment later.

B ~ There she is. That’s the lady.

Me ~ No sweetheart, that was how Michael Jackson looked just before he died.

B ~ Freak!

I just let that one go.

So, the countdown is on.

In just 10 days time I will be completing my final stint as an After School Club organiser at B’s school. Seriously, I can’t wait to hand in my bleeper when I finish.

In 12 days, my buddy, Emma and I are driving 341 miles up to Edinburgh to see Duran Duran play at Edinburgh Castle. I’m so excited about this that I may well pop.

And when I come back, B will have finished school for the summer and we’ll be faced with hoping that the weather stays good so that we can find stuff to fill those 7 weeks with.

Then, come September, B will be starting year 4 of primary school, he’ll have had his 8th birthday and I will have freaked out at how he got so old, so quickly.

I’ve been helping the run the After School Club at B’s school for over a year now.  When I first started doing it, it was just me and the woman (who was weird as fuck) who had been doing it for five years.   She had plans on moving up from the AS Club to becoming a TA, but B’s school is tiny and the two TA’s who were already there weren’t leaving for love nor money.   She was also desperate for a baby. Her words not mine, and I think that working at the school was a way for her to surround herself with kids as she had no luck in concieving.  These are all things that she told me within the first hour of me meeting her.  Why she felt the need to share such things with me, I’ll never know.

Then, out of the blue, last September she handed in her notice. She’d had a huge tax rebate, her husband was going to be having major surgery so she decided to nurse him back to health and then start looking, in earnest for a TA job.  Bravo I thought. Somebody who is actualy going out for what they want. There aren’t enough people like that, in my opinion.

So then the search for another person to join the AS club began.  The main person who would be running it as well as doing all of the crappy jobs that go with it, was eventually given to a lovely girl, of about 20.  Let’s call her Rebecca. And then another position was created and another Mum got that job. Let’s call her Cindy.

Cindy is, in short, a shit stirrer.  She caused so much trouble with her lies and stirring that I actually considered moving B to another school. Thankfully, I came to my senses and had a nice long chat with B’s teacher, who put everything into perspective for me and I’m once again very happy with the school that B goes to.

She’s also one of the reason’s that I have handed in my notice at the AS club and won’t be doing it anymore after this month.

Last week, or it may have been the week before I had my appraisel at the school. Although I’m leaving, it’s one of those things that just has to be done.

The Head even said as much as the success of the after school club was down to me.
And they asked if there was anything they could do to stop me from leaving. But I said no and was perfectly straight with them about some of the things that Cindy had told me about the way that B had been treated by the teachers at the school and that I was just sick and tired of all of the backstabbing, the gossip and the lies.

The Head and the Secretary told me that they had already had complaints about Cindy and her behaviour and that they had suspected for a while that she was the reason that I was leaving.
The following day, Cindy had her appraisal.
Cindy did not have such a good one.  She sent me a text the  afternoon after her appraisal saying that the Head had ripped into her.
The Head had had complaints that Cindy was talking (gossipping) with her friends about some of the kids at school, and some other parents had overheard and told the head.
Cindy came out of the office after the meeting and just burst into tears. She’s been told that the only reason that she wasn’t sacked was because none of the other parents were willing to sign anything, and that the school are keeping a very close eye on her. She was also made to re~sign her confidentiality agreement.

The thing is, that I know the above to be true. She does gossip with her little group of shitstirrers about the kids and their parents, and I’m not surprised that it’s got back to the Head, as our school is so small, so it was bound to happen sooner or later.
Cindy and the Head don’t like each other either, and this really hasn’t helped matters. Cindy is always bitching to me about the Head and isn’t discreet at all.
Her son goes up into the final year in September, which the Head teaches and her son is in a complete frenzy about it because Cindy keeps telling him (and anyone else who will listen) that the Head is a bully and that she doesn’t like boys unless they’re the weird little creepy good boys. So now Cindy’s son is all at the thought of being taught only by her next year.
I’ve asked her why she doesn’t just move her son to another school and have it over and done with, but she says that she doesn’t want to move him again (this is his 2nd school) and she doesn’t want him to miss out on the fun in the final year.
But. If he’s so worried about the Head he’s not going to have a good final year is he?
But, if it was your child and you truly believed this, wouldn’t you move him?

Everyday I walk Gemma.  And almost every day we walk in this field. The exception being if I’m in a major hurry to do something or go somewhere and on those days, we have a walk around the park, but 9 times out of 10, we walk around this field.

There is a tree in the field which we imaginatively have named the “lonely tree”.  Because it stands alone in the middle of the field. In the summer it’s somewhere to get a bit of shade, and in the winter it’s somewhere for the horses to shelter from the wind, rain, sleet and snow.   As you can see in this photo which was taken on a cold and windy day.

One day last week, I made my way up to the lonely tree with Gemma. As I got closer I could see that there was something on the trunk of the tree.   It turned out to be a couple of pieces of paper.   The bottom piece says “Rest in Peace Curly. Sleep tight” and then on top of that was a pink heart shape.    The photo isn’t great. I only had my camera-phone with me and Gemma kept pouncing on me as I wasn’t throwing her toy nearly enough.

Today, I returned to the field, and to the lonely tree, where the message above had been taken away and replaced with this:

It’s a nice piece of A4 paper, telling a few more details about the person who has obviously passed away and a small bunch of flowers.

I’ve no idea of who this chap is. I’ve searched the local newspapers online but it’s not throwing up any information, so all I can assume is that he loved this field, the hill that it leads to , or maybe the village that I live in and his family have decided that it’s as good a place as any to remember him by.

Back in January, I made a half arsed New Years Resolution to start wearing make~up on a regular basis.  I can look back now and say with conviction that it was a half arsed resolution, because it didn’t last long and I didn’t really believe it when I said, wrote, typed it.

But. Since becoming a regular reader of a certain blog, I have realised that I really ought to crack on and try again.  I’ve always known that I feel better, perhaps more confident, when wearing Make Up and have managed to nick a couple of ideas, hints and tricks from PJB in the meantime.

Last month, I took stock of my make up.  And believe me, for some reason, I have loads. 1 vanity case and 2 reasonably sized bags. All of them full of crap, that I just don’t use.  I threw out everything that had been opened, made a list of the things that I simply had to have ~ which thankfully only consisted of 3 items ~ and trundled off to town.

I started off well. I wore make up for at least a week, but once again I have since become rather lazy about it.

The thing is. I don’t mind putting it on.  In fact, it gives me a pretty much guaranteed few minutes to sit down in the morning, when I’m usually running around sorting out B’s breakfast, lunch, feeding the bloody cat who meows as though she’s not been fed for a month and trying not to trip over the dog-bot.

The thing that I’ve always hated ~ and yes, I really do resent having to do it ~ is the removal of the bloody stuff.

I’ve always been more of a “quick wash of the face, moisturise, bed” kind of bedtime routine girl, and that just doesn’t seem possible when you’ve been wearing mascara.  Or maybe it’s the way that I put mascara on or the crap that I use to take it off again.  I seem to need industrial strength remover and even with that, I still end up with it flaked beneath my eyes in the morning. And there’s nothing better to see first thing in the morning than that ever attractive Bride of Frankenstein look.

So, basically, I think what I’m saying, is that, the reason that I don’t really wear make up is that I’m just too damn lazy to take the stuff off again. But. I already knew that.  So, I’m not actually saying anything that will come as a surprise to me.

But, I’m also going to persevere. I may give up again, for a while, but as long as I pick myself up again, I don’t see that it matters.

Plus, I think I’m getting to that age where I can’t shouldn’t really been seen in public without at least a little help.

I have, at last, told the school that I will no longer be doing the After~school club after next month. As much as I would like to just walk away without so much as a backward glance, I wouldn’t just leave them in the lurch.

Well, no. That’s not quite true. I would do that, if they had pissed me about, but they haven’t so that would just be a shitty thing to do. Mainly to the kids, as they’d be lumbered with one of the teachers, or God forbid, the Headmistress in my place ~ and that just woudn’t be any fun for anyone ~ except perhaps me, who would be laughing from the sidelines.

I’ve been working there for over a year now, and have never really enjoyed it. Mainly because on the nights that I work there, the children that I despise the most are always there. And because I’m so fucking unlucky, they’re always booked in for the full 2 hours.  It’s got to the point where I hate these kids so much, that when they misbehave ~ which they always do ~ I can’t tell them off. I have to get one of the other staff members to do it, because I would just go too far and end up banning them from the club.

As you can see. When I dislike someone, I go the whole hog but thankfully, I am aware of this and manage to work around it.

Another reason is that one of the other people that run the club with me is another mum from the school and I’ve never particularly trusted her but now I just can’t bear to speak to her.  This woman has a real bee in her bonnet about the Headmistress at B’s school and is doing her best to go round all the other mums and spread the hate.  In fact there’s actually a little group of mum’s who are doing this, all without any actual reason and of course, without proof and to be honest, the sooner I get away from them, the better, because after every conversation that I have with them, I just end up walking away feeling drained. No matter what we start the conversation talking about, within a minute (and I have tested this out) we she turns the subject around to the Head.

Seriously, if she has such an issue, why the fuck doesn’t she just get her son and move him to another school?   Especially since in September he’ll be in his final year at our school and he will be taught exclusively by the Head.  It’s not rocket science, is it?

Look at what I bought today.

Check out the packaging! It’s the good old fashioned packet that we had back in the day.

I wish I’d bought more than one packet now though.