Wednesday 31 October 2007

Nose jokes

My nose knows no limit, it seems, as a source of inspiration to my sympathetic colleagues.

There is nostopping them.

Yesterday, they suggested that I should be the prime organiser of the Comic Relief Red Nose Day fundraising activities... (such a pity that doesn't come until March... I certainly hope that my nose has recovered by then? )

They've accused me of being a secret rugby player.

They put me forward for the First Aid course - primarily for self-help.

Looking at the enormous purplish-black bruises under my eyes, they've made comments about excessive use of eye make-up. (If only...)

All in the course of one half hour meeting.

I just love them all.

Tuesday 30 October 2007

PS

After we'd read all the 'suggestions', including the one below, the kids asked me how it had really happened.

I told them.

'No way!' some of them said. 'You don't go surfing. What really happened?'

I didn't need to say another word. A furious argument erupted within the class as one faction sought to convince the other that their elderly teacher does, in fact, surf.

A wave of respect seemed to flood the room, and the sea breeze brought admiring whispers with it.

'Cool!'

What really happened to the Nose...

This is what one of the nine year olds wrote:

'Mrs Pollard was walking down the stairs when she tripped flat on her face. It didn't hurt.

She carried on until the door swung open by the wind and hit her in the face. She fell to the floor in agony.

Holding her head in her hands, she screamed at the top of her voice to let the world know she was hurt.

Mr Pollard came running in to see if she was all right.

He was scared to death! "You're not going to school today," he said.

"Well, if I'm not going to school, I might as well have a party," replied Mrs Pollard.'

Some of the other suggestions involved ogres, a visit to Club Penguin (internet chat site for under 11s!) and my deciding not to go to school in favour of consuming large quantities of pizza and drinking umpteen gin and tonics!

Priceless!

The broken nose - cause for more merriment

Back to school, and I'm not looking forward to the comments - least of all from the children.

My husband reckons my cred is going to skyrocket. After all, a surfing accident is much more exciting than falling down stairs or walking into a moving cupboard.

It's going to be the topic of some instant creative writing:

"The hapless prince screamed, struggling against the ropes which tied him, as the fearsome dragon approached. Dodging its fetid breath, Mrs Pollard leapt forward, brandishing her trusty sword Dragonslayer.

Darting between the dragon's enormous legs, she jabbed Dragonslayer upwards, piercing its scaly throat. As soon as the noxious green blood came pouring out, she raced out from underneath the monster.

Quick as she was, she was not quick enough. As she fled to safety, the dragon raked its claws across her face in a last, feeble attempt. She heard the ominous crack of her nose breaking, but she ignored the pain as the dragon crashed to the ground, dead."

Beat that, kids!

Monday 29 October 2007

Broken Nose

5 days into this saga, and the doctor still won't take a look until at least a week has passed and the swelling has gone down. The trouble is, not having experienced this before - I didn't play rugby as a young girl - I'm not sure what to expect. Particularly if, when he 'tweaks' it back into place - just like that - the bruising will start all over again.

It's embarrassing enough as it is. I endured a barrage of laughter and mockery at church last night - the word 'silly' cropped up rather too frequently for my liking.

Until one lovely girl said, 'Well, at least it makes a good story!'

I'm in my fifties - not that I feel like that, obviously - and broke it surfing. A wave tipped me off my surfboard and the board floated away. The next wave came crashing in on the heels of the first, so the surfboard came barrelling back in.

I tried to grab it, and missed. It caught me squarely on the nose. Instant break, lots of blood, quick trip to Accident and Emergency, avoiding the smirks of the medical staff on the way.

Now I look like a sunburnt spectacled bear.

Sunday 28 October 2007

Learning Life Skills

Going off to uni is a big step. It's not so much the being away from home, though that doesn't help: after all, who is going to be around to answer difficult questions like 'How much washing powder do I put into the machine?'

It's finding all those life skills necessary for survival. Food shopping, cooking, washing up, washing, drying....

Of course, you try to train them up. You encourage them to wash up - ACTIVELY. They need the practice. You teach them how to cook - with varying degrees of success. It's amazing how easy it is to learn to cook biscuits and cake, but a main dish is SO complicated and so much trouble. Why bother, when frozen microwaveable meals are so easy to come by? (This attitude changes dramatically once the parents are no longer footing the bill.)

The washing machine... well, I have to admit that I failed there. Although I tried to leave them to do all their own washing, reasons of economy led me to trawl their rooms at times in order to run a full machine.

Then personality comes into it as well. One may be skilled in keeping a bedroom clean and tidy, another might just LOVE ironing. (Such a pity when they leave home...). One might love to cook - another is brilliant at using up all those leftovers in the fridge, especially when there is enough for a second meal for the family.

Trying to teach someone how to do something when it is not in their natural inclination and they know someone else is available to do it for them... well, what's the point? Life is too short to sweat about these things - it will all work out on a 'need to know how' basis later on. As a parent, you can just do your best.

But however well the kids are trained and taught, it's still not easy. There is just so much to learn to do, especially in a strange place with unfamiliar appliances. My two have coped really well... so maybe they were better prepared than I thought...

Saturday 27 October 2007

Contacting The Empty Nest

When the kids go away, of course you want to stay in touch with them. They'd already spent 5 months in Peru and Mozambique respectively, where we could only chat to them every couple of weeks.

That seemed luxurious in itself, remembering my own travels pre-internet, pre-email and pre-Skype.

Now they are at uni, we have the luxury of being able to talk over the Internet any time they are online with Skype. They call us, we call them, almost every day.

So when a few days had gone by without our daughter even appearing on line, and with news of our own to tell them, my husband decided to send a text. She rang up immediately.

It appeared she had been working so hard on an essay that she hadn't even logged in to her internet account. Who says that students just have a good time of partying? At least we had the satisfaction of knowing that the fees weren't going to waste (she is VERY sociable).

So what was the secret? You need a strong hook to catch these busy people, and we had found an effective one. 'Mum has broken her nose surfing.' read the text.

I don't recommend actually doing this, nor pretending that you have done something equally startling - remember the boy who cried wolf? Maybe store up a few of the more dramatic incidents in life for these 'non-contact' occasions.

Nothing ever happens to you, do I hear you say? Time to start! Look at the benefits - your life spiced up and increased communication with your loved ones!

Friday 26 October 2007

Beginnings

We took them over about four weeks ago, helped unpack, find their way to the shops, and so on.

We spent more money on grocery shopping in one go than I have ever done in my entire life, stocking them up with heavy essentials of rice, baked beans and chocolate biscuits. It was incredibly stressful trying to manage four people rushing round a strange supermarket, throwing items apparently randomly - despite my list, torn into shopping-sized pieces - into trolleys.

Which leads me to something I find irritating - going into the same supermarket chain, yet the layout is often completely different. On this occasion, the rice was cosying up to... the cornflakes.

Now where is the logic in that? It's not as if we eat rice for breakfast in this country. Or maybe it was a subversive shelf stacker trying to cause havoc and headaches among the shoppers. (I know, I know... computerization means that such a person would immediately be identified - possibly by their incriminating fingerprints - and loaded onto the exit conveyor belt before he or she could say checkout.)

But why can't supermarket layout be standardized by government directive - we are, after all, heading in the direction of total government control on all aspects of our lives. Obesity, now: why not just put all the fat-laden foods into one aisle and call it that: The Fat Aisle for Irresponsible Citizens. There's an idea: sales would rocket.

There were a few minor errors - my husband bought ONE enormous packet of washing powder which would normally last our whole family several months.

Going by the rate of clothes washing since - coupled with the difficulty of one twin having to negotiate with the other for the powder - this will last them for the whole three years.

Fortunately, I did some stocking up on my own behalf and am now revelling in avoiding the mega shop for a few more weeks. Aah.

Thursday 25 October 2007

The Empty Next

Actually, The Empty Nest. Have just come back from a visit to the kids at uni, four weeks into their first term there and an empty house here.

The Empty Next is more true than Freudian slip, though I'm not really feeling that at the moment. I know that a lot of women feel as if their life has stopped and they face an empty future, but it hasn't hit me like that.

I suppose I know they'll be back for holidays and I'm already used to absences lasting several months: both kids spent time on other continents during their gap years.

But the silence still hits me at times.

I remember the days I longed to be in a silent house, when even the dog had been taken out for a walk. Without him intruding his giant personality encased in a pint-sized terrier body, I could experience the peace of solitude.

Now, I don't like too much of it. Not too much emptiness.