The boys go back to school, happy to see their friends. First day of homework is a real struggle to get back into the routine. J then comes down with the symptoms of his allergy and I realise that he has had a reaction to a particular brand of sunscreen used on him on the Sunday whilst they were skiing. So he spends 2 days in bed, with a face like a balloon, fever and rash. Poor child. We’re now on the case and working out the next steps with the kinderartz, who we manage to see on the Friday.
J’s teacher rings on the Wednesday to see how he is – which was very kind of her. She is concerned that he might fall behind with his work, but I assure her that he had already done all the homework from Monday. I explain that he doesn’t want to come in to school until his face has gone back to its normal shape and size because he’s worried that he will be teased. She understands completely, but is concerned for him not to miss a particular lesson on the Thursday – the start of their new project, on electricity. So she says that she will explain to the class that they must be kind to him if he still looks a bit strange and says that he need only come in for that lesson if he's still rough.
Thursday dawns, and, whilst his face is still quite red, the swelling has reduced significantly so he goes to school, thrilled to be able to do so after 2 boring days at home with me. Hurrah for both of us. He finally remembers to take in the third of the “Secret Santa” presents for the girl who he sits next to. Not very secret, but it must be a bit hard to keep it quiet when you’ve been allocated your desk-mate.
All week C goes to school as usual, and on the Monday comes home at lunchtime declaring that that he understood his class teacher. Hurrah ! But I’m not convinced : at teatime he comes home with what seems like a crazy volume of handarbeit homework – 20 lengths of 25cm of simple crochet to be done by next Monday. Now, whilst I was a keen dressmaker in my misspent youth and still enjoy making things with my trusty sewing machine, I never took to either knitting or crochet – to my mother’s despair, naturally. So my heart sinks at the thought of struggling through all this wretched needlework. I have no idea where to start, and no idea where my needlework bible is. It must be here somewhere, I know I’ve seen it….. but C is struggling to get back into a routine with any homework at all this week, and spends most of the time having a fit of the sillies. It must be the moon. Or the wind. Or the gin.
By Thursday he still hasn’t started this damned crochet and I am losing patience – partly with myself as I’m struggling to understand the instructions I’ve found on t’internet. However, after a few tears of frustration from both him and me we finally have a breakthrough and he’s off. By Saturday night he’s managed just 11 lengths, so I – very naughtily – turn into the crochet fairy and knock up a further 7 lengths for him so he’s only got 2 to do on Sunday. I wouldn’t normally do his homework for him but I’m not convinced he’s right about 20 lengths of it. We’ll find out next Monday. I just hope we did the right stitch.
J’s teacher rings on the Wednesday to see how he is – which was very kind of her. She is concerned that he might fall behind with his work, but I assure her that he had already done all the homework from Monday. I explain that he doesn’t want to come in to school until his face has gone back to its normal shape and size because he’s worried that he will be teased. She understands completely, but is concerned for him not to miss a particular lesson on the Thursday – the start of their new project, on electricity. So she says that she will explain to the class that they must be kind to him if he still looks a bit strange and says that he need only come in for that lesson if he's still rough.
Thursday dawns, and, whilst his face is still quite red, the swelling has reduced significantly so he goes to school, thrilled to be able to do so after 2 boring days at home with me. Hurrah for both of us. He finally remembers to take in the third of the “Secret Santa” presents for the girl who he sits next to. Not very secret, but it must be a bit hard to keep it quiet when you’ve been allocated your desk-mate.
All week C goes to school as usual, and on the Monday comes home at lunchtime declaring that that he understood his class teacher. Hurrah ! But I’m not convinced : at teatime he comes home with what seems like a crazy volume of handarbeit homework – 20 lengths of 25cm of simple crochet to be done by next Monday. Now, whilst I was a keen dressmaker in my misspent youth and still enjoy making things with my trusty sewing machine, I never took to either knitting or crochet – to my mother’s despair, naturally. So my heart sinks at the thought of struggling through all this wretched needlework. I have no idea where to start, and no idea where my needlework bible is. It must be here somewhere, I know I’ve seen it….. but C is struggling to get back into a routine with any homework at all this week, and spends most of the time having a fit of the sillies. It must be the moon. Or the wind. Or the gin.
By Thursday he still hasn’t started this damned crochet and I am losing patience – partly with myself as I’m struggling to understand the instructions I’ve found on t’internet. However, after a few tears of frustration from both him and me we finally have a breakthrough and he’s off. By Saturday night he’s managed just 11 lengths, so I – very naughtily – turn into the crochet fairy and knock up a further 7 lengths for him so he’s only got 2 to do on Sunday. I wouldn’t normally do his homework for him but I’m not convinced he’s right about 20 lengths of it. We’ll find out next Monday. I just hope we did the right stitch.
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