"A" Team, at last

Son was very excited when I picked him up last Friday. He had been picked to run in the 'A' team for Sports Day. They had done qualifying runs some times back and his time was good enough to go into the 'A's'.

In everything else -- football, rugby, hockey, cricket -- he's been in the C's or B's. So this is great encouragement to him.

I've never thought of him as a runner as such. Having said that he surprised everyone by coming in third in his qualifying race on Sports Day last year. But there is great competition amongst the boys. All the best to him.

On Wednesday last week husband and I met with his Form teacher. There was very little she could tell us. Everything was good with him, it seemed.

He appears to have lots of friends. His writing is flowing. His vocabulary and grasp of the English language is good. He shows great maturity of thought, for example, when it came to writing about the one object he would take with him if he were going to the Arctic. A warm hat was his choice whilst his classmates were bringing their PS1 and PS2's.

OK.

His Form teacher is new to the school. When we noted that son refused to write two years ago because he thought his handwriting was not good enough, she was surprised. No one seemed to have briefed her on that.

Well, we noticed that with the new teachers at school, son does not come with any 'baggage'.

Which explains why the new Drama teacher gave him the starring part in the class play earlier this year. A far cry from being given four lines when he asked for a 'main part' previously.

To be fair he is not a 'natural' actor. Just as he is not a 'natural' footballer. But he is extremely capable in learning lines, and when he's given good acting directions, would follow it to the letter. Suits some types of directors more than others, I guess.

Still, he confessed to shedding a few tears on Friday when he was being very quiet after swimming. We are used to him "getting into the zone".

There are times when he would 'blank' and seems in a world of his own. It happens before he performs on the piano. It happens when he has a serious thought or when he tries to work out some complicated connection. It happens any where, sometimes at dinner table.

His classmates noticed he was very quiet. But boys being boys they could not leave him alone. Someone said to another, "LT is crying."

He was not, but when others started echoing that same comment, he did indeed cry.

He has to learn that he could tell this people: sometimes people wish to be quiet and think about something rather serious.

Ah, well.

Just eat!

Fridays are difficult days to cook for. Typically I cook two meals for the evening. One for son before he gets to Cubs, and another meal for when husband gets back and we eat together.

Today, being half-term and no cubs, it was just a fried rice with some fresh prawns (from our local fishmonger), using up food left over from previous meals. Dessert was all the fruit left in the fridge topped with a crumble, with some broken digestive biscuits thrown in.

As we served up dessert, son went on about "whether custard is a colloid".

O! Just eat!

PS: Custard IS a colloid.

An interesting day

Yesterday son had a play date with a female friend from church.

She's only six years old, very intelligent, and the two seemed to get on really well.

Her family are just back from from East Asia after several years teaching out there. We had lunch with them some months ago and we noticed these two highly intelligent children got on very well.

We had been clearing/sorting son's Lego. You wouldn't think any one child could have so much Lego. Anyway, instead of chocolates we decided that son would give her a bag of Lego bricks.

He packed a reasonable number of pieces, with all sorts of shapes of bricks, with mini-figures and all. Very generous of him, really.

Young lady friend was delighted. Her parents had packed her Lego away and couldn't find them after the house move! She noted too that she only had basic pieces and son gave her a very good selection of different types.

Today I asked him if he felt a bit lonely being an only child. A bit, he said.

Would he like to 'adopt' this little girl as her 'sister'.

"I don't think she's up for adopting," he said.

You have to laugh. I said, "You know, we could do things together with her. Go visit places, etc."

I think his response was "maybe".

PS: Also learned from young lady's mum that it is not 'politically correct' to say that my son is classified as 'SEN'. In an ordinary school he would be on the 'G&T' register. But since the school does not have a 'G&T' list, he is 'SEN' and the school has bent over backwards to help him.

Must participate more!

Report cards came back.

Son shows consistently good results but most of the teachers indicate that he does not put in his best effort and all say that he could participate more in class.

So I mentioned that at one meal time. His response?

He does participate, but it gets a bit embarrassing to be giving all the right answers. He does not wish to show his friends up.

Dad says, you let the teachers worry about that.

For a young man for whom tests have shown that he lacks social comprehension, his sensitivity towards his classmates is to be lauded, I think.

The teacher has indicated that he gets on with everyone in class and is well respected. How long would this continue if he does, as the teachers expect, to put his hand up to give all the correct answers, or even incorrect ones?

The plan now is at least for half a term he participates as much as possible, regardless of what his mates might think of him.

He's also getting a bit tired of being made to play the piano at school music classes, he says. "It would be nice if I could play the glockenspiel (spelling?). "But because he is the most proficient pianist he gets the job of doing that. Never mind.

He is revelling in how everyone wants to be on his team when it comes to anything to do with music.

Blogger trouble

Believe it or not! My Organic-Ally blog has been flagged as a SPAM blog.

Very funny.

Got a message from the Google folks and I thought: how do I know THEIR email was genuine. Ha!

Any way, since this blog is about my son I thought I should repeat what I had posted there (tried to, any way) over here as well.

====================

It's good to talk ... listen

On Tuesday I heard a BBC programme in the afternoon (hands on the sewing machine, ears to the radio, that's multi-tasking?) which made me feel completely vindicated about not letting my son watch TV for the first two years of his life.

Well, not all TV, but children's TV. He was allowed to watch sport and news.

The psychologist (Arik Sigmund) on the programme confirmed my hunch that children's TV is bad for the developing baby/toddler brain.

According to scientific studies children who watched 'educational DVDs' were not any better in their comprehension and vocabulary when compared to those who watched The Simpsons and Oprah Winfrey. The only group with superior ability were "those who watched none of those but simply incidentally hear background conversation of their parents with others".

He concluded that listening which forces us to 'paint pictures in our mind' is better at fostering cognitive development. Well, there!

I remember feeding my baby with the radio tuned to BBC Radio 4. It often took an hour to nurse him at each feed. When he was a little older we 'invested' in CDs which told stories. There was even one which adapted Shakespeare themes.

Growing up in a rather poor family where we could not afford the TV -- my father justified it by saying it did us no good, and he was right -- our entertainment was of listening and reading.

There was Rediffusion ( a wired service, cheap to subscribe to) which gave us programmes in Mandarin, Cantonese and English, including BBC programmes. In the evenings we sat down to do homework, listened to drama on Rediffusion (usually a detective, a soppy soap, or a ghostly tale) and when that was done, Mum would play some of her Cantonese opera on tape (she had recorded this off the Rediffusion).

She sang along with the opera, and we learned to do much the same!

Only when I was sixteen when a grown-up cousin decided that he had had enough of his old black and white TV and passed it on to us was I able to watch myself on TV. Yes, I used to appear on TV as part of the school band at 'Central Judging', Youth Festival, or even in special recordings with the Singapore Schools Orchestra (where I played the trombone) but always needed to go to a neighbour's house to do that.

I don't think living without TV did me any harm. Indeed it forced me to 'paint pictures in my mind' and I was determined that my son would share the same privilege.

Coincidentally when I met him at school later that day son showed me his exam results and I had another pleasant surprise. He sat exams in English, Maths, Science, History, Geography, Religious Studies and attained 90-something percent in all, with 100% in English Comprehension.

Last night we worked out his average as 96% compared to a class average of 69%. Vindicated once again.

Mr Hot Cross Buns

It's been a lovely weekend. I am tired and should be asleep, but I feel I must plod on.

Son's had a whole week of exams (in the mornings) and busy in the afternoon with his usual activities. He also had 8.30am music lessons on Wednesday and Thursday for otherwise his teachers could not fit in his clarinet and piano lessons.

Friday he tells us that he had been asked to replace one of the senior boys to perform on the piano on Saturday for prospective parents at the school open day. Cool.

He was up right early Saturday morning because he best mate was expected before they both had to go to school to perform with the Fun Choir.

The purpose for their performance was to showcase what the boys get up to so that prospective parents would go "wow" and send their children to us.

After the Headmaster's (long) speech in which he referred to saving the best for last, the school's best pianist (Form 5 boy) was called to perform. We reckon he was playing a piece from his Grade 6 syllabus.

Then son got up to announce he was going to play "Hot Cross Buns". There were audible sniggers and I thought, "O no! How dare they laugh? This would put him off."

He played his Hot Cross Buns, a swing version with intricate chords and rhythm, flawlessly, much to my relief. After that several parents remarked how impressed they were. After all, he's only nine (in Form 2) three years younger than the best pianist and four years younger than the senior boy he stood in for.

He told us later that when he heard the audience laugh he nearly said, "but not as you know it", and thought he must play it so well that no one would laugh after that.

A bit of Susan Boyle there.

Boy done good, and we are, as usual, immensely proud of him.

Merit in Piano

Ah, no! He proved me wrong. Last Friday he told me at pick-up, "I've got 124 in Piano exam."

And I let off the loudest scream I've screamed for a long time. (Actually I don't usually scream at all, it's true, I'm a rather repressed person!)

Why? On the morning of the exam he could not play his scales properly. He was going, "I don't want to do the exam."

We're now looking forward to his Piano concert at school in a couple of weeks' time.

Distinction in Music Theory

Head of Music phoned us this afternoon to say son had attained 97% in his Grade Three Music Theory exam which is a Distinction.

Excellent!

Just the Piano result to go now, which I suspect is going to be a Pass.

Merit in Clarinet

End-of-term assembly yesterday and he was awarded his Band badge as well as being presented with his Grade 2 Clarinet Certificate (ABRSM) with Merit. On the whole the boys had done very well with two boys gaining distinctions (one in Grade 1 Oboe and one in Grade 5 Trumpet).

Have I mentioned that he was fantastic Mr Fox in the school production? I had lots of mums come up to me to say how wonderful they thought he was. I was embarrassed because I didn't know all their names. Most of the parents know me/us from when I was chair of the PTA.

Grade cards also came home and it was A1 and A2 in all academic subjects with Bs in Games and PE and C in Swimming. BUT, big BUT, no '3' in Effort.

Boy done good, we thought. We are not concerned with the 2's in some subjects (like Maths) which indicates that he does not actually put much of an effort in it. This next term's grades will be based on exams, I think. There is revision to do this term break.

Can't wait!!!

As if.

4:24

Cross Country was run on Wednesday and son's new improved time is 4 minutes 24 seconds. Eighth in his Form. (His time was 5:55 last year but we're not sure if the distance was exactly the same.)

His House came in first overall. Well done!

This was what I wrote for the school bulletin whether it gets published or not:

Cogito ergo sum run (I think, therefore I run)

There’s no [bulletin] for the last week of the Lent Term, but I feel I have to write this, even if it only goes to print in the Trinity Term.

With a few other parents I was at the Cross Country. Overheard:

Mother 1: J was not keen on his breakfast this morning.

Mother 2: Our lot (6+) cannot do the distance.

Me: O yes! They’ll be alright.

They were ALL alright. I believe everyone who started finished, and that is very good.

The small group of parents were cheering every boy on, whether or not we knew their names. By the end of the session we had very painful palms and quite sore throats.

What was heartening was to see the young men stay the course. Not all are Haile Gebrselassie-shaped. Running for a bus/train might be a struggle, let alone the distances some of these young men were doing.

Several stopped after a lap or two and thought they could get away with it, but Mr B coaxed them on and somehow from somewhere deep inside them, they found the reserve to cross the finish line, running.

I think distance-running builds character. Training for such distances requires great discipline and is a lonely business (I know this only too well). Quite often it is a question of mind over matter (ie legs of stone). It gives one time to think, and one must think to finish. When so much of modern life is ‘instant everything’, staying the course when the going gets tough is a lesson that distance-running helps us to learn.

I was less interested to see who finished in medal positions as to observe how those who are not quite 2012 material (or 2016, 2020, etc) completed the course, many in some degree of pain. To these young men: you have done it once, you can do it again. Remember what a certain quiz-master used to say, “I’ve started so I’ll finish.”

One word of advice to the more competitive runners: Pace.

Many thanks to Mr B and other staff for organizing this event. Perhaps we could have a few more parents to join the cheer team next year???

P.S. How does one say ‘run’ in Latin?

Exam stress

Has it really been more than a month since I posted?

Last week was chock-a-block.

Monday morning I helped to take son's Form (two classes with total of 26 boys) to the Barbican on the Tube. They were to attend a special concert by the LSO introduced by Gareth Malone (recently on TV about boys who won't sing).

They were one adult short and as I had volunteered to help before (being CRB checked and all that) was called upon to do my turn. Enjoyed the experience though I found the sergeant-major emerging in me.

The boys were given partners for the day. The teachers forgot what I think is another important rule or two:

1. do not talk with a person walking behind you, and
2. always stay not more than two paces behind persons in front of you.

I was bringing up the tail and found myself saying/shouting, many times, "Boys! Eyes front. Keep up!"

Somehow in the middle of the line you would get one or two who kept turning to the person behind (maybe they didn't like the partner they were allotted) to talk. They start lagging one step, then two, then three behind. Soon there will be a great break in the line and a teacher shouts for them. They run to keep up. So must I, in my heels.

Bah!

On the whole the boys were a good bunch and I enjoyed the time with them even though it was a bit noisy. Why is it that nine-year-olds cannot wait their turn to speak? Why do they all have to ask questions and make statements together?

Tuesday, late pick-up because son was at drama rehearsal. He was not pleased that his class didn't get to do much as the other class took such a long time to read their lines.

There was to be a String Concert at school. Son planned to go to support his friend performing for the first time. But he realized that he was too tired and there was too much homework. We stayed home. The rain thrashed down.

Wednesday was Fun Choir. He survived that and enjoyed the chocolates given out after the event. (He hates it when they get given those haribo sweets instead.) He also managed to fall badly at play time and sustained cuts on both palms and bruises elsewhere.

After bath we slopped/slapped on the savlon and magnesium. He had been cleaned up a bit at school but there was clearly still lots of dirt left. We call magnesium 'happy cream'. To keep the bedding clean we decided to bandage his hands.

Thursday was fraught.

8.30am piano lesson. We had been trying to get a swop because of his long day but it was impossible. Apparently this then got cancelled as he didn't manage his arpeggios with his hands in bandage.

3.00pm I had my turn at the Uniform Shop. Supposed to finish at 4pm. 4.04pm when I was 'cashing up', some parent wanted something for his son. Straight-forward transaction, I thought. But he made such a fuss over paying, etc, etc. It wasn't 4.15pm before I managed to get stuff back to the School Office.

Looked in at Late Class to see whether my son needed help with his revision as he sits Music Theory exam at 4.30pm. The Late Class teacher didn't know where he was. A classmate said Mr E mentioned "exam".

OK. Nobody seemed to know where he was. But as I had seen Mr E's car by the shop I suspected that he was not at games that afternoon and decided to start son's exam earlier.

I trudged home. 4.25pm. Put the kettle on to make myself a cup of tea. Removed my coat. Phone rang.

Son on the line saying he had finished his music theory exam, could I come fetch him?

Back to the school. No sign of him. Found him upstairs in Mr E's classroom grinning from ear to ear. Exam regulation was he could not leave till 35 minutes after the start of the exam. OK, time up, he could go as Mr E started him at 4pm.

Either my son is a genius who answered all his questions correctly and quickly or he has done very poorly. Who knows?

Poor chap still had a whole lot of homework to complete.

Friday morning. I had written a note to Mr E to explain why he had not completed his homework. But son decided to complete his h/w after breakfast. And did.

Only Toddlers group for me to look after this morning and Cubs for him in the evening. And the optometrist and music shop to buy more clarinet reeds.

Finished school at 3.45pm. Yay!!

What a week!

Snowed under

By and large, son has been happy. However he was most upset after he returned from a school trip at the beginning of term. Something, someone, or both, had upset him. Something was building up and somehow it had to be vented. Mum copped it. As always.

There were moans about Maths: too slow in his normal class and too fast in his special class. He was so unhappy that a note to the school was required. Then all of a sudden, he was as happy as could be again.

But I do worry about the Maths. It's part of the National Curriculum Nurmeracy strategy that these children now learn about a dozen ways of adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing. Last week he came home with the question, "How do you divide 72 by 6 by splitting 72?"

In our time we would instantly know 72 divded by 6 is 12. Which son knows, too, of course. The exercise however was to 'split' 72 into two numbers to make it 'easier' to divide.

Thus '35 divide by 5' can be worked as '30+5 divided by 5'. 30 divided by 5 is 6. The remaining 5 divided by 5 is 1. Add 6 + 1, you get 7. So 35 divided by 5 gives you 7.

Why???

Any way, so how does one split 72 to divide into 6? He decided it would be 70/6= 11 and 4/6 (2/3). Then remainder of 2/6 = 2/6 (1/3). Total: 12. Clearly anyone who could manage the 1/3 and 2/3 do not need to split the 72 in the first place.

Then Mum had a brainwave while trying to get to sleep. Maybe they wanted the boys to split 72 into 60 + 12. Thus 60/6=10 and 12/6=2. Total: 12.

No wonder he was bored and frustrated in class. Last Thursday he had his special Maths class (which he does with the stronger 'mathematicians' from his class and the class one year up). "Guess what?" (He was all smiles.) "We started on algebra!"

Hurray!

He's been asking to start on algebra for a long time but got confused every time I tried to start him off. Today he knew instantly when I said if son is x years old and he was born when Mum was 39, then Mum's age (y) will always be x+39. Sorted!

There was the snow from last week. Lots of lessons learned in the snow.

Physics: why do we need to press the snow down to make a snowball? What does the snowball make a sound when you roll it?

Maths/Physics: how does the size of the snowball vary with the distance it can be thrown (and the force needed to throw it)? What is the optimum size for a snowball if it is to be thrown?

Philosophy: "You call this work? I call this fun!" OK, so "why do prisons NOT work?". Prisoners have too much fun.

Cognitive anthropology: "This is powder snow." "This is wet snow." Why do you think Eskimos have different terms for different kinds of snow? (Why does London Underground only have the "wrong kind of snow"???)

PE: Hitting snowballs with rackets. Watching them disintegrate, or not. Rolling on the snow. Fun.

The afternoon was spent doing 'Business Studies' ... playing Monopoly with Dad who spent many hours on the Tube and had to turn back because the trains were not going any where near his place of work.

Music exams: too much. He has been entered for Clarinet Grade 2, Music Theory Grade 3, Piano Grade 4.

I am furious about the Piano as I'm now told that if he does not do it in March, the syllabus changes and he would have to learn three new pieces. I had told the teacher not to start him on exams till he has had a term of rest playing fun music. He insisted on starting him on the old syllabus. Why?

Thankfully son is game to do Grade 4. Dad has now given him a new incentive.

We started him on theory, thinking that it would help him enjoy his music a bit more. To an extent this is true, but the exercises are tedious. Again I was not keen for him to do exams. Again the teacher said he could do it.

On top of this, son has been given the part of 'Mr Fox' (Fantastic Mr Fox, Roald Dahl) in their class drama. He has lots of lines to learn.

But of course he comes up with something like, "I like the pressure." O, well, we'll see.

Boring stuff

Another end of term. Another Advent Service. Another end-of-term concert.

Another good report from school. Son was over the moon that his grades for Religious Studies (consistently at C last year) is now an A. There were no exams, written work, etc. He was being judged on his 'performance' in class. Son does not like participating when he does not know the answers.

What irked him most was that 'Religious Studies' was more 'History' to him. This boy likes to call a spade and spade.

In PE, too, he was rewarded with better grades than his previous C's. Though he is not in the 'A' team, etc, it appears that his attitude, performance, effort, etc. have really improved. An 'A'. Good lad! We already knew he was third in the whole form for 'agility' and his 'beep test' also shows that he is above average for his age. Good lad!

However we were surprised that he was not awarded his Band badge. He took it very well. I was amazed. Perhaps the Band Master requires a longer service period before they get their badges. The point is, he did not cry over his disappointment.

He also started on Music Theory lessons. He was chuffed as it was clear that it was all about Maths. The teacher put him through a Grade One paper and he would have breezed it.

Next lesson in the new year. Question is: would he do his theory homework?? Watch this space.

What do boys talk about?

Some time ago I was alarmed to learn that a friend's son was teased out of playing a role in a school play.

This boy was discovered to be able to sing. So the teacher gave him a part. But he has to partner someone in this, a girl.

It didn't take long for the poor boy to be teased about how this girl likes him. He got so embarrassed that he decided to resign his role.

Then it occurred to me as to why boys tease. Or more specifically, why ten-year-old boys tease.

Because they are not disposed to discussing the latest in politics, religion (probably frowned upon by the authorities, any way), quantum physics or existential philosophy.

That leaves them with football, maybe something else on TV and then as soon as they run out of topics for discussion, Ah! we could say silly things about so-and-so.

These are usually said with no malice at all. It's akin to those 'staring incidents'. No, I was not staring at you, but my eyes need to rest on something and it happens to be you and so you thought I was staring.

The boys know that "So-and-so likes so-and-so" is groundless, but it gives them something to say.

I remember mulling over the issue of gossip in sheltered housing for older people. Why do they speak such utter nonsense about their equally elderly neighbours? Because they simply have nothing better to do.

This morning a boy from the other class in the Form came up to my son while I was still with him to say, "LT, LT, I saw so-and-so and so-and-so having a very loud argument."

We witnessed some of that ourselves and in fact so-and-so had spoken to me (ex-PTA Chair) to vent some of his frustration.

I said to that young man, "There is no need to repeat such information. Nobody else needs to know."

He gave me a funny look. This was 'Mr Bossy' himself and he does not like being told what he could or could not do.

My son reiterated my point, "Remember, never again," as Mr Bossy stalked off.

Does it matter that Mr Bossy witnessed an unpleasant exchange of words? How does it add to his life to go around telling other boys this?

Apart from the fact it gives him an excuse to verbalize something and perhaps hold court for a few more seconds than he really deserves.

My son comes home from school sometimes distraught that some boys had been teasing him.

Once it was about a photograph. The French teacher wanted a picture of his extended family. The only one conveniently available showed him about four years younger, sitting on his Nanny's knees.

They teased him about being a baby.

When I got round to telling him what silliness this was as everyone was once a baby, he realized that it was not worth the tears. It was ignorance on the part of the boys more than anything else.

To be very honest, my son is much happier discussing, uhm, Descartes.

Son got talent

Before the euphoria fades away ....

Last Friday we had the school fair. I was roped in at the last minute to man the sweets stall. Big mistake.

When the boys came in, there was such a rush. I have seen much better behaviour at soup queues.

I put it down to the fact that these boys are rather 'deprived'. They are not usually allowed the wide array of E-numbers now in front of me. But this is a fundraising fair and their parents had actually given them money to buy stuff they are not allowed to eat at home. I have now to write a report to the Chairman of the PTA about the next sweets stall.

Then we (husband, son and I) battled the traffic on the M25 to our church weekend away. Husband somehow managed to persuade son to bring along his clarinet as there was to be a talent show.

No, he was not not about to take part. Then he was. Then the paper to register went missing. Then he found the youth pastor who had that bit of paper. Then he did not know how long his piece would take. Then Mum had to time him singing the tune in his head.

So come Saturday evening, item #5 was our son playing 'Stranger on the Shore' (Bilk) unaccompanied to an audience of about 100. We could hear a pin drop. When he stopped the place erupted into applause for some time.

One of the judges (someone dressed in a Kangeroo costume) 'said' via her interpreter (another judge, leader of the young people's activities) that it reminded her of a didgeridoo. Her interpreter said the only shortcoming was he was not playing to a larger audience. Can't remember what the third judge said.

In the end, after much laughter and brave attempts by other acts, son was declared the winner and won -- for keeps -- a trophy which once stood on someone's birthday cake. He was delighted.

Lots of people came to congratulate this shy young man who is coming out of his shell (he even heckled the other performers) and he went to bed very happy.

The theme for the weekend was Joseph (his talents, training, fulfilling God's plan for his own people, etc), and once again we are talking about how our son might choose to use his gifts.

Meanwhile I will replay over and over again those three minutes that he played to that audience who listened so attentively.

High Society

Last week was a busy week. Just out of exams in the previous week, son and mates were rehearsing very hard for their music production which was a mish-mash of Broadway musicals and films.

They performed first on Thursday evening and then again on Friday evening.

On the way to school on Friday a parent told him what a star he was. O! OK.

At pick-up time another parent said how much she enjoyed the show and when she realized that I hadn't seen it said, "O! Then I won't spoil the surprise for you."

Friday evening, mum, dad and godfather trekked down to school. Another parent greeted me with, "He's got the best American accent." O!

And so we saw our eight-year-old in an oversize waistcoat act as a very drunk reporter (Mike Conner) confronting CT Dexter Haven in High Society. I think the other parents were being very kind when they heaped him with praise. But they know how shy this young man is and for him to do what he did was very much stepping out of his comfort zone.

Well done! (And we await a visit from the Social Services to find out how he learned to act so drunk!)

This is more fun than the 100% in Maths exam, son.

Talking money and cents

Since the last post so much has happened.

Son went to his second Cubs camp and had a good time, winning the x-Factor title, whatever this entailed. He also climbed to the top of the climbing wall, which apparently is the tallest in this country. Quite a feat, I think, especially when Mum finds it difficult to even get up a ladder.

He's also really taken to the drama production and is speaking a reasonable American accent (being the Reporter in High Society, did you evah?)

Last Saturday we took him to a fireworks party. It was at the second manse. The house was more or less gutted to make major renovations possible. There was a pile of wood that needed burning. Hence the bonfire and fireworks idea.

Someone brought 'glow sticks'. They soon lost their glow. I said, "Ah! If you could find a way of reviving the glow, then you could be making a lot of money."

"No, I won't. Because people would then buy just one stick and not over and over again!"

How true.

This came a day or so after our discussion on a similar topic, I forget what, match-sticks, I think, about how businessmen always want people to buy their product over and over again. So a match-stick that could last forever is not any good to such people.

This morning he struggled with his school trousers. Some 'smart person' has decided that to make the waistline flexible boys trousers should have an elastic band with slits in it so that the waistline could be adjusted by putting a button through one of these slits on the bands (usually one on each side).

I have struggled so hard to find him some organic cotton school trousers. Every where else is selling teflon-coated trousers and he is not happy wearing those. But organic cotton trousers are expensive and to persuade parents to part with their money, sizes usually cover two years of age/growth, a range of six cm on each size.

Now if us grown-ups have a waistline that varies by a whole six cm (that is nearly two-and-a-half inches) we would be buying clothes one size or two bigger/smaller. So you can imagine how long these elastic bands run on both sides.

These bands and the buttons that protrude cause a lot of discomfort to my son who is already super-sensitive to clothes labels. We have cut away countless labels and he sometimes wears socks inside out because they are more comfortable, etc. etc. So he moans, and I moan, "Why can't the manufacturer put in a proper waist-band?"

I said, "This way they 'last' longer and parents are happier to buy the trousers ."

Son retorted immediately, "No, they make less money, because people need to buy less. If they are clever they should make trousers that fit properly. Then the parents would have to spend more money buying new trousers."

Quite.

When one pair of his trousers are £12.99 compared with two for £8.00 at the shops, it is not easy finding a price that would compromise size, price and comfort.

Still, I am surprised that he is so sensitive to such ideas.

A cow stick guitar

Son's on holiday this fortnight. Husband's taken the week off. Our 'family holiday' means waking up late and doing things together, not getting away to another sunny space like I know many of his school mates are doing.

We went to Stonehenge yesterday -- which incidentally was beautifully sunny, if cold -- and on the journey there I heard mumbled statements from behind me about most of the boys in the Form below him taking up the guitar, and he would like to play 'a cow stick guitar'.

Me: A cow stick guitar? What's one of those? Tell me about it and I'll see what I can do.

Son: You know, all the other boys are playing electric guitar because the guitar teacher is trying to form a rock band. I want to play a cow stick guitar.

Suddenly the lights came on. I realized he meant the -- are you ready? --"acoustic guitar".

A cow stick guitar is not, after all, something you stick together with cow glue and a few rubber bands stretched over a fingerboard of sorts.

He's read the words but no one has told him how to pronounce them. So we add 'a cow stick guitar' to his 'chor-fer' ('chauffeur') to the funny words that he mis-pronounces (but used in the correct context).

That's my boy and I am very proud of him.

Pocket Money

Despite some unhappiness yesterday over the lack of clarinet practice, he went to bed happy because he had collected £5.30 in total of pocket money.

The first miserly 30 pence was from me for cleaning the area around the dining table six days out of seven in the past week. He's let off on Friday as there is always a rush to get to Cubs. I didn't tell him to do this. He sort of decided that, yes, he could, and would, clean the floor with a brush and pan after dinner.

Then he broached the issue of pocket money.

For a boy who gets fed at school (our fees cover that) there is no need to have money to buy stuff, not like in my own childhood where we had to make our way to the 'tuckshop' to queue up for food, pay for it, eat it quickly and then get to play during our short breaks.

He tends also to get the toys, games, books, etc he would like to have sooner or later.

But I checked with my RGS girls -- decided to call them his 'RGS Aunties' -- for advice: give or don't give? The consensus was 'give'. Some pocket money, seeing it grow, learning how to use/spend/save/give it (to charity) teaches him how to budget.

There are lots of TV programmes which show how young British people have no idea what a 'budget' means. This credit card generation spends more than they earn and the debts pile up. 'Experts' come in to show them why they are spending like that (to express a sadness, eg) and how to stop this spending (usually beginning with cutting up every credit card) and setting a limit to what they could spend, or directing them to a useful second job.

I don't want my son to be like that. Poor though I was I thank God that Mum and Dad gave me pocket money and I had to learn to spend within my means from a very young age.

It used to be that getting a credit card was demonstration that we are earning enough, or that we had rich parents. I like spending on my credit card because the monthly statement tells me how much I had spent. I also pay off the whole sum when it's due.

Things have changed and banks and department stores have been throwing credit at shoppers, young and old. Perhaps one positive outcome of the credit crunch is that people begin to live within their means.

Son and his Dad washed my car yesterday. The car was filthy. It was the first time it had been washed since I had it, probably in March. He was happy washing it, it seemed. He does not get to wear his wellies very often. Said he should wear his other waterproofs the next time.

Dad gave him £5 for that, ignoring my suggestion that they should split the £5.

Not sure now how long this car washing -- or even floor brushing -- would go on for. But I think it is a good start.

Long may it last.

It's Monday!

Another long, complicated day for poor son.

We've had a tough week/end. Dad was at work a lot. There was a virus attack on his office system late last week, they were scheduled to migrate data or whatever on the weekend, and then there was hardware failure as well.

Getting to the office was not easy as the Tube was not running. Dad was keen to go to church yesterday but realized that something was very wrong at work and we dropped him off at the station. Not only the Tube was down, the overland train was down and he ended up going to work on a Sunday in a coach.

So far the story was son has had to attend Band practice even though it clashes with drama rehearsal because Band has priority. But son forgot he had to go for early lunch which meant he had very little time to get his food and actually eat it. Thankfully the Head of Music (on lunch duty) let him off for not finishing his lunch. Late for Band.

Then there was some confusion over whether the boys were leaving for their football match straight after lunch, etc, etc. That upset him because he was fearful that he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. The boys lost all their matches against rival local school. Not a very happy bunch.

Not having very much to eat all day and tired he decided to -- and I let him -- come home instead of going to orchestra rehearsal. Actually he's been coping with a tummy ache and is right now sitting on the throne. I hope he is not reading as usual.

I feel that I should be stricter with him sometimes. But he is only eight. When I was eight I was not preparing for a grade 4 piano exam, attending drama, band and orchestra rehearsals, playing football matches, moving between classrooms for different subjects, and having to sort time-table clashes, etc with various teachers.

It's good to see him growing up, but there is no need to grow up that quickly.

He's still on the throne and I think I can hear him flipping pages. Bah!