Went off after school with his German classmate. A few boys in his class just love having him around. This German boy, in particular, wants my son to be his brother.
He was supposed to be dropped off when older German brother goes to play football, but the session was rained off. So we picked him up instead.
While stuck in traffic (thanks to road works), we were told that he had outdone even his best friend at the 'beep test'. They did this two weeks ago and because he was late from piano lesson, didn't have a fair chance at it. The Games Master told him to report after lunch for a re-test and he did.
He's top of the his class at the beep test, it seems -- but only because the stronger boys are in the other class.
Then trouble: his other tooth was out. Great big grin on his face. He's been jabbing himself in the jaw somehow due to this offending tooth and now it's out. Great big grin showing a great big gap.
Then I realized I really ought to have a chat with him despite it being so late. It soon transpired that he was given his exam results and it's Maths: 100% (average 62% in class); English 81% (average 50% in class).
Glad that he could go to bed happy, but he's lying in wait for the tooth fairy.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Tooth be told, exams over!
So we celebrated by eating at one of his favourite restaurant. It's nice to 'meet Daddy' after work. He decided that he would dress smart, so put on his new suit and red 'musical notes' tie.
It was a very cold day.
It was a really lovely evening.
Home, and bed-time ritual.
Oh-oh! Bloody mouth again. A tooth was bleeding somewhere. We decided that he should rinse out the blood, carefully, with the plug in the sink, to make sure that even if he did spit the tooth out by accident it does not get washed down the drain.
We were having a good laugh when it was clear he had stopped bleeding and then I looked at him and saw a gap in his front teeth. He had lost it!
But WHERE was the tooth?
Checked in the sink. The plug was still in. No escaped tooth. We hunted around and found it on the bathroom floor, and there was celebration again.
Any way today on the phone to Nanny I heard him saying about the exams, "It was very difficult [pregnant pause] to get it wrong."
What cheek!
We also discovered on the floor elsewhere in the house a 'Special Award' certificate from school for being kind and befriending the new boys in class.
Well done!
It was a very cold day.
It was a really lovely evening.
Home, and bed-time ritual.
Oh-oh! Bloody mouth again. A tooth was bleeding somewhere. We decided that he should rinse out the blood, carefully, with the plug in the sink, to make sure that even if he did spit the tooth out by accident it does not get washed down the drain.
We were having a good laugh when it was clear he had stopped bleeding and then I looked at him and saw a gap in his front teeth. He had lost it!
But WHERE was the tooth?
Checked in the sink. The plug was still in. No escaped tooth. We hunted around and found it on the bathroom floor, and there was celebration again.
Any way today on the phone to Nanny I heard him saying about the exams, "It was very difficult [pregnant pause] to get it wrong."
What cheek!
We also discovered on the floor elsewhere in the house a 'Special Award' certificate from school for being kind and befriending the new boys in class.
Well done!
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
My son -- the next Steven Spielberg? George Lucas? Whatever.
My son is currently into making mini-movies.
He's really into Star Wars. He's really into Lego. Put the two together, you get Lego Star Wars movies.
The Lego site for children has mini-movies made by other Lego/Star Wars enthusiasts. My son has been so inspired he's been making his own using our mini digital camera.
I like his sound effects best.
Any way, still in the vein of the Parenting a Prodigy post, just because he shoots these mini-movies it does not make my son a 'film producer'. Does it?
He's really into Star Wars. He's really into Lego. Put the two together, you get Lego Star Wars movies.
The Lego site for children has mini-movies made by other Lego/Star Wars enthusiasts. My son has been so inspired he's been making his own using our mini digital camera.
I like his sound effects best.
Any way, still in the vein of the Parenting a Prodigy post, just because he shoots these mini-movies it does not make my son a 'film producer'. Does it?
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
(The all-dreaded) Writing exam
Today's the day. Trepidation!
Son has got his 'English II' exam paper.
Considering how he had frozen over the last time he had to write an 'essay' in an exam, I was really worried.
Monday was 'English I' (Comprehension, etc.) and he came back confident that he had answered all the questions in full sentences.
Today was writing a story based on a picture which was 'pirates': 'an adventure on the high seas'.
His verdict: It was fun.
Did you complete the story?
Of course. I filled up the whole page.
That's my boy.
What a relief that there weren't tears and tantrums. Especially when a bloody wobbley tooth at breakfast caused him some distress.
Praise God!
Son has got his 'English II' exam paper.
Considering how he had frozen over the last time he had to write an 'essay' in an exam, I was really worried.
Monday was 'English I' (Comprehension, etc.) and he came back confident that he had answered all the questions in full sentences.
Today was writing a story based on a picture which was 'pirates': 'an adventure on the high seas'.
His verdict: It was fun.
Did you complete the story?
Of course. I filled up the whole page.
That's my boy.
What a relief that there weren't tears and tantrums. Especially when a bloody wobbley tooth at breakfast caused him some distress.
Praise God!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Parenting a prodigy?
Saturday morning last I was feeling a bit under the weather. Heard on BBC Radio 4 Today programme that a seven-year-old from Singapore is looking for a place at university to study chemistry.
When I felt well enough to look up this news item I followed links to read his dad's blog and his comments, answers and responses to other blogs.
Here are my thoughts:
Anyone who reads "About my boy" will be familiar with the real struggles that he faces, the fears and anxieties, the need to be perfect, etc. It comes with the territory of being gifted.
It is precisely because we do not want to be in the position of: he's finished his A Levels at eight years old, what now? that we took pains to keep his interest in maths and science and a lot else in as broad a manner as possible without having to keep completing curricula for 'O' and 'A' Level exams. We believe there is more to life than sitting exams and going to university. (What good is university if you can't enjoy the social life? Come on!)
When your child is clever, you know he or she is clever. There is no need to prove to the world that he has Os and As under his belt at age seven, eight or nine.
The difficulty is -- and we sympathize with father of prodigy -- such children get very bored at class. Maintaining interest is a challenge.
But there are also areas that our gifted child is weak in. He knows that. He acknowledges some of these weaknesses, not all, and we are working on these. Football and penmanship are two. But bless his heart, in the last few months, he has been trying so hard to be better in these areas, without going overboard with feelings of underachievement.
Friends used to say, "Wow! He could say these words," or "Wow! He's already doing this." My reply was always, "Yeah, but your child will soon be catching up." And THEY HAVE in all the important areas that matter.
"I used to be gifted once."
I must have been. I got bored in class, but I was not disruptive. Then I got to the best school in Singapore on the basis of an EXAM. Then, as the girls have been recently recounting (gleefully) in our forum 30 years after we left that school, we started getting red marks, failing exams, realized we were not that bright after all.
Being gifted at aged eight does not guarantee that one will remain gifted for the rest of one's life. When in this top Singapore school I often thought "I must have peaked at 12." My school results never got better than when I was 12.
The rest of my academic career was rather lack-lustre. Not till after I finished my Bachelor's degree did I find it in me to move ahead academically. I have found my forte in research: designing research, formulating hypotheses, gathering information, writing up results, etc.
So in between supporting my parents financially, becoming a full-time Christian worker/missionary/minister of religion, and various other roles in between, I finally got to the PhD I really wanted.
People assume that I am clever because I have a PhD. Am I? The more I know, the more I know I don't know. That is the truth.
My son thinks he is very clever, because he is obviously very clever in some areas. But I am glad that I am able to tell him that it does not matter if he becomes ordinary again. In fact, part of me hopes and prays that he would not be off the scale in his progress in Maths, Science and French.
The advances he has made in his music is striking too. How anyone could practise maybe 5 minutes a day and still get a merit in his piano exam just ten months after his first ever lesson is beyond me. His teacher has another student, slightly younger, who also got a merit. This boy spends more than an hour every day practising the piano, and missed a distinction by three marks.
If my son were to practise an hour every day would he have got a distinction? I fear not, because repetition bores him, and he gets worse instead of better. But the exam curricula give him the skills to compose and improvise which give him (and us) much joy and pleasure.
I don't think we would ever be able to stop our son being interested in Maths, Science, French and music composition. But we encourage him in every way to study AROUND the subjects: history of maths, philosophy of science, different types of music, eg, instead of progressing him simply in the direction of school exams.
When he asks questions on trigonometry, we try to give him some answers, not brush him off. Then he is allowed to explore for himself. (So he goes and draws a 'sine wave'.) He was very keen to learn about quadratic equations, but when we talked about it, he realized that ah, he needs to learn algebra first, and he's not really into that at the moment. We (gladly) let the subject drop.
On the advice of the psychologist we are not going to push him in academia at all. We practise no spellings or times tables. Instead we are working on his social skills.
And no, the last thing we want is for him to finish his 'A' levels in two years' time. What good is an 18-year-old mind trapped in a 9-year-old body?
What a refreshing change to read this: The Downside of Being a Child Prodigy
When I felt well enough to look up this news item I followed links to read his dad's blog and his comments, answers and responses to other blogs.
Here are my thoughts:
- Poor seven-year-old. I feel sorry for him.
- Poor parents. The more vocal dad, as a proud father of a very gifted child -- and why not?, sadly seems to be somewhat deluded.
- A combination of "I used to be gifted but no one recognized that" and "here's a chance that my child might be extremely gifted" is a dangerous combination indeed, an almost-certain recipe for disaster.
- While the father writes profusely about how advanced his children are in their physical and intellectual development and in particular how advanced his eldest son is in his knowledge of chemistry, I am mystified that nothing is said about this little boy's friends (if any) ... and the games he plays (if any) ....
- The father's blog empasizes how bored he is with school, etc, but no mention of tears or tantrums. One gets the impression that this boy is very ordinary, very well-behaved, except that he is extremely clever in the area of chemistry.
- He is so clever in chemistry that he sat his O Levels recently and came away with a 'C'. He is now being prepared for his 'A' Level chemistry, and that is why his parents are looking for a university where he could have lab facilities to carry on with his chemistry education. In The Times, a reader commented: Hello! This genius only got a 'C'! Implying that he is not that much of a genius really. Clearly this child has an exceptional memory, so I imagine he would do well in organic chemistry, as all you have to do at A levels is memorize about a hundred equations.
- In a blog entry the father recounts his shock when prodigy son asked, "What do you get if you collide Calcium and Californium in a cyclotron?". The answer was apparently "Ununoctium". The father of prodigy has entitled this post "Socratic questions of a genius". Really? If you did a google search on these key terms you will find that just before this posting, this was the hottest news in the scientific world. Scientists believe that they have at last found element 118. It was so new that they had given it a temporary name "Ununoctium". If my son were to give me similar information, I would first ask, "Where did you read that? Show me," instead of delaring to the world that he asks "Socratic questions".
- Father of prodigy mumbles about MENSA not being interested in his son. (MENSA does not test children under the age of 10-and-a-half, according to their website.) Then he writes several blog posts about how IQ is a con, and that it does not actually show one's intelligence. However, he also goes on about the genius of Rembrandt, and out of somewhere (source not quoted), tells us that Rembrandt, so clearly a genius, only had an IQ of 110. Well, elsewhere someone worked out that Rembrandt had an IQ of 155. Honestly, how these people managed to test or speculate the IQs of dead people is quite beyond me. I believe this child has never had his IQ assessed.
- The prodigy is supposed have "written books" on science. Many children staple papers together to make 'books', and write their ideas, some original, some not, down and draw pictures to illustrate. It does not make these six-year-olds authors. My son also started on 'The Book of Everything", how wonderful was that? A book, booklet, leaflet, essay, is more than writing random thoughts down on pieces of paper.
- In The Times article which first alerted the BBC to this genius, father of prodigy took offence at a comment by Joan Freeman (probably reported out of context, who knows?) that “to send a child to university at 7 is like you are not regarding him as a human being, but as a performing monkey”. He responded by saying that she had no right to comment unless she herself is a parent of a prodigy. Yeah, except that she happens to be a an expert on gifted children. And by his reasoning a psychiatrist cannot pronounce a diagnosis of schizophrenia (eg) on patients unless the psychiatrist himself had experienced schizophrenia. Just to give a flavour of the hysteria here.
Anyone who reads "About my boy" will be familiar with the real struggles that he faces, the fears and anxieties, the need to be perfect, etc. It comes with the territory of being gifted.
It is precisely because we do not want to be in the position of: he's finished his A Levels at eight years old, what now? that we took pains to keep his interest in maths and science and a lot else in as broad a manner as possible without having to keep completing curricula for 'O' and 'A' Level exams. We believe there is more to life than sitting exams and going to university. (What good is university if you can't enjoy the social life? Come on!)
When your child is clever, you know he or she is clever. There is no need to prove to the world that he has Os and As under his belt at age seven, eight or nine.
The difficulty is -- and we sympathize with father of prodigy -- such children get very bored at class. Maintaining interest is a challenge.
But there are also areas that our gifted child is weak in. He knows that. He acknowledges some of these weaknesses, not all, and we are working on these. Football and penmanship are two. But bless his heart, in the last few months, he has been trying so hard to be better in these areas, without going overboard with feelings of underachievement.
Friends used to say, "Wow! He could say these words," or "Wow! He's already doing this." My reply was always, "Yeah, but your child will soon be catching up." And THEY HAVE in all the important areas that matter.
"I used to be gifted once."
I must have been. I got bored in class, but I was not disruptive. Then I got to the best school in Singapore on the basis of an EXAM. Then, as the girls have been recently recounting (gleefully) in our forum 30 years after we left that school, we started getting red marks, failing exams, realized we were not that bright after all.
Being gifted at aged eight does not guarantee that one will remain gifted for the rest of one's life. When in this top Singapore school I often thought "I must have peaked at 12." My school results never got better than when I was 12.
The rest of my academic career was rather lack-lustre. Not till after I finished my Bachelor's degree did I find it in me to move ahead academically. I have found my forte in research: designing research, formulating hypotheses, gathering information, writing up results, etc.
So in between supporting my parents financially, becoming a full-time Christian worker/missionary/minister of religion, and various other roles in between, I finally got to the PhD I really wanted.
People assume that I am clever because I have a PhD. Am I? The more I know, the more I know I don't know. That is the truth.
My son thinks he is very clever, because he is obviously very clever in some areas. But I am glad that I am able to tell him that it does not matter if he becomes ordinary again. In fact, part of me hopes and prays that he would not be off the scale in his progress in Maths, Science and French.
The advances he has made in his music is striking too. How anyone could practise maybe 5 minutes a day and still get a merit in his piano exam just ten months after his first ever lesson is beyond me. His teacher has another student, slightly younger, who also got a merit. This boy spends more than an hour every day practising the piano, and missed a distinction by three marks.
If my son were to practise an hour every day would he have got a distinction? I fear not, because repetition bores him, and he gets worse instead of better. But the exam curricula give him the skills to compose and improvise which give him (and us) much joy and pleasure.
I don't think we would ever be able to stop our son being interested in Maths, Science, French and music composition. But we encourage him in every way to study AROUND the subjects: history of maths, philosophy of science, different types of music, eg, instead of progressing him simply in the direction of school exams.
When he asks questions on trigonometry, we try to give him some answers, not brush him off. Then he is allowed to explore for himself. (So he goes and draws a 'sine wave'.) He was very keen to learn about quadratic equations, but when we talked about it, he realized that ah, he needs to learn algebra first, and he's not really into that at the moment. We (gladly) let the subject drop.
On the advice of the psychologist we are not going to push him in academia at all. We practise no spellings or times tables. Instead we are working on his social skills.
And no, the last thing we want is for him to finish his 'A' levels in two years' time. What good is an 18-year-old mind trapped in a 9-year-old body?
What a refreshing change to read this: The Downside of Being a Child Prodigy
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Love Me Tender
I had arranged a meeting in the afternoon.
Yesterday son came home to tell me parents are invited to today's concert at school. So I had to re-schedule the meeting.
What joy to see him singing 'Consider Yourself' and 'Food Glorious Food' so confidently with the rest of his mates.
He wanted to play 'Ode to Joy' on his clarinet, but one of his best mates is playing that on the violin. After chatting with the teacher, he decided to play 'Love Me Tender'.
He did well. No squeaks. Good tone. Must work on breath control though.
Interestingly he had chosen the clarinet, not the piano, which he is able to play far better than any of his classmates.
A part of me wonders if this is because he thought it was rude to come across as being too good. Is this a sign that he is trying to fit in?
His answer to my probing was a simple: the clarinet is more of a challenge.
So I got asked by other parents how long he had been playing the clarinet.
He started in September at the start of term and had six half-hour lessons.
Yesterday son came home to tell me parents are invited to today's concert at school. So I had to re-schedule the meeting.
What joy to see him singing 'Consider Yourself' and 'Food Glorious Food' so confidently with the rest of his mates.
He wanted to play 'Ode to Joy' on his clarinet, but one of his best mates is playing that on the violin. After chatting with the teacher, he decided to play 'Love Me Tender'.
He did well. No squeaks. Good tone. Must work on breath control though.
Interestingly he had chosen the clarinet, not the piano, which he is able to play far better than any of his classmates.
A part of me wonders if this is because he thought it was rude to come across as being too good. Is this a sign that he is trying to fit in?
His answer to my probing was a simple: the clarinet is more of a challenge.
So I got asked by other parents how long he had been playing the clarinet.
He started in September at the start of term and had six half-hour lessons.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Growing up
It's been two weeks of half-term break and I am thrilled to see/feel how our son has 'matured'.
Last Friday we took him to a Thai restaurant. He was very well behaved, all things considered, and was most fascinated by the naked flame on our table.
Then he's learned to say things like, "O! Why are you wearing THAT?"
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"I've never seen it before. You look very nice in it."
From little things like taking his crockery back to the kitchen to making his bed without being told (though he sometimes forgets), he seems to be more in charge of himself.
There are still the signs of frustration when he is not able to cope with some things in life, but he's getting better all the time.
We often forget: he is only seven.
Any way, today (Wednesday) he came home asking me to write a note to his music teacher to say he does wish to perform on the clarinet for the children in the Junior School. On Thursday he discussed this with the teacher and decided that he would play Elvis Presley's "Love Me Tender".
He's not actually played this even for his clarinet tutor. So I think he is a very brave boy.
Piano exams around the corner. His sight-reading is still not brilliant but is improving. His exam pieces however seem to be 'over-practised'. He gets them wrong when we know he could get them right. So I am not hard on him when he does not bother to practise.
I am a bad mother!!
Last Friday we took him to a Thai restaurant. He was very well behaved, all things considered, and was most fascinated by the naked flame on our table.
Then he's learned to say things like, "O! Why are you wearing THAT?"
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"I've never seen it before. You look very nice in it."
From little things like taking his crockery back to the kitchen to making his bed without being told (though he sometimes forgets), he seems to be more in charge of himself.
There are still the signs of frustration when he is not able to cope with some things in life, but he's getting better all the time.
We often forget: he is only seven.
Any way, today (Wednesday) he came home asking me to write a note to his music teacher to say he does wish to perform on the clarinet for the children in the Junior School. On Thursday he discussed this with the teacher and decided that he would play Elvis Presley's "Love Me Tender".
He's not actually played this even for his clarinet tutor. So I think he is a very brave boy.
Piano exams around the corner. His sight-reading is still not brilliant but is improving. His exam pieces however seem to be 'over-practised'. He gets them wrong when we know he could get them right. So I am not hard on him when he does not bother to practise.
I am a bad mother!!
Saturday, October 13, 2007
A Colour Badge - Boy Done Good
Last day of school yesterday before the start of a two-week half-term break.
I edged away from a conversation between two new parents, one of whom was asking about a Maths tutor for her son.
Then another mum approached the group of mothers I was with and asked if Thursday's maths homework was a bit of a struggle. She said she took a very long time to explain the intricacies of the different mathematical concepts to her son. Another said they took 40 minutes to complete it.
One of the mums said to me, "Obviously, your son must have completed it without any problems."
Well, he didn't.
I now know why my son had a worried look on his face when I picked him up on Thursday. They had been warned that Maths homework was supposed to be quite difficult, so it's OK if they did not complete the second part.
Even before he got his shoes off my son whipped out his worksheet and sitting at the bottom of the stairs, we read through it.
It was history of the Romans in Britain combined with maths. So questions like "If he started out with one legion and eight joined him each day, how many did he have when he arrived at Londinium?" (Answer: 25)
And "When the Roman army finally faced the Celtic army, the Celtic women fought beside their husbands. They were all killed with the Celtic army. If one in every two Celtic soldiers had a wife, what fraction of the Celtic army in its final battle was women?" (Answer: 1/3)
They had to add several numbers together, including the denominator (3) from that last question to arrive at a final 'check number'.
My son got the fraction wrong, so his answers did not tally with the 'check number'. But he duly went back to try to think through the question.
Fearing that he would go into one of his shouting rages, I offered to explain it to him.
"No, no, no, I must work this out myself."
He tried using a number (100) to work out the fraction. I suggested he didn't.
"No, don't interrupt me! I must do this myself!"
Then, "One -third. The answer is one-third."
Ironically this was the first piece of homework he found "enjoyable" this half-term. It made him think, and though he initially got the answers wrong, he was not afraid to go back to it and when the pieces fell into place he was a very happy boy.
Any way, there we were waiting for our boys when my son approached, grinning ear to ear, "Have you noticed something different about me?"
He was wearing a little round blue badge on his lapel. A colour! He has been awarded a colour!
"This is for hard work. We get to wear it for the rest of the term. If we keep up with the good work, we get to keep wearing it."
Then he let on that he was given the wrong colour at Assembly. The badge should reflect his house colour. Of course he didn't know this at first. Anyway a teacher spotted the mistake and he was given the correct colour by the end of the day. Only one other boy (his best mate) in his class was awarded a colour.
He also came home with his 'grade card'. 'A1' in French and Music amongst other very good grades.
Boy done good!
I edged away from a conversation between two new parents, one of whom was asking about a Maths tutor for her son.
Then another mum approached the group of mothers I was with and asked if Thursday's maths homework was a bit of a struggle. She said she took a very long time to explain the intricacies of the different mathematical concepts to her son. Another said they took 40 minutes to complete it.
One of the mums said to me, "Obviously, your son must have completed it without any problems."
Well, he didn't.
I now know why my son had a worried look on his face when I picked him up on Thursday. They had been warned that Maths homework was supposed to be quite difficult, so it's OK if they did not complete the second part.
Even before he got his shoes off my son whipped out his worksheet and sitting at the bottom of the stairs, we read through it.
It was history of the Romans in Britain combined with maths. So questions like "If he started out with one legion and eight joined him each day, how many did he have when he arrived at Londinium?" (Answer: 25)
And "When the Roman army finally faced the Celtic army, the Celtic women fought beside their husbands. They were all killed with the Celtic army. If one in every two Celtic soldiers had a wife, what fraction of the Celtic army in its final battle was women?" (Answer: 1/3)
They had to add several numbers together, including the denominator (3) from that last question to arrive at a final 'check number'.
My son got the fraction wrong, so his answers did not tally with the 'check number'. But he duly went back to try to think through the question.
Fearing that he would go into one of his shouting rages, I offered to explain it to him.
"No, no, no, I must work this out myself."
He tried using a number (100) to work out the fraction. I suggested he didn't.
"No, don't interrupt me! I must do this myself!"
Then, "One -third. The answer is one-third."
Ironically this was the first piece of homework he found "enjoyable" this half-term. It made him think, and though he initially got the answers wrong, he was not afraid to go back to it and when the pieces fell into place he was a very happy boy.
Any way, there we were waiting for our boys when my son approached, grinning ear to ear, "Have you noticed something different about me?"
He was wearing a little round blue badge on his lapel. A colour! He has been awarded a colour!
"This is for hard work. We get to wear it for the rest of the term. If we keep up with the good work, we get to keep wearing it."
Then he let on that he was given the wrong colour at Assembly. The badge should reflect his house colour. Of course he didn't know this at first. Anyway a teacher spotted the mistake and he was given the correct colour by the end of the day. Only one other boy (his best mate) in his class was awarded a colour.
He also came home with his 'grade card'. 'A1' in French and Music amongst other very good grades.
Boy done good!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Winning Goal
Yes, when he should be sleeping, son slipped downstairs to say, while they were playing football at PE today, he managed to score the winning goal. Well done!
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
French
After several attempts to see the Headmaster, son finally had his Blue Card validated. He is very pleased.
The senior French teacher also sent two of her senior boys to son's class and 'marched' him and his best mate (who was also awarded a Blue Card for French) to her own class to listen to their demonstration, to ensure that they were of a sufficiently high standard to deserve the Blue Card.
Well, looks like they passed the test. The Form VI boys applauded their efforts, I was told. Later on when son was finishing his Prep in 'Late Class' because I was helping to set up the hall for a PTA event, the head boy (whose mother was helping me) said to son that his French was really very good.
Yesterday we were told that his French teacher had asked him and his mate to coach the other boys so that they could also get those Blue Cards. However, the other boys chose to play football instead of going to these two for extra coaching at play-time. I'm not surprised.
Son has also been immensely helpful as we prepared for Quiz Night last Saturday. Dad had to work most of Saturday despite a cold and when he got home, it was not fair to expect him to attend Quiz Night.
Son was distraught over his B Minor scale (left hand) in the morning. He lost it. So did I, as I was feeling a bit stressed out about the Quiz Night arrangements. We talked. He went back to the piano, and then he got it, that B Minor.
It's always like that, it seems. It has to become so very bad before he lets himself have a chance to succeed. Weird.
Played a football match yesterday. (We only discovered in the morning that they were doing this.) He was in good spirits and positive (they lost again). Supposed to play another match this afternoon, but it was rained off.
Instead we made it to the school wind and brass concert, featuring the boys (and guests) who play various wind and brass instruments (and drums, too). There were no clarinets. Son was not invited to play this year (he's only had four lessons), but we like to think that this time next year he might be playing something really bluesy at this concert. He likes blues.
I'm tired. (See other blog)
The senior French teacher also sent two of her senior boys to son's class and 'marched' him and his best mate (who was also awarded a Blue Card for French) to her own class to listen to their demonstration, to ensure that they were of a sufficiently high standard to deserve the Blue Card.
Well, looks like they passed the test. The Form VI boys applauded their efforts, I was told. Later on when son was finishing his Prep in 'Late Class' because I was helping to set up the hall for a PTA event, the head boy (whose mother was helping me) said to son that his French was really very good.
Yesterday we were told that his French teacher had asked him and his mate to coach the other boys so that they could also get those Blue Cards. However, the other boys chose to play football instead of going to these two for extra coaching at play-time. I'm not surprised.
Son has also been immensely helpful as we prepared for Quiz Night last Saturday. Dad had to work most of Saturday despite a cold and when he got home, it was not fair to expect him to attend Quiz Night.
Son was distraught over his B Minor scale (left hand) in the morning. He lost it. So did I, as I was feeling a bit stressed out about the Quiz Night arrangements. We talked. He went back to the piano, and then he got it, that B Minor.
It's always like that, it seems. It has to become so very bad before he lets himself have a chance to succeed. Weird.
Played a football match yesterday. (We only discovered in the morning that they were doing this.) He was in good spirits and positive (they lost again). Supposed to play another match this afternoon, but it was rained off.
Instead we made it to the school wind and brass concert, featuring the boys (and guests) who play various wind and brass instruments (and drums, too). There were no clarinets. Son was not invited to play this year (he's only had four lessons), but we like to think that this time next year he might be playing something really bluesy at this concert. He likes blues.
I'm tired. (See other blog)
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Being obtuse again
At prayers last night I said we should pray for another mum who is in hospital.
Then we talked about medical conditions being chronic or acute. (He knows Dad has a chronic disease.)
His cheeky face lit up, "So are there obtuse diseases?"
Then we talked about medical conditions being chronic or acute. (He knows Dad has a chronic disease.)
His cheeky face lit up, "So are there obtuse diseases?"
Monday, October 01, 2007
Deja vu and carte bleue
Son and mates played another match today. It was an 'away' game at a school unfamiliar to us parents so most of the boys were bussed back to school.
It was a dismal day, weather-wise. They lost all the games. But surprisingly my son was chirpy. He seemed to have enjoyed the match even though they hadn't won.
It was a very positive spirit and I congratulated him on that.
What disturbed me was his accounts of how a classmate has 'threatened' him with words like, "I will take you to the park and whack you hard," etc. There was talk of blood and all that. This classmate also demanded to have all the money from my son's piggy bank if my son does not want him at our house before his best friend gets there.
Huh? Pardon?
It was not even that my son was being bullied. He didn't let any of this bother him, he claimed. But I was very disturbed that a fellow seven-year-old could use such language and think such violent thoughts. Clearly there was no way he was going to carry this out, but still ....
My son said that his classmate was probably feeling (and he acted this out: a crying baby). This other young man was probably a little jealous of someone else being invited to our house, and not him.
"But you can't get people to become your friend by threatening them," I said.
My son was not even bothered. He seemed to have learned to stick up for himself. Good for him.
But the big question is: do I approach the parent of this other boy to alert him of these thoughts that are being expressed by his son?
The other news is son has got his first 'Blue Card'. The school has a system of rewarding good effort, results, behaviour, etc with points for the House. They earn a House point here, and a House point there, and at the end of every term, the biggest cheer at end-of-term assembly is for the winning House.
My son is an avid earner of House points. The Blue Card is worth a whole dix points. Today he and his best friend were awarded the first Blue Cards for the Form for their ability in speaking French. These cards have then to be validated by the Headmaster.
Son is looking forward to seeing the Headmaster soon to show him the Carte Bleue and to demonstrate his fluency in saying:
Good morning, Mr B.
[Mr B answers.] How are you?
I am fine, thank you. And you?
[Mr B to answer.]
My name is ----. I am seven years old. I live in ------ in England. The name of my school is ---- ----. Etc, etc.
Can't wait to hear what he has to say about this experience.
It was a dismal day, weather-wise. They lost all the games. But surprisingly my son was chirpy. He seemed to have enjoyed the match even though they hadn't won.
It was a very positive spirit and I congratulated him on that.
What disturbed me was his accounts of how a classmate has 'threatened' him with words like, "I will take you to the park and whack you hard," etc. There was talk of blood and all that. This classmate also demanded to have all the money from my son's piggy bank if my son does not want him at our house before his best friend gets there.
Huh? Pardon?
It was not even that my son was being bullied. He didn't let any of this bother him, he claimed. But I was very disturbed that a fellow seven-year-old could use such language and think such violent thoughts. Clearly there was no way he was going to carry this out, but still ....
My son said that his classmate was probably feeling (and he acted this out: a crying baby). This other young man was probably a little jealous of someone else being invited to our house, and not him.
"But you can't get people to become your friend by threatening them," I said.
My son was not even bothered. He seemed to have learned to stick up for himself. Good for him.
But the big question is: do I approach the parent of this other boy to alert him of these thoughts that are being expressed by his son?
The other news is son has got his first 'Blue Card'. The school has a system of rewarding good effort, results, behaviour, etc with points for the House. They earn a House point here, and a House point there, and at the end of every term, the biggest cheer at end-of-term assembly is for the winning House.
My son is an avid earner of House points. The Blue Card is worth a whole dix points. Today he and his best friend were awarded the first Blue Cards for the Form for their ability in speaking French. These cards have then to be validated by the Headmaster.
Son is looking forward to seeing the Headmaster soon to show him the Carte Bleue and to demonstrate his fluency in saying:
Good morning, Mr B.
[Mr B answers.] How are you?
I am fine, thank you. And you?
[Mr B to answer.]
My name is ----. I am seven years old. I live in ------ in England. The name of my school is ---- ----. Etc, etc.
Can't wait to hear what he has to say about this experience.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Not the 'A' Team
When I got to the football ground I was embarrassed to find that I was the only mum from son's class to be there.
It was our wedding anniversary -- our nineth -- and I had plans to do as little as possible. But son wanted me at his football game. So there I was jumping up and down by the goal-line of the opposing team. They had a larger fan club.
But the goal-keeper was really bored. All the action was on the other side of the pitch.
My son's team was thrashed. O, never mind.
I was heartened, however, to see that he was taking an active part and had indeed made many good defensive moves to keep the score difference down.
Amongst other things, they had at one point, the boy with the smallest stature at goal. The opposition kicked the ball so hard he managed to catch hold of the ball but the momentum of the kick pushed him across the line, at which point he dropped the ball. So it was a goal to the opposition.
At other times this and the other goal-keepers had their backs to the rest of the team, watching the 'A' team battle it out on the adjoining pitch. "Stand in front of the goal line!" I found myself shouting at whoever was at goal.
It was hilarious. It was.
The other consolation is the boys whom I know have been taking football lessons weren't any better than my son. So, there!
When we got home there was still homework to do.
It was our wedding anniversary -- our nineth -- and I had plans to do as little as possible. But son wanted me at his football game. So there I was jumping up and down by the goal-line of the opposing team. They had a larger fan club.
But the goal-keeper was really bored. All the action was on the other side of the pitch.
My son's team was thrashed. O, never mind.
I was heartened, however, to see that he was taking an active part and had indeed made many good defensive moves to keep the score difference down.
Amongst other things, they had at one point, the boy with the smallest stature at goal. The opposition kicked the ball so hard he managed to catch hold of the ball but the momentum of the kick pushed him across the line, at which point he dropped the ball. So it was a goal to the opposition.
At other times this and the other goal-keepers had their backs to the rest of the team, watching the 'A' team battle it out on the adjoining pitch. "Stand in front of the goal line!" I found myself shouting at whoever was at goal.
It was hilarious. It was.
The other consolation is the boys whom I know have been taking football lessons weren't any better than my son. So, there!
When we got home there was still homework to do.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Made it to the football team
Son did manage to get to school yesterday (Monday). I was on edge all day waiting for the school to phone to say he needed to be brought home.
No phone call came.
The football match they were supposed to play was postponed due to an administrative oversight.
Pick-up time: son was smiling after having three periods of 'Games' in the afternoon. He was excited.
He had been picked to play in the postponed football match now on Wednesday. He would have to miss the theatre visit of a group presenting Wizard of Oz, but "who cares?" he said.
He's not in the 'A' team, but in the 'Mixed' (meaning mixed ability, I think) team. But who cares? And he has the right attitude towards it, too.
But this morning, there was a moan about having to go to school. It's swimming day and again he's not feeling confident about his swimming. Sigh. After having done so well to "escape" being put in the "beginners club" he is finding swimming very tedious.
No phone call came.
The football match they were supposed to play was postponed due to an administrative oversight.
Pick-up time: son was smiling after having three periods of 'Games' in the afternoon. He was excited.
He had been picked to play in the postponed football match now on Wednesday. He would have to miss the theatre visit of a group presenting Wizard of Oz, but "who cares?" he said.
He's not in the 'A' team, but in the 'Mixed' (meaning mixed ability, I think) team. But who cares? And he has the right attitude towards it, too.
But this morning, there was a moan about having to go to school. It's swimming day and again he's not feeling confident about his swimming. Sigh. After having done so well to "escape" being put in the "beginners club" he is finding swimming very tedious.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Fever Las Vegas!
Young man woke up early yesterday with something bothering his throat. But he didn't let him affect his activities too much.
By evening, however, it was clear that he was not well. It was difficult to get him -- wrapped in his favourite blanket from head to toe -- away from watching the Elvis impersonators on TV, but I managed and sponged him down.
When he got to bed he was able to say, "I'm feeling a bit drowsy now ...."
He was perspiring a lot in his sleep and yet drew the duvet well up to his neck. This morning it appeared that the fever had finally subsided, but it could just be the effect of the medicine.
Any how, he is good as gold and being most polite. He's always most polite when he is most unwell.
I am not complaining.
He had been going on about a football match at school tomorrow. He's been trying very hard to improve in his football and would really like to put his new skills to the test.
We shall see whether he even gets to school.
By evening, however, it was clear that he was not well. It was difficult to get him -- wrapped in his favourite blanket from head to toe -- away from watching the Elvis impersonators on TV, but I managed and sponged him down.
When he got to bed he was able to say, "I'm feeling a bit drowsy now ...."
He was perspiring a lot in his sleep and yet drew the duvet well up to his neck. This morning it appeared that the fever had finally subsided, but it could just be the effect of the medicine.
Any how, he is good as gold and being most polite. He's always most polite when he is most unwell.
I am not complaining.
He had been going on about a football match at school tomorrow. He's been trying very hard to improve in his football and would really like to put his new skills to the test.
We shall see whether he even gets to school.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Being obtuse
Yesterday, as a special treat, I bought a little chocolate fudge cake, organic, of course.
Just as well, because son was not very pleased when he got home. He had been to 'Fun Choir'. It appears that the older boys were asked to vote who was the best singer amongst the youngest boys, and vice-versa.
Son thought -- it goes without saying -- that he was very good, but every older boy bar one voted for the youngest boy in the choir. One brave soul voted for one of son's good friend. But nobody voted for him at all.
He couldn't contain himself any more when we sat down to have our snack (said chocolate fudge cake). "Why didn't even ONE boy vote for me? I can't understand! B-- was rubbish and mucking about and yet they voted for him."
It wasn't made easier when one of these older boys said to him as we were going home, "... you were the best. Really, you were the best."
Look of distress on son's face and then, "If I was the best, then why did everyone vote for B--?"
It took some time to calm him down. I can't think why it mattered so much to him that someone "at least showed appreciation" of him.
Any way he did cheer up after this. But he couldn't have any more cake after dinner as it was past six o'clock. Chocolate after six makes it quite difficult for him to fall asleep.
This morning he looked at the cake and said, "I am going to have a piece with an obtuse angle. That will leave Dad with one with an acute angle."
"What is an obtuse angle?" I asked.
"One that is more than 90 degrees."
"And acute?"
"Less than 90 degrees."
"Have you been learning about angles at school?"
"Of course not!"
"Then how do you know obtuse and acute?"
"From a book, perhaps?"
He then proceeded to show me a "reflex angle".
Just as well, because son was not very pleased when he got home. He had been to 'Fun Choir'. It appears that the older boys were asked to vote who was the best singer amongst the youngest boys, and vice-versa.
Son thought -- it goes without saying -- that he was very good, but every older boy bar one voted for the youngest boy in the choir. One brave soul voted for one of son's good friend. But nobody voted for him at all.
He couldn't contain himself any more when we sat down to have our snack (said chocolate fudge cake). "Why didn't even ONE boy vote for me? I can't understand! B-- was rubbish and mucking about and yet they voted for him."
It wasn't made easier when one of these older boys said to him as we were going home, "... you were the best. Really, you were the best."
Look of distress on son's face and then, "If I was the best, then why did everyone vote for B--?"
It took some time to calm him down. I can't think why it mattered so much to him that someone "at least showed appreciation" of him.
Any way he did cheer up after this. But he couldn't have any more cake after dinner as it was past six o'clock. Chocolate after six makes it quite difficult for him to fall asleep.
This morning he looked at the cake and said, "I am going to have a piece with an obtuse angle. That will leave Dad with one with an acute angle."
"What is an obtuse angle?" I asked.
"One that is more than 90 degrees."
"And acute?"
"Less than 90 degrees."
"Have you been learning about angles at school?"
"Of course not!"
"Then how do you know obtuse and acute?"
"From a book, perhaps?"
He then proceeded to show me a "reflex angle".
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Marching boys
Walking home from my business group mentoring session (I walk through a fairly large park, it helps to clear my head after three hours of talking business and exchanging ideas) I ran into the school cook who asked about my son.
She observed that he seemed happier. He was always so serious looking. Then she recalled that a few days ago he and two others were "marching" into the Dining Room. So he does lighten up a bit.
I mean, he often has us in stitches at home with his jokes and the way he describes something (that happened or in his imagination).
Yesterday I mentioned that after a hard slog I finally managed to get tickets to the British Museum to see the Terracotta Army exhibition. Daddy has always wanted to see these soldiers and has planned to go to China for a visit at some point to see the "real thing". So he was chuffed when he found out that the exhibition was going to be here, right in London.
I said, it's once in a life-time, a bit like Daddy being taken to see Tutankahmen.
"Tut who?"
"Tutankhamen, you know that Egyptian Pharaoh ...."
His response was, "What do you do with an Egyptian door bell?"
"What do you do with an Egyptian door bell?"
"Toot and come on in."
Of course that was not original. He read it somewhere, but at an appropriate time he was able to recall that to good effect.
Yet we were told he does not smile in class.
I ask him after school every day, "On a scale of one to ten, what was the day like?"
"Five hundred. No, make it ten thousand," or something like that.
He seems happy enough, and I am pleased.
She observed that he seemed happier. He was always so serious looking. Then she recalled that a few days ago he and two others were "marching" into the Dining Room. So he does lighten up a bit.
I mean, he often has us in stitches at home with his jokes and the way he describes something (that happened or in his imagination).
Yesterday I mentioned that after a hard slog I finally managed to get tickets to the British Museum to see the Terracotta Army exhibition. Daddy has always wanted to see these soldiers and has planned to go to China for a visit at some point to see the "real thing". So he was chuffed when he found out that the exhibition was going to be here, right in London.
I said, it's once in a life-time, a bit like Daddy being taken to see Tutankahmen.
"Tut who?"
"Tutankhamen, you know that Egyptian Pharaoh ...."
His response was, "What do you do with an Egyptian door bell?"
"What do you do with an Egyptian door bell?"
"Toot and come on in."
Of course that was not original. He read it somewhere, but at an appropriate time he was able to recall that to good effect.
Yet we were told he does not smile in class.
I ask him after school every day, "On a scale of one to ten, what was the day like?"
"Five hundred. No, make it ten thousand," or something like that.
He seems happy enough, and I am pleased.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Confusion
Son was happy at the end of the school day. He could not wait to tell me how hard he tried and now he is off the "beginners" swimming list.
He was not pleased when he discovered on Thursday that he had been put on this list which means additional swimming lessons on Thursdays. It would mean his having to miss Art Club at lunch break.
So he worked very hard and now he does not have to do extra lessons, he thinks.
As to why he joined Art Club, I do not know. He tells me he's doing a special sketch for me and the Art teacher is helping him. OK.
Prep time. He was supposed to spend not more than 20 minutes on Prep. There were 40 animal names he needed to put in alphabetical order. When 20 minutes were up he was less than halfway through. I tried persuading him to stop and either carry on the next day or let the teacher know the Prep required more than 20 minutes.
No, he wanted to carry on, and when he came to the "L's" he got confused. I tried explaining but he would not listen. He said he didn't mind if he got them wrong. That way he could learn from his mistakes. Lots of tears and shouting.
He met with the same problem again when he came to "W". Somehow he managed to remain calm enough for me to show him he must not "cross-compare". Then he realized why the "L's" were wrong.
I don't know what to think of his attitude. He had been so good and positive all week, and at the end of the week he just seemed unable to cope anymore. He was clearly physically and mentally tired, but he insisted on carrying on.
More pertinently I realized that despite his reading age -- he's said to be able to read better than the 12-year-olds -- he does not yet know the English alphabet off by heart!
Hmmm.
He was not pleased when he discovered on Thursday that he had been put on this list which means additional swimming lessons on Thursdays. It would mean his having to miss Art Club at lunch break.
So he worked very hard and now he does not have to do extra lessons, he thinks.
As to why he joined Art Club, I do not know. He tells me he's doing a special sketch for me and the Art teacher is helping him. OK.
Prep time. He was supposed to spend not more than 20 minutes on Prep. There were 40 animal names he needed to put in alphabetical order. When 20 minutes were up he was less than halfway through. I tried persuading him to stop and either carry on the next day or let the teacher know the Prep required more than 20 minutes.
No, he wanted to carry on, and when he came to the "L's" he got confused. I tried explaining but he would not listen. He said he didn't mind if he got them wrong. That way he could learn from his mistakes. Lots of tears and shouting.
He met with the same problem again when he came to "W". Somehow he managed to remain calm enough for me to show him he must not "cross-compare". Then he realized why the "L's" were wrong.
I don't know what to think of his attitude. He had been so good and positive all week, and at the end of the week he just seemed unable to cope anymore. He was clearly physically and mentally tired, but he insisted on carrying on.
More pertinently I realized that despite his reading age -- he's said to be able to read better than the 12-year-olds -- he does not yet know the English alphabet off by heart!
Hmmm.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Voices and noises
Husband and I had a good meeting with the headmaster and two of the staff.
Basically we agreed that we need to seek professional help to ascertain what is bothering our son. I have in fact tried to kick-start this process by going to the GP. He has referred, but is not quite sure whom to refer son to.
Any way the school now knows a little more about son's peculiar habit of asking for instructions over and over again. This had previously be put down to his wanting to be perfect.
In the past three years he had been told consistently not to be too hard on himself, it's OK to make mistakes, he does not need to be perfect. I have since discovered that it might have nothing to do with wanting to be perfect. He asked instructions over and over again simply because he does not remember them.
For example I've been saying in the mornings for a week: brush your teeth, clean your face, get dressed and make your bed.
But after brushing his teeth he forgets what is the next instruction. "What do I do next?"
Yesterday I said, "OK, the sequence is 'teeth-face-clothes-bed'."
Son then muttered something like "Teeth are in the face, which is in the body, and the body rests in the bed which is where the clothes are." Sorted.
I had to print off some photos for him in a hurry and left him to his "routine". What a surprise it was that when I came upstairs again he was sitting in his bed reading a book, fully dressed on a well-made bed, having brushed his teeth and cleaned his face . Bingo!
Today, well, he got a bit distracted. He completed the routine but stopped in between to read something. Still the routine seems to have registered.
His continuous need to seek reassurance on instructions was seen as timidity and a lack of confidence and anxiety. Now I am beginning to wonder if it was just his way of checking and counter-checking, because some instructions, especially verbal ones, just do not seem to register.
Chatting with an old classmate over the net about her son said to be suffering from CAPD, we ventured into the area of being a spatial-visual learner. Then I remember how son always had trouble discerning where sound was coming from.
He's nearly pitch-perfect. You sing a note, he goes to the piano and nine times out of ten, he plays that exact note . You could even play intervals and he could identify these as 'doh-soh' or 'doh-fah', or whatever. More frequently he hears a tune on TV and he goes to play it on the piano.
But there had been countless times when he shouts "Where are you?" and I am upstairs in the en-suite bathroom with the door slightly ajar and I shout back, "Here!". Even though he might be in the next bedroom, he could not identify where the sound comes from. He would then wander off downstairs, check every room, and not finding me, starts crying, "Mum, where are you?"
And I am shouting myself hoarse upstairs in the loo, "Here, I am upstairs."
He wanders upstairs, "Upstairs, where?"
He's outside our bedroom and I shout, "In the bathroom in the bedroom." And then he finds me. He's in a flood of tears.
Of course now I shout "Here in the en-suite bathroom" or something like that instead.
Sometimes this happens when I am in the conservatory and he's in the next room. No bathroom door in between. I say, "I'm here" and he goes to the room further away from me to look for me.
It appears that he has no sense of where sound is coming from if it is not immediately in front of him, where he could see the speaker.
I wrote about how he was disturbed by the sound in an indoor sports hall. It was not loudness, perhaps, but that the noise and echoes were coming in all directions, unrelentlessly, and that upset him.
Ironically when he uses the bathroom he would turn on the light even in broad daylight so that the fan would turn on. "I like the sound," he says. The sound of the whirring fan comforts him,
O yes, when he was a baby I could not use the food processor until he was in bed, or shutting two doors between us, but the washing machine and tumble dryer were OK.
He was taken to the cinema by a friend when he was three and refused to go again for another three years time because of the "noise". (The sound level in the cinema was indeed very high.)
We have a friend who has suffered a head injury. She tells us that she too cannot distinguish the direction from which sounds are coming from. Everything is a blur and it tires her out just trying to process these stimuli. She cannot filter out the unimportant noise from the important noise. This lady also sings beautifully.
Could our son be suffering a similar condition? Does that explain why certain types of noise upset him so much?
Then I recall how much he had calmed down in the last half-term of school last year. Something caused me to think this coincided with the sudden departure of a boy who was very disruptive.
Our son used to get very upset if this boy had made it impossible for the whole class to "do any learning". He complained about this boy's whingeing. Could the whingeing have had an impact on my son?
Why do the episodes of anxiety happen only on Fridays?
Is it because he gets taken out of class for his piano lesson? And this often means he misses handwriting class? Does this make him anxious and then coupled with swimming -- which he perceives himself not to be so good at -- right at the end of the day, he gets too tired to compensate, and falls apart?
What are these "bad voices" as he was supposed to have said that bothered him?
But this week he has made phenomenal progress on the clarinet. He practised really hard to get rid of the puffy cheeks. (It helps when Mum plays wind instruments.) He tried and he tried, and by Sunday he got it. Dimpled cheeks while making a solid sound on the clarinet.
He learned to play two more notes on Wednesday (yesterday) and he's playing tunes, even those not in the book, as he makes them up.
His piano too is coming along and husband and I are really enjoying the exam pieces he has chosen to play. They are not easy to play, but very pleasant to listen to.
The teacher will decide in two weeks' time if he should be presented for exams in November or March.
Son also joined the Fun Choir, the Middle School boy's rite of passage, it seems. They are doing songs from Oliver Twist and son is enjoying 'food, glorious food'.
Basically we agreed that we need to seek professional help to ascertain what is bothering our son. I have in fact tried to kick-start this process by going to the GP. He has referred, but is not quite sure whom to refer son to.
Any way the school now knows a little more about son's peculiar habit of asking for instructions over and over again. This had previously be put down to his wanting to be perfect.
In the past three years he had been told consistently not to be too hard on himself, it's OK to make mistakes, he does not need to be perfect. I have since discovered that it might have nothing to do with wanting to be perfect. He asked instructions over and over again simply because he does not remember them.
For example I've been saying in the mornings for a week: brush your teeth, clean your face, get dressed and make your bed.
But after brushing his teeth he forgets what is the next instruction. "What do I do next?"
Yesterday I said, "OK, the sequence is 'teeth-face-clothes-bed'."
Son then muttered something like "Teeth are in the face, which is in the body, and the body rests in the bed which is where the clothes are." Sorted.
I had to print off some photos for him in a hurry and left him to his "routine". What a surprise it was that when I came upstairs again he was sitting in his bed reading a book, fully dressed on a well-made bed, having brushed his teeth and cleaned his face . Bingo!
Today, well, he got a bit distracted. He completed the routine but stopped in between to read something. Still the routine seems to have registered.
His continuous need to seek reassurance on instructions was seen as timidity and a lack of confidence and anxiety. Now I am beginning to wonder if it was just his way of checking and counter-checking, because some instructions, especially verbal ones, just do not seem to register.
Chatting with an old classmate over the net about her son said to be suffering from CAPD, we ventured into the area of being a spatial-visual learner. Then I remember how son always had trouble discerning where sound was coming from.
He's nearly pitch-perfect. You sing a note, he goes to the piano and nine times out of ten, he plays that exact note . You could even play intervals and he could identify these as 'doh-soh' or 'doh-fah', or whatever. More frequently he hears a tune on TV and he goes to play it on the piano.
But there had been countless times when he shouts "Where are you?" and I am upstairs in the en-suite bathroom with the door slightly ajar and I shout back, "Here!". Even though he might be in the next bedroom, he could not identify where the sound comes from. He would then wander off downstairs, check every room, and not finding me, starts crying, "Mum, where are you?"
And I am shouting myself hoarse upstairs in the loo, "Here, I am upstairs."
He wanders upstairs, "Upstairs, where?"
He's outside our bedroom and I shout, "In the bathroom in the bedroom." And then he finds me. He's in a flood of tears.
Of course now I shout "Here in the en-suite bathroom" or something like that instead.
Sometimes this happens when I am in the conservatory and he's in the next room. No bathroom door in between. I say, "I'm here" and he goes to the room further away from me to look for me.
It appears that he has no sense of where sound is coming from if it is not immediately in front of him, where he could see the speaker.
I wrote about how he was disturbed by the sound in an indoor sports hall. It was not loudness, perhaps, but that the noise and echoes were coming in all directions, unrelentlessly, and that upset him.
Ironically when he uses the bathroom he would turn on the light even in broad daylight so that the fan would turn on. "I like the sound," he says. The sound of the whirring fan comforts him,
O yes, when he was a baby I could not use the food processor until he was in bed, or shutting two doors between us, but the washing machine and tumble dryer were OK.
He was taken to the cinema by a friend when he was three and refused to go again for another three years time because of the "noise". (The sound level in the cinema was indeed very high.)
We have a friend who has suffered a head injury. She tells us that she too cannot distinguish the direction from which sounds are coming from. Everything is a blur and it tires her out just trying to process these stimuli. She cannot filter out the unimportant noise from the important noise. This lady also sings beautifully.
Could our son be suffering a similar condition? Does that explain why certain types of noise upset him so much?
Then I recall how much he had calmed down in the last half-term of school last year. Something caused me to think this coincided with the sudden departure of a boy who was very disruptive.
Our son used to get very upset if this boy had made it impossible for the whole class to "do any learning". He complained about this boy's whingeing. Could the whingeing have had an impact on my son?
Why do the episodes of anxiety happen only on Fridays?
Is it because he gets taken out of class for his piano lesson? And this often means he misses handwriting class? Does this make him anxious and then coupled with swimming -- which he perceives himself not to be so good at -- right at the end of the day, he gets too tired to compensate, and falls apart?
What are these "bad voices" as he was supposed to have said that bothered him?
But this week he has made phenomenal progress on the clarinet. He practised really hard to get rid of the puffy cheeks. (It helps when Mum plays wind instruments.) He tried and he tried, and by Sunday he got it. Dimpled cheeks while making a solid sound on the clarinet.
He learned to play two more notes on Wednesday (yesterday) and he's playing tunes, even those not in the book, as he makes them up.
His piano too is coming along and husband and I are really enjoying the exam pieces he has chosen to play. They are not easy to play, but very pleasant to listen to.
The teacher will decide in two weeks' time if he should be presented for exams in November or March.
Son also joined the Fun Choir, the Middle School boy's rite of passage, it seems. They are doing songs from Oliver Twist and son is enjoying 'food, glorious food'.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
First day back at school
Actually it's second, but 'second day back' doesn't have the same ring, does it?
There were too many nervous parents. The 'old boys' were moving from 'junior school' to 'middle school'. They were moving from short shorts to long trousers. Instead of little plastic school bags they now have sports bags and a school-issue back-pack.
At lunch they would now be able to choose from a wide selection instead of being given a specific menu. (Junior school pupils would take too long to make up their minds, I imagine.)
So 3.40pm, give or take, parents were gathered to pick up our children. Son was making some 'happy gestures' while waiting to be dismissed.
He was all excited because, "Guess what? I was given my piano certificate today, and I received it from Mr B (the headmaster)." He was chuffed.
"I was the only one from Form I who was given a certificate."
"I was the first one to be called."
Then it was how they would all get their first house point if they could manage to remember their caps the next day.
And they now have their Prep Book, kept always in their school blazer, and he has some Prep to complete (sticking the sticky plaster-protector-thing onto the Prep Book.
He was so excited, so happy. When he got home he talked in such a grown-up way it felt like I left a seven-year-old little boy at school at 8.40am and seven hours later I got back a seven-year-old very polite young man instead.
He duly completed his Prep, did his piano practice, and was able to relax for the rest of the day.
No problems with writing so far. He's been writing names and information at various places and they are all legible. What a pleasant surprise!
There were too many nervous parents. The 'old boys' were moving from 'junior school' to 'middle school'. They were moving from short shorts to long trousers. Instead of little plastic school bags they now have sports bags and a school-issue back-pack.
At lunch they would now be able to choose from a wide selection instead of being given a specific menu. (Junior school pupils would take too long to make up their minds, I imagine.)
So 3.40pm, give or take, parents were gathered to pick up our children. Son was making some 'happy gestures' while waiting to be dismissed.
He was all excited because, "Guess what? I was given my piano certificate today, and I received it from Mr B (the headmaster)." He was chuffed.
"I was the only one from Form I who was given a certificate."
"I was the first one to be called."
Then it was how they would all get their first house point if they could manage to remember their caps the next day.
And they now have their Prep Book, kept always in their school blazer, and he has some Prep to complete (sticking the sticky plaster-protector-thing onto the Prep Book.
He was so excited, so happy. When he got home he talked in such a grown-up way it felt like I left a seven-year-old little boy at school at 8.40am and seven hours later I got back a seven-year-old very polite young man instead.
He duly completed his Prep, did his piano practice, and was able to relax for the rest of the day.
No problems with writing so far. He's been writing names and information at various places and they are all legible. What a pleasant surprise!
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