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.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, October 06, 2008
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!
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!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Long thirsty Thursdays
They are doing intensive rehearsals for this drama production. Lunch-time and after-school rehearsals.
I think son is regretting it a little that these are going on all the time. But he is not going to quit because he is not going to let the other people down. Good on him!
This means having to miss his Thursday lunch-time Chess Club. He's OK with that as he's not required for rehearsal next week and could catch up on Chess then. Today it means having to miss his first break because of a piano lesson. Then he goes to Late Class after school until the rehearsal between 4.30 and 5.30pm.
Gave him some grapes for a snack but he might not have time to eat them. At least it is there and might come in useful to quench his thirst.
Orchestra rehearsals have also moved back to Mondays. That means he does Monday lunch band practice, Monday after-school orchestra rehearsal before finishing at 4.30pm. He gets a break on Tuesday and is home early then.
He also has four pieces to perform on the clarinet in a couple of weeks at the Autumn Wind and Brass Concert at school. He plays with an oboeist, two flutists, another clarinettest (all from the top end of the school) and plays the melody line with his best friend who has just started on the clarinet. So a lot of practice for him.
Practice?
I'm still having trouble trying to get him to practise more than five minutes every other day or so. What is exasperating is that despite long breaks in between he is still able to produce a very good tone in the first instance and he does not forget his fingering. So I cannot even say, "If you don't put in the practice you would lose your muscle tone."
I think he does exercises with his mouth and lip muscles even when he is not physically playing the clarinet and that is very good. I can't complain really. Except that a mother always feels, "Ah! If only he would do a little bit more, he could be SO good."
Yesterday it was really lovely to hear him play and experiment on the clarinet. And he was demonstrating to his dad the diminished chords on the piano. Hopefully music theory will be a dawdle (spelling?) to him when the time comes.
He is struggling to write the '£' sign in his Maths and musical notes, clefs, etc. We're 'doing' his science project on 'sound' and we decided that we would decorate some old empty plastic containers with musical signs. We've taken to sticking post-it tags on the inside of the container so he could trace the patterns on the outside. It's coming along.
This morning he was trying to show me how he has to dance while singing "We're in the money!" etc. Let's hope he loosens up a bit.
I think son is regretting it a little that these are going on all the time. But he is not going to quit because he is not going to let the other people down. Good on him!
This means having to miss his Thursday lunch-time Chess Club. He's OK with that as he's not required for rehearsal next week and could catch up on Chess then. Today it means having to miss his first break because of a piano lesson. Then he goes to Late Class after school until the rehearsal between 4.30 and 5.30pm.
Gave him some grapes for a snack but he might not have time to eat them. At least it is there and might come in useful to quench his thirst.
Orchestra rehearsals have also moved back to Mondays. That means he does Monday lunch band practice, Monday after-school orchestra rehearsal before finishing at 4.30pm. He gets a break on Tuesday and is home early then.
He also has four pieces to perform on the clarinet in a couple of weeks at the Autumn Wind and Brass Concert at school. He plays with an oboeist, two flutists, another clarinettest (all from the top end of the school) and plays the melody line with his best friend who has just started on the clarinet. So a lot of practice for him.
Practice?
I'm still having trouble trying to get him to practise more than five minutes every other day or so. What is exasperating is that despite long breaks in between he is still able to produce a very good tone in the first instance and he does not forget his fingering. So I cannot even say, "If you don't put in the practice you would lose your muscle tone."
I think he does exercises with his mouth and lip muscles even when he is not physically playing the clarinet and that is very good. I can't complain really. Except that a mother always feels, "Ah! If only he would do a little bit more, he could be SO good."
Yesterday it was really lovely to hear him play and experiment on the clarinet. And he was demonstrating to his dad the diminished chords on the piano. Hopefully music theory will be a dawdle (spelling?) to him when the time comes.
He is struggling to write the '£' sign in his Maths and musical notes, clefs, etc. We're 'doing' his science project on 'sound' and we decided that we would decorate some old empty plastic containers with musical signs. We've taken to sticking post-it tags on the inside of the container so he could trace the patterns on the outside. It's coming along.
This morning he was trying to show me how he has to dance while singing "We're in the money!" etc. Let's hope he loosens up a bit.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Even longer peace
Son was given two smaller and one more major parts in the drama production and he is chuffed.
Then we quickly realized that the first rehearsal would clash with his orchestra practice at Tuesday lunch-time.
Monday morning he appeared really anxious. A mother knows these things, but tries not to highlight it. He would have to talk to various teachers about the clashes in his timetable, go to a Band rehearsal at lunch, organize to store his clarinet at the office, or in a locker somewhere, as well as organize himself to change into games kit for a football match. That is a lot for an eight-year-old.
First thing in the morning he spoke to teacher in charge of drama production and was reassured that she would speak to the Head of Music wrt the clash. Then the Band rehearsal time was changed at the last minute.
Did he panic? A little. But he got that sorted and even managed to get to the football match. He left his clarinet in the office for me to pick up, as planned. Good lad!
Tuesday's orchestra practice has now been switched as well so that he has orchestra, quick lunch and then drama rehearsal.
I noted to him that the should notify whoever in charge that he would have to leave early or arrive late due to lunch in between, just in case.
First thing at school, notified the teacher in charge of drama that he might be late. Sorted.
Wednesday was normal long day with Fun Choir.
Today there are drama rehearsals at lunch and after school at 4.30pm. He wanted to come home in between (for 45 minutes). Then he realized that a better idea is to stay at Late Class, finish his homework, play with his friends, and then attend rehearsal, which finishes at 5.30pm. It's going to mess up my cooking schedule, but it's not the end of the world.
So it will be interesting to see how he has coped with such a long day.
I think he's been doing very well.
Then we quickly realized that the first rehearsal would clash with his orchestra practice at Tuesday lunch-time.
Monday morning he appeared really anxious. A mother knows these things, but tries not to highlight it. He would have to talk to various teachers about the clashes in his timetable, go to a Band rehearsal at lunch, organize to store his clarinet at the office, or in a locker somewhere, as well as organize himself to change into games kit for a football match. That is a lot for an eight-year-old.
First thing in the morning he spoke to teacher in charge of drama production and was reassured that she would speak to the Head of Music wrt the clash. Then the Band rehearsal time was changed at the last minute.
Did he panic? A little. But he got that sorted and even managed to get to the football match. He left his clarinet in the office for me to pick up, as planned. Good lad!
Tuesday's orchestra practice has now been switched as well so that he has orchestra, quick lunch and then drama rehearsal.
I noted to him that the should notify whoever in charge that he would have to leave early or arrive late due to lunch in between, just in case.
First thing at school, notified the teacher in charge of drama that he might be late. Sorted.
Wednesday was normal long day with Fun Choir.
Today there are drama rehearsals at lunch and after school at 4.30pm. He wanted to come home in between (for 45 minutes). Then he realized that a better idea is to stay at Late Class, finish his homework, play with his friends, and then attend rehearsal, which finishes at 5.30pm. It's going to mess up my cooking schedule, but it's not the end of the world.
So it will be interesting to see how he has coped with such a long day.
I think he's been doing very well.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Sing your way home
Enjoying an extended afternoon of quiet here.
Extended till about 5pm because son has decided to go for an audition for the school music/drama production.
This is the son whose acting has been described as 'wooden' by his teachers but whose singing has been known to be about the best.
Despite the long-running saga of being bored with Oliver last year, and my reminding him that this production requires committment, he decided to go for it.
It surprises me even more as he had decided to forgo the audition for the Chapel Choir last week. He showed some disappointment when he thought only Form III and over were allowed to audition and he is in Form II.
When the Head of Music said Form II auditions were on last Friday he was chuffed, and then, didn't go for the audition ... because he thought he was not prepared. And also he thought -- wrongly -- that the choir practises at Tuesday lunch hour. He already has band practice on Monday lunch hour. Two days of disrupted lunch hours means ... less time for play.
"Maybe in Form III I would be more prepared."
I am a bit confused as to his goals and desires. No amount of coaxing would make him agree to go to the Head of Music to ask for a second chance. Yet he is going to this audition today. He even said I could help him to prepare for it "because I've seen that sometimes a bit of help is required". He was even more pleased then to learn that there was no need to prepare, as the teacher in charge was going to give them something to sing.
Based on his singing ability I have no doubt that he would do well, but it's his acting ability and readiness to commit that are questionable. Although he did say this is only for up to November. It's not going to be another Oliver.
Anyway, I shall enjoy this afternoon for now.
Extended till about 5pm because son has decided to go for an audition for the school music/drama production.
This is the son whose acting has been described as 'wooden' by his teachers but whose singing has been known to be about the best.
Despite the long-running saga of being bored with Oliver last year, and my reminding him that this production requires committment, he decided to go for it.
It surprises me even more as he had decided to forgo the audition for the Chapel Choir last week. He showed some disappointment when he thought only Form III and over were allowed to audition and he is in Form II.
When the Head of Music said Form II auditions were on last Friday he was chuffed, and then, didn't go for the audition ... because he thought he was not prepared. And also he thought -- wrongly -- that the choir practises at Tuesday lunch hour. He already has band practice on Monday lunch hour. Two days of disrupted lunch hours means ... less time for play.
"Maybe in Form III I would be more prepared."
I am a bit confused as to his goals and desires. No amount of coaxing would make him agree to go to the Head of Music to ask for a second chance. Yet he is going to this audition today. He even said I could help him to prepare for it "because I've seen that sometimes a bit of help is required". He was even more pleased then to learn that there was no need to prepare, as the teacher in charge was going to give them something to sing.
Based on his singing ability I have no doubt that he would do well, but it's his acting ability and readiness to commit that are questionable. Although he did say this is only for up to November. It's not going to be another Oliver.
Anyway, I shall enjoy this afternoon for now.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Off to Camp, at last!
Between Singapore and resumption of school is Cub Camp.
Cub Camp is the be-all and end-all of all incentives during this long eight-week summer break for son. We kept going to the camp shop (there are two in our part of Harrow!) to buy various things. Even on the day of camp itself, after I'd done my turn at the school uniform shop, we had to go to the shop to buy a steel mug.
Son is a very "I'm very comfortable at home, thank you" kind of boy. He could stay indoors for days if you do not force him out for some fresh air. But camp -- living in a tent -- seemed to have taken his fancy. I think it's the prospect of another badge that mattered most to him.
Anyhow, finally packed and ready to go, we got to the camp site.
There was to be an 'opening ceremony' at 7.30pm. Son checked in, got the stuff he needed for his tent, disappeared into the tent for a long while, emerged, came to me to give me a kiss (very unexpectedly), sort of waved to Dad, and said, "You can go now."
Being thus summarily dismissed, we left. We weren't allowed to stay for the opening ceremony.
Well, you know, this is the first time EVER that son has slept away from me. Ever since he was born -- kind of prised out of my body -- he has always slept under the same roof as me. Dad had gone away for a day or two (hospital, errand to Nanny, etc), but son has ALWAYS been with me. Even when I went to Singapore to conduct some research, son was with me.
Who felt the separation more? Guess!
It was a rite of passage for all of us.
All through the time he was away we could not stop talking about him: he must be having his campfire now. Is he singing 'Ging gang gooli'? "Do you think he's asleep?".
Get used to it, we reminded ourselves.
Sunday morning, the rain was chucking down. "Do you think his tent is flooded?"
Sunday afternoon, we went to pick him up, in good time for the 'closing ceremony', we thought. At the carpark we noticed that cubs were already climbing into cars. They had brought forward the closing ceremony because of the rain. So we missed it.
Caught sight of son. All smiles. Rushed towards us waving a certificate: Best Camper it says.
A real surprise. All our fears about his not liking camp evaporated. He wants to do more. He even managed to pack everything back into his rucksack. Amazing!
So last week we bought him a new sleeping bag. Next 'Cool Camp' end of October coming up. What fun!
Cub Camp is the be-all and end-all of all incentives during this long eight-week summer break for son. We kept going to the camp shop (there are two in our part of Harrow!) to buy various things. Even on the day of camp itself, after I'd done my turn at the school uniform shop, we had to go to the shop to buy a steel mug.
Son is a very "I'm very comfortable at home, thank you" kind of boy. He could stay indoors for days if you do not force him out for some fresh air. But camp -- living in a tent -- seemed to have taken his fancy. I think it's the prospect of another badge that mattered most to him.
Anyhow, finally packed and ready to go, we got to the camp site.
There was to be an 'opening ceremony' at 7.30pm. Son checked in, got the stuff he needed for his tent, disappeared into the tent for a long while, emerged, came to me to give me a kiss (very unexpectedly), sort of waved to Dad, and said, "You can go now."
Being thus summarily dismissed, we left. We weren't allowed to stay for the opening ceremony.
Well, you know, this is the first time EVER that son has slept away from me. Ever since he was born -- kind of prised out of my body -- he has always slept under the same roof as me. Dad had gone away for a day or two (hospital, errand to Nanny, etc), but son has ALWAYS been with me. Even when I went to Singapore to conduct some research, son was with me.
Who felt the separation more? Guess!
It was a rite of passage for all of us.
All through the time he was away we could not stop talking about him: he must be having his campfire now. Is he singing 'Ging gang gooli'? "Do you think he's asleep?".
Get used to it, we reminded ourselves.
Sunday morning, the rain was chucking down. "Do you think his tent is flooded?"
Sunday afternoon, we went to pick him up, in good time for the 'closing ceremony', we thought. At the carpark we noticed that cubs were already climbing into cars. They had brought forward the closing ceremony because of the rain. So we missed it.
Caught sight of son. All smiles. Rushed towards us waving a certificate: Best Camper it says.
A real surprise. All our fears about his not liking camp evaporated. He wants to do more. He even managed to pack everything back into his rucksack. Amazing!
So last week we bought him a new sleeping bag. Next 'Cool Camp' end of October coming up. What fun!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
One-Tonne Noodles
My brother decided to up sticks and move to another country. He and his wife have been managing most of my financial affairs.
I therefore had to spend some time in Singapore to sort out various administrative issues (re-assigning them to another sibling). My own family has not been back to Singapore for some time. I do not like air travel and especially long-haul air travel. I was also particularly keen to visit my favourite maternal uncle who's had a stroke. I last saw him eight years ago and Uncle is 84. So we decided to stop two weeks in Singapore.
All four siblings still remaining in Singapore were at the airport to welcome us. We felt very loved. After settling in at the YMCA, being given a phone and phone card that works in Singapore, a freshen-up, etc, we were at a Kopi Tiam (air-conditioned hawker food place) nearby to have dinner.
Son is very picky with food so I was not looking forward to making a choice for him. We finally settled on "Wonton Noodles" in soup. "Wonton" is a Chinese transliteration of "cloud swallow" (or cloud being swallowed). It is a meaningless name as such, unless one wishes to say that the crumply folds of cream-colour boiled wonton skin over bits of minced pork and prawn look sort of "cloud-like".
We were pleasantly surprised that son actually ate the noodles, and then ate some more of the noodles. He was not so much into the actual wonton, the roast pork and the vegetables that came with the noodles. But the noodles, he ate them well with chopsticks.
I noted, "That was Mum's favourite hawker food when she was young."
Son: "So I've got your genes then."
Me: "Yes, you must have some of my genes."
Son: "But I didn't steal your trousers."
Me: "Pardon?"
Son: "Genes! As in jeans! Trousers. I've got your genes, but I didn't steal your trousers. Geddit?"
Slurp!
I therefore had to spend some time in Singapore to sort out various administrative issues (re-assigning them to another sibling). My own family has not been back to Singapore for some time. I do not like air travel and especially long-haul air travel. I was also particularly keen to visit my favourite maternal uncle who's had a stroke. I last saw him eight years ago and Uncle is 84. So we decided to stop two weeks in Singapore.
All four siblings still remaining in Singapore were at the airport to welcome us. We felt very loved. After settling in at the YMCA, being given a phone and phone card that works in Singapore, a freshen-up, etc, we were at a Kopi Tiam (air-conditioned hawker food place) nearby to have dinner.
Son is very picky with food so I was not looking forward to making a choice for him. We finally settled on "Wonton Noodles" in soup. "Wonton" is a Chinese transliteration of "cloud swallow" (or cloud being swallowed). It is a meaningless name as such, unless one wishes to say that the crumply folds of cream-colour boiled wonton skin over bits of minced pork and prawn look sort of "cloud-like".
We were pleasantly surprised that son actually ate the noodles, and then ate some more of the noodles. He was not so much into the actual wonton, the roast pork and the vegetables that came with the noodles. But the noodles, he ate them well with chopsticks.
I noted, "That was Mum's favourite hawker food when she was young."
Son: "So I've got your genes then."
Me: "Yes, you must have some of my genes."
Son: "But I didn't steal your trousers."
Me: "Pardon?"
Son: "Genes! As in jeans! Trousers. I've got your genes, but I didn't steal your trousers. Geddit?"
Slurp!
Friday, August 01, 2008
Or Two (Results!)
Mr G got back to us when I asked if it should be same-size whiskey. He told us the unofficial result and added "Yes, a very large whiskey of great age I think".
We hassled the Head of Music when we noticed that his car is back in place. When he got to read his emails, he confirmed that son did not only get a Distinction, but a Distinction with 136 marks in his Clarinet.
There were whoops of joy from son when he learned that.
Over the weekend he'd been going, "I hope I get 136," because 136 plus the 124 he got for his piano would equal to an average of 130, which is what one needs for a Distinction.
I know friends whose children appear to be very good at an orchestral instrument, but they struggle with piano.
Son started on the piano. That means developing a 'two-channel mind'. His music has become quite difficult for me because fingers of the same hand play at different rhythms (eg holding down thumb and moving one or two other fingers to form a chord).
For him then to switch to playing clarinet requiring him to read just one line of music at one time must seem terribly easy. I don't know.
It will be interesting to see how he progresses when -- if -- he takes on the organ as well.
Meanwhile, having had Acker Bilk send him to sleep for a week or so, he's worked out the opening lines of Stranger on the Shore all by himself.
We hassled the Head of Music when we noticed that his car is back in place. When he got to read his emails, he confirmed that son did not only get a Distinction, but a Distinction with 136 marks in his Clarinet.
There were whoops of joy from son when he learned that.
Over the weekend he'd been going, "I hope I get 136," because 136 plus the 124 he got for his piano would equal to an average of 130, which is what one needs for a Distinction.
I know friends whose children appear to be very good at an orchestral instrument, but they struggle with piano.
Son started on the piano. That means developing a 'two-channel mind'. His music has become quite difficult for me because fingers of the same hand play at different rhythms (eg holding down thumb and moving one or two other fingers to form a chord).
For him then to switch to playing clarinet requiring him to read just one line of music at one time must seem terribly easy. I don't know.
It will be interesting to see how he progresses when -- if -- he takes on the organ as well.
Meanwhile, having had Acker Bilk send him to sleep for a week or so, he's worked out the opening lines of Stranger on the Shore all by himself.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
A Result! (Or Two?)
Son took his music exams two weeks before the end of term and we wondered how he'd done. He was keen to find out because a certain colourful construction toy is at stake.
Some time in May, desperate at his reluctance to practise, we made him sign a contract to the effect that a Merit in both exams would be rewarded by such-and-such, and in the unlikely event of a distinction, then it's something else, etc.
We tracked down Mr G, piano teacher, who somehow managed to get at his results and told us in no uncertain terms that he managed a 124, a Merit in piano grade 3. He (Mr G) was going to celebrate with a large whisky.
Son saw the email and his face went, "O! I didn't get a distinction," and so that particular PSP game is out of the question (or is it?).
We were going, "You've done well! Another Merit!"
He is pleased actually that he did get a Merit because at one point we thought he would only just managed a Pass. What is more important is that he seems to -- finally -- see the correlation between practice (to a certain extent) and performance.
What about the clarinet result? Mr G wouldn't tell us because he's not the clarinet teacher nor the Head of Music at son's school. But he did say, "Sounds like another large whisky is on the horizon!!!"
If it's the same size "large", then we think he means he's got a Merit in clarinet, too.
Not a bad result for the sheer amount of practice a certain young man DID NOT put in, and within such a short preparation period.
Well done, son!
Some time in May, desperate at his reluctance to practise, we made him sign a contract to the effect that a Merit in both exams would be rewarded by such-and-such, and in the unlikely event of a distinction, then it's something else, etc.
We tracked down Mr G, piano teacher, who somehow managed to get at his results and told us in no uncertain terms that he managed a 124, a Merit in piano grade 3. He (Mr G) was going to celebrate with a large whisky.
Son saw the email and his face went, "O! I didn't get a distinction," and so that particular PSP game is out of the question (or is it?).
We were going, "You've done well! Another Merit!"
He is pleased actually that he did get a Merit because at one point we thought he would only just managed a Pass. What is more important is that he seems to -- finally -- see the correlation between practice (to a certain extent) and performance.
What about the clarinet result? Mr G wouldn't tell us because he's not the clarinet teacher nor the Head of Music at son's school. But he did say, "Sounds like another large whisky is on the horizon!!!"
If it's the same size "large", then we think he means he's got a Merit in clarinet, too.
Not a bad result for the sheer amount of practice a certain young man DID NOT put in, and within such a short preparation period.
Well done, son!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
A Joke © 2008 LT
Son was rattling on his calculator. He has learned (from me) how to make words with the calculator upside down. For example, when you look at 0.7734 upside down it appears as "hELL.O".
He experimented and came up with 0.773450 which reads -------.
Then he did some mental 'reverse engineering' and came up with the question:
What is a limpet's favourite Shakespeare play?
Answer: oSHELLo!
inspired by the OShELL.O that 0.773450 looks like upside down.
Not bad for an eight-year-old, I would say.
You saw it here first.
He experimented and came up with 0.773450 which reads -------.
Then he did some mental 'reverse engineering' and came up with the question:
What is a limpet's favourite Shakespeare play?
Answer: oSHELLo!
inspired by the OShELL.O that 0.773450 looks like upside down.
Not bad for an eight-year-old, I would say.
You saw it here first.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Going omph-pa-pa
While watching a news report on more knife killings in London I went, "Where are the parents of these young people carrying knives? Don't their parents care?"
I went on to say, "I know where they are. They are probably down in a pub somewhere."
To this my son chipped in, "Yeah! and singing omph-pa-pa."
He had just done Oliver! at school, right, and there is this scene in a pub where Nancy sings "Omph-pa-pa" to distract Bill Sykes so that Oliver could escape. So now son thinks that when grown men go to the pub, they sing "Omph-pa-pa".
Or does he?
Maybe it is just his way of saying how people enjoy themselves, forget themselves, in a pub. Who knows?
I went on to say, "I know where they are. They are probably down in a pub somewhere."
To this my son chipped in, "Yeah! and singing omph-pa-pa."
He had just done Oliver! at school, right, and there is this scene in a pub where Nancy sings "Omph-pa-pa" to distract Bill Sykes so that Oliver could escape. So now son thinks that when grown men go to the pub, they sing "Omph-pa-pa".
Or does he?
Maybe it is just his way of saying how people enjoy themselves, forget themselves, in a pub. Who knows?
Monday, July 14, 2008
Is doing one's best ever good enough?
I had just dropped off the letter to the sports master.
After some careful consideration I decided that it was unfair that:
After some careful consideration I decided that it was unfair that:
- son was not given even a certificate in his team event when certificates and medals were awarded for all other individual events
- up to five boys in the other Form I class who didn't make grades A & B were given "good work" and "effort" certificates at Final Assembly
Altogether eight out of the eleven boys (73%) in that class were given some kind of award.
In my son's class four who didn't made the A and B grades were also awarded certificates for "good work" or "effort". In total, eight boys out of a class of 14 (57%) were given an award.
This is great for the boys who are not academically gifted, but boys who are not gifted on the sports field are not similarly given certificates to encourage them at all.
There are a few boys in the 11-boy class who are clearly gifted in sports. There is a boy who wins all the races, sets all the records (very probably including the one with the false start) and sometimes I hear my son go, "Who cares? J--- will win all the prizes."
Now when a child says, "Who cares? So-and-so will be top of the class no matter how hard I try," a sensible mother would not go, "Yeah, why bother?"
Sensible mothers say, "That may be the case, but it does not stop you from trying your best, better your own record."
It's really great that the school awards boys for "effort" for work in class. What about awarding boys for "effort" in sports.
When I revisited the situation I realized that my son keeps coming in fourth to sixth. He was welly-wanging really well, for example. A big cheer went up after his first throw. He was the best in his class of 14. Then boys from the other class started throwing and he was edged into fourth. After fouling one throw (strong wind, good distance but just out of the V), he was edged further down into sixth.
It was the same with long jump. He was doing quite well because he is a natural jumper and they had absolutely no training and were allowed one practice jump before the whole event. The teacher in charge was saying that they might need a jump-off between my son and someone else to decide on a medal position.
Then a couple of boys came over from their javelin throw. Some boys whose names were not even on the list decided that they would also have a go at long jump, and my son was edged out ... again. I was furious, but kept my cool.
I guess I am just a pushy mother, but it is hard to see one's child trying so hard at something he is not naturally gifted in, and not be rewarded at all. I am tired at seeing tears and disappointment as sometimes the goal-posts are moved and I have used up all ideas to persuade him that it is still worth his trying his best.
So I have suggested to the teacher that perhaps boys should be given encouragement and public acknowledgement that they have achieved personal targets and vast improvements in certain events. Personal bests are to be celebrated as well, not just coming in first, second and third.
With three boys in the other class and one in my son's class who are superb athletes, the other boys in the Form do not stand a chance. But the last thing we want is for them to give up and say, "Why bother?"
No use having a clever mind when we do not have a strong body. So I hope the sports master would consider seriously my suggestion.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
A mother's worry
Another extremely busy week.
Monday: a concert to which parents were not invited, but son performed with the Wind Band.
Tuesday: Sports Day. Started off well. Son kept coming in fourth, so no certificates for him, but points for his House. Very frustrating. But he somehow sprinted his heart out and came in third in his House sprint and was selected to go into the sprint relay team. A real achievement.
They won that event but somehow they were not given a medal and he was not even given a certificate. Very odd.
Then the 200m individual. He had been practising in his group C or D relays. But because of his excellent performance in the earlier sprint, got put into the strongest group with the top runners. The eventual winner also managed a false start but the starter did not see this.
Son saw the false start and hesitated expecting a recall which never came and eventually ran, some two seconds later, and managed to come in second to last.
He was not a happy bunny. He has to learn to play to the whistle -- or whatever phrase it should be. I felt very embarrassed by his tears. He felt it was not fair. We knew it was not fair. A good few parents saw the false start but none spoke up, except me, because their sons were not in that race. Those whose sons won -- despite their false starts -- also did not own up to it.
Well, such is life.
Wednesday: Things quietened down a bit. I was so upset with his behaviour at Sports Day I was up in the middle of the night (from hay fever, actually) and wrote him a long letter, noting how he does not seem to be aware of other people's feelings, including my own, that he does not see the positive and dwell only on the negative, that we have to stop excusing him by saying he is only eight, because the other eight-year-olds did not behave like him. He read the letter with great solemnity at breakfast.
On the whole, a much better day, because he did try to look at the positives today. What a glorious change. And how much nicer.
Thursday: School Speech Day -- one of my few opportunties to dress up. Weather was perfect. Son won the Class Prize. And we saw that he also won a music certificate, which was to be handed out on ...
Friday: Leavers service at the school chapel followed by Final Assembly. Loads of certificates to hand out. Son's House won the Sports section and were all-round winners this year, much to their delight. But, as I pointed out, he was given nothing for coming in first in the team relay. I shall have to speak to the Sports teacher about this.
Grade card came back. He did excellently. A1s in English, Maths, Science, French, Geography and Music, and A2s in Technology, History and Art, and a C2 in Religious Studies which he decided was not religious enough ("It's history!"). He was thrilled that he had managed to get an A1 in English, a personal goal. Now to convert A2s to A1s and get rid of that C2 in Religious Studies ....
Cubs in the evening and he came home with SIX new badges (four music, one swimming and one IT) which kept me busy this afternoon.
Saturday: Dad at work all day and we had lots of essential shopping to do.
Sunday: church and joint birthday party in the afternoon.
What has been weighing really heavy on my mind is the murder of the two French exchange students in London earlier this week. I cannot comprehend how any one could perpetrate such a crime. I cannot imagine how their mothers could come to terms with the way their promising sons -- prospective Nobel Prize winners for all we know -- died.
I fear for my son. What a future. To grow up in an era where lives could be snuffed out just like that, probably not for anything more than a few quid so that the perpetrator of the crime could get his next fix.
This is a very, very sad world.
What does a mother do? What can a mother do? I can only pray. Pray for God's protection. Pray that God, in his mercy, would allow my son's gifts to come to fruition that others might benefit from it. And pray that God's Name be praised. And pray for the mothers of those two young men.
Monday: a concert to which parents were not invited, but son performed with the Wind Band.
Tuesday: Sports Day. Started off well. Son kept coming in fourth, so no certificates for him, but points for his House. Very frustrating. But he somehow sprinted his heart out and came in third in his House sprint and was selected to go into the sprint relay team. A real achievement.
They won that event but somehow they were not given a medal and he was not even given a certificate. Very odd.
Then the 200m individual. He had been practising in his group C or D relays. But because of his excellent performance in the earlier sprint, got put into the strongest group with the top runners. The eventual winner also managed a false start but the starter did not see this.
Son saw the false start and hesitated expecting a recall which never came and eventually ran, some two seconds later, and managed to come in second to last.
He was not a happy bunny. He has to learn to play to the whistle -- or whatever phrase it should be. I felt very embarrassed by his tears. He felt it was not fair. We knew it was not fair. A good few parents saw the false start but none spoke up, except me, because their sons were not in that race. Those whose sons won -- despite their false starts -- also did not own up to it.
Well, such is life.
Wednesday: Things quietened down a bit. I was so upset with his behaviour at Sports Day I was up in the middle of the night (from hay fever, actually) and wrote him a long letter, noting how he does not seem to be aware of other people's feelings, including my own, that he does not see the positive and dwell only on the negative, that we have to stop excusing him by saying he is only eight, because the other eight-year-olds did not behave like him. He read the letter with great solemnity at breakfast.
On the whole, a much better day, because he did try to look at the positives today. What a glorious change. And how much nicer.
Thursday: School Speech Day -- one of my few opportunties to dress up. Weather was perfect. Son won the Class Prize. And we saw that he also won a music certificate, which was to be handed out on ...
Friday: Leavers service at the school chapel followed by Final Assembly. Loads of certificates to hand out. Son's House won the Sports section and were all-round winners this year, much to their delight. But, as I pointed out, he was given nothing for coming in first in the team relay. I shall have to speak to the Sports teacher about this.
Grade card came back. He did excellently. A1s in English, Maths, Science, French, Geography and Music, and A2s in Technology, History and Art, and a C2 in Religious Studies which he decided was not religious enough ("It's history!"). He was thrilled that he had managed to get an A1 in English, a personal goal. Now to convert A2s to A1s and get rid of that C2 in Religious Studies ....
Cubs in the evening and he came home with SIX new badges (four music, one swimming and one IT) which kept me busy this afternoon.
Saturday: Dad at work all day and we had lots of essential shopping to do.
Sunday: church and joint birthday party in the afternoon.
What has been weighing really heavy on my mind is the murder of the two French exchange students in London earlier this week. I cannot comprehend how any one could perpetrate such a crime. I cannot imagine how their mothers could come to terms with the way their promising sons -- prospective Nobel Prize winners for all we know -- died.
I fear for my son. What a future. To grow up in an era where lives could be snuffed out just like that, probably not for anything more than a few quid so that the perpetrator of the crime could get his next fix.
This is a very, very sad world.
What does a mother do? What can a mother do? I can only pray. Pray for God's protection. Pray that God, in his mercy, would allow my son's gifts to come to fruition that others might benefit from it. And pray that God's Name be praised. And pray for the mothers of those two young men.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Free range?
Went shopping with son to get birthday presents for his dad's birthday.
We were delighted to find organic cotton and bamboo socks in a certain department store.
Son: Organic cotton? Hmm, but are they free range?
I think he's getting the picture.
We were delighted to find organic cotton and bamboo socks in a certain department store.
Son: Organic cotton? Hmm, but are they free range?
I think he's getting the picture.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Exams over! Really over!
Last Monday he had his final hurdle.
The day started as usual at 8.30am and went: school as usual, piano grade 3 exam, classes as usual, lunch as usual, band practice at a different time (cancelled last minute), games as usual, quick change (no time for shower), clarinet exam. We finished about 4.20pm, perhaps. Exhausted.
In between I missed helping to run the school uniform shop. I completely forgot. Thankfully the other mother did not forget. I was, to say the least, a bit stressed by all this. There was a chance that he might be playing a cricket match after lunch. So, for the first time, I was relieved that he came back last Friday and said, "By the way, I was not selected to play for the match."
Whew! What a relief! As I would have had to fetch him from the games grounds (a little drive away), rush him over to school again, get him changed, freshened up, etc, for the exam. No thanks (or should it be "no, thank you?").
This morning I got hauled up by the Director of Music. Apparently son went into the exam hall and spent a minute scrabbling on the floor sorting out his music. The examiner has exactly 12 minutes for each candidate and told him to move along. (The examiner had also been at his job since 9.30am.)
Not his fault, really, I insist. His clarinet teacher has decided that he would pick pieces from three different books. With his piano exams, they use a standard book with the three sections from which they choose a tune. For some strange reason, son had to do pieces from three different rather dated books.
Ah well, I just hope he had not been marked down. We keep making the excuse that he's only seven, or now, he's only eight. So much of his behaviour is really due to his being a really young boy. The fact that he is ahead of his peers in his music and maths does not make him any other more than, well, eight.
The day started as usual at 8.30am and went: school as usual, piano grade 3 exam, classes as usual, lunch as usual, band practice at a different time (cancelled last minute), games as usual, quick change (no time for shower), clarinet exam. We finished about 4.20pm, perhaps. Exhausted.
In between I missed helping to run the school uniform shop. I completely forgot. Thankfully the other mother did not forget. I was, to say the least, a bit stressed by all this. There was a chance that he might be playing a cricket match after lunch. So, for the first time, I was relieved that he came back last Friday and said, "By the way, I was not selected to play for the match."
Whew! What a relief! As I would have had to fetch him from the games grounds (a little drive away), rush him over to school again, get him changed, freshened up, etc, for the exam. No thanks (or should it be "no, thank you?").
This morning I got hauled up by the Director of Music. Apparently son went into the exam hall and spent a minute scrabbling on the floor sorting out his music. The examiner has exactly 12 minutes for each candidate and told him to move along. (The examiner had also been at his job since 9.30am.)
Not his fault, really, I insist. His clarinet teacher has decided that he would pick pieces from three different books. With his piano exams, they use a standard book with the three sections from which they choose a tune. For some strange reason, son had to do pieces from three different rather dated books.
Ah well, I just hope he had not been marked down. We keep making the excuse that he's only seven, or now, he's only eight. So much of his behaviour is really due to his being a really young boy. The fact that he is ahead of his peers in his music and maths does not make him any other more than, well, eight.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
ESB -- Extra Special Boy?
Got his ESB (English Speaking Board) exam results yesterday. Had a 'Merit Plus', whatever that means.
Then went on to say that his best friend got a Distinction.
There was a look of clear disappointment on his face and I felt so sorry for my little boy.
The point is he refused to let me or his dad help him with the preparation.
For the poem he chose Alfred Noyes 'The Highwayman', just Part I because it is a long poem. I thought that was a bit ambitious. But he wanted to do that as a challenge.
For the talk he talked about his 'blue bear'. It was short, presented in his own clumsy little way.
Then he read from Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
I know for a fact that all the other parents gave a great deal of help to their boys. They would listen to their talk every day, maybe helped even in writing some of it, primed them on how to answer the questions from the floor, made them read and taught them how to read with expression, etc.
My son would have none of it. "If I get a Distinction I want it to be ON MY OWN WORK, not somebody else's."
That, I think, is a very good attitude. But he was disappointed that he did not get a Distinction.
He also did his 'Maths', "How could I get Distinction in the talk and reading, and a Merit Plus in the poem and still only get a Merit Plus?"
Let's hope he has learned his lesson. That sometimes he should listen to the opinions of his Mum and Dad and take their suggestions on board.
Then went on to say that his best friend got a Distinction.
There was a look of clear disappointment on his face and I felt so sorry for my little boy.
The point is he refused to let me or his dad help him with the preparation.
For the poem he chose Alfred Noyes 'The Highwayman', just Part I because it is a long poem. I thought that was a bit ambitious. But he wanted to do that as a challenge.
For the talk he talked about his 'blue bear'. It was short, presented in his own clumsy little way.
Then he read from Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
I know for a fact that all the other parents gave a great deal of help to their boys. They would listen to their talk every day, maybe helped even in writing some of it, primed them on how to answer the questions from the floor, made them read and taught them how to read with expression, etc.
My son would have none of it. "If I get a Distinction I want it to be ON MY OWN WORK, not somebody else's."
That, I think, is a very good attitude. But he was disappointed that he did not get a Distinction.
He also did his 'Maths', "How could I get Distinction in the talk and reading, and a Merit Plus in the poem and still only get a Merit Plus?"
Let's hope he has learned his lesson. That sometimes he should listen to the opinions of his Mum and Dad and take their suggestions on board.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Being Franck about one's abilities
Yesterday we did the unprecedented. We took our son to an Anglican church not far from us where his piano teacher plays the organ.
After the service we were treated to a rousing performance of Walton (composed for a coronation, don't ask me which one).
Son was allowed to play his exam piece by C Franck (written for the piano to sound like an organ) on the pipe organ. There were a first few hesitant notes. And then he was off.
So we take our hat off to the composer. It really sounds good on the organ despite the fact that it was being played by an eight-year-old!
As we waited a number of people who were busy tidying up the church after the service asked if we were OK. Proud mother here found herself saying, "That's my son on the organ." Everyone who came to talk to us seemed suitably (or politely) impressed.
We left him to play for a bit. He seemed, after a while, to be really enjoying himself. He tried playing another exam piece, but clearly it was not written for the organ and sounded a bit weird. We then got a bit worried that he might decide to launch into the theme from Indiana Jones. But son was sensible.
Later on Mr Piano Teacher confirmed that our son is a 'natural' on the organ. That means we have to think seriously about whether or when he should switch to playing the organ alongside his piano and clarinet.
Thankfully, we still have six inches of time. His legs are not long enough to reach the pedals, and we would let him continue with the piano for the next couple of years instead.
The only problem is, now that he has played the organ, he seems to be very keen to play it again!
After the service we were treated to a rousing performance of Walton (composed for a coronation, don't ask me which one).
Son was allowed to play his exam piece by C Franck (written for the piano to sound like an organ) on the pipe organ. There were a first few hesitant notes. And then he was off.
So we take our hat off to the composer. It really sounds good on the organ despite the fact that it was being played by an eight-year-old!
As we waited a number of people who were busy tidying up the church after the service asked if we were OK. Proud mother here found herself saying, "That's my son on the organ." Everyone who came to talk to us seemed suitably (or politely) impressed.
We left him to play for a bit. He seemed, after a while, to be really enjoying himself. He tried playing another exam piece, but clearly it was not written for the organ and sounded a bit weird. We then got a bit worried that he might decide to launch into the theme from Indiana Jones. But son was sensible.
Later on Mr Piano Teacher confirmed that our son is a 'natural' on the organ. That means we have to think seriously about whether or when he should switch to playing the organ alongside his piano and clarinet.
Thankfully, we still have six inches of time. His legs are not long enough to reach the pedals, and we would let him continue with the piano for the next couple of years instead.
The only problem is, now that he has played the organ, he seems to be very keen to play it again!
Sunday, June 01, 2008
What is life?
When I say to people that my son has special education needs, they often think that he is autistic or something like that.
In his case his psychologist did wonder whether he could be borderline Asperger's, but has ruled it out for now.
We recently had a parent-teacher consultation and it was good news to hear that his form teacher (as head of that section of the school) has made plans for son to do some Maths lessons with some of the 'more able boys' in the Form above him from next year. This is subject to time-tabling working out.
That is good news for us. Having said that we are very thankful that son has calmed down so much this year. He is clearly more relaxed. He is enjoying school, making more friends, not afraid of making mistakes.
He still has his moments, especially when he cannot find any logic in what his teachers require him to do. Eg in swimming, "What's the point of making us do sculling when we can already do the backstroke?"
Then there were issues with his being bored with Fun Choir that has ceased to be fun. With the new songs and therefore new challenges he is clearly much happier.
What is mentally exhausting for us -- me, especially -- is that we have to keep going about finding answers. So one morning it was, "I don't really want to go to school today. I am bored."
A few minutes later it was, "What is life, any way?" Not "what is the meaning of life?" or "why do we exist?" but "what is life?".
At ten minutes past eight, when the school goes at 8.30am, I didn't really wish to discuss that. Somehow managed to bundle him off to school.
Having been a philosophy major I am usually happy to discuss such issues as life, rationality, morality, etc, but I find it exceedingly difficult to discuss philosophy with my eight-year-old because I can never find suitable examples and illustrations that an eight-year-old would find relevant.
Any way we did read a chapter of his Philosophy for Kids book and settled on the chapter "are number as real as human beings?". And he seemed really happy that we did that together. Perhaps after mulling over the reality of numbers he would be closer to answering his own question of "what is life?". Who knows.
The point is, he needs a parent to be there with him to explore these questions.
I reminded him that he once said I could return to work when he was seven-plus. Now that he's eight, he is still very against the idea of Mum not being there to pick him up from school.
"I won't have a chance to make professor now."
"Do you really want to be a professor?"
"Yes, I do."
He said something like, isn't having your own business better than being a professor.
Sometimes I am not sure.
In his case his psychologist did wonder whether he could be borderline Asperger's, but has ruled it out for now.
We recently had a parent-teacher consultation and it was good news to hear that his form teacher (as head of that section of the school) has made plans for son to do some Maths lessons with some of the 'more able boys' in the Form above him from next year. This is subject to time-tabling working out.
That is good news for us. Having said that we are very thankful that son has calmed down so much this year. He is clearly more relaxed. He is enjoying school, making more friends, not afraid of making mistakes.
He still has his moments, especially when he cannot find any logic in what his teachers require him to do. Eg in swimming, "What's the point of making us do sculling when we can already do the backstroke?"
Then there were issues with his being bored with Fun Choir that has ceased to be fun. With the new songs and therefore new challenges he is clearly much happier.
What is mentally exhausting for us -- me, especially -- is that we have to keep going about finding answers. So one morning it was, "I don't really want to go to school today. I am bored."
A few minutes later it was, "What is life, any way?" Not "what is the meaning of life?" or "why do we exist?" but "what is life?".
At ten minutes past eight, when the school goes at 8.30am, I didn't really wish to discuss that. Somehow managed to bundle him off to school.
Having been a philosophy major I am usually happy to discuss such issues as life, rationality, morality, etc, but I find it exceedingly difficult to discuss philosophy with my eight-year-old because I can never find suitable examples and illustrations that an eight-year-old would find relevant.
Any way we did read a chapter of his Philosophy for Kids book and settled on the chapter "are number as real as human beings?". And he seemed really happy that we did that together. Perhaps after mulling over the reality of numbers he would be closer to answering his own question of "what is life?". Who knows.
The point is, he needs a parent to be there with him to explore these questions.
I reminded him that he once said I could return to work when he was seven-plus. Now that he's eight, he is still very against the idea of Mum not being there to pick him up from school.
"I won't have a chance to make professor now."
"Do you really want to be a professor?"
"Yes, I do."
He said something like, isn't having your own business better than being a professor.
Sometimes I am not sure.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Cub Scouting and all that
Son got duly enrolled as a Cub Scout. Then it was a visit to the fire station.
My duty was, of course, sewing on all those badges on his new uniform.
20th May was Piano Concert at his school. He played his 'Chant de la creuse' by C Franck, very well if I may say, and he has clearly leap-frogged over many of the older boys in his piano grades. But that is not important.
The important thing is he is developing confidence in his playing. One of the boys CF (three years older) stood out with his musicality. Son's teacher tells son that one day he could play as well as CF.
At reception I caught up with CF's mum. Apparently CF used to practise only three minutes. Wow! there is hope for us, I thought. Only after a Chinese piano teacher told him that he should practise at least 30 minutes a day did CF improve. (CF's mum is Chinese, like me, but comes from mainland China.)
So my son decides that he would start practising for 30 minutes every day "starting tomorrow".
Let's just say he's not been able to do 30 minutes but he is making good progress. Both piano grade 3 and clarinet grade 1 exams looming. And his ESB (English Speaking Board) exams as well.
Poor lad. But he's cool.
My duty was, of course, sewing on all those badges on his new uniform.
20th May was Piano Concert at his school. He played his 'Chant de la creuse' by C Franck, very well if I may say, and he has clearly leap-frogged over many of the older boys in his piano grades. But that is not important.
The important thing is he is developing confidence in his playing. One of the boys CF (three years older) stood out with his musicality. Son's teacher tells son that one day he could play as well as CF.
At reception I caught up with CF's mum. Apparently CF used to practise only three minutes. Wow! there is hope for us, I thought. Only after a Chinese piano teacher told him that he should practise at least 30 minutes a day did CF improve. (CF's mum is Chinese, like me, but comes from mainland China.)
So my son decides that he would start practising for 30 minutes every day "starting tomorrow".
Let's just say he's not been able to do 30 minutes but he is making good progress. Both piano grade 3 and clarinet grade 1 exams looming. And his ESB (English Speaking Board) exams as well.
Poor lad. But he's cool.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)