Making stuff #6

And we have hit 20 squares. I’m quite enjoying this project, but as TinyPants observed as I was making another square whilst they went to bed, “this takes for ages!”.

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#fiveminutefriday Jump! Because I’ve not learnt to be a grown up yet.

The premise is simple: We write for five minutes flat. All on the same prompt that is post on the Lisa Jo Barker’s site at 1 minute past midnight EST ever Friday. And we connect on Twitter with the hashtag #FiveMinuteFriday

No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.
Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

Go.

I am a walking disaster. Or at least that’s what I’m told. To put this in context, over the past 18 months I have slipped a disc, dislocated my pelvis, broken my elbow, and concussed myself two separate occasions. I’ve Lao managed to give myself a few chemical burns from various hair dye and removal products which weren’t quite as successful as hoped. So this along with a couple of black eyes and a fat lip and some other minor injuries sort of suggests that I ought to lay on the floor and stay still. Don’t move. Try not to get hurt again.

But I don’t. If I’m honest, I get off on doing stuff that’s a bit outlandish and a bit dangerous (a bit. Not mountain climbing, or base jumping… Although that does sound fun…). But roller skating does it for me. Riding a mountain bike down a really steep hill, although I’m not so keen at going up. Swimming in deep water and knowing I can’t reach the bottom. LSH says I am in no way allowed a longboard. But of course what he doesn’t know…

I long for the summer when I can roll down hills with the kids, and climb trees.

It turns out, I am in fact a ten year old trapped inside a 33 year old’s body. And this ten year old is getting her skates on and practicing her moves to try out as fresh meat in roller derby in 12 months. All I need now is a name. Because even fresh meat needs a name. Frankly my Facebook friends need to let their imagination run a little freer!

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If it looks like fun, yes, I’ll jump.

STOP

Fessing Up.

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I knew I’d have to do it, but frankly, for the past month it hasn’t seemed real and this week it’s all become real. It’s happening. I’m moving on. I got a new job. Bloody hell! I actually got the job!

The other teachers have been slowly hearing that I’ve got a sparkly new job through the grapevine and I’ve had more than one conversation with people who range between shocked to envious, to unsurprised. In general, I’ve been sparkly about it. This is exciting! I am totally stoked about my new school and the job sounds wonderful.

And then I got the conversation I’ve been living in denial about. Thankfully it was an email, but as I suspected, it made it real and brought tears.

{names have been changed to protect the usual}

Dear Mrs B,

I have heard that you may be leaving next year, I know this is probably confidential information but it really makes a difference to my a level choices so if you are I would love it if you could let me know.

Many thanks,

A student

My first response was to say that they should chose their subjects based on the subject! (I’m hoping they didn’t mean that if I was indeed leaving, then they’d want to take it up!). But, I confirmed my impending departure with a request for discretion as I want to talk to students in my own way (and time).

My decision was met with a lovely email thanking me for my trust. And I do trust them. I have a huge respect for my students and in the most part they return this to me in droves. Of all things, they in no way were a factor in my decision to move on. If anything, my avoidance of fessing up to the students is quite largely down to a nagging feeling of abandoning them. They have shown me a new love of computing constantly. I’ve played binary games with them, acted out classes and inheritance using funny hats and elf shoes (whole other post), created chocolate algorithms, and most of all been delighted by watching them fall in love with computer science that I didn’t do until my 20s. They have the world in their hands, and for many of them I have encouraged badgered them to take up them subject. And now I’m leaving them.

I am leaving them with some excellent teachers. Some outstanding teachers (literally) who I have massive respect for. But like every teacher, I am emotionally involved. I care deeply for the kids I teach and this is just an enhanced version of how I feel each time a year group graduates from the sixth form. You know the future is bright and it’s time to spread their wings, but there’s a little bit inside you that is so sad because you will miss them. You have a cry, and then in September, you meet new faces that you care for.

I understand more and more why you remember your teachers. What people sometimes forget is that teachers remember you with just as much fondness sometimes.

Hello? Was it me you’re looking for?

Actually, having read your search term I’m out right now, please don’t leave a message after the tone.

I checked put my blog stats this evening, as has become my posting ritual. For someone who claims to crave the peace of being alone, I get awfully cheered up by the number of hits I get on here (I’m sure there’s some Freudian explanation for this). Personally, I blame this on being an introverted extrovert. I love people and being social, it’s just conversation eludes me. I suck at small talk, i just don’t know what to say or how long those pauses should be (pauses are awkward!), am I being too loud? Too enthused? It’s all a bit alien. And this is where being an IT teacher is perfect – I’m like an actor who is improvising the script. I have a basic script to follow, but the actual words are based on how the audience reacts. It’s here that I swim like a fish. And it’s the same with writing – my thoughts are much clearer here and if people are bored then they just stop reading without any of this “so, um, yeah,I’ll see you soon or something…”.

I digress.

Someone found my blog using the search term “naked virtual world”. I am a gamer. I play online, but neither me or my avatar are naked. Aside from that one time in Stormwind… No! And more to the point why are you searching for naked pixels? What could possibly be sexy about your avatar touching some other graphic?!

I know it’s out there (some people make some serious money on Second life with their Female avatars), but I just don’t understand why.

Stand back. I’m about to show my age…

Remember the film Weird Science? That</em was a computer generated woman. And spurred a generation of computer geeks, luring them in with the promise of creating their perfect mate with a few telephone wires.

"Some" years later and so far they've managed this:

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Now let us never search for Draenei woman with safe search off again.

Which just proves my point really. What is wrong with you Internet? Draenei have hooves fgs! Hooves!

Naughty step now. Off you go. Don’t argue. Now just think about what you’ve done.

Did you have a nice day TinyPants? Yes! A baby chicken pooed on my hand!

Now, I know the ageing process is starting to happen, but I’m not sure I’ve ever rated my day as awesome because I got pooed on. I’m just not that kind of gal.

I needed clarification.

It turns out the small people went to see lambing at a local farm yesterday afternoon while LSH and I were back at work.

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They look so cute don’t they? Having taken them last year, this is a serious introduction to birth. It’s not pretty, but the kids were fascinated. And watching the empathy from the mums is funny (I’m allowed to laugh. My two labours were 52 hours and 24 hours in stage 2 onwards.). I’m not totally sure I want to see this again, but the kids love it, so it’s a yearly ritual. I’m just thankful that they don’t do tours like this around human labour wards.

Can you imagine! “Look kids, that lady must be having a contraction, it won’t be long now. You can tell because she’s threatening to gouge out her husband’s eyes if he comes near her again”.

I think we’ll stick with lambs.