writer's block

I have been trying to think of something to write about for what feels like ages now, so that you no longer have to look at bright blue and pink cupcakes every time you open this page. Unfortunately, I'm slowly falling into the state of mind I fell into last year when I first started getting into my research - being unable to think about any ideas beyond the very beginning of them, unless they are somehow related to my study. So the blog post today is a blog post of fragments:

- I have just been reading a speech that was read at the Second National Congress of Peace and Friendship with the U.S.S.R., in London, 1937. The speaker was Mr. Dingle Foot. Perchance the funniest name ever?

- On Monday I am meeting the Prime Minister of New Zealand. I didn't vote for his party and I would prefer it to be the former PM, but still - it's kind of exciting!

- My two-year-old niece is in love with Jeff, from the Wiggles. If you haven't come across this children's entertainment group, well, don't go rushing to buy a DVD. However, she loves them, and especially Jeff, who is always sleepy. She has had dreams about him, and she insists on wearing a "sleeping hat" to bed because Jeff always wears one. She informs me and everyone else just about every time I see her: "I like purple. Jeff is purple. He's always sleeping."

- I graduated about a month ago, complete with funny hat and Harry Potter/gospel choir gown and pink hood. I could have graduated a year ago with my BA but decided to wait until I had my BA (Hons) degree. It was fun - we got to march through town, police holding up traffic for us, led by a bagpiper, and then to file into the Town Hall to the blare of a pipe organ. Walking across the stage, trying to remember to hold your trencher in your left hand, smile, shake with the right, take certificate with the right, put on trencher with the strings hanging over the left edge, then walk down the stairs without tripping - I know we all have university qualifications, but that's complicated!!!

blast from the past

I've been going through my things, because I'm moving into a flat soon, and trying to bring myself to chuck out all the stuff I have kept over the years just in case I needed it some day (like my notes from Maths from fourth form - and no, I have never looked at them since fourth form).

One of the things I found were my things from my early primary school years - all those good behaviour certificates and the books of stories I wrote when I was five or six. I'm trying to bring myself to throw out most of the certificates, but no way am I throwing out the stories. Anyway, I thought I'd share some with you. I started school age 5, in 1991.



From Mrs Moore, in 1992.

Yup, I won a medal at our school 'Olympic Games'. I think it was for the sack race, or maybe for egg and spoon race (which was actually a potato and spoon race because eggs break).

From Mrs Strang, in 1994. I remember being so annoyed at this. I had learnt to swim properly over the summer, but then when I came back to school they put me in the junior group for swimming lessons. I had to swim with the five-year-olds. How humiliating.

I was a relative whiz at spelling in my school but no one ever told me. I learned a few years ago that in a parent-teacher interview when I was about eight, Mrs Lowry told my mum that I was doing better in spelling than all the other kids in the school, even the oldest kids (aged eleven). Mum asked her not to tell me that because she thought I would show off about it. Ah, she knew me so well.

This is one of my early forays into the world of art. My skill is evident even then. I present... a postmodern comment on life in the modern world.

And if you can translate this, I will be very grateful. It reads, as far as I can tell, "I like Mum. She is nice. She let me ...... when I saw a [horse? house?]."

Has anyone else got souvenirs from their childhood to share?

welcome to the world...

...to my new baby niece, Miriam Katherine Rose. Born yesterday (22 April), all well, dark hair, little sister to Ruby, very very cute. I know my brother-in-law well enough to know that he wouldn't appreciate me sharing her photo online to potentially millions, so (below) Miriam and little Moses will have to do!

Unfortunately I won't see her for a while as she is in Perth, Australia, but my sister has recently accepted a job offer back in Christchurch starting next year, and they will possibly come back to visit for my father's birthday in August.

wish me luck

Last week I started working again - I'm an ESL teacher at a language school that deals especially with Korean children, but I've been away from work for the last six months because of my overseas adventure. Last week I started with two boys aged thirteen and fourteen, who have reasonably okay English. The elder has been here four years so he understands a lot. And I was surprised to find myself really enjoying it, because I had dreaded going back to work.

This week, though... my boss asked me to take on another couple of hours on Thursdays, and before I heard anything about it, I agreed - then found out it would be with two small children, aged five or six, who only speak very simple English and can't really read or write yet. *screeeeeech* As you can probably tell from my blog, I find it hard to say things simply. I love teaching English from a technical point of view, but I have to be able to explain stuff, and mostly I've taught kids who are aged ten and up. In this lesson I will have to somehow fill two hours with "Cat. Caaaaaaatttttt. C. A. T. Cat." Okay, so my boss has given me a few more ideas than that, and a few resources to help me with this, and I am also armed with a game of Memory in case I really lose it. But I am so nervous. I told my boss I'd prefer to go into this on the understanding that if I really couldn't handle it I could pull out after a couple of weeks. But I'd rather not look wimpy and incompetent. Wish me luck!

UPDATE (22 Feb): So I've done it. And it was difficult. I won't be so terrified about it in future, but I think the two hours I spend with these kids every week is going to be hard work. Their spoken English is worse than I thought it would be so it makes it very hard to communicate certain things to them. They're both rather bouncy, as indeed most five or six year olds are, but the little boy is just a little too bouncy to stay tuned for two whole hours, even one. Oh well. Some of the teachers at school have to have about eight kids at once. I'm lucky. And the nice thing is that another teacher takes them on Tuesdays, so I can chat to him about what works or doesn't work with them.

the joy of womanhood

Last night two of my sisters and I went out for coffee. One is pregnant for the first time and the other has three children and before I knew it they had launched into an intimate womanly chat involving each of my elder sister's labours in quite some detail. I had never heard how horrible labour can be before and I do not want to hear it again. I don't think I will ever make the mistake again of thinking of childbirth as some precious, non-traumatic experience, every moment of which a mother treasures forever. And I think I will have to forget a lot of what was said if I am ever to consider having children again. (I really think that if they sent a whole lot of women who had had difficult labours in to speak at Sex Ed classes, the numbers of unplanned teenage pregnancies would drastically drop.)

The funniest moment, however, was when some unsuspecting male sat down along the cafe couch from us with a newspaper in hand - my pregnant sister had just launched into a description of the stretching exercises and tools a pregnant coworker of hers uses to prepare her nether regions for labour. It took maybe half a minute for the penny to drop and then, slowly, our eavesdropper turned carefully away and slid further down the couch while we grinned with satisfaction and continued our discussion. That alone, I think, made womanhood seem worthwhile again.

The photo: I went to the zoo today, accompanied by five children, sister, her hubby and my dad, aaaand my new camera, which arrived about twenty minutes before we left. Hurrah! I love it. 12x optical zoom. Yummy.

Operation Christmas Child

Just because all the shops seems to have decided it's time to get ready for Christmas already, I'd like to draw a little attention to a fantastic Christmas charity. Operation Christmas Child is a project of the Samaritan's Purse organisation, and is going ahead in the States, Canada, the Netherlands, the UK, Australia, Germany and Ireland, so chances are, if you read this blog, you'll be able to contribute. It involves filling a shoebox with small Christmas gifts for children affected by poverty, war or natural disasters, and is a really great way to spread the Christmas message and some love to children who are suffering. It's also kind of fun getting together this box of gifts - toys, sweets, stationery, hygiene items, clothing - whatever you may choose to give. Just make sure you check out the website first for the guidelines because there will be some things that are inappropriate or unsuited to send.

All the info is on the website - I think the collection week for the boxes in the States is November 12-19, but it's happening already in Australia. If you are in Australia you may like to look here for info.

that's right - I am terrible at manipulating images

So when I find my Mr Firth and we settle down in a little stone cottage in Derbyshire with a border collie, and a library with entire walls of books and red leather armchairs, and a garden with clematis and wisteria and roses, and a gramophone, and we get down to the business of making babies - these are the names I like. I am advertising them here publicly so that I have effectively reserved them for myself - I know that my siblings read this blog occasionally and I live in fear of them exercising the privilege of actually being married and having kids and thus getting in first.

For boys:

Archer - I've always loved the nickname Archie but thought it had to derive from Archibald, but then I heard this use of it which is a cute nickname but also works as a grown-up name. This is my number one favourite and no one in the family is allowed to steal it. Nor close friends.

Toby

Harry - Okay, so he might be called Harry Potter sometimes. It's not as bad as it could be though. At least he's not Draco or something.

André

Cormac

(Middle name options: Theo, Zachary)

For girls:

Kezia - after the character in Katherine Mansfield stories.

Heather

Christa

Eva

Natalie

Elizabeth - this 'un will never go out of style.

Greta

Isobel

Ivy

Valerie

(Middle -even first- name options: Rose, Jane, Zoe, Olive, Elinor, Chloe, Felicity, Amelia, Joy)

Bible names I quite like

Boys: Jonathan, Amos, Asher, Eli, John, David, Daniel

Girls: Esther, Hannah, Elizabeth, Mary, Eve

And now, on to the names I dislike or cannot use (= you are allowed to use them). Disclaimer: if you gave your children one or more of these names, please do not be offended. It is merely my personal opinion, nothing more.

Names that are a bit boring even if slightly pretty

Boys: Thomas, William, Michael, Joshua, Ben

Girls: Hannah, Emily, Anne, Charlotte

Names I wish I could use but can't (feel free to poach them)

Boys:

Rochester - just too fussy and easily identifiable in literature. It would be like calling your son Heathcliff.

Crispin - cool, but even I have to admit, a bit silly.

Bono - Just Mean. Too fangirlish.

Boyd - ever since my friend named her cat Boyd.

Riley - ever since this became a girls' name too, and ever since my sister pointed out it rhymes with Kylie.

Darcy - again, Really Mean.

Frederick - a bit old-fashioned.

Felix - cool, but it sounds like a cat's name.

Alfie - a sweet nickname, but who wants to be called Alfred?

Anthony - everyone in NZ pronounces it wrong.

Girls:

Gwyneth - I think this is such a cool name but for obvious reasons it's too connected with a certain famous person.

Grace - pretty, and my middle name, but too popular.

Bijou - too foreign - the poor kid would always have to say and spell their name for people.

Clover - too hippie-sounding.

Ingrid - technically pretty, but it has always sounded like it belongs only to snobs.

Margaret - I love this but it's a little old-fashioned.

Raven - for obvious reasons.

Kate - because my brother got in first.

Virginia - again, obvious reasons.

Mercedes - damn you, car companies!

Hermione - too Harry Potter... what a shame...

Phoebe - too many people dislike this name.

Beatrix - too suddenly popular/cool

Austen - sounds like a boy's name and is just another example of me wishing I could project my obsessions onto my kids. I'd rather they liked Jane Austen than refused to read her out of principle.

Wendy - I love that J. M. Barrie made this up, but I have just known too many nasty Wendys.

Names I will never use even if you paid me

Boys:

Andrew - evil boy at my primary school.

Matthew - boring boring boring!

Kevin, Duane - obvious reasons.

Richard - if you have read Northanger Abbey or Persuasion, you will understand why.

Dylan - ugly ugly ugly!

Adolf - need I explain?

Stan - ick.

Boris - sounds like a member of the Ukrainian Mafia. Is also an ugly name.

Girls:

Catherine, Caroline, Rebecca - all: BORING!

Amaryllis - self-explanatory.

Kylie, Nicole, Angela - for some reason, I have always hated these names. They sound like the sort of names you might give your children if you never finished high school. I'm sorry to be elitist, but that is the honest truth.

Lola - destined to be a showgirl.

Maud, Eileen, Doris, etc - the worst of old-fashioned names.

Olga, Gertrude - ugly ugly! Along same lines as Boris.

Barbara - ick. Your child could have the nickname 'Barb', which sounds like 'Boob', or, even worse, Barbie.

why i think little boys are cool

Over the last week I've noticed three incidents in which little boys were involved in some sort of subterfuge which struck me as rather funny.

1) At the supermarket I noticed a little boy pacing around the confectionary bins, looking rather like a cat pacing around a caged bird or rodent. You could almost see him drooling. Finally, just as I pointed him out to John, my brother-in-law, he looked back and forth a few times, opened a lid and grabbed some lollies, and then sprinted off to the other end of the supermarket where he must have pocketed or eaten his booty in some shady corner.

2) Today at the beach I saw three little boys swinging on a sign that had been pushed into the sand labelled 'swim between the flags'. Of course it fell over. They made several attempts to push it back up, but were way too short to do so. The obvious step to take was therefore to bury the sign in sand so that no one could see what they had done!

3) We went up to the "hills" on Monday (I used apostrophes because what Australians call hills are actually mounds) and after a long walk we ended up at this beautiful old pub with big gardens and live music. We were sitting near a family of small boys, one of which was very attentive to Ruby (my baby niece) and kept telling her things like "I've got gel in my hair!" or "I'm just going to look at the birds, but I'll be back soon, OK?" At one point I looked over to see one of them, aged probably about four, sneaking behind a fencepost and taking a hefty swig of his dad's beer.

My conclusion: Little boys are cool. I'm not sure if this is morally sound, but it was definitely interesting to watch the logic of small males and wonder if perhaps we adults have passed on from that stage of subterfuge or if we just manage to conceal it better? And besides that moral consideration - it was just pretty funny.

Edit: Today my sister's friend and kids came over and two-year-old Thomas* was making "ice cream" in the garden out of leaves and sticks, and handing out different flavours to the adults. Thomas gave me a leaf and left in a blaze of completely unintelligible noise, so the next time he came inside I asked him in that aren't-you-cute voice that I hated when I was a kid, "What have I got, Thomas?"

He looked at me disgustedly. "A leaf."

I have learnt my lesson and will never patronise a kid again.

* This is the bit where I say 'not his real name'.