As long as you’re happy (and your pockets are brimming with qualifications)

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Since January, I’ve been looking for a job in the UK for this coming September. Although I’m not a qualified teacher (no PGCE,CELTA or QTS), I didn’t let this deter me and applied for all the jobs I thought I could do, based on my 13 years experience of teaching all ages, levels and in different establishments. I have applied for all the EAL (English as an Additional Language) jobs I’ve seen, but to no avail and all the rejections have come back with a note suggesting I get a CELTA, before trying again. This costs money and I already did this as part of my degree, although it doesn’t count as there was no teaching practice with it. This and all the other certificates I´ve picked up along the way are fluttering in the gutter.

So, I have changed game plan and spent the last few days enquiring about School Direct, where you basically qualify while you work in a school. This makes a lot of sense and I think it’s a great plan as I can’t afford to study and not work, as there are two children to support. (They would argue that Lego and kinder surprises are more important than food). So, I got on the phone to find out about the process. An hour later I got off the phone, even more disheartened than before.

“What area are you interested in?” asks the helpful man

“Either Primary or English in a Secondary School” I say.

“What did you get in English, Maths and Biology GCSE?” he asks.

“A*, C ( miraculously!) and a D”

“Right..” he says, lowering his voice

“Biology was the only one I got a D in” I offer optimistically and add ” I got muddled between my organisms and my orgasms” (It is a family defect, that we don’t know when to shut up when we’re nervous)

Silence. Cue to hang up, maybe?

“Hello?” I ask

“Oh, were you talking to me?” asks the man, hopefully giving me a way out.

“Yes!” I say.

The conversation rolls on, more dismal A-level results and Degree results are confessed.

“Right” says the man, wondering why on earth I think this is the career for me.

“I know my results aren’t the required ones, but I’ve got 13 years of experience and I get good feedback!”
I say, feeling like a contestant on Britain’s Got Talent who wants to be a gymnast, but is actually only capable of a star jump and a lopsided forward roll.

“Don’t worry” he consoles ” The recommended degree is 2:! and above but they do accept 2:2´s too, you obviously have lower than that and if you want to teach primary, you will need a C in Biology…and maybe phone some schools and get some classroom experience before you apply”

“But I’ve got years of experience” I say sounding like that “My Mum who’s a nurse” girl on Johnny Briggs.

“Anything Else?” says the man, who obviously needs to have lunch and most probably hears about 673 sob stories a day.

“No, that’s all” I say and we part ways.

I head to the fridge, grab some chocolate and weep into the wrapper. I didn’t think it would be easy, but I also didn’t envisage it being this hard. Nineteen (19!!!!)years ago, I made bad choices. I’m not competitive at all and I chose A-level subjects that I was interested in ; Russian being one of them, despite friends and family advising me otherwise. At Uni, I was better at French than German, but I dropped French so I could concentrate on German.. Well done me. I also got very distracted by toast and the telephone at school and by the excitement of being free and being able to frequent bars at uni and eat as many Otis Spunkmeyer Cookies as my student loan allowed. (N.B- My son was not named after these cookies).

So, despite my experience (have i mentioned how many years I have been teaching?), somebody fresh off a course with shiny grades has a much higher chance of getting a job than me. I respect that they have to have entrance guidelines, but today I have woken up troubled by this, not for me, but for my children.

I think that I speak for every parent on planet earth, when I say that all I want is for my child to be happy. If they colour outside the lines, I’m not going to tell them off. I can help them, but for me this is not the be all and end all. However, the last few months have proved to me, that no matter how talented you are at Lego building, eating a pack of ham in record time or speaking three languages. Grades matter. Am I supposed to stand over my sons, enrolling them in every single extra school class going, so that they come out with shiny grades and breeze into jobs? If only it were that simple, and the other side is that I have incredibly qualified friend who aren’t getting jobs, because they are overly qualified.

My worries were slightly quashed this morning, when O announced that when he’s 31, (this is the oldest age imaginable in our house) , he wants to be an alien or a spaceman, so he can eat his Weetabix on the moon. I breathed a sigh of relief, then made a note to check what qualifications you need for NASA.

 

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SEVEN MINUTES OF “ME” TIME

The boys are playing happily. To celebrate this rare but much welcomed moment do I ;

a) Skip merrily to the fridge and pour myself a goblet or three of wine?

b) Jump in a bubbling bath whilst listening to panpipe versions of music from a life before?

c) Tackle the drawer of doom?

Being a fool, I choose option C. Although I must admit that it is more appealing than listening to Panpipe cover versions. (Note to self, never be a quiz writer)

Here is pictorial evidence of the drawer of doom:

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Look closer, there’s something with deadly tentacles …

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The dull reality is that there are masses and masses of piles like this one:

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(Slightly elated that the missing for a very long time tv control has been found)

Anyway, the point of this post is that in my 7 minute de-doom the drawer plan, I didn´t account for the following SEVEN interruptions:

1. Boy 1 has a nosebleed, a never-ending nosebleed, over himself, over the floor, in the drawer of doom. I have it under control , only for him to catch sight of himself in Dora the Explore’s camcorder and all hysteria breaks out.

2. Boy 2 and Neighbour’s son, have a fight because they can’t find the treasure they buried in the sandpit, or remember what it was

3. Boy 1 announces he will only recover from excessive bleeding if I give him a snack. But it has to be the same as his friend Nil’s. The identity of this snack is however, a secret and I have to guess what it is. I still haven’t guessed …

4. Boy 2 has a nosebleed. (Who knew they were contagious?)

5. (Not-so)-Super Mario is stuck on a rock and can’t get on his pony. I am called in to unstick him, which i do but then promptly get him killed by one of those shooting flowers. My popularity is not booming at the moment.

6. Bedtime, there was also dinner too but they gave up on me and helped themselves to weetabix (6 each). I followed the trail of milk to discover this, and they were quite impressed by my detective skills. (Slowly clawing back at being Mum of the moment). Bedtime, Boy 2’s room, was full of rubbish from the drawer. “You’ve made my room really messssssssyyyyy!” He says happily, on realization that he can’t get into his bed, or the drawer or the floor. He spends the night in my bed. Whilst I work out where various bits of plastic have come from , and about midnight end up chucking it all back in and change furniture around.

7. (A whole 7 hours later) I am awoken by shuffling and scraping and harrumphing. Boy 2 is not happy with new room layout and is single handedly trying to move everything back to “like before, Mummy. Just like befoooore”

Moral of the story? Always choose option A. Always.

 

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WATCH OUT, THERE`S A NEW PARTY ABOUT

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If the boys had their own political party it would most definitely be called the “It´s mine, not yours” party. (IMNY to its followers)
Their manifesto would be something along the lines of this ;

TIRED OF RULES, ROUTINES, BEDTIMES AND PERSONAL HYGIENE? VOTE IMNY!

WHAT WE STAND FOR:
It´s time we showed those rulemakers that it’s time to play (literally) our way;

EDUCATION: No need for school, we can learn all we need from Star Wars, Cbeebies, Frozen and Lego

WORK: No need to go to work, we will grow money trees next to the lego and chocolate and ham trees.

CLOTHES: Who needs them? Run free!

BEDTIME: What is the point of that? You snooze when you choose. Fancy a nap between 5pm and 9pm? Nap on!

TIDYING UP: We are aiming to abolish tidy bedrooms by 2016, much easier to find things if they are all over the floor and under the sofa than hidden away.

PARENTS: We have thought a long time about how to deal with this major problem that blights our daily fun, but we aim to teach them to know their limits. By Christmas 2015, each citizen will be handed a buzzer, linked directly to their parent, when drinks or food are needed press the buzzer and your parent will come running, we will also issue full skivvy work uniforms for them as well as a direct link to other parents in the circumstance that you can’t get hold of your parent, or they can’t get to you quick enough

HOLIDAYS: by June 2015, we hope to implement a 365 day holiday a year.

SHARING: the main principle of IMNY is that there will be no need to share ever again, everybody will have what they want on tap, this will eradicate the risk of fighting and jealousy, leading to a harmonious kingdom run by me, not you.

WHO´S IN?
You! Step away from the barren reward chart and worn naughty step. The IMNIES are waiting!

WHO´S OUT?
Anybody who thinks routines are the way forward and uses the word No, more than once a day. (You know who they are)

DON’T WASTE YOUR VOTE, IMNY IS WAITING FOR YOU!

 

 

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