The Magic Circle

In a fit of early morning procrastination, I decided to catch up on some blog-reading and found myself inspired by a challenge over at Diamonds and Toads. (I have saved a few other challenges for future posts.)

It is funny, the deeper I get into law study, the more I feel the urge to write fiction. But then, in not-so-idle musing, it occurred to me that being a good lawyer really means being a good storyteller - especially in court. Much of my nervousness surrounding the upcoming presentations I must make at the residential school has vanished with this realisation. Advocacy may make me wobble in my socks but storytelling? That I can do. Then there is the whole 'parenting = storytelling' paradigm that I am experimenting with.

So, in an attempt to render my procrastination productive and possibly even entertaining, I present the "What's happening here?" challenge.

The story spirals from a visual inspiration:

Painting by J.W. Waterhouse
The Magic Circle
Date: 1886
Medium: Oil on canvas
Size: 183 x 127 cm
Location: Tate Britain, London, UK





And then a name:

Your fairy is called Columbine Iceshimmer
She is a bone chilling bringer of justice for the vulnerable.
She lives in mushroom fields and quiet meadows.
She is only seen when the first flowers begin to blossom.
She wears lilac and purple like columbine flowers. She has icy blue butterfly wings.
Get your free fairy name here!

And so it begins:

All winter they searched... a desperate, barren winter and a desperate quest with no end in sight. Frozen grass crackled under hoof and the only other sound outside themselves was the harsh cry of ravens, lurking in the neverending rows of cypress trees that bordered the empty paddocks. Then came the rain. Bitter, unrelenting rain, scouring the rocks, rutting the path so that they stumbled and fell in the mud, blinding them with stinging sleet. Still they travelled and at last, blinking in disbelief, they emerged from a dark forest into the gentle warmth of a sunlit meadow. The air was fragrant with crushed herbs, and everywhere the two travellers looked, tiny fairy-rings of red, white and gold spotted mushrooms were sprouting.

In the middle of the meadow stood a cloaked and hooded figure, harvesting herbs with a golden sickle. She moved amongst the flowers on bare feet, flitting like a butterfly from plant to plant, tucking little bunches into the brown girdle tied at her waist. Glancing up at the weary travellers, she smiled.

"I've been expecting you," she said.

"We have come that you may perform what you have promised." Looking into her dark eyes, the travellers felt ashamed to disturb such a peaceful existence, but she was now their only hope. They blurted out their story, their words tumbling over each other, hardly knowing who spoke what. "The old king is dying; the prince has no wife and is tortured by self doubt; day and night his stepmother whispers to him that he is unlovable, that no maiden would want him for anything other than his wealth and power; she tempts him constantly to come to her bed for she has long lusted after him and nothing means more to her than retaining her position as queen; he resists, clinging to the vision his mother gave him on her deathbed - the vision of you; he fears you to be no more than fantasy, Columbine Iceshimmer. He fears that, even if you are real, the sacrifice required of you is too great. He fears that his stepmother speaks the truth and his head swims with the effort of resisting her enticements. She overwhelms his senses with perfumed incense and rich food, hoping to trick him into succumbing but while he languishes in that luxury, the people suffer. The queen is greedy, she strips the land to supply her table and furnish her palace. She insists that nobody laugh or sing or dance on pain of death, for always she suspects that they are laughing at her. The walls of the city are festooned with the heads of merrimakers, many of them children."

Here they broke off. One sobbed, and the other comforted him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Once we were parents. Once we delighted in the joy of our children, but the queen has stolen them from us. Our only hope is the prince and his dream, and so we come to you, Columbine Iceshimmer. We ask of you an impossible task. The old queen trusted us. Before she died, she asked us to protect her son, to give everything we had to keep him safe. We have done that, we have nothing left. But she also told us of you. She said: "When all else is gone, when all hope is fled, when joy no longer dares to sing, find Columbine Iceshimmer and tell her of your need. She will know what to do."

The young woman listened in silence, then she turned, eyeing the raven who flew cawing overhead. With a finger on her lips she led them through the meadow which ended abruptly in a steep cliff. She vanished over the edge, following a narrow path that wound along a perilous ledge. The travellers hobbled their horses in a patch of lush grass and followed her, helping each other over the rough ground. When they reached the bottom, Columbine ushered them into a dry, comfortable cave, furnished with a little wooden chair and table, and a simple wooden platform for a bed. The walls were hung with drying herbs. Speaking softly, she bid them hide themselves and no matter what they saw, not to interrupt her.

"The ravens are spies for the queen," she whispered. "They will not be able to see once I complete the magic circle. You must remain here. Only approach when the coals of my fire are cold and nothing but ash remains. Dig through the ash and carry what you find, unopened, to the prince. Tell him it is a gift for his wife from his mother, but do not delay on your journey. The old king is dead and the prince has agreed to marry his stepmother in one month's time. He must give her the gift on their wedding night or else all is lost. Now rest. We must start at dawn."

At first light, Columbine walked alone into the clearing. Ignoring the cries of the ravens gathering along the edge of the rocks, she carefully built a fire of elder and hazelwood, throwing in bunches of basil, thyme, and honeysuckle. On a tripod over the coals she placed a golden cauldron that had been polished until it blazed. Drawing a glowing stick from the embers she carved a protective circle in the dust, starting from the east, with her eyes fixed on the rising sun. Ravens circled in the clear dawn air, landed, clustering along the rim of the circle, cawing and rubbing their beaks in the dust as though blinded by the smoke.

Chanting under her breath, Columbine removed her cloak of heavy purple wool. The travellers gasped to see icy blue butterfly wings unfolding from her shoulders. She pulled from her girdle the golden sickle, curved like the new moon which still hung in the brightening sky and with one swift motion she severed her wings and cast them into the heated cauldron. A pillar of white smoke billowed up as they burnt; she threw her sickle in too, and bunches of lavender, dandelion and clover, as she walked around and around the fire constantly tracing and renewing the circle with her smoking stick. They could hear her chanting as her tears dripped and sizzled on the nearly molten metal. Then she bent and grasped the glowing bowl in her hands, shaping it into a square casket, without removing it from the flames. Suddenly dropping the stick, she leapt inside and the lid of the casket clicked down to cover her.

As soon as the smoke from the circle died down, the ravens moved in, but the wind from their wings fanned the coals and they were driven back again and again by the heat. Eventually evening fell and the huge black birds flew off to their roosts in the cypress trees.

The next morning, the travellers emerged from the cave in the chilly predawn. They stepped around an ancient human skull, buried up to its eyesockets just outside the circle and with trembling hands they sifted through the cold ashes, listening intently for the sound of the ravens returning. Finding the small golden casket, one hid it under his cloak and together they ran up the narrow path to their patiently waiting horses.

Day and night they galloped, stopping only to change their steeds at the waystations, eating in the saddle, fighting the urge to sleep. After a week they reached the coast where the prince's ship was docked. It took three weeks for the ship to reach the city, and the whole time they paced the decks, trying to fill the sails with an endless effort of will; when the sailors managed to convince them to lie down, their restless sleep was haunted by the cry of ravens.

At last they arrived, to find the city preparing for the prince's wedding, but with no rejoicing or celebration. Everywhere there were signs of mourning for the old king, and a black bunting of ravens clustered on the soaring turrets of the palace. Inside the palace, however, the rooms were overflowing with priceless tapestries and jewelled dishes; a riot of colour that contrasted sadly with the grey faces of those that moved amongst the treasure.

The travellers followed the dawdling servants and found the queen and her cronies drinking golden liquor from crystal goblets, clothed in sumptuous silks, with painted faces and nails, their hair piled in elaborate curls... but the prince was nowhere in sight. Finally they located him, alone in the chapel, lying naked on the stone floor near his mother's memorial, his gaudy wedding clothes folded neatly on a pew. They handed him the casket and repeated Columbine's instructions. He rose as if in a dream and donned the clothes laid out for him. Making no other acknowledgment of their presence or the successful completion of their mission, he carried the casket to the queen. She looked up in surprise, but spying the gold in his hands she bit off her sarcastic comment and her eyes gleamed. She grabbed the casket from him, greedily tearing it open. Inside she found a golden chain suspending an ice-blue shimmering star. She eagerly insisted the prince place it around her neck. His fingers were clumsy and she tugged at the necklace impatiently as she yearned towards the full length mirror that spanned the wall.

The moment the jewel touched her throat, the chain began to shrink. It pulled tighter and tighter, choking the queen, until her elaborately coiffured head rolled off and landed at the feet of her shrieking friends. Within moments the room was empty, except for the prince. Still moving like a sleepwalker, he lifted the delicate chain from the dead queen's body and returned it to the casket. As he did so, he noticed a tiny cocoon attached to one side of the golden box. His brow wrinkled as he stroked the cocoon gently with his fingertip. Instantly it split and a pale blue smoke emerged, filling the room with the sweet scent of herbs and banishing the queen's overpowering perfume.

When the smoke cleared, the prince saw first that the queen's body had vanished. Then he noticed a young maiden standing by the window. She was not beautiful. Her dusky lilac dress was crushed, its embroidered hem tattered and stained. Her feet, bare, dusty and coated in ash, her long black hair wild and tangled. But she looked the prince in the eye and smiled. Blinking, and shaking his head, he smiled back. With quick steps he crossed the room and looped the shining star jewel around her neck. She touched it fondly and tucked his arm around her waist. Together they stood by the window, talking in low voices. As they watched, they could see the ravens feasting on something brightly coloured, in the distance, beyond the city walls.

The story of Whistling Wind

I'm on a roll with the parenting books at the moment. I know I said I was going to talk about the Faber and Mazlish books I mentioned last entry - and I still am, but I have something else to share today. The boys are both sick and sleeping in the middle of the day - I am three weeks into my course and already a week behind... should be using this time to catch up... but...

I scored a great book on ebay last week - one I have been really hoping to get at a reasonable price: Susan Perrow's Healing Stories for Challenging Behaviour. Basically, it shows in a very practical way how to nudge children towards better behaviour by telling them a story! There are lots of different stories there - for almost every situation you can imagine - and best of all there is advice and ideas for creating your own stories - even if you are not a creative person to start with.

I love it! I'm only half way through, but when I sat down to study this afternoon, I found myself writing a story for Wombat instead. Being sick is really getting him down. He won't take any medicine - even refuses a spoonful of honey - and when I got him to eat a banana this morning, it came straight back up again. The only treatment he will accept is hugs - and he wants them constantly - "Hug me forever, Mummy!" You can imagine that with Munchkin sick too, that is rather difficult for me to do!

So I wrote this story:

Once upon a time, when stories were real and dreams still came true, there was a wind. A mischievous little wind who liked to make other people feel sad, and her name was Whistling wind.

Whistling wind had a song she liked to sing. It went like this:

"Blow, blow, worry and woe
slow, slow, soft and low
Down your cheeks the tears will flow."

I don't know why Whistling wind liked to make other people feel miserable, but everywhere she went, she sang her mournful song.

One day Whistling wind was blowing through the long grass in a field when she saw a little mouse. He was lying on his back, looking up at the clouds and the daisies waving above him, and he seemed to be very contented.

"Hmmmm," thought Whistling wind. "Goody! Here is someone that I can sing my song too!"

So she did.

"Blow, blow, worry and woe
slow, slow, soft and low
Down your cheeks the tears will flow."

Little mouse heard the song, but he didn't know who was singing it. "What a strange song," he thought. "It makes me feel a little bit unhappy!" And he pulled his eyebrows together into a tiny frown.

"Aha!" thought Whistling wind. "It's working. I'll sing my song and blow even harder now!"

So she did.

Looking up at the clouds, Little Mouse heard Whistling Wind's song. Suddenly, he saw a cloud that looked a little bit like his Mummy Mouse. Normally that would have made him feel very happy, but not while Whistling Wind's song was in his ears.

"Blow, blow,
worry and woe
slow, slow, soft and low
Down your cheeks the tears will flow."

Little Mouse started to cry.

"Mummy's always so busy. She's always running around cleaning the mousehole, or collecting seeds for us to eat, or looking after the baby mice..." (Little Mouse had
lots of little brothers and sisters.) "Mummy Mouse never has time for me anymore," sobbed Little Mouse. "I don't think she loves me like she used to when I was a baby
mouse."

Well, Whistling wind felt very proud of herself for having made Little Mouse feels so sad, so she danced a little whirling windy dance to herself, down among the grasses and then up up up into the clouds. While she was dancing among the clouds, she whirled one of them around into her dance. It just happened to be the cloud that looked like Mummy Mouse, and it had been covering the sun. As soon as the cloud moved to join Whistling Wind in her dance, the sun popped out with a warm happy "peekaboo!"

Little Mouse looked up with tears streaming down his cheeks. He was still feeling very sad and lonely but the warm glow of the sun started to make him feel much better. He remembered how warm and lovely it felt when Mummy Mouse smiled at him. He remembered how good he felt when he did something kind and helpful and Mummy Mouse said thank you. He remembered that even though Mummy Mouse sometimes got a little bit grumpy if he did something wrong, she always forgave him when he said he was sorry.

Suddenly, Little Mouse jumped up with a big smile on his face. "I know what I am going to do," he thought.

Creeping through the grass, Little Mouse made his way quietly back to the mousehole.

Whistling Wind looked down from the sky, feeling a bit confused. She didn't know what was happening, so she decided to watch carefully and see.

There was Mummy Mouse, sweeping and swooshing the dust out of the mousehole. She looked very busy and very tired. Behind her, Whistling Wind could hear all the little baby mice crying and calling.

"I don't need to do anything here," thought Whistling Wind. "Mummy Mouse looks like she's going to start crying soon too, without any help from me!"

Then Whistling Wind saw Little Mouse creeping through the door.

"Oh good, thought Whistling Wind. "He's going to start complaining too. That will definitely make Mummy Mouse start to cry." But Little Mouse didn't.

On soft little mousey feet, Little Mouse crept over to the baby mice. "Shhhhhhh," he whispered. "Mummy's busy, but I am here. Now what's the matter?"

The baby mice were so surprised to see their big brother mouse that they all stopped crying.

"We want Mummy!" they squeaked.

Little Mouse thought. Then he had a good idea. He cuddled up next to the baby mice and said "I know I'm not Mummy, but maybe if I tell you a story, it will make the time go quicker while she finishes her jobs. Is that ok?"

"Yes please!" squeaked the baby mice, "and could you sing us a song as well?"

"Of course," said Little Mouse.

So he did.

When Mummy Mouse finished sweeping, she came inside wondering why all the baby mice
were being so quiet and good. She saw Little Mouse with all his baby brothers and sisters curled up around him, snuggling together as they listened to his story.

"Thank you, darling Little Mouse," said Mummy Mouse, and she gave him the biggest, warmest most loving hug that he could imagine.

"Little Mouse looked after us!" said the baby mice.

"I know," said Mummy Mouse, "and that makes me very very happy."

Well, you can imagine how disappointed Whistling Wind was when she heard that! She took a deep breath and got ready to sing her sad song.

But then, she looked again at the little mousehole with all the happy baby mice clustered around their Mummy and she saw Little Mouse, with a big smile on his whiskers, and she thought "Hmmmmm. I'm tired of making everyone feel sad. I think it's time I sang a different song."

So she did.

"Laugh and be happy,
it's no fun to be sad.
Smile and be cheerful
and you'll make others glad!"

As she sang, Whistling Wind started to feel a little tickle at the corners of her mouth, so she sang her new song again.

"Laugh and be happy,
it's no fun to be sad.
Smile and be cheerful
and you'll make others glad!"

This time, the tickle turned into a giggle and before she knew it, Whistling Wind was
roaring with laughter. The sun started to smile too, and all the clouds did their best to make happy shapes as they swam across the sky.

"Hey," thought Whistling Wind. "That feels REALLY good! I don't think I am going to
sing my old sad song ever again. From now on, I am only going to sing my wonderful new song, and wherever I blow, I am going to make everyone feel happy."

So she did.

+++++++++++++++++

They both just woke up, so my apologies for any rough areas... it was written really quickly... but you get the idea. I'll let you know how it goes! Right now, I'd better go see if I can tempt them with some lunch :D

++++++++++++++++++

Quick notes based on first telling:

• too much negativity in first part - only sing the sad song twice - three times is too much; sing the happy song three times!
• middle line of sad song is uneccessary; works better without it!
• too much detail in Little Mouse's introspection; cut back & make less obviously self-referential
• Also more detail in middle part - have Little Mouse help a few other people before his mum - say a turned-over beetle and a bent flower stem?
• Put more details into the story and song Little Mouse tells to his siblings - and make them happy magical sparkling details. Remember aim of story is cheering up, with secondary idea of being helpful to make others happy too, so increase balance of positive to negative otherwise it's a bit of a downer and too transparent in its efforts to get the child onside.
• Things that worked? the sun - particularly the 'peekaboo'... Mummy Mouse's hug... and the happy song... but the ending fell a little flat - too obviously didactic?
• So Whistling wind whooshed off hither and thither and everyone who heard her song danced through their day with a happy heart - show, don't tell!

====================

Final conclusions?

Too moralistic (lecturing)... instead, needs to be moral (inspiring)...

Really two stories here - Whistling Wind Changes Her Tune and Little Mouse Learns To Help. Separate them and each one will become stronger. Introduce more surprising/unexpected moments. Work at keeping the tone light and upbeat, even in the 'sad' parts.

Where did the time go?

My little Munchkin is 6 months old today! Hooray for the happiest, most patient, most wonderful little boy a mother could ever wish for! It is really amazing watching him grow. He seems so much more aware than Wombat did at this age. Maybe it's just me who is more aware and observing more closely lol :D

He has started 'talking' in a big way and it is just the cutest thing you can imagine... I know I am overloading on the superlatives here, so I'll show you instead.



I love the purposeful way Munchkin goes after what he wants. (That's Wombat rolling around saying "Roly oly pumpkin numpkin" at the head of the bed - and his foot at the end of the video.)

We went for a walk today and I used the chinese carrier - Munchkin is growing to like it now his neck is getting strong enough to support his heavy head. He still prefers the sling, but this is easier on me, especially if I wear it on my back (which I want to start trying more often).

It had been raining, and I had to point out the shining droplets clustered along the she-oak needles to Wombat - he was more interested in stomping on the ant nests lol. A few minutes later I had stopped near another wet she-oak when Munchkin started reaching out for it. I moved closer and he spent a good 10 minutes studying the droplets, touching them and sucking the rainwater off his fist. He was an observant baby from the moment he was born and his fascination with his surroundings is awesome to watch, especially as he becomes more able to interact with the world.

And now for something (almost) completely different. There was an exciting message in my inbox today! Elizabeth Pantley, the author of the 'No Cry' parenting books, is offering a chance to win two sets of her books if you mention her latest book - the “The No-Cry Nap Solution: Guaranteed Gentle Ways to Solve All Your Naptime Problems” - on your blog or website.

I have subscribed to her emails for a while now, but have been unable to find her books at our local (sadly understocked) library, and my book buying budget at the moment is stretched to the limit keeping up with my wishlist for the boys' reading. Hence my excitement :)

There are five books in the set:

1. The No-Cry Nap Solution *NEW*
2. The No-Cry Sleep Solution
3. The No-Cry Sleep Solution for Toddlers & Preschoolers
4. The No-Cry Potty Training Solution
5. The No-Cry Discipline Solution

We generally do ok with sleeping at night, since we co-sleep. We have pushed our queen bed and Wombat's king-single together to make one big bed (Wombat's is slightly lower, so he still feels he has his own space) and this is really working well for us. Potty training is also pretty much under control. Wombat is totally nappy free, and my only difficulty is convincing him that he needs to go in the toilet and not out on the grass - but since we don't have any close neighbours, that's really not so much of a problem. He knows where he is supposed to go. He just likes to experiment lol.

We have the most interesting comments as his awareness of bodily functions and feelings develops. The other morning I asked if he wanted to come to the toilet with me (I find this works better than asking if he wants to go...) He said "no". A few minutes later he appeared at the door of the loo saying "I didn't know what my weewee was telling me!" He sat down, did his business and then said "My weewee has stopped talking to me now." ROFL. This morning the conversation was about the "tank" behind his weewee which needed to be emptied because it was all full of the water he had been drinking. He came up with the metaphor himself and I think it's a pretty good one! Not hard to tell he's a country boy lol :D

None of which is to say that I wouldn't read the sleep and potty books with avid interest as there is always more to learn. I have started sitting Munchkin on the potty already, and he is getting the idea as well. I want to do some more reading on elimination communication when I get the chance, just so I can interpret his commands more clearly. At the moment, nappy free time is resulting in a lot of cleaning for me, especially now he has started solids.

The books I REALLY want to read are the Nap Solution and Discipline ones. I need as many different tactics in the discipline area as I can get because each day brings new challenges that I often struggle to meet - and as for naps...................

Wombat decided he didn't need to nap anymore about 5 months ago. At first I started to fight him over it, then I read Maria Montessori's comment about treating our kids like slaves and forcing them to sleep, which made me feel guilty, so I just let him go. That resulted in total chaos, so I tried enforcing a head-on-pillow time ("You don't have to sleep but you do have to lie quietly until the music ends.") Now when I put music on during the day he panics because he thinks it means I will make him lie down lol. I am REALLY looking forward to some new ideas in this area, because the following excerpt from Pantley's book is all too familiar:

As the day progresses, and the sleep pressure builds, a child becomes fussier, whinier, and less flexible. He has more crying spells, more tantrums, and less patience. He loses concentration and the ability to learn and retain new information. The scientific term for this process is “homeostatic sleep pressure” or “homeostatic sleep drive” . . . I call it The Volcano Effect. ... The Volcano Effect is not something reserved only for children! This biological process affects adults as well. Understanding this can help you interpret what is really going on in your home at the end of a long day, when children are fussy and parents are grumpy – resulting in a whole mountain range of volcanoes.

[This is a copyrighted excerpt from The No-Cry Nap Solution: Guaranteed Gentle Ways to Solve All Your Naptime Problems by Elizabeth Pantley. (McGraw-Hill, December 2008). ]

Interestingly, the foreword to the Nap Solution book is written by Tim Selden, President of The Montessori Foundation and Chair of the International Montessori Council. I have his book "How to Raise an Amazing Child".

Today, Wombat passed out on the playroom floor while he waited for me to finish an important email. I normally try not to get on the computer while he is awake (I save that for the middle of the night, thus creating more volcanoes and discipline issues due to my own sleep-deprivation lol) but he was really involved in the activity he had chosen (threading beads onto pipecleaners) so I made a deal with him - he would play quietly while I had a cup of tea and finished the email, and then we would walk down to the dam to see the waterlilies we had noticed this morning. (I had Munchkin in the carrier then, so couldn't go 'bush-bashing' to get to where they were). He soon finished his project, came looking for my attention, was reminded of our deal, yawned once and zonk! He only slept for 15 minutes but even that little moment was refreshing for both of us. (His first thought on waking was that he had missed out on the waterlilies lol... that boy LOVES to be outside!)

Munchkin, on the other hand, has a very recognisable sleep window, and if you pop him in the pram with a little rocking and singing, he falls asleep very quickly. He has one longish nap in the morning, and then only a short catnap in the afternoon. Wombat used to sleep a LOT more at this age. He also has a radar that tells him when Wombat goes to sleep during the day, which becomes his cue to wake up instantly and get some one-on-one Mummy time. I think maybe he just can't sleep when it's quiet lol. The biggest problem is that he is outgrowing the bassinet part of the pram pretty quickly. I have already had to rig up an elastic strap to stop him going over the side! I am definitely going to need some "gentle, sensitive, loving solutions" to set up a new routine for him very soon.

He still wakes to feed every 2 or 3 hours at night - if I am not in bed lol... if I am cuddled up with him he generally sleeps through. There may be a message for me in that lol...

You can read more excerpts at Elizabeth Pantley's website. If you are reading this, why don't you blog about the new book too -and if you win, you can give ME the spare set lol! I would be happy to forward you the email with all the entry details and information about the books.

Sharpening the Saw

I taught my new catechist classes yesterday, returning for the first time after becoming pregnant. My plans for being nice and early were snafu'd as uusual... I was up, dressed, Wombat and I had breakfasted, Yeti was even up and had taken over Wombat duty, but in worrying that I had left everything he might possibly need in places where he could find it, and coming back for one last Wombat hug, I managed to leave home 10 minutes late. I then got caught behind the world's slowest ute on the drive down - 60kms in an 80km zone, on a twisty road with no overtaking. Despite that, when I got to the school, I was only five minutes late... that was, until I spent the next 10 minutes chasing around what is a very tiny school, looking for the class I was supposed to teach - year 3. By the time I actually got them seated and introduced myself, half the lesson-time was over. This was not a good start, and they consequently behaved in an absolutely obnoxious manner. I seemed to spend more time asking for silence and making threats than conveying any kind of salutory message. This class of 10 - 4 boys and 6 girls, were harder to control than the classes of 30 I used to have! On sober reflection afterwards, however, I realised that there were really only two trouble makers - twin boys. Another boy copped most of my ire, but when I think about it, he was trying pretty hard, just easily distracted. He is also a slow reader, and used to being in trouble with teachers. If I can somehow keep the twins interested and working, he won't be a problem. Just as I was beginning to feel like a teaching failure and wonder why I had returned, the lesson ended and year 4 arrived. This class also has 4 boys and 6 girls, but WHAT a difference! They were intelligent, willing to work, happy to colour-in quietly and listen while I talked, asked relevant questions and were eager to answer my questions. The best class I have ever had! I shall have to make a greater effort next week not to be late for the first class. There were one or two moments when I got through to them. I am hoping to build a better relationship from there.

Wombat greatly enjoyed his one-on-one time with his Daddy... apparently he was a bit upset to see me go, but squared his shoulders and very bravely didn't cry. He then spent a happy hour exploring the world, including attempting to pour a pot full of soil down his throat. That's my boy! I was very relieved to get home and find such big smiles waiting for me. He was completely exhausted, though... which means longer nap times, and he almost slept through the night despite the nasty teething! He's even napping well today and asked to go to bed early (I took him for a bushwalk on his own two little feet, which wore him out satisfactorily.)



My chances of getting to a library lately have been zero, and other than blogs, environmental articles, law books, and baby books, I have not been reading anything for myself. Catechist teaching is my spiritual part of what lifecoaches call the "sharpen the saw" role (I'll make this a link when I find the url.) I have chosen reading for the mental part.

Wombat likes to participate in anything I'm doing while he's awake, which could also be very detrimental to library books. (The copy of The Baby Whisperer by sister lent me is looking a little bent and chewed around the edges... and I haven't managed to finish it yet - sorry Steff... it's not that bad, but I feel like I should buy you a new copy, since I can't return it in the same condition as I borrowed it...) To cut this long story short (since Wombat is 11 months old today and I MUST write an update for him) I went browsing at Project Gutenberg (this always makes me feel like a child let loose in a candy store ;P) I downloaded a few interesting books, but leaving the more adult selections aside, I decided to follow my heart and start with the kind of kid's book I have always loved: E Nesbitt's The Magic City. I will keep a list of my reading at the side, and write a little review when I've finished, but suffice to say I am enjoying it immensely, despite having to limit myself to half-an-hour a day instead of devouring it in one voracious sitting. It's in that restrained English turn-of-the-century tradition, but has enough imaginative details to carry the moral without making it tedious. I'm looking forward to reading it to Wombat in a few years. Here's just a little taste:

You know when people are making the animals for Noah's arks they make the big ones first, elephants and lions and tigers and so on, and paint them as nearly as they can the right colours. Then they get weary of copying nature and begin to paint the animals pink and green and chocolate colour, which in nature is not the case. These are the chockmunks, and vertoblancs and the pinkuggers. And presently the makers get sick of the whole business and make the animals any sort of shape and paint them all one grey—these are the graibeestes. And at the very end a guilty feeling of having been slackers comes over the makers of the Noah's arks, and they paint blue spots on the last and littlest of the graibeestes to ease their consciences. This is the blugraiwee.

The update will have to wait for the next nap - the happy growls of a just-woken-up Wombat talking to his teddybears are just starting to become "where's my mummy?" whinges...