Introductions

Here we go...

Do my children receive a suitable education? Well now there's a thing.

Minx: my 10 year old goddess has constant plots and plans for new businesses, is dedicated to her chosen sport of ice skating (as well as Olympic shopping) and practices on our (rather small) kitchen lino day and night, whips up a mean carrot cake and pasta sauce (not usually served together), seems to have plenty to say and text on the phone to her many friends, is our TV and computer engineer and keeps me in line as the self-appointed head of the household.

Leopard Boy: 8 year old is obsessed with all things ball-related - or indeed sport related - or simply game-related and has made a pact with the devil to throw 6 after 6 after 6 and can still beat anyone at anyone at anything at anytime - always one step ahead with the tactics, this is if he bothers to tear himself away from David Attenborough long enough - but he's still the only one who'll get off his arse and help tidy up when begged. Not overly interested in that reading and writing lark but is pretty damn quick with the old mental arithmatic - just don't ask him to hold a pen.

Rock Godling: my surreal 6 year old will either be mixing evil potions, reprogramming the computer, smashing the drumkit into submission, building bizarre constructions from any materials to hand, talking to dinosaurs, or mooning at passers by - possibly from an upside down position in the middle of a flight of stairs and talking talking talking talking.......

And now for the small Thuglet: the angelic-looking 3 year old tail-less monkey with a penchant for violence, cheese, Lightnin' McQueen, perfecting his golf swing (actually pretty impressive - one TV screen, a bathroom door and 2 windows down already) and pressing his bare buttocks into your face before further intensive internet surfing.

Now I'm not sure into which part of the National Curriculum any of this would fit. But it all works fine here. Now and then I wave paper and biros at them but to varying degrees of interest - I just get that urge every so often to make me feel like I have some sort of input. But I don't think it's input that they need particularly. And there's certainly not much output in any conventional sense. How does one inspect such 'education'? Come back in 15 years time or so I would venture.

As a rather aggravating and inspiring art tutor of mine from a previous life once told me - education doesn't mean 'to stuff in' but is from the Greek (get me) for 'to draw out'.

So there you go.

It's probably not suitable. Not for anyone else anyway. But things may be only suitable fleetingly. We can flip and flex and flap about until we make a new 'suitable' whenever needs must. Or just because.

And I don't have to find PE kits at 7.30 am. Apart from ice-skating lesson day I don't know what 7.30 looks like. I'm still tucked up in bed with a couple of wiggly boys - until SpongeBob and the biscuit tin entice them downstairs and I get the bed to myself for as long as I can hold out.

Are my children receiving a suitable childhood? At least they've got one.

And despite my filth-pit of a house - the scene of many our crimes - I can't think of a better way to spend these times than giving them a pretty wide berth and seeing what happens.

PS There is Himself - my dear beleagered and bewildered husband stomping about in the background too. He earns the money, which the government then takes most of, and what's left we spend on chips, sweets, diesel, theatre tickets, football boots and ice skates, more chips, lip salve, plasters, museum gift shops, library fines, glitter, ice-cream and chips. Bless him he doesn't know what the hell's going on. Finds his escape on the golf course he does. Sometimes we talk to each other. Sometimes we even hear what the other has just said. We were Rock 'n Roll once. Bit more like Tea 'n Biscuits now.

That'll do for now. Bugger off.