"...

And she dreads
That moment of silence
- That's when it comes,
All those hopes and fears
That she's spent so long
Pushing aside
And maybe
She's allowed this one
Moment of weakness
As long as she don't tell them
That when she stops she cries

..."

This morning I received an e-mail from one of the teachers at the kindergarten where D is going back to and L is going to start when we go home to Germany. Or rather *was* going back to and *was* going to start. Apparently they are on the brink of being closed down - anyone on a temporary contract has been given their notice, and the two teachers on permanent contracts will have to go to the other Protestant kindergarten.

From the beginning we've known this was a possibility. The birthrate has been sinking, and with ours being the smallest kindergarten of 5 in our small town, it was bound to be the most at risk. The size, though, was one of the things we liked about it: two groups, each with less than 20 kids, so everyone knew everyone else. Lovely teachers who've known us for sometime now. It is also the nearest to our house. Some time back they started taking 2-year-olds (generally kindergartens accept children from the age of 3, and this is true for the other 4 institutions in our town).

It was such a beautiful plan: we'd go back to Germany at the end of August, at the beginning of September S would start school and D and L would start kindergarten, and then I'd have a couple of months to get everyone settled into their new routines and the house sorted out before starting work myself in November (when my maternity leave ends as L turns 3).  Now, assuming we can get them both a place somewhere nice without actually being able going to go and look round, it'll mean D going to a completely new kindergarten, and L starting her new life-phase just as I start mine. Oh and me having L around at home for a couple of months "helping" me paint the house and organize everything after our move.

The good news? The most likely replacement kindergarten is right across the road from the primary school, which will save time on drop-offs and pick-ups and may even mean I can eat lunch each day before picking them up. However, although this is definitely not to be sneezed at, and it'll all work out in the end, I still feel a bit peeved that things are not quite as neat as they were going to be.

It's so nice that now we're on holiday the boys, especially S, can have proper playdates. During school time he was coming home at 4pm or 4.45pm depending on the day, so there wasn't time or energy for much more than homework, food, bath, bed, and ready to get up at 6:30 the next morning.

Now we can have friends come round late morning, have some lunch and pop off home when they're ready. Much more civilized. It's good because my two are entertained, and it's fun for me because of the things they say. It's delightful how they switch between thoughtful topics and complete silliness:

One minute they'll be talking about the solar system:

S: There might be planets on the other side of the sun that nobody knows about.
A: Well we would know - at least anyone who's older than one year would know, because we go round the sun. And it takes a year.
S: Yeah, but when we go round the sun, if there are other planets, they'll be going round too, so when we get round their side, they'll be on our side. So we'd never see them.

And then five minutes later:

D: Muuuumm, V took the last scone. That was meant to be for Daddy.
Mummy: It's ok V, you can eat it. We'll make some more.
V: Yeah, we can all make some. All four of us.
S: What if... what if we made so many scones that we filled the whole house?
*all snigger*
D: Yeah, and Daddy wouldn't be able to get the door open because of all the scones.
*all giggle*
V: Or what if... what if we made so many that they burst out the door and filled the whole world? Then your dad wouldn't even be able to drive home. Haha - he'd have to eat his way through the scones to get down the road.
*more giggles*
D: Ha! And then he'd be so fat that he'd fall over... he wouldn't be able to walk... like this...
*all fall about laughing*

And then suddenly we're back in space, with a discussion about the Milky Way, and how it's called "Milchstrasse" in German, which actually means "Milk Street", which isn't the same as Milky Way, and why didn't they call it "der milchige Weg"?

After lunch they all dash outside to play tag round the garden and compare ages and "what grade are you in?" with the lads nextdoor.

All highly entertaining :-) Although I'm also quite glad that my friend N is coming over later for a bit of staid adult conversation.

Today we are working on discipline. Not the children's, but my own personal discipline. I'm fed up with deciding to do something for very good reasons and then just not doing it.  I'm just talking about the usual stuff - eating sensibly, not spending a whole evening watching TV programmes I don't even enjoy, etc. Coffee, too. Half the time it doesn't even make me feel good, but I keep pouring it in. it's not a catastrophe or anything, but it bugs me that I'm being self-destructive and that it's not even fun. The lack of discipline itself is doing me more damage than the biscuits/coffee/bad TV.

I have noticed, though, that I'm not exaxtly nice to myself when trying to get myself to be more disciplined. (starting to sound schizophrenic here!) When I'm trying to get the children to do something I aim to be firm, yet kind and patient. I try to change things step by step. And I praise them when I see that they're making an effort. With myself it's a totally different story: I set myself a nearly unattainable goal, then shout at myself for being rubbish when I don't make it. It's no wonder I'm rebelling :-)

So instead of focussing on discipline or anything else in particular, today I'm just trying to be kinder to myself.

Gotta go - I have been informed that screen time ended 10 minutes ago :-)  Oh the joy of the holidays.

Let's go and play frisbee... Yeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

 

As part of his England project at school, S had to write an acrostic poem. Of course I had to try one too. I was surprised at how melancholy it sounded, because I'm not really aware of feeling like that about being between cultures. Anyway...
 

Eating fish and chips at Southend.

Nostalgic.

Greedy for things I don't know I'm missing until they're set before me.

Looking for familiarity I've lost, yet still claim. When really I have become

Alien;

Nearly but not quite;

Different.



S's poem was all about an English country garden. He had the idea of it, but didn't know a flower being in with "N". All I could think of was nasturtiums :-) So he wrote a very sweet poem about gardens and lupins and nasturiums and daisies. I don't think he brought it home at the end of the year, unfortunately - will have to see if I can reconstruct it with him.

Any resemblance to actual persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental...
To the tune of  "I don't want to talk about it", Rod Stewart (Everything but the Girl, Indigo Girls....)




I can tell by your rice that it's probably been frying forever.
And the smoke in the hall don't mean nothing to you - you're on Facebook.

When I call you, you don't hear me, in your virtual world.
If I just get a profile on Facebook,
If I friend you won't you listen to my heart? Whoah, my heart.

As you stare at the screen, do your apps. reveal the colours of your heart?
What's your IQ? What kind of muppet are you?
Things in real life don't mean nothing to you, they're a mirror.

When I call you, you don't hear me, in your virtual world.
If I just get a profile on Facebook,
If I friend you won't you listen to my heart? Whoah, my heart.