hold fast

In a strange turn of events, I ended up teaching "Language Arts" to 5th Grade. When I was first told this I neither knew the age of 5th grade, nor what in goodness' name "Language Arts" was. (Turns out it's just English, and the Americans give everything weird names.) I am also teaching Kinder, who are pretty adorable themselves, if not completely EXHAUSTING. (I'm saying they're 90% to blame for the fact that I fell asleep on the bus home from work today.) So, fifth graders are funny. We read a story about a girl (called Bolivia, weirdly) who moved into a neighbourhood and kept talking to these two boys about her little sister, Lucette. Turned out she was a bird, which most worked out when they talked about her escaping out a window and ending up up a tree. One boy, however, took just a little longer. Me (reading): "Lucette likes to walk up and down my arm and then fly round and round the room." S: "What?! Miss, babies ca

I wrote this last week, and maybe forgot to post it. Apologies - but the photos are too cute to miss. So, when #braveheart was in hospital he asked me a couple of times where E. was, because he missed him. This is miraculous in and of itself since usually they're fighting. E. missed C. too, so we decided to bring him over for a sleepover. C. has a lot of rules for what he can and cannot do (all of the things a normal 4-year-old would want to do are not allowed...) so we've been pretty strict with him and the normally very torpe  (rough) E.  Also, neither of them speak the best, but they understand each other perfectly - Hannah and I have no idea what they're plotting or planning. Pray for us. (Edited: they did not kill us, thank the Lord.) Reunited, and it feels so good. Movie time before bed. (Don't tell them, but I might have fast forwarded through an hour of it to speed up bedtime.) E. took over my bed... C. had to sleep on the floor, so

Dear Supercook , I can't cook. It's a topic of shame in my family. My mother is a great cook. Like the best there has ever been. (I might be biased, a little.) She has tried (she claims) to teach me to cook. But here's the problem - she doesn't use recipes. She grabs a little of this, a little of that, throws it in the pot and it comes out looking like something Jamie Oliver would make. I. Cannot. Do. This. And when I say that, I can see it in her eyes, she doubts just a little that I'm related to her at all. So then I moved halfway round the world, away from home cooked meals, and lasagne and broccoli(less) bake. She was 100% sure I would die. The whole world was. I brought one recipe. And that is where you came in. You see, I can shop for groceries. And me, I am awesome at following a recipe. (As long as it is made for idiots to follow.) So I go to your homepage, enter what we have in the fridge (often very little) an

When I walked in he wouldn't even look at me. I greeted him like usual, "hey handsome". Not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He was angry. And I didn't blame him. How do you go from being with people 24/7 to an hour in the morning and another in the afternoon? What do you do for the 16 hours in between? What do you do when you're only 4?! He was visible under the tubes today, an improvement. Yesterday you couldn't see him for tubes. But still, so many machines, so much background noise. What could they possibly all be doing? How could he be expected to understand? His wrists were bound to the bed, and he was being fed soggy crackers and cold maté. To be honest, he was in better form than I would've been in the same situation. He was sucking on his bottom lip, as always, his nervous habit. But today, that lip was quivering. For the twenty minutes, on the brink of tears. In fact, the tears came, a number of times. And each ti