Great win today Kewford!

A few weeks ago, I started the ‘school search’ journey with a bit of a scattergun approach, sending out a relatively blanket email to local schools and schools in nearby areas. It was a largely disheartening experience and I got back far too many: “We are zoned, you fall out of the zone by two streets, and you have no chance in hell of getting into our school so don’t even bother!” type responses, which included one from the school I had really hung high hopes on. I made a list of the schools that didn’t shoot me down in flames with the ‘zoning’ fiasco (a real estate agents dream cash cow, might I add!) and my next step was doing the ring around, finding out about the schools, getting information packs and inquiring about school tours.

This morning, I attended my first school tour. It might sound mad, and perhaps slightly hormonal, but it was quite an emotional experience. The emotion was three-fold.

Firstly, it made me realise how quickly my son was growing and how quickly a year and a half would fly by and I’d be one of those teary mums at the school gates reluctant to release their young to the wild. My son already tells me that I can’t come to school with him when he’s bigger. “Mummy, it’s for the little people, not the big people. But you can pick me up.” Oh, how nice.

Secondly, when I was walking around the school it really brought to the fore all the things that were important to me in raising my son – the type of experiences I wanted to share with him, or for him to have and the kind of boy I hope he grows into (not in the sense of dictating his interests, but more a hope that he grows up with empathy, honesty, understanding, a strong spirit that seeks adventure, knowledge and life). I read this fantastic quote the other day (yes, okay, I am obsessed with my quotes): “Your children will become who you are: so be what you want them to be.” I imagine there’ll be lots of times when you sit back, as your kids grow, and say to yourself: “I hope I’ve done good.”

Thirdly, walking around this local state primary school, it really made my rather staunch and unwavering position on ‘public’ education rear its head – how emphatic I was that I wanted my son to go to a public school and how much I believed in good, public education that was accessible to everyone. I don’t begrudge anyone who chooses to send their children to private schools – it’s a personal choice – but I do not believe that good education should come at such a price nor that good education should only be available to those who choose to, or can afford it. So I am putting faith in our public system and I hope my son will, too. (Disclaimer: I went to a private high school and had a less than favourable experience, which served the dual purpose of a) making me more adamant about endorsing public education b) embracing my own differences)

So, after I got over the emotions of doing a school tour, I felt somewhat relieved to see that there was greatness happening at our local primary school and it ticked a lot of boxes – community mindedness, strong IB 21st-century skills focused curriculum, play-based learning for the preps, socially and culturally aware environment, a plethora of opportunities and experiences, a sports program (the little man loves his soccer and AFL), engaged parents/teachers/students, creativity (African drumming and the arts), a small veggie patch, some old heritage brick buildings, multicultural demographic and not-too-small, not-too-big enrolment number.

There’s still a few more schools I want to visit, but at least I know that there is no reason to be disheartened by the choice anymore and hey, I’ll be a soccer-mum before you know it!

Click Pic for Source

Isn’t it funny how you can be judged so easily as a ‘type’ of mama based on the style you choose to wear?

We attended our first Steiner school playgroup this morning and being of the ‘alternative parenting’ persuasion is almost a prerequisite. In fact that is one of the reasons I chose to send my boys to a Steiner school – so that I could be fairly certain that the friends they made at school had parents who had similar parenting styles and values to our own.

It was possibly a bit of a cop out on my behalf as I really wasn’t sure how I would cope with the school yard goings on at a non-alternative school. I had already experienced the world of other children’s birthday parties and the conflict they caused within me when it came time to the food choices that other parents made for birthday parties. I especially didn’t like the lolly bag part at the end. Being the cruel mother that I am – I have been stealing the lolly bags away from H Boy before he could get his mitts on them and rationing them out. No 3 year old needs THAT much sugar in their system! So in a way by choosing a Steiner school I am taking the easy way out for myself – in the hope that other parents think along the same lines as me

This morning I wore my standard mum attire to playgroup – Jeans, Ballet Flats, Long Sleeve T-Shirt, Colourful Scarf, and it was cold so I added my puffer vest because it is super warm. Adding the puffer vest automatically puts me into a class of mamas that is decidedly un-hippy.

Don’t get me wrong – I can get my hippy mama on without a problem. I have a wardrobe full of handcrafted skirts and Birkenstocks. I have a Maya Wrap ringsling, and Ergo baby carrier and can hippy it up with the best of them.

But it was cold and I wanted to be warm. The thing is it doesn’t really matter how you dress, whether you shave or don’t shave, wear a bra or not – taking the natural parenting route can really be for ANYONE!

My first priority in winter is staying warm – I live in Canberra – it is freezing at this time of year and yet we still want to be able to take our children outdoors.

I guess it is an example of the old you can’t judge a book by it’s cover theory.

So next time you see a puffer vest in the playground – don’t make assumptions – it might be me!

xx Andj

When I traded my 80′s sports car, for the minivan, I was both excited and melancholy.  Gone were my days of cruising sans t-tops; blaring mixed-tapes into the stratosphere.  However, the stereotyped soccer mum was alluring.  Who doesn’t want to be that mum whom, while holding tea, opens the sliding door to let her children and dog bound onto a field?

The reality of minivan ownership isn’t far off soccer mum.  There are cup holders for my tea – eight total.  And the side door does indeed slide open to let my daughter and dog bound onto fields.

Fitting my ‘children’ into the minivan came with a lot of swearing though.  It was like a jigsaw puzzle, trying to figure out how to install, first, an infant Graco bucket-style carseat, then a Britax forward-facing carseat, and finally, one Graco and one Britax onto the two benches provided.   Somewhere along the line, we removed the middle bench for maximum ease of movement.

How do people with more carseats do it?  With two children and a dog, I find myself wishing for a bigger car.  But re-living the 8-seater A-Teamesque van my parents owned is not a dream of mine.

What had become a dream was finding a new radio, mostly for cosmetic reasons.  Ever since our toddler fed pennies to the tape deck last February, “I’m getting money, Mama,” our minivan looked like it was missing a tooth: the black hole where the radio once lived, another strike against our aged vehicle.

Yes, we were too cheap to replace it.  But we also didn’t really need it, or so I thought.  There had been numerous drives to my husband’s hometown, 7 to 12-hours away, depending on if you have or don’t have kids, when we didn’t listen to any music.  An old married couple, if you will.

We lived radio-less until Thanksgiving, when Grandpa remedied the circuit board, rid the radio of the putrid electrical smell and re-installed it.  He also fixed the passenger window, that wouldn’t shut properly.

Dang.  The sliver, and I do mean minute sliver, of hope that our ticking vehicle would be traded up for a purring 2010 model vanished.

This afternoon, cruising with my two girls, husband and dog, I watched my two-year-old groove to the music and my husband’s jaw twitch as I sang.  Ownership of our unsexy minivan was suddenly worth its weight in gold.