Hangxiety

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Growing up without growing old.

Parenting in the Ward household is reaching new dizzy heights of excellence this weekend.  We seem to be taking it in turns to entertain the kids while the other one lies down in a hungover coma.  Today it is more my turn to bear the brunt of the childcare which means that everyone is having less fun.  They are playing games such as 'put all the bits of lego in the lego box' and 'lay the table' which apparently is not as fun as wrestling their father or playing football!  Spoilt.

It has been a great weekend.  I've been out in town two nights on the trot which hasn't happened since about 1998.  I had a bit of an epiphany whilst throwing some shapes on the dance floor in Havana at about 1am on Saturday: maybe I'm getting a bit old for this shit.

It was my first night out with my new workmates and I was determined to make it a success.  The thing is, with each new workplace I get a little bit older, (I know I'm stating the obvious here, bear with me), and therefore being the life and soul of the party is becoming more challenging.  I wasn't even sure where I should standing in the pub as there were a couple of groupings and I didn't quite fit into either.  The young beautiful people and the older crowd.  Obviously the answer is to down a bottle of rosé in approximately 10 minutes and then you convince yourself that you are still well and truly down with the kids.

As we got to the club some of the people in front of me got ID'd.  'Aren't you going to ask me love?' I drunkenly and un-wittily quipped to the bouncer.  At which point he asked me for photographic ID (as apparently everyone needs it to get into Havana anyway), of which I had none as I had a different handbag on me.  I then had to use every trick in the book to talk my way in without any, holding up the entire group, and suddenly my young beauty began to fade a bit even to me through my rose-coloured-rosé goggles.

I was doing revolting shots at the bar for the rest of the night and shaking my booty on the dance floor with people that I could have technically given birth to.  At 1am my feet hurt, I smelt like an old beer mat and I decided it was time to go home.  I had seriously done my bit at integrating with my new crowd and now it was time for bed.  As I waited outside for a taxi, a load of Beaumont staff were coming INTO Havana and for a moment I thought about turning around and regrouping with them but luckily my one remaining brain cell forced me into a cab.

It was quite a relief last night therefore to go out with really old friends (in the time I have known them rather than their seniority).  We drank nice and slowly after our dinner as we were full and digesting and we all complained about the music being too loud and interrupting our intelligent conversation.  Oh dear.

I'm out on the piss with my Dad tomorrow night who remains the worst influence of everyone I know.  He has started trying to find a younger crowd himself to hang out with as he gets annoyed with people of his age falling asleep and not coming out regularly enough. There is officially therefore no hope for me and I'd better stay in the this current job rather than again trying to prove myself by dancing around my handbag with people half my age when I'm in my forties!

Forgetting the Fear

Hopefully the last work-related blog post for a while!  A quick update on my improved mindset towards my job.  In a nutshell, I manned up a bit.

It took a while and there was some distinct lack of man-uppiness in between.  In the course of the last week; I've had my first row, I've cried in the staff room, I've cried on the Head, I've attempted resignation and I've sworn quite a lot.  Well done me.  (What. A. Knob.)

Surprisingly all this has resulted in me getting quite a few more friends!  I'm aware that this could possibly be that people are just wanting to see what happens next to the car crash... When I was mid-about-to-resign state on Wednesday, I sobbed on the Head of Music that I was just going to be remembered as that Head of Drama that cried a lot then left.

The hilarious thing is, that when I went for my meeting with the Head, unable to decide if I was about to be fired or was going to resign; I came out 15 minutes later completely at peace with the world and then couldn't quite understand why everyone was still 'fussing' over me.  'I'm fine now', I cheerfully told everyone.  People in general were looking a little bit puzzled.  I keep forgetting that this group of staff don't know me.  The fluctuating tide of emotion is yet to become normal to them and from the outside it could well be misinterpreted as fair to middling psychosis.

I'm making it sound as if the entire staff knew I was a complete cock.  I don't think they did, but it is not the largest staff body around and so I'm guessing that a fair few of them are privvy to the fact.  I heard by default today that there is apparently an email that goes around on a Friday about going to the pub.  'Why didn't they email it to me?' I lamented at my poor dear husband as I frogmarched him to the pub instead after work.  'Erm, probably because you keep crying and they'd rather go out with cheerful people?'  Yikes.  Alright Stu.  Hearing you loud and clear there.

Roll on next week.  Even more than that; roll on the summer hols - four weeks to go!

Feeling the Fear

Nine days in and I'm pausing for breath.  A nice, deep one.

In so many ways the job has started really well.  Everybody is more than friendly, the kids are so pleased to have a permanent drama teacher and the cleaning out of someone's years of crap collecting works well for a serial binner like me.

Why then am I finding it so hard?  I'm not such a tough cookie as I thought.  In many ways a department of one suits me very well.  Everybody in my department accepts my decisions on the first vote.  Everyone in my department gets their shit done when its meant to and everyone in my department seems to agree on the best way of things being run.  It is however, the tiniest bit lonely.  It is horrendously tempting to stay shut in away in cupboard at all times as there is so much work to do.  Why bother eating my sandwich whilst trying not to make conversation with my mouth full in the staff room when I could be happily writing drama grading criteria on my own in a cupboard with crumbs all over my face.  Oh...

I haven't found my deviant mates yet.  I know they must be out there (surely, surely?!)  It is good that the colleagues that you meet in a school seem friendly, yet professional and sensible.  That means they are good teachers.  Even I can pull that one off with advanced acting skills.  However, there seems to be no element of naughtiness I can sniff out so far. Everybody is extraordinarily good at their jobs and very keen.  4pm on a Friday I am in the pub with my Beaumont colleagues lying face down on a table emptying a bottle of rose in five minutes.  What worries me is that this is also the nearest pub to my new school and yet the other guys are not there.

I'm getting all sorts of advice from every area of my life:

'Take cans of gin and tonics to the staff rounders match.' (Shelley)

'Screw the lot of them and do your own thing.'  (Dad - note why he never entered the world of teaching).

'Liven up T&L briefing by arriving with a bottle of fizz.'  (The Greek.  8.15am I may add)

A gorgeous friend from Beaumont yesterday told me that it is good to shake things up and try somewhere different.  Beaumont is like family, said she, and lots of people never end up leaving for the wrong reasons.  She is so right.  However, I love that family, they took me, warts and all, and we laughed and laughed and laughed.  I will cut the umbilical cord, soon; get me to September and I'm sure I will have found the new school Friday boozing haunt and won't even remember the family names.

Maybe...  Just maybe...

x

Facing the Fear

This time next week, I will have taught my last lesson at Beaumont, possibly ever.  I've just received my timetable for Samuel Ryder and am busily planning for the next half-term but there is a feeling that is sitting with me that I'm not used to; the feeling of complete and utter terror.

Some slight nerves would be normal at this juncture I think, but this is more than that.  I'm aware that it is going to be a big change for my family as well as myself, but kids are resilient and our new Nanny is wonderful.  I just hope that I won't scare her off with my four sides of A4 instructions as to how to look after my kids.  I managed to edit myself down from six sides and surely more information is better than less?  Right?

At the crux of it, it is absolutely the fear of failure.  Nearly everyone that I have broached this with has laughed and poo-pooed the idea of me poo-pooing my pants but it is really true!

"But you're Nikki Ward!  You aren't scared of anything!" has been a familiar refrain.  Along with:

"You are fabulous; you know you will be fabulous."

I have obviously spent so many years telling everybody I meet how wonderful I am at everything, that they've started to believe it, whereas I seem to have forgotten.  This blog is not a cry for sympathy, or for a load of comments telling me that I am wonderful, though thank you for the thought.  It is merely an outpouring of anxiety that I hope will ensure therefore that the worst does not after all happen.

So what is the worst that could happen?  It would be, that I am a distinct non-event.  If I have been told once, I have been told a million times, that this job is the perfect opportunity to make a huge impression and to turn a department around in a school that is on the up. All well and good, but what if I arrive and my huge splash actually becomes a little drip in a puddle.  Well awkward for all of us.

I still believe that I am a brilliant teacher, but I'm wondering if I am just brilliant at Beaumont.  I have spent a long time there and not much time anywhere else over the years and we fit extremely well.  I like the Beaumont way of doing things, Beaumont likes me and it tolerates my idiosyncrasies.  How do I know that I am able to run my own department?  Maybe the fact that I am successful is that I am just currently flying underneath the extraordinarily capable wing of my amazing Head of Department.

Samuel Ryder is going to be very different.  I am slightly concerned that the kids won't jump through the hoops I need them to.  The catchment is different to Beaumont, however, as Sam put it, it's the other end of St. Albans, not Moss Side.  Fair point.

Having fun has been banned (by me) in our department office at Beaumont for my last week.  Suddenly all our jokes about me being alone in a department, howling at my desk, aren't quite as funny.  Even the Greek has temporarily toned down his elation at my departure and removed the calendar where he is crossing off the days. ;-)

It will be fine.  Of course it will.  Not every kid in the school will hate me.  I only have to keep up the pretence in the staff room of being a nice, non-alcoholic deviant for a few weeks, surely?  If it doesn't work out then I will just have to leave won't I?  I will quietly resign, lay-off the Nanny with a huge guilt-payout and skulk up to school in massive sunglasses to pick my own children up whilst being incredibly nice all the time to my suddenly-having-to-earn-loads-more-money husband.  Hmmmmm, none of that really bears thinking about.  Maybe it is time I manned up and remembered that Nikki Ward is perfectly capable of doing this after all...

'Never talk about religion or politics'

I always thought my Mum was old-fashioned when she quoted the above to me.  Suddenly I'm understanding why.

Social media is the medium of choice where everyone who is unhappy about the General Election result has their say.  I am happy about the result and I think that the economy has been being slowly repaired over the past five years and it will hopefully continue to do so. However, it is becoming increasingly more apparent that this is a dirty point of view. Tirades against anyone who has voted Conservative are rife with a strong feeling that we all should have admitted it previously so that the pre-election polls were correct.  I have always voted Tory. apart from last year, when I had the privilege to be able to vote for my Dad in a general election, and I have never hidden my political inclination.  I would have been surprised at myself if I had attacked the political views of any of my virtual friends if the result had gone the other way.  I have seen a few posts about 'not having any friends who voted blue', but yet have still not been deleted.  If you feel that strongly, let's part ways.

According to Facebook and Twitter ours is a totally unfair method of voting.  Having looked at the statistics, I think that is a fair shout from both the Left and the Right in this election. However, the British Public has the choice to reform the voting system four years ago and we chose to stay with the first past the post system, therefore how can we continue to complain about it now?

One thing I have noticed through managing my Dad's social media through the last two General Elections is the tendency for people to become too personal in their attacks.  I have sat on my hands and shut my mouth over many an insult but when I was presented with: 'John Stocker is a tosser' by somebody who had never met my father, I took exception; and took the accuser who was working from a false name, from behind a cartoon icon, to task.

Believe in what you believe in.  Stand up for what you believe in.  However, do not, confuse political beliefs with personal traits, and, do not ever, be carried along by a tidal wave of hate.

I think that we need to remember how lucky we are to have democracy at all; and that democracy has spoken, whether you like the result, or not.  We are, at least, able to vote without our lives being endangered.

Party Pooper

Today has been a long day.  My normal plan for a Sunday is a couple of drinks with my parents over lunch followed by a bottle of wine or two with my husband over the course of the afternoon and evening.  It is 5.55pm and I am nil-alcohol by mouth. BORRRRRRRRRING.  I've had two and a half weeks of lazing around in bed until past 9 every day and now the school holidays have come abruptly to an end.  I'm even working on a Monday tomorrow (ugh - and will do every Monday from June!) so I thought it would be good to give myself a fighting chance of sleeping tonight and getting up tomorrow morning by staying sober today!  On the same track, I thought when I woke at 8.15 this morning, I'd better not roll over and have another hour but instead I hauled myself out of bed and went for a run!  On a Sunday!  Just in case any of you ever feel like trying the same, I will tell you now, don't bother - it is seriously not worth it.  By the time I'd got to the end of the road I'd realised that yesterday evening's diet of pizza and champagne had not supplied me with the fuel I needed to successfully exercise.

I was cross-examined by both my father and my husband over my weird decision of a lime cordial with lunch.  To add, insult to injury, I then spent over two hours at a children's party this afternoon; totally sober.  I don't really do kids' parties.  I find other small children, as a rule, generally quite annoying.  Luckily with Zak I have never had to accompany him.  I did the accepted run of parties with him while he was in Reception and the minute he hit Year 1, I dumped and ran.  With his blessing, I hasten to add; he had no desire to have his bossy-teacher-mum embarrassing him any longer in front of his friends.

No such luck with Sebi.  I had been gently suggesting for the past 24 hours that he might be absolutely fine to be left on this own at this particular party.  He said that he was sure that he would but he would have more fun with me there too.  I very much doubt it Sebi darling.  I upped my game a little in the car on the way to the party and said quite firmly that I would stay for five minutes and then he would be fine.  This backfired spectacularly as he then became hysterical as we rang on the doorbell that I was going to abandon him. Cue the parents of the birthday boy opening the door as I tried to throw Sebi through, whilst he yelled: 'I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE STUPID PARTY ANYWAY.' Excellent. Hi, my name is Nikki.  Nice to meet you.

I eventually got him into the party and we sat in the corner for the first half an hour with his face buried in my neck and me watching some bloke in a lab coat not managing to get a balloon through the neck of a jar.  Oh, and did I mention, I was sober?

Sebi eventually warmed up but by this time it was not worth me vanishing so I stayed and contented myself with bollocking the naughty children.  Never invite a teacher to your party. Particularly a hungover teacher, on the waggon, on the last day of the school holidays.  I was a right fun spoiler.

One nice lady sat down to have a chat with me.  Pretty big of her I reckon considering what a miserable, unfriendly cow I am in the playground.  She told me that she was happy that there was a good balance between working mums and non-working mums and that it wasn't heavily weighted in one way or the other.  I told her that the easiest thing to do was not to give a shit about what anyone else thinks.  Cue tumbleweed.

It was a good way for me to edit Sebi's birthday party list by watching the boys in action. One particular to-remain-nameless child will most definitely never darken my door or be added to any birthday list as long as there is breath in my body.  I had a stand-off with another child as he held out his cup to me and demanded 'JUICE'.  'Juice what?' I countered approximately five times before I realised I was getting nowhere at all and therefore left it to a more tolerant parent to meet his demands instead!

I reckon I should be able to go to bed fairly soon and then Super-Sober Sunday can be replaced by No-Alcohol Monday.  At least I am used to that one.  I'm comforting myself with the thought of how pleasantly shitfaced I will be by this time next week at my parents' Ruby Wedding party.  Stu is in charge of the bar, the boys are in charge of crisps and I'm in charge of socialising.  If there was ever a recipe for a successful social event then surely that has to be it!