14. And I’m doing … very well.
“I’ve finished, Mrs Jellywoman.”
I scoot across the ICT room to see Chiyedza’s work. Although she only started using the computers a couple of months ago, she has made a jolly good job of the picture which will end up on the front of her Christmas card. She chose the angel outline; then added colours with the Fill tool. Her cherub has a dashing green dress and is winging its way through a purple sky. Like Chiyedza, it has gorgeous mahogany brown skin.
“That’s beautiful,” I tell her. “Let me show you how to use the Spray tool. You could use it to add tinsel, perhaps, or stars, or snow.”
Job done, I scoot over to help Ezra. His Father Christmas has a yellow face and blue hair, so all good children this year will have their presents delivered by Marge Simpson. That beard is fooling no-one, Marge – don’t flutter your eyelashes at me.
13. The stars in the bright sky
“I’ve made you a present, Mrs Jellywoman. Can I put it under the tree?”
I’ve gone into halo production with a queue of Reception children in enormous white t-shirts, white tights and black plimsolls (the footwear of choice in the angel community) waiting to be beatified, ready for that afternoon’s Nativity play. Owen – already dressed to give the world his Second Innkeeper – has appeared at my elbow holding two toothpaste boxes glued together at right-angles.
“Well, thank you Owen. What is it?” He looks a little disappointed that I’ve had to ask, but patiently answers, “It’s a cross.”
“Of course it is. Silly me.”
“It’s for when you die,” he adds, earnestly. He carefully opens the flap of one of the boxes. “Your body goes in there.”
“How thoughtful,” I laugh. “Yes – of course you can put it under the tree. I promise I won’t use it till Christmas.”
11. Last Christmas, I gave you…
“Right,” says LittleBruv, topping up his port. “Organise the numbers, LegoBoy.”
My nephew starts tearing paper, while the rest of us make space on the table. Remains of Christmas pudding, turkey and nut-loaf are hidden in the kitchen to worry about later. I rescue a small pile of cracker remnants which are bound to come in useful at school for … something.
We top up the coffee and liqueur. Nieces Ezza, Rezza and Hezza haul in the presents from a sack – well, Ikea bag – in the hallway. YoungLochinvar and InfantPhenomenon heap them onto the middle of the table. And then we are ready to start the Annual Ritual of Extravagance and Delight which is the Naff Presents Game.
10. Wade in the water
She said eight and I said twenty-one. Key to the door and all that. She said eight and I said eighteen then. She said eight and I said sweet sixteen. She said eight and I said thirteen. To mark becoming a teenager. Final offer.
So it was that, in the summer holiday before she started Year Six, when she was – well, nearly ten, InfantPhenomenon and I set off to get her ears pierced.
9. Cool for cats
“I’ve been reading your blog” says Dr LaMancha as he slides the needle into my vein. I attempt a sort of “am I bovvered?” nonchalance: I’ve been working on this look since starting my blog three weeks ago, just in case. I suspect, though, that my veneer of cultivated cool is rather undermined by multiple calls to Mum informing her that somebody I don’t know in the Isle of Man has just Liked my blog.
Mum does her best to sound excited, bless her, but as her last brush with new technology ground to a halt when she couldn’t work out how to fit a CD into an i-pod, I suspect she’s humouring me.
8. Shakes and drugs and rock n roll
Imagine. Young Mildred is rising five and about to start big school. You’re pretty confident about this parenting lark now; and anyway even Marks’s won’t take her back this late in the day.
You’ve tidied up for the pre-school visit, just stuffing the last bit of junk into young Mildred’s bedroom when the bell goes. She peers shyly from behind your legs as you open the door.
“Look, Mildred,” you say cheerily, “it’s your new teacher, Mrs …?”
“Jellywoman,” I chirp. “And this is my Nursery Nurse, Miss Sugarsprinkles. I’m sorry, we’re a trifle early.”
7. At the going down of the sun…
In our school hall, we have a plaque with the names of the old boys who were killed in World War One. Just an initial and a surname. So I have been working with Year Six to find out from census and military records who were these young men.
6. Blame it on the moonlight
It’s Book Group. We’ve discussed ailments, children and aged p’s. Before getting onto the Set Text, we talk about the books we have actually read. RuggerMan tops up his wine and lists off the Hornblowers, the Sharpes and the memoirs of 1914-18. “Oh,” he says, “and I accidentally downloaded 50 …”
5. Sigh
So, last day of the half-term holidays.
One of my favourite Peanuts story lines is when Charlie Brown has been set the holiday assignment of reading and reviewing Gulliver’s Travels. He spends the week procrastinating, sits down towards the end of the holidays, opens up the book and says ‘Good Grief, this book has 522 pages’. In the next frame, he’s closing the book saying ‘I’ll start it tomorrow.’
The Jelly Chronicles 