Soph's School of the Mad: Week Seven

To send the kids back to school, or not to send the kids back to school, that is the question. I don't mind Jack and Jimmy at home, to be honest, although Jack's timetable leaves a lot to be desired. They've swung from one extreme of far too much work, to not enough. Jimmy's work continues to need a lot of parental guidance, but I get a list of learning objectives with it, so at least I know what we're attempting to do.

But Alex. Gawd, Alex. Alex is developmentally delayed. Not all autistic kids are - Jim never was - but Alex is. So, we're already on the back foot in terms of what he can do. While he was in school, he was catching up nicely. He potty-trained, learned to dress himself, learned when to eat and what hunger is, as well as picking up reading, numbers and phonics in h is two terms at school. At home, however, he has stopped. Regressed even, in some areas. All the kids will be behind when school resumes properly, but Alex is at a disadvantage. He's not been getting any of the numerous therapies he was having in school, and I am frightened I am doing long term harm by not being good enough. I'm his mum. I'm not a teacher, not a TA, not an OT, not a speech and language therapist. I know more than most people about autistic children, what with formerly being one, but I'm not qualified.

But to go to school, and be taught with seven other random kids, in a random, bare classroom, at widely spaced desks, by a teacher he doesn't know? For a few hours per day? Without play time, without teachers allowed to touch him to comfort him when he's afraid? No toys? No carpet time? No PE?
No, I don't think so. I'm not the only SEND parent with this problem. I'm not the only SEND parent terrified of getting it wrong. But what the schools are able to provide at this time is not 'school': it's more like prison, a temporary solution to an awful problem. He is only four. He needs to be loved and nurtured.

So he's staying at home until things improve, and I hope I don't ruin him, and I hope I can stop crying whenever I think about it.

Enough depression, back to the adventures in home school. On Monday, neither of the schools sent me any work until 11am. So Jack did some maths online, and Jim did some work that was left over from last week. And then we sacked off work and made bread. I think knowing how to cook is a useful lifeskill, that generally gets binned off the curriculum. Bread is piss easy to make, so I talked them through the steps. I've been getting REAL YEAST from Morrisons, so we fermented some in liquid and in sugar to see what they did and how they smelled. Then I made them a batch of bread dough, divided it in half and let them flavour and knead it. Jim went for smoked paprika and chilli, Jack went for sumac and mint. SO ELEGANT, SO REFINED:

SO DEMENTED. Anyway, they turned out fine.

On Tuesday, Jack had sod all to do, AGAIN, but did write about his breadmaking. Jim also wrote about his breadmaking, and then we cracked out the science experiments. God, I'm sick of schools veering wildly between "GROW SOME PLANTS AND THEN COOK A MEAL WITH THE PRODUCE" to "write...some...sentences?" in the timetabled work, so I got a box of science experiments from the Curiosity Box shop. Jim's teacher informed me that he needs to know how to do circuit diagrams, so we made a cat with LIGHT UP EYES, and then Jim drew the circuit diagram to match. Complete with cat:

It's not got a nob, it's the end of the bread bag. Because the cat has put her head through a slice of bread, obviously.

Make the work fit the child...make the work fit the child...

Alex had...a great day:

Wednesday was fucking hot, and everyone was too tired and hot to do anything useful. The boys both made an alphabet of food, and Jim had a video lesson. ALAS AND ALACK, my elderly laptop can't cope with the heat, and cut us off halfway through. Jim was bereft. Tom was bereft at the idea of putting ZOOM on his PRECIOUS MACBOOK, but did it so Jack could still have his guitar lesson. He's learning Amerika. He is metal as fuck.

Last week, Jim's teacher suggested we attempt to grow cress in a shape by using cookie cutters filled with cress seed. Jim chose a gingerbread man. It went so dramatically wrong, because when watered, all the carefully placed seeds went for a swim. Now I'm mildly afraid of what life we have wrought:

Don't feed it after midnight.

Jack was an emotional mess on Thursday, particularly when I told him it didn't seem likely he would be going back to school until September. He wrote a poem about coronavirus, and HARD AGREE, LITTLE DUDE:

There was a point on Friday morning, when Jim was writing false facts about moles ("MOLES WERE CREATED WHEN GOD SNEEZED, MOLES ARE ALL NAMED BARRY") and Jack was writing a deranged powerpoint of dialogue listening to Party Rock Anthem at 120dB when I wondered when exactly I'm going to crack up and get the sweet release of death or madness. Apparently, half term has come at precisely the right time:

They're planning a sleepover tonight. Jack is going to sleep UNDER Jim's cabin bed. They're going to make brownies. They're going to watch Moana. They've made bro cards to give access to Jim's bedroom.
I'm going to give it half an hour before Jack decides he hates it and goes back to his own bed. C'est la vie.

Let us all PRAY FOR REST. Have a lovely half term. TOUCH NOTHING, LICK NOTHING.