Soph's School of the Mad: Week Eleven

Father's Day! Look at this card that Alex DEFINITELY MADE ALL BY HIMSELF, HONEST GUV:

I do love these horrible, smelly males that I live with.

So, Monday. Another Monday, another absolute lack of shit to do. I set Jack to writing a recipe for this ice cream sundae we had at the weekend:

(Sauce recipe here) (Try it, you will regret nothing but your waistline).

Then, I settled down with Jim to do his EHCP review. EHCPs replaced Statement of Special Education Need a few years ago. They are supposed to be reviewed every year, and this is Jim's first review since he started at Medeshamstede. It's also the first review where he's been old enough to have some input into the process:

"Jim, what do you need to be happy every day?"
"EVERYONE TO DO AS I SAY"
"Ah, of course"

On Tuesday, it got hot. And as it got hot, my fucks dissolved. Jack had to write a fairytale with a new ending. I think they wanted cheerful endings, like Red Riding Hood and the wolf making friends, but this is Jack, so instead they got an elephant eating Jack the Giant Slayer, his mother AND the giant. I'm just sad he didn't go with my idea to have Rapunzel's head get pulled off by the incessant clambering up her hair.

Alex finished his first workbook and was SO PROUD to get a certificate:

Wednesday was MATHS DAY. Cue endless screaming howls of dismay from us all. Me because I had to teach maths, Jim because he had to do maths, Jack because he felt like joining in and Alex because there is a noise outside and the windows are open. Having a noise-averse child closing all the windows when it's 30 degrees outside is NOT MY FAVOURITE.

So, we were doing data handling, which I can do fairly well (literally the only maths thing I CAN do). We started off with skittles:

Delicious skittles. This graph was produced:

Then Jim had to do some independent work on line graphs, all the time eating the skittles.

There were no skittles by 10:30am. Jack's there in the background completely ignoring the work he's been set to listen to Spotify instead.Then we all went to die in the sun like lizards, hissing at each other and weeping tears of pure salt.

On Thursday, I had Jim's EHCP review meeting, so everything was a nightmarish rush to get done by 11. We had to do PIE CHARTS, which Jim understood and did perfectly in between screaming like a wounded animal. While I was in the meeting, he wrote a diary entry about cannibals in the Iron Age. He's decided that cannibalism was rife in the period, and nothing will dissuade him, which is very 1900s historian of him. Jack did some maths, and then wrote a factfile on a monster called The Fred of the Daktala Forest in Jackland.

A Fred:

Alex's teacher rang up to talk about how he's getting on since he's staying at home til September. I put her on speaker phone so she could talk to him, and he FLED, LITERALLY UPPED AND RAN. It might be a struggle to get him back into school in a few months. Alex had a play with some thermodynamic putty, which he loved:

God only knows why he insisted on wearing jeans on the hottest day of the year. Weird kid is weird.

Friday, thank God, and it's a dad-weekend for the older two. Jimmy has been HAUNTING me all week, eavesdropping on my conversations, inserting himself into my personal space, appearing at his bedroom window to scream "WHY HAS MUMMY GOT HER FEET IN WATER????" He's not going back to school after all, and I have taken to drink.

First thing this morning, he had a go at doing some prehistoric art using flour, sticks and buttercups:

I think it has a slightly sinister vibe. I like it.

Jack designed a book cover for his magnum opus, which he's been working on for weeks:

And Jim wrote a powerpoint about the Amazon rainforest, which wasn't exactly what he was supposed to do, but he used full sentence so who cares?

Three more weeks. I can do this. I CAN do this.

Soph's School of the Mad: Week Ten

Ten weeks, for fuck's sake. Monday was bleak. After two hours of sleep (THANKS ALEX!), I was  not ready for Monday. I was particularly not ready for Tom to go back to work full time, and yet he has and I am somehow still here. As per usual on Monday, no work was forthcoming from the schools so Jack worked on his story which is now on it's fifth chapter and nothing much has happened. Jim did some Harry Potter and then made chocolate fridge cake:

 Isn't it PRETTY?

Me and Alex made a father's day card which is TOP SECRET. Then the boys played on the PS while I worked, because I am a diligent mother.

I had a bit of a meltdown last week, mainly about Alex. I GRIEVE what he is losing out on, not being at school. All those new experiences and opportunities that I cannot replicate at home. If he wasn't autistic, it wouldn't matter, but he will try new things at school that he will not entertain at home. So I spoke to the SENCo and the head of EYFS and they were reassuring and gave me some advice. My cheap Chinese paints turned up two months after being ordered this week, so we did some car painting:

Jim was doing a random sheet of comprehension and came out with this gem:

Autism is DEFINITELY not mundane.

This week was quite stressful. My little niece had her third lot of brain surgery within six months, to replace her shunt. It went well, she's doing great. My kids have no idea what's wrong with Eliza, and thanks to Corona, we haven't had to tell them. It's not that we don't want them to know, or that we're unrealistic about it, it's that they will FREAK THE FUCK OUT and we'll never talk Jim down. But it does meant that me and Tom are trying not to let on how sad or stressed we are MORE than we would if we were merely homeschooling in a pandemic.

Also, I had to speak to a consultant dentist at UCL about What To Do With Jack's Teeth. Jack has a genetic disorder called amelogenesis imperfecta that means his teeth crumble in his mouth. He's had countless patch-up jobs and teeth out in his short life, and although it's very minor in the grand scheme of things, teeth hurt and teeth are cosmetically important. So, because of corona, I had to take pictures of his teeth, email them to the consultant and then talk about The Plan, while Jack whimpered in the background, terrified the dentist was going to dive down the phone and wrench his teeth from his head. He had his xray this morning (Friday) and had to go in all by himself, again because of corona. But he was very brave.

HOWEVER, in between the stress, Jim produced this:

YOU FOOL

And to FOX Alex, I froze one of his beloved cars and challenged him to get it out.

He poked it about a bit, and then abandoned it to melt in the sun. THE PATH OF LEAST RESISTANCE. Then he smashed the last bit of ice remaining and screamed "I SMASHED IT" joyfully.

For the first time, we also got him to try dressing up, and he was so utterly delighted by the results:

Did you ever see such a happy child?

Jim had to retell a story. He had a go...

I couldn't get his laptop to transmit sound on teams during our weekly lesson with his teacher, so he spent half an hour miming at her and showing her his foot. SO NORMAL HUN.

Friday is topic day, at least for Jim, and this week we were doing the Bronze Age. Ladies and gentlemen, I present, Bronze Age Fred:


And so to the weekend, which will hopefully be less fraught. Jim had a meltdown of such ground-shaking proportions yesterday that I'm surprised nobody called the police. And why? Because he had to put some things away. Truly, he is the most oppressed.

Finally, my children, but old:

Particularly enjoy that I've given birth to the next Bill Oddie...

Soph's School of the Mad: Week Nine

Monday, Monday, with your face like an unwanted comment. They are working on the railway near our house at the minute, laying new track for a freight line. This is fine. What is not fine is Network's Rail decision to turn the LOUD BANGER track pounding machine on at 11:45pm, and then have it on for fifteen minute intervals until 4am at weekends. I am weary. So weary.

Jim's work didn't get sent through until lunchtime, so he just dicked about on Times Tables Rockstars, shrieking in dismay that he was expected to know both his 8 and 11 times table. Jack, also in a filthy mood, created a family tree. I was BITING MY FISTS trying not to take over and do a family tree stretching back ten generations.

While doing this, Jack remembered my mum was dead, and started to cry. Then he got upset because he has divorced parents. All the time, I sit, wondering why I have to deal with this on a MONDAY MORNING. THIS FELT LIKE A GOOD IDEA ONCE. Eventually, he did a cast list of his family, in which he noted that "everyone in my family is on edge". No shit Sherlock.

Then we had a rave to The Prodigy, and I taught the children to dance like it's 1992 (HISTORY), which led to me showing Jack a lot of Rammstein live videos to explain live music staging.

Alex will do anything for Youtube videos, including sums:

Tom had to work on Tuesday, which I guess is good practice for next week when he has to go back properly. So Jack wrote him a letter about how much he loves him:

And Jimmy attempted to build Stonehenge (using this game) but this happened A LOT:

I wonder if this happened much when they were actually building Stonehenge. Every Solstice, hoping against hope that it would stay up, and then KERAAASH.

Alex had a go at writing again today, and did fairly well until he decided that he could not write anymore because his hands were gone. Earlier, that morning, he bashed me over the head with a broom shouting "I KILL YOU". I've had better days.

On Wednesday, Jack had to learn about Shakespeare. "WHY DO I NEED TO LEARN ABOUT SHAKESPEARE?" he howled, "HOW IS THAT GOING TO HELP ME WHEN I'M GROWN UP?" and to my credit, I didn't start soliloquising him. Anyway, this is his artist's impression of Shakespeare:

True to life!

Jim had to do time assessments, and there was an AWFUL LOT OF SCREAMING and this face:

Hard same. Then I spoke to his teacher on the phone and agreed to make a load of resources for the kids' Bronze age topic, because GOD LOVES A TRIER.

On Thursday, Jim spent the morning doing assessments. He's going into year seven in September, in the same school. He was going to do his SATs, but obviously that didn't happen, so they're assessing his levels through powerpoints. He does them by himself, but regularly RENTS THE AIR with HOWLS OF DISMAY, which keeps you awake if nothing else.

But this meant me and Jack could do a bit more family history work, again with me desperately trying not to dominate the whole thing. Today, we looked at where his family came from. As you can see, we're pretty focused on East Anglia:

He also wrote me some sentences, including "Fred went to jail for illegally flushing a potato down the toilet." Quite.

Alex stole my phone and took photos of his most precious possessions:

Today, everyone feels like shit. Fuck all sleep, I had a breakdown last night because Tom has gone back to work and I am gently going insane, the kids are going to their dad's later which always utterly overexcites them, and Alex is grouchy. I had an email from Jack and Alex's school confirming they are not going to attempt to open up any further this term. Jim's school are very slowly trying to reopen, starting with the kids in upper school.

So Jack did some bar charts about football, and I appreciate the Premier League getting into helping home educate kids but not in a PURPLE AND YELLOW COLOUR SCHEME WHEN I HAVE NO INK. We have no ink, but we do have GRAPH PAPER:

And we reserved today to do Jim's Skara Brae work, because his topic is the Stone Age and Skara Brae is cool af. He wrote this advert, which cracked me up:

And made this advert for holidaying there. It's the wig. The wig!


And that's us done for another week, and perhaps done-in for life. Maybe I'll have cheered up by Monday, let's wait and see.

Pride Rage

TW: sexual assault, rape, trans issues, transphobia, homophobia

So, JK Rowling, a woman who regularly pretends to be a man in her working life for financial gain, has been on the TERF wagon this week.

Some of you won't know what TERF means: it means trans-exclusionary radical feminist. Radical feminism rejects male supremacy, which is good. Trans-exclusionary radical feminism rejects male supremacy while also rejecting trans-women as women. The weird thing about TERFs is that all their arguments for excluding transwomen from radical feminism rely on traditional gender roles for women. TRANSWOMEN DON'T MENSTRUATE THEREFORE THEY DO NOT KNOW A WOMAN'S PAIN. Well, I hate to tell you ladies, but there are a lot of cis women who don't menstruate, through choice or not.
Some of you won't know what cis means. Some of you will think it's a bad word. It's not. It is just the opposite of trans: I am a ciswoman. It says nothing about sexuality, just about whether or not your sex (your bits) match your gender (your sense of you being male/female). Gender expression is much wider for women than men, which may be part of the reason there are more transwomen than transmen, but that's another discussion entirely.

So, JK Rowling is against changes to the Gender Recognition Act. A lot of people are, to be honest with you. The current Gender Recognition Act requires trans individuals to live as their preferred gender for two years, and then go to a panel and prove that they are living as the opposite gender in order to recieve a new birth certificate that says they are male or female. The panel bit is horribly invasive: you have to have a medical diagnosis of gender dysphoria, you have to have your spouse's permission if you are married, and you must prove you are living as trans. There are only about five thousand people who have changed their gender in this manner in the UK, of a trans population of up to 500,000. This means you have probably shared facilities with a trans person, without a GRC, and you had no idea.

The revision to the Gender Recognition Act proposes to do away with the panel, so if you want to change your gender legally, you can much faster and with much less fanfare.
That's it.

Anyway, JK Rowling and COUNTLESS OTHERS are against this change, and they're probably against it (if they're deeply honest with themselves) because they see being transgender as an aberration. Nevermind the fact that nobody knows what their sex chromosome makeup is unless there's a problem, nor their sex hormone levels; nevermind the fact that other people's genitals are absolutely none of your business, there is a sizeable chunk of people who think that being trans is just wrong. They cannot concieve of it. The same as people used to think being gay was just wrong. So much so, that they'd execute you for it.

But naturally, you can't just SAY you think it's wrong, that would be terrible for business. Especially when you're a beloved children's writer. So, a lot of concerns about the new Gender Recognition Act are dressed up as concern for the children. As it was ever so. Remember Section 28?

JK Rowling and friends are terribly concerned that men will simply say they are women in order to access sex segregated spaces. Changing rooms and toilets are the two most commonly cited examples. "Would you want your daughter in a changing room with a PENIS???" they ask. They don't say "Would you want your daughter in a changing room with a transwoman desperately trying to get changed without flashing anyone, terrified in case she does?" because that would actually humanise transwomen. No, A PENISSSSSS.

And it's ALWAYS transwomen getting demonised. Nevermind transmen, who will either be using the male changing rooms and risk being sexually assaulted by angry men (they do that, unfortunately) or using the female changing rooms while being coded as male and therefore also enraging the women. No, it's always the PERVERTED MASSIVE SCHLONGS IN SKIRTS that get pulled out for this particular argument.

Now. Let's consider what we know of rape and sexual assault against women in general. All stats are from Rape Crisis UK. About 20% of all adult women have experienced sexual violence in the UK. Most victims know their attacker (about 90%). Rapists overwhelmingly get away with it - about 5.7% of REPORTED rapes end in conviction; most rapes are unreported.

So, about 10% of rapes are committed by strangers. I can't find any statistics for what percentage are carried out by transwomen, which strongly suggests that it's such a rare crime that statistics do not exist. But stranger rapes still happen, largely committed by cismen.
Raped in the bathroom at McDonalds. Raped in the loo at Heathrow. Raped in the public toilets. Raped in the leisure centre changing room. Raped at school. Raped at the bus station. Raped in the pub. Raped in a shopping centre.

And these are just the ones that are reported.

Men do not need to pretend to be women to rape women.

Men just need to look like they're supposed to be there.

No rapist has ever walked up to a women's toilet, looked at the sign, sighed "foiled again", and walked away.

Because signs do not protect you from rapists.

If I am being really charitable, I suppose I can see this argument as a desperate hope that sex-segregated spaces ARE safe from rapists. That putting a sign on the door saying "women only" WILL protect them.

But it's Pride month, and I'm sick of this shit.

My little brother is trans. It is not a fucking ten minute thought experiment for him. It's a constant cycle of fear, self-doubt, coming out to new people, coping with being misgendered and deadnamed, arguing with the barber over whether or not he's allowed to have his fucking HAIR CUT, self-loathing, choosing the 'right' toilet, dysphoria, having to deal with other people's shitty whataboutery and "but the CHILDREN" all over his social media 24/7. He's been on the waiting list for the Gender Identity Clinic for more than a year, after having to argue with his psychiatrist to get a referral. He'll probably be waiting another year or more because of COVID, and the lack of clinics.

I am not here for people treating transgender people as a Problem To Be Solved rather than people trying to live true to themselves.
I am not here for people trying to make their lives harder when they are so hard already.
I am not here for people merrily demonising the entire trans community over a hypothetical situation.
And I am not here for these coded messages that trans people are sexual predators.
Statistically, you know rapists.
You're friends with rapists.
You have no idea they're rapists.

Do you know any trans people? Even one?

Soph's School of the Mad: Week Eight

Hey Jim, how was half term?

Anyway, all my kids remain at home, probably for the rest of the school year, please send rum.

Saying that, do you know what the best thing about being the headmistress of a this tiny school is? Declaring your own inset days. After a surprisingly lovely half term of catching up with my actual job, taking up yoga (LOUD LOLZ), the children being relatively well behaved, and going out of Walton for the first time in ten weeks, I really didn't feel like getting back into in on Monday. And since it would have been an inset day if they'd been at school, I  made a decision. The children were pleased.

So, the last half term of the school year. Normally, this half term is an absolute tidal wave of shit to do. Sports day, end of year events, move up day, transition meetings. This year, notsomuch, but with a heavy dusting of question marks and uncertainty. Then there's the whole world being a binfire, which doesn't ease the mind.

Jack met Tuesday with a face of thunder and an attitude to match. He LOATHES maths, he LOATHES writing, he LOATHES subordinate clauses (same, dude), he HATES with a passion. Which was fun. Jim was also tense and grumpy, not least because he had to do two maths worksheets. THE AGONY of MATHS:

One of his activities this week is to try and make a stone age house from sticks (THANKS, THE SCHOOL) so we went to gather sticks at Itter Park, which was RAMMED.

Absolute size of him in his tree.

Jack's work is really DULL this week. "Write a conversation between two of these characters", but the characters are all boring as hell chatty people. So I invented Dave the Ghost and Sammy the Vampire for him to write about. Anyway, they had a lovely chat about their acts for the World Scaring Competition, illustrated thus:

Boo! Woo!

Jim made a robot out of a kit we bought.

This robot ran amok, covering my floor in pen, but it WORKED:

Jack and Alex went on a bug hunt on Thursday, mainly so I could coax Jimmy through some work on time. Time can be a really hard concept for autistic people. Jim has an excellent grasp of time facts like how many days in a week, how many minutes in an hour etc, but no idea how to estimate how time passes. But anyway, the bug hunt:

Alex came screaming in "WE FOUND A SPIDER"

"Oh wow! How many legs did it have?"

"EIGHT"

"And where does it live?"

"In his HOME"

...I mean, the kid's not wrong, but that's not quite what I was going for. This morning, he was running around shrieking "Stay at home kids, or you'll DIE" and when I asked him what happens when you die, he replied "Stikbots fall over". 

Also, through bribery, I finally got Alex to write something legible in a book. He appears to have done one of his developmental leaps lately. They happen every few months - he doesn't develop much at all, and then suddenly starts doing whatever I've despaired of teaching him. This time, sleeping through the night and writing in letters that aren't two feet tall. 

Meanwhile, Jack wrote a story opener about a girl called Lavender meeting a witch chanting gibberish, and Jim decided the only logical ending to Goldilocks is that Goldilocks should be eaten. Can't say I disagree with him:

And so to today, and another week over. This week has been complicated by the sad, but predictable death of my extremely elderly laptop meaning me, Jim and Jack have had to share the desktop. Jim's school are arranging a laptop, but this is taking an age. Tom had to go to actual work today as well. Boo, boo and hiss. Add my THIRD lockdown period (periods should be SUSPENDED in lockdown), and SHOUTING ENSUED.

The first shout was because Jack was asked to write some stuff inspired by a picture and wrote about a boy stranded on a giant baby head. I lost my shit. "APPLY YOURSELF, FOR FUCK'S SAKE", I screamed, in perhaps my finest moment this year. Then I lost my shit anew for no good reason, because Jim hadn't put much effort into his stone age poster. He tried to improve it with some 'facts'. I then wished he hadn't:

I'm not sure cave men invented the word poo, but fuck it, who cares?

The kids also made Lego Stonehenges, which BARELY warrant the title:

Sometimes, I feel like I've got this whole thing down. Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning. Let us all pray that next week is better.