Rebecca_In the Slow Lane

I went into week three like a mum on a mission.  Thanks to A's trip into his workplace, he'd printed off all the colourful resources (phonics, cursive handwriting, maths) so I got my Teacher hat on and smothered the kitchen walls with it, buggering up the paintwork with, post-it notes, blu-tak and sellotape.  With thanks to Oti's Boogie Beebies , I pre-made the packed lunches, complete with drinks and snacks. I also finally found my sense of humour, presumed lost in the back end of 2020.  Probably all thanks to the new POTUS and VP: Biden/Harris, bringing hope and joy to the world. Funny fun mummy gave hilarious voices to uneaten breakfast brioche, made up rhyming songs about animal habitats (cats/bats/rat-i-tat-tats) and did some spectacular gurning in the name of phonics (ur/ow/oi/ear).  By 10am, two out of three children were dressed and we'd ticked off some of the eldest's home-learning tasks.  But I still wasn't satisfied.   The sun was shining; we needed t

I'm disappointed to realise that I've not introduced you to our chickens yet: Sita and Flower.  In April 2020, when the shelves were emptying of free range eggs, we decided we needed to fulfil a life long dream and become chicken keepers. The advice is to buy at least three chickens (if one dies, they'll still have company and because with just two, they might not get on).  The chicken coop we'd hurriedly bought online was supposedly for up to 3 chickens, but when it arrived, I didn't see how they'd all fit in.  I had read about some hens- the lowest of the pecking order- being shut out of the brood and forced to sleep outside the door, so we just bought two.  Finding chickens to buy wasn't easy.  It seems that we weren't the radical thinkers we thought we were; pet hens were more difficult to source than eggs. After a tip off from a local farmer friend, we hurriedly called and bought two black Daisybelles from a local seller.  My husband (A) went to col

These first few blog posts are catching up on the first couple of weeks, transferring frenzied thoughts into typed up prose... it'll catch up with real time real soon... My husband(A) was back to working online full time before the primary schools were sending out work and I took this as a golden opportunity to introduce the thrill of learning through creativity, play and fresh air.  I felt I needed to readdress the balance of Christmas toys & TV bingeing and get us all in the mood for some new year/term reflecting. I had a simple, loose plan for our first day:  AM: Decorating mini (porcelain) plant pots, filling with compost and planting some seeds of their choice.  I'd pre-selected seeds for January indoor planting: peppers, cauliflower, sweet corn, tomatoes and cress; all still in their labelled packets. PM: Drawing/writing our 'Hopes & Dreams' for 2021on a huge pre-cut communal circle of paper. Great ideas, huh? Simple, wholesome, accessible for all ages.  I

I've been keeping a diary on actual real life paper, but thought I'd share from this current lockdown. Why? Well, it helps me to keep sane and I'm hoping that it might help to legitimise my recently mega increased screen time. Here we are again: schools are shut and we're supposed to stay at home. When the news was announced, I was actually quietly happy (I know, I know).  Of course, I was devastated by the news of new Covid variants and rising R numbers and the ever increasing death toll.  But I was deep in the cosy joys of a Christmas at home, staying at home with my fledglings close by, hunkering down with the expectation to travel removed.  It didn't seem right to be sending our children back into primary school (especially with the new strain passing more quickly by children), nor my husband (A) back on the long daily commute into London (where 1 in 30 supposedly have Covid!), teaching in a busy city high school (amongst the biggest spreaders with very little o

Part 2: On being half-white in Leeds, London and Mombasa (2001-2013) (For Part 1, click here .) People still asked me where I was really from but I don’t remember personally being victim to or witnessing any obvious racial prejudice during these years ( (coincidence that these were mainly with a Left Wing British Government?)- a privilege.  Enjoyed a full urban life and culture, never being questioned, ignored or insulted- a privilege.  Teaching English in diverse urban schools without anyone ever questioning or doubting my ability to teach the home language or its literature- a privilege not always enjoyed by People of Colour.  Living as a comparatively wealthy expat in Mombasa, being expected to employ a full time cleaner and own a car (neither of which I wished/planned for)- a privilege.  Being appointed as Head of English (& Head of House) in a Kenyan Private School even though there were more experienced local black Kenyan teachers- a privilege.  Enjoying the full expat life

First published on The Motherload Blogzine, June 2020 Watching the evening news, people witness another awful killing and see the Anti-Racism protests, feeling sympathy with the cause.  They see the pain and the hurt and feel sorry that these tragic things happen in the world, and then settle in for some Gogglebox and tweet about celebrity home furnishings.  After all, we’re only human and that’s how we cope, serving ourselves small measures of reality, washed down with an effervescent tonic of escapist TV. For everyone struggles: dealing with life’s injustices, drowning in unfair systems, let down by fellow humans,  broken by Covid-19 .  No one is immune.  We’re all in this together. And then amongst all these hardships, this everyday trauma and pain,  some stranger tells you that you’ve had it easy compared to others,  that you’ve lived a charmed life.    Nobody likes to be told that they have had it easy .   Just today, another mum suggested that my life was easier now my two older

First published in the Motherload Blogzine, June 2020 Racism is part of everyone’s history.  Racism is everyone’s business. Racism should not be our future. Yet racism is clearly our present.  Whatever our background, we have a role to play to make a change for our children’s futures: we are called on to be “Anti-Racist” in an age that can no longer progress with well-meaning ‘colour-blind’ apathy. The latest news bulletins force us to confront the realities of George Floyd’s last breath, Breonna Taylor’s last sleep, Sean Reed’s last drive and Ahmaud Arbery’s last jog: just some of the recent victims of the inherent racism fixed in our society, on both sides of the Atlantic. This is deeply uncomfortable, but recognise this as a healthy reaction to utilise, to make a change. As mothers, we already know that we have to do all we can to foster kindness, but do we know that “children notice race and the difference between themselves from the age of around three” ( Educational Psychologist