Apparently it's Friday.

And what a Friday it's been.
Today I've realised that one of the seven-year-olds I teach is in fact no ordinary child, but my nemesis. This epiphany was compounded by her cheery "Look, Miss Chelsea, I have hair cut the same as you now!"

Yes, yes you do. I generally don't have issues with challenging kids. I have rules, there are consequences. I'm happy to be the responsible adult that doles out tough love and kicks them into some kind of understanding about group activity, cooperation, participation, personal space, respect, manners, grammar, grooming, musicality, deportment, and oh yeah, ballet. Nearly forgot that one.
It's a little hard to get onto sometimes when it's October and eight months on parents haven't taken the hint about writing R and L inside school shoes so their child sees this information five days a week. I wrote R and L on the feet of three girls today.

It's not that they're slow kids, or "too young" (HA!), it's that their parents have failed to provide consistent opportunities for this information to be assimilated and integrated. This gets me a little tetchy, as you might have noticed.

Evidence of their capability to learn and retain information: over the last ten weeks my littlies (predominantly six and seven year-olds) have learnt two ballet routines. They have not only learned the dances and spatial information (where to start, order to line up in, direction to travel and formation/pattern changes) but can sing the music. Yeah. Forty-five minutes once per week.

So, what's wrong with their parents/teachers/every other adult in their world? Is it just that the kids live down to their (the adults') amazingly low expectations?

In other news, celebrated six years of coupledom with my lovely hubs tonight. Yep, six years ago he decided that perhaps I was actually the girl for him and proposed some kind of going out arrangement to my skeletal and pathetic post-glandular self. The rest is history.
He's remarkably able to view the world with a child's perspective. While sometimes this kills me, I'm reassured by his idealism and sunny disposition.

He's certainly a much nicer and more deliberate person than I will ever be, and I'm quite sure he will be a parent who teaches shoe-tying with infinite, graceful patience. (From my earlier ranting, the attentive reader will deduce this to be a compliment of the highest order.) uhnm, yeh. He's awesome.

Now, if only I could sneak him into ballet to deal with my nemesis.

hot springs = blissed out of brain

Today there were hot springs. Oh yes and indeedy. And they were hot.
Not so much springy, but the hotness made up for the lack of spring. There may or may not have been a little misleading advice that NEW POOLS would be open (they weren't) but luckily they weren't so overpopulated as our last visit.

Strangely, there seems to be no dress code at the springs, unlike your local pool, which will ask you to wear skintight bathing apparel so you don't drown in your XXL tee before you even get into the pool.  I suspect that today I could have worn a Snuggie. Into the pool. And no-one would have said a thing. At least not so loudly I could hear it, given the plethora of signage reminding people to talk quietly, maintain the peaceful atmosphere, etc., etc. .

Hang on. Who am I kidding. You think Australians can READ? Evidently not. Or the average Australian concept of 'quietly' differs by some decibels to mine. Or they were Americans in a cunning disguise. Oh look, there go allllll my followers. Bye-bye, have a nice life. You can remember me as that strange, quiet girl who is dreading the return of her husband from the United States of A... no, probably shouldn't write THAT - simply because he will shatter my peace and quiet. Only child much?
Mmmm. I don't play particularly well with others.

Anywho, it's late. It's been a delightful but long day. Tomorrow I'm going to six hours of lecture goodness. It'd better be good. One hour there, six hours of tedium (oh, oops, seven, there's a lunch break), two hours of nothing, dinner, Sarah Blasko gig (hurrah!). I'm taking a change of clothes with me. A change of sanity would also be a lovely thing, but I suspect the magic little black dress may have to do.

And, don't be frightened.... but there are some italics next, and we all know what that means. RUN! It's poetry! You'd better not comment! (SARCASM, people.)

Half-slumbering
she whispers love
beneath billowed sheets
damp-countenanced brave


She murmurs love
from drowsy fading
of manifold dreams 
approaching her wake


Stretched passively
unaware in frailty
his dark lashes
adrift 'neath wild brows


into such perception
into unconscious beauty
she tells her love