Hwyl fawr i Ysgol Gymunedol Maenclochog

Yesterday was the end of an era.  G10 has finished primary school. She walked out of the doors for the very last time.

I've always been a bit aggrieved that she arrived early (she's never been early for anything since).  If she had been born when she was due, she'd still have another year there.  As it is she started school just as she turned four, and has left primary when she is still 10.  I look at her now, she seems so young and I feel sad that she's having to leave the warm arms of such a supportive and wonderful environment.  Saying a final goodbye to the teachers, staff and helpers that are like family to her and leaving many friends that just happen to be demarcated into a younger year, including her BFF.  It must be a wrench. 

Sometimes you don't fully appreciate what you have until you lose it.  Cruel world.

G10 though seems fine.

Last day, emerging after sleepover at school.

Eisteddfod? What is it exactly?

I'm still not really quite sure.. but it comes round every year and makes you feel very patriotic and proud to be Welsh (or adopted by the Welsh). There's a lot of flags displayed, daffodils worn and Welsh spoken. This outward display of patriotism is something sadly lacking in England, (I think the English flag has been hijacked - but that's a whole other blog).

The Urdd (their full title is "Urdd Gobaith Cymru" which literally means Welsh League of Hope) is a movement for young people, from the age of 7 up to 24. The Urdd is organised into local groups whose catchment areas are based on those of the Welsh medium schools of Wales.

The children of the school join the Urdd if they wish. Once a member this then entitles them to attend the active and creative social club, stay at the residential centres and to enter the various competitions organised by the Urdd at school level, and on to county and then national level if they perform well.  Competitions organised by the Urdd include various sports and then the arts, music and literature festival, known as the Eisteddfod (pronounced; eye-steth-vod).

It's a wonderful event. Confidence in the children knows no bounds. They have little problem standing up in front of a sea of faces because they've been doing it since the age of 7. Now G10 might not always get through her competitions (but without the 'losers' their wouldn't be a competition in the first place, right?)  And I for one am always very proud of her for having a go. Entering into the spirit of things. She tries. Could I memorise a four stanza poem in Welsh? Could I play the violin?  No is the short answer to both those questions, so bravo G10.  You're always a winner to me.



Very Proud Mummy Moment.
G10 was a winner in her violin performance;
(albeit that there were only two of them in her age group).



Strike? Not in this house.

Violin with Him Next Door.
Maths-Whizz with Her Next Door.
Cooking with Daddy (cooking with Mummy would be a non starter).
Spellings and reading (Welsh and English) with Mummy.
Cycling with Daddy.

G10 checking her spellings.

G10 will be glad when today's strike called by the teaching union Ucac, is over... she can go back to school for a rest tomorrow.

Morning from hell

Woke up to the strains of J’s snoring in one ear and the dawn chorus in the other. As I also had Welsh revision on my mind I got up to do some and then G9 joined me sniffing hard. Unfortunately I then proceeded to get a blow by blow description about which nostril has 'more in it' than the other. Way too much information. I suggested we go back to bed, snuggle down and read some. It was very early still.

A little while later and after a coffee I asked J what time it was, “7:20” he said. Fine I thought, another hour at least until we all have to get up. I curled up under the duvet – and R E L A X E D.  Urgent shout from downstairs rudely broke into my now semi comatose state, “G9, G9” - “Whaaaaaaaaat?” I shouted back grumpily. “It’s time for G9 to go.”  Crikes (or words to that effect). I knew G9 had to get up earlier as having a day’s experience at the local secondary school, but somehow I hadn’t equated 7:20 as being 40 minutes to eight when J had told me the time earlier. She had to be at the bus stop at quarter to eight. Mad panic. G9 dressing and me ‘helping’ by throwing clothes at her, scrabbling round to find dinner money, throwing some food into her bag as no time for breakfast, quick comb of the hair.

Off Him Next Door and G9 went. Mission accomplished. Then suddenly – I remembered. She was supposed to wear trainers, not her school shoes. Bear in mind I’m still in my dressing gown (which is bright red with black flashes by the way, not at all subtle). I grabbed my bright green Crocs (just to tastefully finish off my ensemble) and ran after Him Next Door’s car – waving G9s trainers in the air. Him Next Door didn’t look back. Hyperventilating I ran back home, grabbed our car keys and raced up the road. I tore past Him Next Door, who was just starting to drive back. I stopped the bus by waving like a mad women. The bus driver opened the door. I don’t think my attire helped allay his fears that he was indeed about to be attacked by a mad women. Meanwhile I tried to forget what I was wearing. “Grace” I called. “Yes” she replied. She didn’t move. “Grace” I called again, but this time in a higher tone and through gritted teeth, “Could you possibly come here?” 18 pairs of eyes were glued to the spectacle that was me. I handed her the trainers and then as inconspicuously and as quickly as possible retired to the sanctuary of the car.

Back home I asked Him Next Door what time was she being dropped back at the bus stop. “I don’t know and I’m a bit worried that the bus was heading towards Clarbeston Road.” (Clarbeston Road is in the opposite direction to Ysgol Preseli). Double cripes. I phoned Grace’s primary school and spoke to the caretaker who was most helpful (even with an idiotic parent on the line; rambling on and speaking pigeon Welsh). He didn’t have any definite answers.

Where is G9?  What time will she be coming home?

The colours of my 'subtle' dressing gown....

Maths

At one of the first parent's evenings I attended once we'd moved to Wales, G9's teacher remarked how good she was at reading, language work, writing etc.  I was bursting with pride.  But then the bubble burst.  She was not so hot at Maths.  Pretty bad in fact.  Hmmm, could this be my fault?  It's not my forte either.

Her Next Door suggested Maths-Whizz.  G9 already loved all things computer so it would be a natural medium for her.  The site is bright, clear, cheerful and it is UK based with gloriously familiar British accents.

To begin with G9 completed an assessment to calculate her "maths age" (a concept similar to reading age) and which also determined all her strengths and weaknesses.  G9 had to do this alone, but if she got tired she could close the program down and come back to the assessment at the place she'd left off.  Once completed the program then structured the activities at an appropriate level for her.

The activities are short, starting with a quick lesson teaching the material, followed by ten or so problems to practice the concept. If a problem is incorrectly completed, additional help is provided to help G9 understand how to complete it. There is also a Report Error button if you believe that they, at Maths-Whizz have it wrong. 

At the end of each activity the program provides a five-problem test to check for mastery. The tests are usually just a bit harder than the activities and in a similar format.  We usually complete both the activity and corresponding test together and would make sure we had at least 20 quiet minutes to do them in, although the length of time required of course depends on the difficulty of the concept.   The Maths-Whizz Tutor continually assesses and adjusts the level accordingly for G9.

If you have been on the computer for too long in Maths-Whizz you get a pop up message along the lines of, "You have done enough today.  Think about stopping."  The majority of students should spend 45 to 60 minutes per week on Maths-Whizz; little and often rather than very long sessions.

The program sends you a progress report and G9 herself like to see how she is doing in her "maths age".

There is also a "bedroom" fun section that lets G9 use credits she's earned on activities for fun things to do, such as painting the room, playing games, or buying pets and food; the animals have to be fed every time G9 goes on. In the holidays they have extra games.  15 credits are awarded for an exercise and 30 for a test. 

G9 is now doing very well.   At my last parent's evening they said of G9's Maths progress, "Whatever *you are doing, keep doing it."  She is no longer in the bottom group.  It may be expensive, but for a remote community and something we can do in small size bites that is presented in a child friendly interesting way, I can't speak highly enough of it.

*You really means Her Next Door.

Dydd Gwŷl Dewi Sant hapus i gyd

Today G9 went off to school in her Welsh national costume.  What another beautiful day too.

G9 in the Welsh national dress.

Daffodils basking in the early March sunshine.

Snowdrops joining in the spring party.

Happy Saint David's Day to all.

Welsh Language & Schools

My daughter goes to a school where Welsh is taught as the first language. My Mum and I decided we'd like to learn it too, dyn ni dysgu Cymraeg! We have been trying for three years now - without much success I have to say. My Dad tried for a year then gave up with the lame excuse that he has too much to do! (Wish I'd thought of that one).

I ask my daughter about the mutations, she assures me it's just to make the words sound better, but I'm an adult, I need rules and it panics me, she doesn't worry about it and is fluent. Hmmmm.

I am continuously astonished at how easily she has picked up this very difficult to learn second language. It struck me that we ought to do this in the English schools, the Canadians do it with French - this immersion technique and it appears to work, perhaps because a young child lacks self-consciousness and negativism? My daughter did have some intensive language lessons for two days a week for a little over a year, outside of her normal schooling (we didn't move until she was in year 2). Since then she has been simply immersed in the language at school and has gone from strength to strength. She has not lost ground in the standard subjects, in fact she is as bad at maths as she would be in England :).

One other brilliant positive, is that Welsh schools don't have national testing HURAH. My daughter is always the very youngest in her year, we were still in England when at just a few days older than six she was being prepared for the SATs. After two years of enjoying school she started to dislike it, this was serious stuff. The pressure was on; spellings every week, homework for the weekend, reading every night. We had parental guidance notes about what to encourage when we were working with our child so that they would jump through the hoops and pass the tests. I felt pressure and put pressure on my child - I tried not to, but I did. Why do we do that? Surely if you allow children the space to enjoy learning - they will actually learn.

No testing here, but the school my child will end up in is far, far better rated then any of the local senior schools in the area we left. Says it all really.