Primary power

My back is aching, my head is throbbing and I'm losing my voice. Unseasonal case of flu perhaps? Oh, no. My first week as a full-time Primary School Teacher has done this to me. But, you know, I'm not really bovvered. I'm having a bit of a laugh.

I have 14 five-year-olds now and they are all quite adorable in their own little ways. From the one who keeps trying to climb me like a tree to get a cuddle any time I stand near her, to the one who throws a screaming tantrum every time his Mum leaves the classroom. Welcome to the world of separation anxiety, uninhibited hugging, half hourly toilet breaks and 'let's see how much of the classroom we have to wreck before she loses her temper'.

Not to mention the regular snacks and the dreaded lunch-hour which resemble a chimpanzees tea party at the best of times and makes me feel like I've presided over a birthday party for 14, three times a day.

I am pleased to say that my tree is still standing despite the best efforts of a couple of them to knock it down today. My display boards are finally full of art work, having covered 'What I Did In the Holidays', self-portraits and finger painting already this week. Together they have almost mastered the correct responses to 'One, Two, Three: Eyes On Me!' which I blatantly stole from one of my role models during training. The expectation is that they stop what they are doing and look round at the teacher (me!)

One slight spanner is the five children who speak no English whatsoever who usually gaily continue with their activity instead. The proper response from me is to wait silently for them to realise what the rest of the class is doing. Unfortunately the rest of the class is much quicker at realising that those five are having a lot more fun than they are standing still doing nothing, and hence resume their colouring, reading or seeing how far they can chuck Barnaby the class Teddy Bear while I am left looking a bit of a spoon.

They are VERY good at '5..4..3..2..1..0' meaning they have to run to the carpet and sit cross legged, oh I am loving that power (evil laugh) though some of the boys are now making like Poppet and Pickle and leaving it until the 'z' of 'zero' to shift their arses. Clever little buggers.

Speaking of which, Poppet and Pickle are settling in to their new classes very well by all accounts, each having made a new friend on day one, thank the maker. And they look fantastic in their new M&S uniforms, courtesy of Nanna P who made the mercy dash for us back in the UK then kindly flew over here to babysit the small people while Mummy went out to work. I bet she's needing a proper holiday now.

This school uniform lark is a great invention though. It shaves at least ten minutes off the morning routine because gone are the cries of 'I haven't got a thing to wear!' from Poppet and 'Where are my clothes?' from Pickle. There are NO EXCUSES. Ha! And they arrive half an hour before the rest of the school because I go in early to set up my classroom so they have no excuses for not doing homework either. They are getting real homework every night now and they HATE it! although the tasks so far have actually been very stimulating once they get stuck in - Pickle had some very interesting insights into the lives of the Aztecs and the fabled Moctezuma though he wasn't impressed with my attempt at drawing an Aztec pyramid. 'No, Mummy, it's not Egyptian, it has a flat top with a temple on it, silly.'

I'm sure there'll be some corkers to report from my class in the coming weeks but in the meantime here is one from my beloved little girl. Whilst walking through a shopping centre last week I stupidly allowed myself to be collared by one of those beauty product demonstration stands. The girl was very persuasive and did something magical to my fingernails which captured my attention, along with the 'buy one got one free' offer on the gizmo she was wielding. Ten seconds later she's rubbing some gel onto my crows feet and asking Poppet to be the judge as to whether it's made any difference to my complexion. 'Oh yes Mummy! It's really working!' she piped up (I reckon the woman got to her while I was browsing in Zara.) But you mustn't settle for just the eye gel; next she's massaging other wrinkly bits with some night cream and other magic products to Poppet's increasing delight and, I confess, having just endured a week of classroom prep, I succumbed to the Retail Therapy Fairy and 'invested' in a couple of pots.

Three days later Poppet asks me: 'Mummy, when are you going to start using that new cream from that lady for the lines on your face?'

'Um, I've been using them twice a day for three days, darling.'

'Oh.'

And, suddenly the little girl with an answer for everything and the diplomacy skills of a breadknife couldn't think of a thing to say.