Has he Settled in Yet?
I have only had Daniel for a week and today he fell out of a tree, his new best friend, Barney, was well impressed
He said that Daniel should be on News at Ten, I said that he should not have been up the tree in the first place.
Glad that he was not hurt. I treated the situation with a light touch. After all, no harm done and no reason to report it to the social workers.
Social workers like to have something to latch on to, to discuss, to face head on. It gives them a purpose in life and it keeps children safe.
I tend to sweep things under the carpet, or let them go away by themselves. I like life to be happy and peaceful and I like to retain my credibility, I am like that.
I am glad that Daniel has found Barney. Actually they found each other. The meeting of minds took place outside the post office last Friday and by Saturday Barney had more or less moved in.
Daniel says that Barney has a terrible home life and would we consider adopting him because he has got a cat. It seems that they come as a pair.
Barney has brightened up Daniel’s life, It needed brightening up. We spent the weekend unpacking Daniel’s stuff, buying school clothes and watching Princess Diana’s funeral.
Last Thursday we took Daniel to visit his new school. The head teacher welcomed us into his office. It was a busy little room, full of books and children’s paintings. I had my eye on a lovely little pen and ink drawing.
Daniel had his eye on a bottle of wine, “I thought teachers weren’t suppose to drink, Sir”.
Then we met Daniel’s new teacher, It was almost play time and she suggested that Daniel should go into the yard with his new class so that we could have a little chat.
We told her as much as we could about Daniel’s past. She said that she did not think that it would be a problem and that he would soon settle in. I expect that she is right, I worry too much.
By the end of play time I was confident that the teacher was well experienced in these matters. She had no reason to lie. Daniel returned with some of his class, one boy was rubbing his fingers.
They had all been most impressed that Daniel had invented a new game. It involved bending each others fingers back. The ones who cried were the losers.
As we left the school I felt a tingling sensation at the back of my neck. It happened once before, three years ago when my old dog bit the window cleaner.
Our social worker rang last night. As soon as a child is placed with a new family social workers go on red alert. They are at my beck and call twenty four – seven. I love it. There is no small talk, we get straight in, our shared knowledge goes back and forth and jargon is at a premium. We are both highly impressed with ourselves and with each other. I told her about Daniel’s fall, I told her about Barney and I told her about the new dog.
I did not tell her about school. No point in us both worrying.
Daniel’s teacher says that his behaviour has been bad. I asked her what she meant by bad but she did not know. It had been second hand information from a dinner lady. She said that she would find out.
After three days of finding out she finally found out that Daniel had been swearing at the school cook. Daniel said why would he swear at the school cook, he likes her. I said I did not know and he did not know either. I have never heard him swear.
A few days later Daniel was bad again. Nothing to worry about, not specifically bad, just generally bad. It was nothing that his teacher could actually put her finger on, a series of incidents loosely connected by bad attitude. I told him to change his attitude. He said he would, then he went upstairs to change his shoes. He had plans to go up another tree with Barney.
I have just returned from a meeting at school. We do not have little chats anymore, we have meetings. The purpose of the meeting was to put my neck into a strangle hold while persons with a sour face accused me of throwing crayons into a waste paper bin and swearing at the school cook again. Why would I swear at the school cook? I like her.
Two months ago the people who sat before me thought that I was doing a great job. One month ago they thought that I had taken a lot on. Now they think that I am doing something wrong. They said that they hate to admit it but they do not think Daniel has settled in yet.
Daniel’s behaviour is getting worse at school. He no longer has play time and he spends lunchtime sitting outside the staff room. He does not seem to mind. Says it keeps him out of trouble. I asked him to think of other ways to keep out of trouble. He did try but he could not come up with anything. I tried and I could not come up with anything either, however, his teacher had a good idea.
When I collected Daniel from school today, she was bursting with enthusiasm. I was quickly ushered into the classroom and offered a child-sized chair. The teacher sat on the big chair, which is only right. She smiled down at me and adopting a conspiratorial tone, mouthed the words “Daily Diary”.
The technicalities of the diary involve daily entries by the teaching outlining Daniel’s bad behaviour. Daniel brings the diary home for me to read and sign to say that I have read it. Oh, and I can comment if I wish to.
The purpose of the diary is for me to be fully informed of his misdemeanours so that Daniel can be in trouble at school and at home all at the same time. A sort of duel purpose, no-hiding-place approach. The teacher is sure that it will work and so am I. She is pleased that I agree because she has already chosen an appropriate exercise book and written his name on the front. Daniel was called in, she patiently explained the new procedure and showed the book to him. Daniel thought that it was a great idea and asked if he could write in it too. The teacher did not know what to say.
I have been in an agitated state all day, I could not work, could not relax, could not wait to see the diary. When I collected Daniel from school he jumped into the car and stuck the diary into my hand. He smiled at me, hoping that I would be pleased.
I was not pleased, two pages detailed Daniel’s day from talking in assembly to shuffling in circle time, calling a nice child a moron, refusing to pick up his rubber and refusing to do P.E. properly.
The power of the pen had given his teacher a new lease of life in her determination to heap pain and suffering upon us.
This is it. I have had enough. He must stop and he must stop now, I told him. He cried, I have never seen Daniel cry before.
Daniel went to school the next morning as if nothing had happened, he wore an old wooly hat, a tatty jacket, over sized trousers and muddy Wellingtons. I felt so proud of him as he carried his spade.
He was going to be a farmer in assembly.
I eagerly await his dad collecting him from school and can’t wait to see his diary. A parent had complained because Daniel threatened to knock her sons teeth down his throat.
His teacher would like me to comment.
“I am grateful to you for communicating this to me in Daniel’s diary and I can completely understand why the parent is upset. By the way, I hate the bloody diary, I hate the parent and I hate Daniel. I also hate myself for thinking that I could help a hurt child to make his way in the world.
Clearly, I am making a crap job of it. Is that ‘comment’ enough?”
I have just been summoned. I wait in the play ground for the bell to go. My head aches and my hands are sweaty. I am the lower fifth waiting to be told off for illegal use of Players Number Six.
I want to go and hide in a nice, warm, safe place and I want to take Daniel with me.
His teacher has had a good idea. It is a development of the diary, from now on we are to outline all positive behaviour as well as negative. If Daniel has a really good day he will be awarded a star and five stars will mean a reward from us and from his teacher.
The diary will be weekly rather than daily because she is a bit pushed at present. Daniel is sure that it will work. He wants a goldfish.
There is no desperate rush to buy a fish tank. Daniel’s teacher says that, try as she might, she cannot think of anything positive to say.
She wishes us all a very merry Christmas and hopes that things will improve in the new year.
I have had a meeting with Daniel’s teacher today. The meeting was called because she had a good idea. She thinks that Daniel’s behaviour may improve if he ceases to play with Barney. Apparently there is nothing wrong with Barney but his family is some what questionable.
I have met Barney’s family and I have been to their home. They have five children, a cat and a brand new kitchen with a laminated floor and a double oven. In my book that makes them posh but please excuse me if I am being judgmental.
The teacher asked me if we had a nice Christmas and she wanted to know what had happened to Daniel’s diary. I told her we had a lovely Christmas, I did not tell her that I had thrown the diary out with the Christmas tree.
Today is your birthday, my beautiful son, I fell in love with you. You were sitting on your dad’s chair, I was ironing and we were watching cartoons on the new television. You smiled at me with your clear blue eyes and said “Mum, can I have the telly when you die?”.
I will love you forever.
Optimism is not just a quality, it is also a skill. I work hard trying to see the brighter side of life. The rewards have been a thousand fold.
The sad demise of my late husband, the old dog and a much loved Fiat Panda, was in quick succession. On each occasion I stormed and shouted, moaned and groaned and I cried real tears.
However, somewhere deep inside me I knew that all three would be happy in a heavenly Heaven with my Nan. The fact that she never really liked any of the afore mentioned was immaterial. She would rise like a phoenix in her fur coat and red hat. They would sit at her right hand and she would show them all the stairs in the sky.
Being an optimist takes its toll. Today, Daniel’s teacher told me that, on reflection, the school does not feel that they can provide appropriate supervision for Daniel at lunch time. If Daniel does not get his act together within two weeks he will have to come home for lunch. Since he is too young for self catering it seems that one of us will have to pack in work. There is no other option.
The credit card company is a bit more understanding. They have given me a variety of options ranging from sending a cheque by return of post to re mortgaging the house.
Last week Daniel put the cheque book down the toilet in a fit of pique and the house is involved in a very negative equity trap. My immediate response to the school and to Visa is “Tough shit”.
Daniel has a more constructive approach. He has heard about home tuition. Daniel is sure that his dad can effectively intrust him in all areas of the National Curriculum while driving his taxi. I am not even in the running.
Our social worker has offered to come to the next meeting at school with me. To be perfectly honest I would prefer her to go instead of me whilst I sit in the school toilets with a bottle of Strong bow and a fag.
It saw me through my sixth form and I can see no reason to change now.
Daniel is well aware of the situation. He says its all a big fuss about nothing. He is still into home tuition. His dad is more into crosswords than junior calculus. They both agree that I would make a rubbish teacher.
I spent three years at a teacher training college. I agree with them.
I decided to take the whole day off work. The meeting at school was scheduled for 11:30am. That would give me the rest of the day to languish in self pity and persuade my husband to give in his notice at work. Then I could find cheap rented accommodation in a sleazy area and make it nice and cosy for when our house is repossessed.
It should not be too much of a problem. The big problem will be trying to cope with all of the changes while, at the same time, helping Daniel to believe that he is the best kid in the world.
A child needs to know the truth.
After the initial introductions the head teacher opened a big book which logged Daniel’s acts of disobedience and belligerence. The delaying tactics worked. I was sweating from my furrowed brow to my lucky red socks. Suddenly our social worker confidently asked the head teacher what strategies were in place to help Daniel, particularly in the playground. Without stopping to draw breath she announced that Daniel could not possibly come home at lunch time.
The social worker explained that it would put unnecessary pressure on the family. Apart from that Daniel needs to be helped not banished. Our social worker then sat back and watched the ripples in a gob-smacked pond. After a lot of huffing and puffing it was decided that they would put their heads together and come up with something.
I really do not know why I was so worried. I should have realised that our social worker and my lucky red socks are a force to be reckoned with. Daniel will be helped, no one will loose their job and we won’t loose the house. I think we will go out for tea with all the money we have saved.
Whenever I am supposed to be listening to a teacher I tend to stare out of the window a lot. I have always done it. Apparently Daniel does it too. He must take after me. Daniel’s teacher is not a happy teacher. Daniel told her that we went out for tea. She made a veiled comment about rewarding bad behaviour. I made a less veiled comment about force feeding Brussel sprouts. Daniel said that I had a sarcastic look in my eyes. He saw it last week when I interrogated him about a jammy dodger in the washing machine.
Very quickly the tone of the conversation went down hill. The lost diary was chucked in for good measure. To score points I mentioned my experience and qualifications. It was all said with stiff smiles as we pawed the ground between us. I was fully aware that nothing would be achieved. Our social worker would be sitting in her office and my lucky red socks would be lying on our bedroom floor. I stood alone with Daniel. As we left the classroom I asked Daniel in a loud whisper if he would like a Big Mac.
Unfortunately when we got home from McDonald’s my husband said sadly, the goldfish have died, but don’t worry, I have a friend from work dropping us off a chocolate surprise!
Daniel’s face was gleaming with anticipation.
He is a big sloppy dog brownish-black Labrador called Duster. He was a bargain. We got him for free. His owner gave us Duster’s toys, bed and two tins of Chum. We are allowed to borrow Duster’s lead if we promise to return it within one calendar month. Duster’s birth parents are moving house and, apart from that, he is not very good with children. Daniel is not very impressed with Duster. He says that he looks nicer than he actually is. I told Daniel that perhaps Duster, has not settled in yet.
I love the dog. I have found a way to meet his needs and my own simultaneously. If I walk Duster to school to meet Daniel the dog benefits from the exercise and I benefit from not being able to enter the school grounds. Dogs are not allowed. Things are going seemingly. I still show an interest in how Daniel is doing at school.
Yesterday Daniel got a star for refusing to fight. He thinks that if he carries on like this he might be made head boy. Fancy me being the mum of the head boy. I can’t wait.
It is late morning and the post man has arrived, Daniel’s teacher has sent a letter to me by post. It lay on the door mat whole and undamaged. Duster chewed up my pay slip instead. I have been invited to meet with her after school today. Apparently she has not seen me for a while and she thinks it is time for a little chat.
I was welcomed with a warm smile. Daniel was sent to Sir’s room to fetch a big chair specially for me. He was then asked if he would like to read a nice book in the library while we had a little chat. Daniel’s teacher has been talking to a friend who teaches at another school.
The teacher's friend teaches a little boy who has spent most of his life in care.
The little boy is violent and aggressive towards everyone in his contact including himself.
His foster carers can not cope and the little boy is being moved on again.
Daniel’s teacher said that Daniel is not violent or aggressive. He can be a bit cheeky and unruly at times but, basically, he is a lovely, bright lad who needs a bit more time and attention. The teacher explained that Daniel has a stable home life and he is a credit to us.
She will personally make sure that Daniel is given all the help he needs. He will be given opportunities to express his fears and to develop a positive self image. He will be accepted as an effective member of the school.
Dear Deirdre, I think I have a crush on a teacher.
It is late July and I sent a letter to Daniel’s teacher asking if I can see her.
It was good of her to fit me in at lunch time. Daniel has had a bad week and I thought she should know. Daniel has been swearing.
He went on to swear at Barney’s next door neighbour only to return home and swear at his dad. Daniel is now suffering the consequences. He is permanently banned from cubs, must not darken Barney’s door again and he is grounded for a fixed term by his dad.
Daniel’s teacher thinks that his confidence needs a bit of a boost. He has had a few problems at play time too and a parent has complained about him. We both agree that Daniel is most likely to have problems when he is with a large group of children at a time when there is minimal supervision.
Daniel’s teacher has a suggestion. She thinks that he will make an ideal register monitor. Instead of going into the playground at the beginning of the school day he will collect the registers from the office and return them after registration. At morning break Daniel could make the solo journey across the playground to collect their registers. The teacher thinks it might work. I expressed a major concern about lunch times. She was one step ahead of me. There is a dinner lady who is a kindly soul and who has taken a bit of a shine to Daniel.
Daniel’s teacher is sure that she will take him under her wing.
We told Daniel together. He thinks it is a great idea. School registers are legal documents which need a high level of security. Dinner ladies are nice ladies who need a high level of protection. Daniel thinks he is just the man for the job. So do I.
Daniel loves his job. He has adopted a very professional attitude. A few weeks ago Daniel always tried to avoid breakfast. Now, he is up early and enjoys a bowl of Coco Pops. Daniel eats them with a bare chest in case he spills any chocolate milk.
Shirts have to be washed. Chests don’t.
Daniel inspects his shoes for shininess and carefully picks dog hairs off his jumper. I wonder if all register monitors are snappy dressers.
Daniel and his dinner lady are a match made in Heaven. She is a strong and determined women with a gentle voice and kind eyes.
Daniel says that she is just like me. Apparently she goes to the library and the Spar shop a lot.
Daniel’s teacher has told me that the change in Daniel is incredible.
Throughout the school Daniel is known as The Register Monitor.
Daniel has developed his own style. As a vital service provider, Daniel is friendly and polite. He collects registers efficiently and he wishes everyone a nice day. Everyone looks forward to seeing him.
At lunch time Daniel eats his lunch without any fuss and then seeks out his dinner lady. She is always waiting for him in the playground.
If I win the lottery, I would like to give Daniel’s new dinner lady a mansion, a huge car and a cruise holiday.
Today, Daniel gave her half of his Kitkat. She had a tear in her eye.
The last day of term arrives and I have seen Daniel’s teacher today.
It is strange to think that this will be our last little chat. We have been through a lot together.
In the new term Daniel will be in Sir’s class. Daniel really likes Sir and Sir has a wealth of experience with children who have behaviour difficulties. He has taken a special interest in Daniel and he is sure that Daniel will continue to improve.
So, here we are, then. Almost one year on. Some problems and many, many pleasures. It is early evening. I am sitting in the garden with a glass of wine. The sun is still shining. Daniel is sleeping on a sun bed and Duster is beside him. The long summer is ahead.
Even register monitors need a holiday.