My Lovely Students.

We've got some new ones in the house.

I always ask for males rather than females.  They're much more fun, play with the boys and just aren't so up themselves, frankly.

The married couple that were supposedly cousins but weren't have gone.  She was grumpy, but taught me how NOT to make Fajitas (never chicken, always ground beef, not red peppers but green - I'll post her recipe if I get around to it) and shared their posh Mexican Tequila.  He was charming - very bright, but totally dominated by her.

Their English was appalling and stayed that way because they only really ever yakked to one another and they quarrelled and we heard them a lot.  I couldn't decide whether that was better or worse than 'the other' within the childrens' earshot.

Anyhow, we're now up to three Foreign Language Students at a time.  It's a struggle to make ends meet and they don't pay well, which makes me more outnumbered than ever by the opposite sex.  If we ever manage to acquire the Boxer dog we've set our heart on (in fantasy land) it will most definitely be a 'She' one, in a pretty useless attempt to balance the girls' side.  'Lara,' she'll be.

My favourite one presently (and it's easy to tell which it will be within five minutes of them arriving) is from South Korea.  He's almost 22 and we've taken to having a lager together in the garden when the kids are normally in meltdown 5-6pm, but we've lately been given a reprieve by the brand new Mexican because he's as football mad as they are and we relax while watching them all play.

We have intellectual discussion, learn about each other's cultures, his two years in Military Service and the three months he's just spent on a Kibbutz in Israel.  His English is already very good.  Otherwise it's just too exhausting to have a proper chat with them and we'll all be polite for as long as we can bear it on basics, then retreat to our laptops.  He's very honest, kind and interesting. He'd fixed the shower door and the towel rail before he'd even unpacked.

The Russian is sweet but keeps himself to himself more.  And there's nothing wrong with that.

BUT all three of them helped me in the garden on Sunday.  In exchange, I suggested, for me doing their washing for them ('coz I don't have enough to do with all the cooking, shopping, bed changing and clearing up!) they pulled up weeds that were waist high - that would be my waist at 5'0, not theirs at 6'0+ - bagged it and lugged it all, dug beds over and they even now help with watering loads of new pots a kindly neighbour has made up for me.  I reckon they'd have done it anyway, but aren't going to turn down free help either!

The transformation is unbelievable.  This is the first year the kids have been old enough to play without me and I'm getting well and truly stuck in myself.  It's so rewarding to see such an amazing difference in such a short time.

Who needs a husband?

'We' have still got a long way to go, but the children are being baptized shortly and it's 'our' goal to be ready for the garden party that is being held in their honour.  They're absolutely lovely, my students and that male:female quota is cool and dandy for now.  It suits us all!

Mums Are Amazing!

'I'm an amazing woman,' I told my sons.  'If a man had done half of what I have today, he'd be considered a hero.'

It's so true, sadly.  It's probably true for most days for most of us mums, single or otherwise!

Anyhow, according to a parenting course I did a couple of years ago, this is the way to go - telling our children we're wonderful.

It stems from a lady mumbling to herself about how rubbish she was at parking, only to be offended when her children told her she was too.   They had only learned it from her!  But they had also learned that it's OK to think about yourself like that.

If we tell our children we're brilliant, they can feel the same about themselves.  So I tell my kids quite regularly that I'm a fantastic mum, a fabulous woman, a beautiful lady, that I'm kind and really clever.  They don't argue, but we don't push it as far as using the word 'patient,' because they'd laugh in my face for that.

This particular day I had surpassed myself.  I had cleaned out the garden shed for the first time in four years - heaved all the stuff out, cleaned away zillions of spiders and cobwebs and yucky stuff, whilst simultaneously doing two loads of washing, getting it all on the line and dried and in again, minded an extra child as well as my own two, kept them and three students fed and watered throughout the day and prepared roast chicken for us all for dinner, all whilst keeping my sense of humour intact.

Most husbands / resident blokes might have done the shed, been served his snacks and meals, demanded his own drinks rather than fetched them and been feted for his efforts.  He certainly wouldn't have done a bit of washing up.  If he'd done any of the other things that I managed to do he'd be considered a miracle worker and thanked profusely.

But a woman? She might ache all over for a week and be reduced to tears when next taking on a similar day too soon after that one, but that's not what she has to tell the kids.

No. We must tell them we're amazing.  Because we are. And it doesn't hurt them to know and appreciate us for it.

But, also, they can learn to tell themselves that they are too. Because they are.  It's in their genes - and probably, quite possibly, from their mums' side!