To all of our wonderful readers:

I wish you a happy, successful and blessed 2012.

Thank you for being so great!

Ok, so most of you probably know by now that April is Autism Awareness month.

{If you follow me on Twitter, you will be in no doubt at all by now!}

Those of you who read The Thought Bubble regularly will also know that autism is something that is very close to my heart, affecting as it does both Chipmunk and myself.

I was really honoured recently to be invited to attend an event in London, where MedicAlert were launching their first ever range of bands for people with autism – The AK Autism Bands.

{I say I was invited. I pretty much asked begged for an invitation, and the lovely folks at MedicAlert agreed!}

I had been hoping that these bands would be introduced in the UK, as so far the only place that seemed to do anything remotely similar was Canada. I’m really pleased that it’s MedicAlert who have taken up the baton and made bands for people with autism available. The charity already does a fantastic job looking after people with many different illnesses and disabilities. They provide bracelets, necklaces and other items which have the patients details inscribed, so that in an emergency they can be treated quickly and effectively by emergency services. MedicAlert also hold full details on the patient, which they release to the appropriate person in an emergency, to ensure that the staff providing treatment can do so safely and successfully.

So, how does this relate to people – children and adults – with autism? Well, the bands work in the same way as other MedicAlert products, in that they make people aware that the wearer suffers with an ASD. They hold details in the same way, and in an emergency situation they can provide further information via their telephone line – which is staffed by the London Ambulance Service.

It’s a fantastic system.

Personally, I think the autism bands are a huge step forward for those involved with the autism community. Plus, the bands were designed by youngsters whose lives have been touched by autism. I think this is truly amazing, and a great way to connect with the kids (and adults) who will be wearing them.

Here is what they look like:

Aren’t they fab?! Chipmunk would love one, I know. He might even wear it!

As for the launch itself? It was amazing!

Firstly, it was in London. I love London. Plus, I had some time to kill when I got there, and just so happened to be on Oxford Street – shopping bliss!

I was very good, and managed to only buy a couple of gifts for Chipmunk. Most restrained of me, I think!

The launch was held at the London College of Fashion – can you think of a less suitable location for me to be? Hah! It’s ok though, I made an effort.

I got to listen to (and have a quick chat with!) Anna Kennedy – the AK of the bands’ title – a truly inspirational lady who has managed to single-handedly give me and countless others hope for the future. If you are in any way affected by autism, I strongly recommend that you visit Anna’s website.

We were entertained by some truly gifted students whose lives are touched by autism, and see some beautiful photographs of really wonderful children who live with autism.

And as an added bonus, I got to say hello to the awesome Kathy Lette, whose next book will mention autism. In fact, my brief conversation with Kathy became the highlight of my whole trip, when she told me I was pretty after I said I didn’t want my picture taken with her.

I nearly fainted.

In fact, she must have thought I was a bit odd because when she said it I just stood there with my mouth open, completely at a loss as to what to say next. In the end, I just smiled and took her picture!

{Oh, the shame!}

Kathy, I love you, you’re great! There is nothing like a world-famous bestselling author telling you you’re pretty to boost the confidence

From a personal perspective, I think that wearing his AK autism band may well serve as a reminder to those involved with Chipmunk that he does have HF-ASD.

He might be sitting there quietly.

He might get 100% in a spelling test.

He still needs help.

These bands are fantastic on so many levels. For making people aware of someone’s needs, for providing information in an emergency – and simply offering a sense of reassurance that may not have been there before.

Why not order one today?

This is not a sponsored post. It’s just a cause I really believe in and something I happen to think is pretty darn important, actually.

N.B. I apologise for the really crappy photos. I forgot to take my proper camera (oops) so I was using my iPhone. The light in the building was really harsh and I was shaking so much through the entire event that there was no hope of getting a blur-free shot!

*mutters a few more excuses here*

Sorry.

…Take a moment.

I was reading something my friend posted on Plurk the other day, about scientists creating autistic mice. I had read about this in the paper, and wasn’t really convinced by the whole thing. However, I do find any and all research into autism worth at least listening to.

{It’s ok, I’m not going to get into an ethical debate about the rights and wrongs of creating autistic mice – or even how you diagnose a mouse with autism, when diagnosing a human seems to take forever and be completely hit and miss. Do the mice stim? – this post is not about the mice. Although I am sure they are very sweet mice.}

Anyway. The Plurk. Right.

So, I was reading this Plurk, and the responses to it, and something that one of my friend’s contacts said caught my eye. The conversation had kind of veered onto the ‘how to cure autism’ side of things, and she had responded to that.

This is what she put: “My brother sent me that link (to the mouse article). He’s fascinated, but does not want to be ‘cured’.”

“Protein found in brain cells may be key to Autism. Just the same, I don’t want to be cured. I’m happy the way I am.”

~ Brian Lafferty

 

That one sentence was really powerful, and stopped me in my tracks as I was reading. Now, I have been aware before about the different schools of thought as far as autism is concerned. I know that where some advocate the education of others in autism awareness, others are pushing for a cure. There are those who think it’s ok to be autistic, and those who would sell their soul to be free of the condition.

Also, it should be remembered that autism is called a spectrum condition for a reason. There are degrees of autism, and many different manifestations that impact a person with the condition’s ability to function. If Chipmunk was lower functioning, or had some of the learning difficulties that may go along with autism, maybe I would look at things differently. It goes without saying, of course, that I can only speak for myself here. My opinion comes from being an adult with probable HF-ASD who has a son with diagnosed HF-ASD/Asperger’s. So my thoughts are my own, ok?

“Autism is not something I have. It is integral to who I am. Eliminate the autism, and you eliminate me. When you say you want a cure, you are saying I should be put to death. Think about it.“

~ Parrish S. Knight

I’m not sure I would phrase it quite that strongly, but my reaction when I sat and thought about what a cure would mean – really mean – for Chipmunk and I was certainly along these lines.

To me, autism is an integral part of Chipmunk and I. It’s inextricably inked in with everything else that makes us who we are. It is responsible for our thinking, our logic, our perception of the world around us and the people in it. It’s part of our DNA. Maybe this isn’t always a good thing, but the fact remains that this is how it is.

If you take the autism away, what is left behind?

If someone were to offer me a magic pill today that would eradicate my autism, I would have to refuse it. I wouldn’t even think twice. Because it’s hard enough to know who I am now, with all the life experience I have already. How on earth would I be able to understand myself if you take away everything that I know? I may not be perfect now. I may find things difficult and scary and confusing. But at least I’m prepared for that. I know that things are going to be that way, so I compensate. I adjust my behaviour accordingly. If you take all of that away, what am I left with? More confusion than I had before. ‘Curing’ my autism may take away much of the associated stress and anxiety, but there is no guarantee that it won’t bring its own problems. I don’t know how to look at the world as a ‘normal’ person. I’m only just comfortable with being the me that I am now.

That said, I would happily give up the depression and OCD traits that can accompany autism – and do so merrily with me! The gut problems could take a hike, too. And I would give anything to release Chipmunk from the physical disabilities he suffers, as well as his hearing and vision difficulties. But the autism itself? I’m not so sure.

Would being ‘normal’ make my life easier? Of course it would. And Chipmunk’s? Heck yes! But then, does it matter if he relieves his tension by stimming? Surely flapping his hands a bit is a better way to relieve his tension than punching someone in the face.

Yes, fighting for every little thing is exhausting, and frustrating and demoralising. I’m not going to sit here and pretend that parenting a child on the spectrum is a bed of roses. It isn’t, frankly. But how much sweeter the reward when you finally get somewhere. When the people you are pushing against finally realise that what you are saying does make sense.

The little victories are everything, they are so worthwhile. When you are treading such a long road, you have to stop and smell the roses occasionally.

But I digress.

If he didn’t have autism, we would have no reason to fight, granted – but we wouldn’t have Chipmunk, either.

If Chipmunk had been born autism-free – or if there were a cure and we had taken it – I wonder what he would be like today? Would he be the gentle, placid boy that he is now – or would he be turning into a little thug like so many of the boys in his school?

He doesn’t tell lies, because it wouldn’t occur to him to.

He isn’t deceitful, because he wouldn’t know how to be.

He isn’t afraid to say “I love you” – just because.

Autism has given Chipmunk (and me!) a love of books – a precious gift that is to be treasured. He loves music, and language and humour.

He loves life.

If you eradicate autism, then you deprive the world of people like Temple Grandin, Mark Twain and probably Einstein, Darwin, Yeats, Mozart and Van Gogh as well – to name but a very few.

You deprive the world of Chipmunk.

Would the world be a better place then? Really?

It seems to me that without autism, there would be a lot less of the drive and creativity needed to create many of the things people love.

“For success in science and art, a dash of autism is essential.”

~ Hans Asperger

When people speak to me about my photography, they often tell me that they love my eye. Apparently, I look at things in a completely different – often obscure! – way. I take pictures of the things that others don’t see.

Would I have that gift without the autism? Who knows.

And if autism has influenced so much of who I am today, then by taking it away, how much of me are you going to take with it? In fact, will there be anything left of me at all?

I’m not willing to take the chance on finding out.

*Tap*

*Tap*

Is this thing on? Is my blog still here? Are you still here? I do hope so! Sorry for the unexpected hiatus – I was caught by an unscheduled and rather overwhelming bout of can’t-be-bothered-to-blog-itis. A nasty and virulent little disease, that robbed me of any motivation I may once have possessed, however fleetingly. I am, however, valiantly battling back – and writing this post in fits and starts, in between taking care of my farm, feeding my customers and clobbering bears (FB, you have a lot to answer for!).

So, the Summer holidays finally came to an end last week (far too soon, in my humble opinion – it felt like we only just started them!) and Wednesday saw a mass return to school.

It was hard, after having Chipmunk home for the Summer, to suddenly have to deal with the early starts again! I am not a morning person. At all. Something I really need to work on!

You may recall my crippling anxiety about Chipmunk returning to school – if you want to refresh your memory, you can read a post I did about it on The Writer’s Bubble.

It’s ok, I’ll wait for you to come  back.

Ready?

Good.

We are lucky, in that Chipmunk’s school is an infant and junior school in one, so the children are there all the way through from age 4 to age 11. There is no separation of the two sections either, so children get to know teachers and facilities right from the start – this helps to minimise the culture shock when transferring to the juniors!

That said, the leap from year 2 to year 3 is still a big one – for any child. For a child on the autism spectrum, it is especially so.

Not only was I concerned about all the changes Chipmunk would have to face, he was also having to do so without Miss Fifi at his side. She, as you may remember, is in the other year 3 class. Yes, it is fairly safe to say that I was a bit of a nervous wreck last Wednesday morning – but hiding it well, obviously!

As it turned out, I needn’t have been so stressed. Things turned out better than I could ever have expected them to.

Chipmunk loves his teacher (Miss Dillon), loves his classroom, loves his topics – I have never seen him so happy and settled, and in such a short space of time! It is truly astounding! He also has a Teaching Assistant (shared with one other child) – and she used to work with him in Reception class. Her name is Miss Reyes, and he loves her to bits!

Whatever magic his new teacher has worked, I want some of it to keep at home for when things get tough!

And after school on that first day, Chipmunk and Miss Fifi found each other, and came bounding across the playground towards us grinning from ear to ear.

Now, they meet in the playground in the mornings, go into school together, and come out together in the afternoons. After the first couple of days, Chipmunk went into the school building without me. From yesterday, he didn’t even need me to go to the door, trotting off with his book bag and lunch box, leaving me bursting with pride in the playground.

Yes, he needs someone to open the door for him so he can enter the building (Miss Fifi usually does this!) and yes, we had a problem with the toilets – he wasn’t strong enough to open the door – but his teacher lets him use the disabled toilets now, so that’s solved! He still hates PE, but says Miss Dillon is very kind to him anyway.

On the first day, Chipmunk came home wearing a badge – “I am the Table Captain for my group”, he said proudly. “That means I have to organise things and help Miss Dillon”. Yes, I melted.

On Friday, he came home with a certificate, a pencil and a sticker proclaiming him ‘Star of the Week’ – and wearing a massive grin. I don’t care whether he did something special to warrant it, or whether it was designed to help him settle in – I am just grateful that he is so happy, and whatever helps to achieve this is ok by me!

I am still having some problems with the SENCO, but that’s an issue for another time. For now, I am celebrating Chipmunk’s happiness. Nothing is more important than that.

Yesterday, Chipmunk’s Nanny wished him a happy day at school. His reply? “Nanny! I always have happy days in year 3!”

Long may it continue!

Today was the last day of the school year, and I gotta tell you, it’s been a bit of a roller-coaster!

Those of you who have been with us since the beginning will be aware of our ups and downs. For everyone else, here’s a brief summary:

July 2009: Last day of term. Chipmunk is finally diagnosed with High-Functioning ASD (Asperger’s), after I fought for a referral and then waited a year for the Paediatric assessment.

July 2009 – February 2010: Chipmunk is diagnosed with many other conditions, including hypermobility, delayed muscle development, retained primary reflexes and an inability to visualise in 3D.

September 2009: Chipmunk starts in Mrs. Jones’ class (Year 2). She is firm but fair. She is ‘old-school’, which is what Chipmunk needs. Unfortunately, the early part of the school year is characterised by mis-communication (or just no communication at all) between the SENCO and Mrs. Jones. She is left out of the loop, I then feel she is not doing things properly, and a bad atmosphere starts to develop.

February 2010: The unspoken bad feeling culminates in a sarcastic comment left by Mrs. Jones in Chipmunk’s home/school link book. I write An Open Letter to Mrs Jones.

February – July 2010: The situation drastically improves. Mrs. Jones and I bypass the SENCO and have all necessary discussions face-to-face. Chipmunk is settled and happy. Mrs. Jones feels appreciated. I feel listened to.

Nobody knows or cares what the SENCO is doing.

23 July 2010: End of Term. End of Year 2. End of Chipmunk’s time with Mrs. Jones.

This is what happened today…

The little boy stood at the top of the classroom steps, scanning the sea of faces for his mother. Catching sight of her, he carefully made his way down the four stone steps – the ones that his teacher had spent most of the last year practising with him. Up and down, up and down. On and on until he was confident, until he could negotiate the steps on his own.

Watching him descend the steps towards her, his mother remembered how the teacher would stand and watch him from the classroom door, always smiling and clapping when he made it safely to the bottom. As he ran in his own, unique way towards her, she smiled at his grinning face and sparkling eyes. Always the last out of the classroom, today he was one of the first. He was excited and happy, clutching his lunchbox and his drink – and his book bag full of edible delights from his teacher and teaching assistants, as well as the rest of his school work from the year.

They were about to leave, when he pulled on his mother’s arm and stopped walking. Looking earnestly into her face, he said:

“I forgot to tell her I’ll miss her. I need to tell her.”

His mother nodded, and they walked back towards the classroom. The teacher was inside the door by now, checking on the stragglers, making sure everything was collected and accounted for. Looking after her charges until the very last moment.

As his mother waited at the bottom of the steps, she watched her boy slowly but deliberately climb back up to the top. He approached his teacher and stopped in front of her. Never one to make himself heard, he waited for her to notice him. When she looked over at him, he smiled and said simply: “I’ll miss you, Mrs. Jones”. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she smiled and said: “And I will miss you too, Chipmunk”.

He grinned. That was enough for him.

His task completed, the small boy gathered his things together and made his way down the classroom steps for the last time. His mother met him at the bottom and took his hand once more. Looking up, she saw the teacher standing at the top of the steps. Leaning on the guard rail, she was watching them leave. Catching the teacher’s eye, she silently mouthed two words: Thank You.

The older woman nodded, turned, and walked away.

The small boy and his mother left the playground. The small boy chattering and laughing. His mother quiet, reflecting.

Happy.

And Sad.

But mostly thankful – for Mrs. Jones.

I wonder what Year 3 will bring…

Transition Day.

It’s like Independence Day.

Only with classrooms. And fear. And less fireworks.

I don’t think the school governors would spring for fireworks. I don’t think Health and Safety would like it much, either.

Transition Day. Nothing at all like Independence Day.

Yesterday was Transition Day at Chipmunks’ school. The dreaded day when the children find out who their teacher will be next year, and which of their friends will still be in their class. The school has been really good with Chipmunk and, as they did last year, they have already taken him on a tour of the Year 3 area to familiarise him with it. This was great as it does as much as possible to dissipate the nerves before he has to actually move into Year 3!

For my part, I can’t quite believe that my baby is going to be in the Junior section of the school. How fast did those infant years zoom by??

So anyway, Chipmunk discovered that he is in a lovely class next year, and that his teacher is fantastic. Apparently one of the girls he is with ran over to him just to say how lovely she thought the teacher was. This is brilliant, and I am really pleased.

I am also really pleased that he is no longer with SuperBrat™. I can’t really reveal too much about SuperBrat™ without identifying him. Suffice it to say that one of his parents is a VIP within the school, and so SuperBrat™ uses this to his distinct advantage. Chipmunk has been stuck with SuperBrat™ ever since he started in Reception, and now, finally, he will be free of him! Hurrah!

There is, however, a down side to all of this happiness. (You knew it was coming, don’t pretend otherwise!)

Chipmunk has been separated from Miss Fifi next year. Also for the first time since Reception.

I am sure they have not done it on purpose. I am sure they didn’t even think about it. But that’s kind of the problem, you see. They have all of these reports stating that Chipmunk finds it really difficult to make friends. Therefore the ones he has connected with are all the more important. And the class teacher and the SENCO know about his relationship with Miss Fifi. They know how close they are, and how special she is to him. She just ‘gets’ him. And compensates accordingly.

So, I am really sad that they are not together next year. I’m also worried about how he’s going to cope with it, but trying not to show him that I’m worried. And she’ll be in the classroom next door to him – it’s just not the same.

It’s not as if she can come hurtling through to rescue him if he needs her…

…Although…

…Knowing Miss Fifi…

Anyway, there’s nothing we can do about it, so I’ll just have to swallow the lump in my throat and wish for the best. And hope that he doesn’t get into a situation where he needs rescuing.

And besides…

There’s always the playground.

For the first time, I thought Chipmunk was going to make it through an entire half term without any absence from school. We have had no hospital appointments during school hours, no doctors or opticians appointments during school hours – and best of all, no illness. I really believed (seeing as the half-term break is only a week away now) that we were going to make it.

And then, Chipmunk woke up yesterday with a raging temperature and an earache. Great. I was hoping he’s be back at school today, but no such luck. His ears are so blocked that he can’t hear a word anyone says to him, and they keep popping which is causing him pain. So he’s missed the last two days.

I’m not annoyed with him, of course I’m not. I’m just frustrated for him that we were so close! Also, it’s SATs time and so he will probably have to re-sit whatever he’s missed as far as they are concerned. And the kids get rewarded with merit points for every full week, half term and term that they attend. He is, therefore, quite some way behind many of the others. It’s so unfair – and it’s circumstance really, not that he’s a particularly sickly child.

Over the last year, in the run-up to his autism diagnosis, he has obviously had quite a few assessment appointments. Add to this his mobility problems, which have required occupational therapy and physiotherapy assessments. Plus, he was under the care of ENT for his hearing issues. All of these people tend to only run clinics 9-5. Therefore it is pretty much a foregone conclusion that they will encroach on school hours. All this takes him at least up to – if not over – his percentage of time allowed off school. So, if he does then get sick, he immediately gets put on the list of kids to be watched. Which I think is unfair.

I have tried explaining the situation to the SENCO, whose general attitude is “Chipmunk has missed rather a lot of school. Do you think he will manage to come in for the next couple of weeks until the end of term?”. Well gee, let me just have a quick look in my crystal ball and I’ll let you know about that one. For crying out loud! I have tried explaining it to the local Educational Welfare Officer (because she is now ‘monitoring his progress’). Nobody cares what the actual circumstances are, because at the end of the day it reflects badly on the school (and consequently the local authority) if a child is missing too much time. Figures are more important than facts, and because of this there is the danger that I will be labelled a bad mother. Someone who can’t be bothered to send her kid to school. Who doesn’t care about his education. Never mind that I have been fighting all the way through to get him the help and support he needs at school, apparently I should magically make his appointments not clash with class time, and somehow prevent him from ever getting sick.

How about I just put on a lycra suit and call myself Wonder Woman while I’m at it?

Actually, I do quite like those boots…

This evening, Chipmunk informed me that he couldn’t give me a kiss when I wanted one. Apparently, he only had one left in his stockroom, and if he used it now that would be it. Also, he thought he should mention that he was down to one hug, too! He said that there might be a delivery later, but he couldn’t guarantee it, so I may want to keep the one he had in reserve, just in case!

This may sound awful, but Chipmunk does this a lot. Usually to other people though, rather than me. I guess today must be a bad day!

I’ve never heard a child do this before – usually it’s either yes you can have a cuddle, or no you can’t. With Chipmunk, it’s that he wants to give you one, but doesn’t have one to give! And you know, I’ve been thinking about this, and actually it makes sense.

Well, it does to me, anyway…

The thing is, I think I know how he feels. As a child, I hated cuddles and kisses. My family members knew that when they came to visit they were not to be tactile with me. To their immense credit, they accepted it. Even to this day, they always ask me if it’s ok to give me a hug or a peck on the cheek. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about them, or want to spend time with them, but the sensation of physical contact actually made me physically cringe. It was almost painful.

I wonder now if it’s an autistic thing. I know I can’t put all of his (or my) behaviours down to that, but it does seem to fit with some of the difficulties experienced by people with autism. Specifically – and I can only speak for myself here – it seems to be focused on two things. The first is the ability to show emotion. I am uncomfortable with that. I always have been and I don’t like it. The second is the hyper sensitivity aspect – the actual feeling of being hugged/kissed. It can be almost like a burning, or an unbearable tingling sensation – like when you have really bad pins and needles and you need to rub the area really hard to make it feel normal again. As far as Chipmunk is concerned, we already know he suffers from hyper sensitivity (he won’t walk on the tiles at the swimming pool, for example) so this does seem fairly logical. The feeling always seems to be worse when it’s a situation you haven’t chosen to be in, or have little control over – such as those big family get-togethers I have always despised!

Over the years I have gotten better about this. With my friends, those I truly care about, I can be very tactile indeed. In fact, some people reading this article would be shocked that I was ever anything but. The thing is that it has to be on my terms. To the extreme. Because the level of discomfort I feel can otherwise be difficult to conceal – and obviously I don’t want to trample all over the feelings of someone who is just trying to be nice! Maybe I should adopt Chipmunk’s approach – you know, that could be the way to go! It’s certainly a lot more honest that grinning and bearing it – while being cute and funny enough for people not to be offended. Of course, we show mock offense with Chipmunk, and he knows we’re only teasing. More often than not, he will quickly come for a snuggle and a kiss – and he is very free with his “I love you, Mummy”s. But if he doesn’t, that’s ok too.

I think it’s actually really important that our kids – autistic or not – are not made to engage in unwanted contact. If they don’t want to be cuddled and kissed and have relatives play pass-the-cute-kid with them at family gatherings, they shouldn’t have to. Just because they’re kids doesn’t mean they forfeit their right to respect of their personal space. And often, the people who are all over them are distant relatives they’ve met once in their little lives. That’s like having a stranger come up to you and give you a bear hug. It’s unnerving, overwhelming – and frankly, bloody annoying. Family relationships should not give carte blanche for endless physical contact. If a child is uncomfortable with it, they should be reassured that it’s ok to say so.

I’m not going to get into the whole other side of this coin – the debate about whether people with Asperger’s actually feel emotion. For what it’s worth, I think it’s showing it that is the problem, not feeling it in the first place. But that’s a discussion for another time.

This is all about respect. Personal space. Not crossing the line.

Affection, like respect, should be earned and given freely. Not expected, demanded or forced.

That’s how I see it, anyway.

So here it was, the first Parents’ Consultation Evening since The Letter™. The moment of truth when all would be revealed as to whether Chipmunk was doing ok in school now. Or not. As we climbed the steps to his classroom, I was shaking like a leaf. Partly because I was really hoping that there wouldn’t be any major problems that we had to overcome. Mostly because, even since The Letter™ and her reaction to it, I am still a teensy-weensy, ever-so-slightly, little bit terrified of Mrs Jones.

In the end, I needn’t have worried. At all. In fact, it was all a bit of an anti-climax, really! We were the last to go in, which (despite meaning my inner tension ratcheted up with every passing millisecond) was actually rather nice. Mrs Jones visibly relaxed as she took the timetable for the evening off the classroom door and waved us in. She used names like ‘sweetie’ and ‘poppet’ to address Chipmunk, and directed much of her discussion to him rather than me. That was really nice, as he obviously felt included, and confident enough to answer questions and have a little chat with her.

Chipmunk had brought a book to read while we were waiting – a Secret Seven trilogy – and Mrs Jones had a long conversation with both he and I about the wonders of Enid Blyton!

As far as his progress is concerned, she had only positive observations to share. Nothing of the “Chipmunk has a disrespectful attitude” of the last meeting. Instead, she used words such as “lovely”, “charming” and “polite” to describe him. He is, apparently, a joy to teach and a real pleasure to have in the classroom. As far as the academics are concerned (and this is important as the SATS start next week) she thinks he will definitely achieve a level 3 (top level) in Literacy and is easily capable of a 2a (second level) in Maths. While I am not obsessed with his grades, so long as he is doing well and reaching his potential, this is obviously still good to know.

She is also going to start teaching him how and when to introduce paragraphs into his writing, and some useful sayings to remember. She has also suggested he keep a notebook for good ideas he comes across, and she was very excited to hear about his story blog (which he will be adding to shortly!). I think it is probably a treat for her to have a child who is not only so capable, but actively enjoys and enthuses about school. He told her he had done his Maths homework (set today) already. She said maybe he could have a go at the extension material. His reply? “But I’ve finished that, too!”

All in all – a fantastic evening, far better than expected. Mrs Jones even asked how my Dad was doing (after his episode) and extended her best wishes to him. She was really, really lovely. Really lovely. I do think that part of that is down to The Letter™. I think a bigger part of it is all down to the Chipmunk.

Am I crowing just a touch about how well he’s doing? Yes, I am. And I don’t care. Because where we are now compared to a year ago, or six months ago – or even just a few weeks ago – feels like a whole world away. And I could not be happier for him. And yes, for me, too.

To all of our lovely readers:

I wish you a happy, successful and blessed 2012. I can’t wait to share some new stories with you all!

Happy New Year!

These are two poems that I wrote in school, as part of our Egyptian-theme that we are studying this term.

The Egyptian cat stretches on his sparkling gold throne.

He yawns a crocodile yawn.

He blinks his segment-of-lemon eyes.

Servants feed him red, juicy grapes and grey, munchy mice.

Rich, royal Pharaoh strokes his silky fur.

Living in luxury.

★     ★     ★

Velvety soft house cat snores quietly by the snug, warm fire.

Happy and safe in the messy home with his family.

Bright, ginger fur matches the hot flames.

Feels like soft, velvety fur.

I hope you enjoyed these poems.

I have another story for you from our ‘Flowers and Plants’ project – I hope you like it!

One lovely, sunny day, ben was walking in the park because he really wanted to feed the ducks. On the way, he saw two ladies sitting on a bench, having a chat. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something unusual sticking out of the grass. He carefully picked it up. Before he knew what was happening, he was turning round and round in a tornado!

When he opened his eyes, Ben found himself in a jungle! When Ben looked up, he saw a silver, cheeky monkey. Ben looked around him, but to his amazement – camouflaged in the sweet, long grass – was a zebra. When he looked at a tree, he saw a very long cobra! Ben did not like the sight of it at all! When Ben looked down, suddenly the monkey walked down to him.

“Hello there mate, what is your name?” asked the monkey.

“My name is Ben,” answered Ben.

“That’s a lovely name! Would you like to have a lovely picnic with me in my tree-house?” asked the monkey.

“Oh, yes please!” replied Ben. “But how can I get up there? I do not want to climb the trunk with the snake there!”

“Just grab my hand and I’ll pull you up,” said the monkey.

“Thank you, monkey,” said Ben excitedly.

So, Ben grabbed the monkey’s hand, and up he went with the monkey to the tree-house. When they got up there, they had a feast of wonderful coconut milk, a lovely apple and three chocolate biscuits!

“Yum yum, this is delicious,” said Ben. “But it’s time for me to go home now, goodbye monkey!” Ben said to the monkey. Suddenly, with a BANG! and a CRASH! he was back in the park. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be going home. When he got home, he wondered if his family would believe his story!

Thanks for reading. I’ll see you again soon for another story.

Here is another story for you to read. I wrote this as part of our ‘Flowers and Plants’ topic at school. I hope you enjoy it.

One bright, breezy Autumn day, five seeds flew off a plant and into the air on a gust of wind. They were beautiful, multi-coloured seeds. They flew over a park and one seed fell down onto a slide. It slipped and fell to the ground with a BUMP! The rest of the seeds carried on flying in the dazzling, sparkling blue sky – but the seed that could not grow just stayed on the ground. Just then, there was a huge gust of wind and the rest of the seeds floated on until they got to a massive town. Sadly, one fell onto the roof of a tall block of flats and died – but the rest still remained.

At last, a lucky seed fell into the soil and got covered up really well, ready for the Winter. When it was time for that season to come, the soil kept the seed extremely warm, which was really good before the Spring came. After the snow melted, a really small rainbow-coloured shoot appeared. It was shiny, because it’s no ordinary stem. It shimmers in the sun.

The shoot started to grow blue, crispy leaves. The leaves started to become bigger, fatter and stronger. The stem grew quickly and kept on growing until it was nearly as tall as the roof of a house. Next, it grew as tall as an enormous oak tree. It carried on growing straight up, towards the sky. The leaves grew fatter, until they were the size of a big rubber ring. A really prickly green bud appeared after that.

Weeks later, an incredible flower burst out of the bud. It was amazing. People from many countries came to see it.

“It’s stunning!” said a lady from America.

“It’s beautiful!” said a man from Africa.

“Oh, wow!” said a little girl from Russia.

Soon, Autumn came again and the petals fell to the ground. In two weeks, the seeds flew off and the pant and the flower died.

Then, the story started again.

Thanks for reading. I’ll see you again soon for another story.

Here is my first story for you to read.  I wrote it for a Literacy project at school.  I hope you enjoy it.

“Mummy, please may I go to the moon?” asked Little Cat.

“No!  Anyway, you need to find a rocket first,” replied Mummy.

Soon, Little Cat found an old cardboard box in the shed.

“It’s perfect!” shouted Little Cat.  Afterwards, he found a blue plastic bowl for a space helmet.  Next, he looked in the cupboard and found a lovely strawberry cake, a can of Pepsi, a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and a can of coke.  Then he put all his stuff into his spaceship.  After that he went out into the garden, and with a BANG! and a ZOOM! he flew into the air.

A little bit later, a bat flew by.

“Where are you going to?” clicked Bat.

“I’m going to the moon,” replied Little Cat.

Then Bat climbed in and off they flew to continue their journey.  On and on their journey went.

After a while, they saw the moon.  Soon they arrived, and with a big BUMP! they landed on the moon.  After, one by one, they got out of the spaceship.

“Would you like to play football with me?” asked Little Cat.

“Yes, please!” replied Bat.

So they played football nearly all evening.  Sadly, it was soon time to go home.  So they said goodbye to each other and hoped to see each other again soon.  Then, they took off and headed back down to Earth.

After a long journey, he landed with a big BUMP!  Then, he went into the living room.

“Where have you been?” asked Mummy Cat.

“I’ve been to the moon,” replied Little Cat.

“You and your stories,” giggled Mummy Cat.  ”Whatever next?…”

Thanks for reading, I’ll see you soon for another story…