Mayhem and Stardust

We are the proud parents of, amongst others, Jig, who has a handsome collection of diagnoses (ADHD, AD, FASD) which probably mean nothing and a generous smattering of fairy dust which probably counts for everything. School was a huge challenge and so we decided, probably rashly, to move to the country and home educate him. No medication, no 'support', chickens, space, a farm on the doorstep and a beach nearby. What could possibly go wrong?

Post Script to a trying day

I worry sometimes that I write negatively about Jiggy.  I think what happens is that when I feel very negatively blogging is a bit of a release.  That means that he is not well represented.  Therefore I am writing this blog in order to give me a place to link to from every negative blurb.  When a bad thing happens I can always say – but then, ‘postscript’.

I lost my temper today and had a lot to say about it. Then the day carried on, as it does. I spent some time licking my wounds and Jig just picked himself up and got on with things. He went to the library, and behaved.  He played board games well.  He cooperated with Peter. He ate his lunch happily and then set off, having asked me nicely, to do his favourite thing which is to go to the farm. He loves being on the farm.  He says it is what he wants to do. Forever.

Luke was doing some digger work and Jig joined in.  As luck would have it he had written a poem for Luke earlier today.

There once was a Duke named Luke, who was a rascal who lived in a castle. He had a friend called Jake, who he threw in the Lake.

It is rare that writing a poem for a tractor driver is the way forward and we are hugely lucky that we have the sort of neighbours who love poetry on the move. Three hours later Jiggy came back in, ate his saved supper and announced that he was probably too old to go to bed at 7. Keen to accommodate (after my unedifying outburst today) I agreed.  So, while I put the younger ones to bed he got out his library books and read happily for over an hour.  It is now 19:55. I know for sure that I can go to him and say that it is bedtime and he will be perfect.

What I haven’t got yet is how this all happens.  How is this the same child?  Am I wrong to be asking him to apply himself to my home ed targets?  Could he just stay on the farm? What a conundrum.


I find him downstairs recording a 4 minute long rap style serenade to the cat on my iPhone. “I’m not just rock and roll you know Mum”


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