Holding Moo and Titch
Sometime back in the Spring I wrote about Moo and Titch and how they were “behind” at school. They are, of course, only “behind” because school are measuring things that they can’t do, yet. If they were measured according to that things they can do, like survive early trauma, recover from parental addiction, show phenomenal resilience and perseverance in the turning of the tanker that is the shift from fear to trust then, to be honest, they would have won awards. But they aren’t. Not in school anyway. I wrote about going in to school and banging about a bit. School responded well and we now trust each other. Titch wasn’t even slightly ready for the leap from year 2 to year 3 so we are staging it. Year 2 in the morning, year 3 in the afternoon. He is stretched but not breaking. He can’t see why he can’t stay in year 2 until its time to “do college” but does, now, two months in to the term, agree that there are a few, a very few, good and exciting things that happen in year 3. I am loving how school have let us hold this little boy tightly enough, for long enough, for him to be able to just put a brave toe in to the undeniably chilly waters of ‘moving on’.
Moo, now 8, is such a wonderful mix of paper thin vulnerability and steely determination. She is as tough as old boots and crumbles like cake within seconds of each. She isn’t great academically but, with a nudge (actually, quite a big shove) school have ‘seen’ her. They know her now which means that they can communicate. They have listened to me, and then to her and they have come up with a few different ways of trying to reach her and, frankly, succeeded. She has additional help but also additional responsibilities. She is praised for things that she wants to succeed at. She is smiled at, for no reason. She feels held.
I read, on braveheart education’s blog, about witnessing each others lives and this is it, exactly. There is nothing more I need for them, for now, and I am feeling good.
Baby Moo and I, starting out (and both looking younger…)