Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside...

We've moved. Again. And, this time, we're quite literally beside the sea - The North Sea - to be precise and not so much as 'beside' exactly as more 'above'. Perched on the edge of a cliff (I feel a bit weird typing that) the new house has spectacular views and I'm finding myself captivated by the expanse of blue, and thoroughly entertained by the constant parade of marine traffic, whether it's a heavily laden container ship or a jaunty little fishing boat. Not long after we had moved in we were amazed to see dolphins and learned from our neighbours that this is a regular sight; such a thrill to see them leaping clear out of the water.

I think my Australian sister would not think much of the rock and shingle beach below but I love it. I like to be able to amble down the path and walk along the shoreline, trying to distinguish between the many types of gull as they soar overhead while admiring the stillness of a pair of grey herons as they wait patiently on the rocks. The beach is not one to attract tourists as it is not a traditionally pretty beach but a wild and rugged spot. This is a place for birdwatchers, photographers, and serious walkers; the John Muir way passes through here. Neither is it a beach that's easy to discover. It is hidden away and you must walk down the pathway, through the dean and past the old mill house, following the sound of the water.  On one side you look out to the north and on the other the industrial coastline of East Lothian, the power station dominating the headland.

At the end of the path...

The little path down to the beach

We're not just enjoying having the beach on our doorstep, we're also enjoying the new house. I always attribute human qualities to houses and imagine them as distinct personalities. I think of this house as a stoic matronly type of house. She stands for no nonsense from the weather and seems completely unpeturbed by the gales and horizontal rain...so typical of a Scottish summer! One hundred years old, she must have witnessed a great deal and several generations have lived out the dramas of family life within her walls. Her rooms are firmly square and spacious - no whimsical arches, narrow recesses or pokey corners. It's comforting how solid she feels though the bones of her stairs and floorboards creak a little with old age. Despite her maturity, she's a well- kept woman and everything was immaculate and sparkling when we moved in. It made the whole moving process so much easier, only having to clean the one house we were moving out of and knowing that things could be put straight away; now I'm determined to keep the house that way!

So as well as photos of the beach, here is a sneak preview of one or two of the rooms in the house. We're still in the process of making the house into our home: deciding where furniture should go, sorting out pictures and raking through the remaining boxes - you know, the ones with no contents listed, packed at the last minute and containing all manner of random and unrelated items!

The back of the house has an open plan feel with the sitting room leading through to a dining room with a large picture window overlooking the sea. There is a sliding door to the kitchen from here and a sun room to the other side. I can't quite work out which way the garden faces but it seems to get the best of the sun for most of the day.  

When mowing the lawn or hanging out the washing you're liable to get distracted by the beautiful views and it takes discipline to finish the job.

 I end up just standing there admiring the scenery, lulled into inactivity by the sound of the waves.

Our eldest daughter definitely has the best bedroom in the house. She has two large windows that afford all round views of the sea and the coastline. Fabbydoo seems to like this bedroom the most too and can generally be found on the end of her bed or perched on the windowsill, looking out while the house martins and swallows put on a first-rate aerial display every afternoon.

I'm hoping that now we're settled here, and with a change to working 4 days instead of full-time, that this will be the start of more regular blogging. This setting is certainly inspirational!

Advice to my daughter on her 17th birthday...

So, yesterday, my beautiful girl, you turned seventeen. Seventeen! Such an inspirational age that it frequently features in song lyrics and novels. I can remember being seventeen very clearly - an age all about attraction, growing independence and following your dreams, all mixed up with uncertainty, anxiety and a lack of experience! Lawrence Olivier once said, "Inside, we are all seventeen with red lips" and I think he's probably right - we don't like to think about growing old; in our hearts and minds we want to stay our seventeen year old selves forever.

So, if it's such a remarkable age, then what advice would your old mum give you? Well here it is, 17 things I've learned and wished I'd known at seventeen (in no particular order and with no apology for cheesiness or cliche!)

1. Pause once in a while and take in the good moments - be mindful of the experience - you'll want to play it back to yourself one day.

2. Stand up for yourself and what you believe in - don't let others tell you what you think or feel.

3. Weigh up your options but don't spend too long thinking. Take the opportunity if it feels right - it might not come up again.

4. But there again, remember - 'there's no such thing as a free lunch'. If someone offers you something think about what they might expect in return!

5. Don't be in a rush to do everything. Take time to think about what you need at the moment as well as what you want in the future.

6. Be yourself - everyone else is taken.

7. Find a partner who is truly interested in you and not just in how you look.

8. Don't underestimate the value of patience and kindness. They can take you just as far up the career ladder as single-minded ambition, and, people will be less likely to want to push you off!

9. Everything seems worse at night. Sleep on it - things will be clearer in the morning.

10. Cherish your sister; sisters are blessings. She loves you just for being you and no-one will understand where you're coming from like she does!

11. Don't overlook 'the nice guy'. You might be drawn to the bad ones, the wild and the dangerous, but Mr Nice Guy is worth a try. Gentleness is far more important in the long run. He'll be the one who'll look after you and support you even when you're not being so nice yourself.

12. Nurture your friendships. Make sure to keep up with the old ones and be open to new ones.

13. Be kind to yourself. You're allowed to get things wrong.

14. Don't be persuaded to do something to please or to impress someone else. Listen to your inner voice; if you don't feel comfortable then it's not right.

15. Look after your body and stay safe. There are so many temptations but all come with risks and consequences.

16. Make time for the spiritual. There is something more to life than the material world around us. Whatever your beliefs, keep in touch with your spiritual side - be thankful, say a prayer, meditate, reflect, go for long walks - whatever feeds your soul!

17. Remember your family loves you no matter what. Our love is unconditional. You might, in the future, do things that are foolish, regretful, hurtful or downright annoying but it won't lessen our love for you - not even a tiny bit.

Merry and Bright

'Merry' and 'Bright' are definitely the right words to describe Christmas in The Little House this year. Last Christmas we knew that it was going to be our last in the farmhouse we so loved and the upcoming move in January hung over us all like a black cloud. This year things were more relaxed and, now settled once again, the skies were literally bright and the mood merry. 

The happy snowmen collection 

The run-up, as always, was a little frantic with lots of last-minute present buying, card writing, meal planning and house decorating. Every year I vow to be more organised, to start earlier, to sort through the overflowing Christmas boxes before putting them away, to spread the cost across the year etc. etc. but it never happens and I'm running around in a festive panic - thank heavens for Amazon Prime! 

Christmas baking

Inevitable materialism aside, there was much to be grateful for this year not least the fact that we were able to have my mother-in-law with us once again. Having won a hard fought battle against cancer a few years ago, at 80 years old, she remains one of the most glamorous grannies I know though being Danish she prefers the term 'farmor' - father's mother. 

Farmor is very popular with Fabbydoo and Luna too!

Old Christmas books came down from the loft and we enjoyed looking through them all. I especially love 'Mog's Christmas'. If you don't know the Mog series by Judith Kerr then I should explain that Mog is a thoroughly silly cat who is always getting into scrapes. In this particular adventure she is not impressed by the Christmas tree at all and escapes to the roof only to then fall down the chimney! 

The Wonderful Man excelled himself with not one but two Christmas feasts and not for the first time I thanked my lucky stars that I married a man who can cook!  Christmas Eve was our Danish celebration complete with traditional ham and caramel potatoes not forgetting the rice pudding and marzipan pigs. I wrote more about Danish Christmas Eve or Juleaften in this post last year.  

Then on Christmas Day the UK version where we ended up more stuffed than the turkey!

Christmas table set

Unlike Mog, I am very impressed by our Christmas tree this year.  It is a proper fir tree complete with little cones, thick branches and lovely long needles that so far have stayed in place.  We have many tree decorations but that doesn't stop us buying at least one new one each year. This year's favourite? I think it would have to be the Christmas sloth! 

If I'm honest, then I'd say these quiet days inbetween Christmas and New Year are my favourite.It's lovely to be able to stay in my dressing gown all day, to read, watch seasonal classics, eat peculiar mixtures of leftovers and at the end of the day just to sit by the fire and watch the twinkly Christmas lights. Hope your Christmas was merry and bright too. Blessings to you and yours.  

Dens, hideaways and lookouts...

Autumn always brings to mind one of the great childhood pleasures - den building.  I think it is probably the dry leaves and abundance of fallen sticks and branches, plus the idea of hibernation, that create such nostalgia.  Yet, if you ask children today about building dens you'll often get a blank look in return. If they do give an enthusiastic response then the chances are that most of their creations have been made indoors or as one 10 year old told me, 'I like Monsters Den' - an online adventure game!  

Not that I'm knocking the indoor hideaway in any way. I have great memories of setting up camp under the dining room table, behind the sofa or simply hanging a blanket over a clothes airer. But, there is a real Bear Grylls-type thrill in gathering natural materials, building something outside and attempting to keep out the elements.  The problem is that outdoor play space is more limited now and parents are, understandably, anxious about their children's safety if they are out of sight, even for a minute.  It's a shame because I think dens play an important part in childhood development. It's no coincidence that the appeal of creating such a space tends to start as a child's sense of self develops between the ages of 3 and 7. Dens in this sense become like a little home for the soul.

(image credit: littlegreenshed)

When we lived in Somerset, S was lucky enough to go to a lovely Steiner-inspired kindergarten and later she spent some time at forest school.  The kindergarten had the most beautiful playstands that were set up with a silk canopy that added privacy but let the light filter through. A playstand is really like a more crafted version of a wooden clothes horse but, unlike a manufactured playhouse, their simplicity allows them to be far more open-ended - this play space is often used as a house but it could equally be imagined as a cave, fort or a magical tent.  A quick search on Pinterest certainly has some inspiring images and tutorials on how to make your own. I badgered L to make some for us when the children were younger and now we still use them as functional shelves around the house.

Our playstands set up as a playhouse with a rainbow silk canopy

At the end of our garden we have a ready made den.  Being terrible gardeners, the vastly overgrown hedges, weeds and ivy have joined forces with the conifers to create a hidden glade.  S has added her own furniture (commandeered pallets from our builder neighbour) and made a doorbell. She has also made a sign, making it clear that adults are not allowed! Many happy hours have been spent there playing out imaginative games both by herself and co-cooperatively with friends. Her older sister was pelted with mud grenades once when she dared to peek in!

Where the wild things are!
You need to ring the doorbell with a stick 

Log stools, pallet table and plastic plant pots for making mud and leaf stew!

As well as this hideaway there is a lookout too, up in the tree outside the front of the house. It's useful for pirate games but S is most frequently found there with a book, Luna by her side. 

Cap'n S up in the lookout with first mate Luna

Do you ever grow out of den-building, I wonder? I think all we do is recreate more sophisticated versions in our homes and gardens. I could possibly argue that my bed has become a bit of a den, especially on weekend mornings, with cushions, books, smuggled supplies of biscuits and mugs of coffee on the side table. It's definitely a place to hide away from the housework and to be honest...the responsibilities of being an adult!

Linking this post with The Theme Game at The Reading Residence

And so it begins...

One of the weird things about living in Scotland (and there are a few) is that we start back at school for the Autumn term in the middle of August. To me, September is firmly established in my mind as the start of the new academic year and going back when the rest of the UK, and most of Europe, are still on holiday seems all wrong like an early whole school detention or something. To make it worse we don't get the bank holiday this weekend either. My family, and friends who live in England, are confused by the differences too, seeming amazed every year when we break up at the end of June and rather resentful, believing that we have an incredible 9 weeks off!

And so it is that Tuesday 20th August the school year began and the long languid days of summer came to an abrupt end in The Little House. This year I have been determined to get off to a calm start, and be organised, avoiding the school-term-induced mayhem that usually takes over our lives at this time of year. I bought new school shoes for S at the end of last term smugly believing that I would avoid the crowds and the whole 'take a ticket' experience of Clarks. Of course, in the last week of the holidays, perhaps nourished by lots of sunshine and ice-cream, her feet have grown a whole size!

S ended up with these rather dapper
 brogues from Next instead

I made sure uniform was ready (believing it to be clean and hanging in the wardrobe) only to find mysterious pink stains on one skirt and one new school sweatshirt with what appeared to be a  half eaten sleeve (Could it be giant moths?  Did the school hamster escape and fancied a nibble?) Turns out that S had hung the skirt up dirty in the first place (pink icing apparently) rather than put in the laundry (at least she hung it up I suppose) and the sweatshirt didn't even belong to her. She'd brought home someone else's, from the name tag - a boy's of course!

We went to one of my favourite places - Paperchase,  supposedly to stock up on school supplies.  We spent nearly an hour browsing and indulging in stationery addiction and bought a selection of items that can neither be classed as essential or necessary.  Then it was time for one of my favourite family traditions - the last ice cream of the holidays. 

We sat outside in the afternoon sunshine and savoured them, discussing the best bits of the Summer and sharing school-related hopes and worries (it's an important exam year for H and the last year in Primary for S). Although I was dreading the 6am alarm the next day, I felt settled and, well, almost ready...

Make me a German

The BBC's current obsession with all things Teutonic has spawned a most peculiar mix of programmes over the last few weeks. Don't know if you managed to catch the oddly titled 'Make Me a German' but I found it very interesting viewing. The premise was that a British couple, Justin and Bee Rowlatt, went to live in Germany and lived as the average German family (which meant, in fact, that two of the family's four children had to stay in the UK with grandparents as German families are, on average, smaller than ours). They were renamed with the most common surname, Muller, lived in a typically German (rented) apartment and Justin was given a job in a traditional industry - Faber Castell. The programmers even went so far as to provide a checklist of averages for the family to conform to - for example, what time they should get up, what they should eat and how much housework to do.  This was 6.23am, a kilogram of pork each week and an unbelievable 4 hours each day, in case you were wondering.

The programme relied on stereotypes which was bit disappointing but it did leave me pondering on the reasons behind Germany's economic prowess and the differences in attitudes to work, education and family life. 

I admired the dedication and loyalty of the workers in the pencil factory many of whom had been taken on on a proper apprenticeship scheme. Apprenticeships in Germany last three years and include training on all aspects of the industry resulting in a multi-skilled, highly-employable worker. Germany has the lowest youth unemployment rate in Europe and 'a job for life' is not an outdated concept.  Wouldn't it be brilliant if we offered such schemes to our youngsters and valued practical and technical skills rather than try to push everyone through the same academic hoops. I suppose though, that that's a possibility as Germany is such a manufacturing powerhouse and there was a downside: the programme highlighted the fact that many German workers have sacrificed pay rises for job security.

In the Faber-Castell factory

The programme suggested that working hours were less for the average German but productivity was much higher.  How can this be? Yes, you've guessed it, it's all about punctuality, focus and discipline.  The factory had a Victorian school-like environment - no chatting, no slacking and definitely no checking your phone! Whilst conditions were good, healthcare excellent and the heavily-subsidised canteen much appreciated, I wondered at the nature of the average British worker versus the German.  Can we be as disciplined or are we inherently anarchic, appearing to tow the line but actually working to achieve our own ends?

I liked the emphasis on community shown in the programme with the tone-deaf Justin off to a very jolly singing club one evening after work, one of 100 such groups in the area.  If there was such a club here to join I suspect that the average age would be 85! By comparison, Justin's wife, Bee, felt she had drawn the short straw when it came to fun in their German experiment. The four hours of housework a day seemed excessive and made me reassess just how much housework I do ('Not enough,' my mother would say and she'd probably be right).  On a week day in term time I'm away from the house for around 10 hours which doesn't leave a lot of time for chores and then I want to spend time with the girls which isn't compatible with hoovering! Statistics show that on average in the UK a married woman will do 7 hours housework a week.  I think that's probably about my average too though looking at the state of the house you wouldn't think so! Considering the adherence to 'quiet laws' in Germany (basically no noise between 1-3 and in the evenings), and the observance of Sundays as a day of rest (and quiet again), it must be pretty difficult fitting all that housework in.  

(image credit: telegraph.co.uk)

Motherhood seems to have far greater a status in Germany and valued, as it should be, as an important job. Two thirds of mothers with young children stay at home in Germany compared with just a third in the UK. Childhood is unrushed and protected. Formal education starts at 6 years, there are no SATs or ridiculous Gove notions on learning outcomes for the very youngest members of society. Instead the emphasis is on play for its own sake and learning through discovery.  The pre-school set in a forest was as Bee described 'kid heaven' and when I think that many families spend in access of £600 a month on nursery fees in the UK they would be more than a little jealous of the 25 euros a week or around £80 a month cost in Germany. Combine the quality of the childhood experience with the very attractive tax breaks and it would be easy to assume that life is better for young families in Germany. But, there was another side to this wholesome image in that despite reasonable childcare costs, it is not easy to maintain a career as a mother in Germany. One of the mothers in the programme explained that the school day finishes at 11am three days a week and the attitude prevails that by working you are neglecting your children hence the German expression 'raven mother'. I wonder what the German attitude is towards stay-at-home dads?! To be ideal it would be nice to have a real choice about being a working parent, to be able to afford to stay at home if that's what you dearly want or choose to work, confident in affordable high quality childcare.

Well, this has been a much longer post than I intended and you can see it's got me thinking. If you've managed to read this far I'd love to know your thoughts too.  If you missed the programme I think you can still watch it here. For now though - Auf Wiedersehen!

Linking up this post, rather belatedly, with Sarah at Hello Wall

Now we are...eleven!

Today, the baby of the family turned 11 and I can hardly believe it.  It does not seem all that long ago that we were anxiously awaiting her birth.  Little S seemed very reluctant to make her way into the world.  12 days overdue she had no birth plans of her own and eventually, having decided that this labour business was much too much work, she turned into a horizontal position and had to be delivered by emergency caesarean. Even then, having finally arrived safely, she made no cry but looked around at the full theatre as if to say, 'What's all the fuss about?'  I remember the midwife looking at her wise little face and stating, 'This one's been here before'.

And that has been her way since. She is a character who takes her time and thinks carefully before planning her move.  She watches the fools rush in and learns from their mistakes; she does not impatiently push herself forward but waits for the right moment.  This child of ours radiates easy-going contentment and cannot abide disagreement.  At our most recent parents' evening it was not the first time that a teacher has admitted that she did not know what she would do without S in the class; she keeps the peace and brings accord.

Happy baby

When she was a toddler she was very shy, frequently hiding behind my legs.  This was a novelty as all of us have lots to say for ourselves and are quite happy to be the centre of attention! As she got older she quietly cultivated friendships and was never short of a playmate. When H was little, her toys were her audience but for S they needed to be cared for and she would gently wrap her dolls in blankets, her bedroom often doubling as a make-believe hospital.

The capacity to fall asleep anywhere!

She is our outdoors girl, off through the door in a t-shirt in all weathers. A hardy flower she can walk for miles, merrily ride her bike up the steepest of hills, climb trees, build dens... In many ways a tomboy but one who refuses to wear jeans and will happily wear wellies with a dress.  She has the sweetest tooth and thinks jaffa cakes are a suitable breakfast. Her favourite tv programmes include Cake Boss and The Great British Bake-Off and her dream trip would be to Choccywoccydoodah rather than Disney World. It is no surprise that she is an accomplished baker and we love to test her creations.

and she's off...

In the kitchen

Often clumsy, she drops everything and has a tendency to fall over her own feet (as they are size 5 already that's maybe not surprising).  She is also forgetful, mislaying her things continuously - coats, shoes, hairbands and I have lost count of the amount of school sweatshirts that have gone missing over the years.  When she comes out from school at the end of the day she looks like a war-torn refugee or a street urchin, such is the dirt-smeared face, bruised and muddy knees and tattered uniform.  She must be cajoled into the shower and then I can't get her out.  You can hear her singing Taylor Swift songs, word-perfect, at the top of her voice from downstairs.

Admiring the sunset from 'her' wall

This is what we love about her - this tangle-mess girl, kindness in a muddy dress with her heart on both sleeves. Now 11 she's reached that in-between age: wants to stay up late but frightened of the dark, obsessively reading The Hunger Games trilogy but also secretly reading Little Grey Rabbit over and over. I see glimpses of the teenager, the young woman she'll become, and she often surprises me with her capable independence.  But then in a moment she's that timid toddler, seeking reassurance and a 'huggle' (one of her own first words formed from hug and cuddle!)  I'm hoping to have a few of those today and will savour each one.  Happy Birthday sweet girl xx

Opening birthday presents in bed this morning

Linking up with The Monday Club over at Hello Wall

The Tyranny of Tupperware

Do you have a cupboard like this in your house?

No matter where we live and how super duper the kitchen, the plastic containers will not be contained and spew and overflow across shelves, a ramshackle pile of lids spilling out on to the kitchen floor as soon as I open the door.  It is a small gripe, perhaps, but a source of great irritation for me and badly behaved tubs would go in my Room 101. I do wish that there was an aesthetically pleasing storage system for, well...storage.

It's hard to believe that at one time the Tupperware Party was the highlight of the social calendar. Your prowess as housewife supreme in the 1960s was measured by the quality of your polypropylene. We are still ever enthusiastic about plastic, though just in a different guise. You can see the obsession in all its glory with just a quick glance at the catalogue of 'home of creative kitchenware' - Lakeland. They have plastic storage in every form for every available use -  onion dome, cereal dispenser, bacon box, salad crisper, cheese preserver...there's even a special two section 'breakfast to go' container for your muesli and yogurt with a inclusive spoon in the lid!

I confess to having bought several varieties of food storage including the 'lunch cube' which was so cleverly designed that I never really got the hang of using it. It was quite tiresome filling up all the different compartments and when at lunchtime I finally remembered how to open the wretched thing it would spring open, invariably upside down, and I'd end up with hummus and carrot sticks on my lap.  The prize for the most stupid name though has to be Lock & Lock. Do you think they just gave up trying to think of something creative or inspiring or is it an in-company joke? Maybe they meant to call it 'Load n Lock' but the managing director misheard. Their containers certainly keep things airtight but once locked (twice) there's no getting it open again is there, not without ripping a nail off anyway.

(image credit: orphankittenrescue.com)

I think the continuing tyranny of tupperware is all down to collective guilt, guilt over how much food we waste.  We don't quite know what to do with an almost half full tin of baked beans or that hardly touched salad and so we hide our shame in a plastic box only for it to be thrown out several weeks later when we've run out of fridge space.  You can see I've been pondering this for some time and in doing so I have also discovered certain universal truths:

1. That no matter how many plastic containers you have, you will always have twice as many lids.  The only exception to this is round lids.  They are the first to disappear.

2. Of all the lids only three will actually fit.  This is because of a strange time-related shrinking process or possibly the dishwasher causing some sort of lid-warping mutation to take place.

3. At some stage in your life you will be guilty of tupperware theft.  This is most likely to happen at a social gathering where your better-plastic-equipped neighbour/friend brings food in a container that you covet and you accidentally on purpose forget to return it or substitute it with a mouldy old one of yours by mistake. 

4. When you are offered something really yummy that you are actually going to eat there will not be even one suitably sized container to put it in. Once yummy offering has gone dry with upturned edges, you will then miraculously find the perfect box (with correctly fitting lid).

5. That men don't really care about tupperware at all.  They are quite content to use your best container (the only one without bolognese pock marks) for storing engine parts in and then, after a quick rinse, use to reheat last night's takeaway.

Linking up this post with Sarah at Hello Wall with The Monday Club.

The Dyslexic Household

Have you heard the one about the dyslexic devil worshiper?
He sold his soul to Santa.
What about the dyslexic lawyer?
He studied all year for the bra exam.
And you have to have heard the one about the dyslexic, agnostic insomniac?
He lay awake all night, wondering if there was a dog!

To those of you who didn't find any of those jokes remotely funny I apologise. Not very PC of me, I know, but some days I have to find something about dyslexia to laugh about or give in to despair.  My excuse for such poor humour is that my life very much revolves around dyslexia as not only do I work in learning support, helping dyslexic pupils, but when I return home, my job continues as wife to a dyslexic husband and mum to two dyslexic daughters. We are very much a dyslexic household and I am constantly reminded of the many ways that dyslexia impacts on so many aspects of everyday life; it is not restricted to the classroom.

If you've had any experience of dyslexia then you will know that it is not a difficulty that simply involves swapping letters around, the punchline in all these jokes, but instead a complex condition affecting more than just reading and spelling - there are the concentration issues, short term memory problems, disorganisation, word finding difficulties...to name just a few.

(image credit: motorvatetherapies.co.uk)

When I first met The Wonderful Man and we were dating, his dyslexia was responsible for quite a few comic misunderstandings and confusions.  I offered to stop and get some shopping for him and he gave me a list.  I spent a considerable amount of time trying to decipher his spelling of some items.  I worked most out, for example, I could see that 'seriel' was 'cereal' but there was one word that seemed entirely random. I gave up and went home to be told that it was 'quiche'. I can't remember the exact misspelling but I remember it started 'kea' !! Another time  I went to meet up with him after work in a pub called 'The Windsor Castle' and searched for some time before discovering that he was already on his second pint in 'The Walmer Castle'.

The problem with dyslexia and spelling is that very often someone with dyslexia has weak phonological skills - their brain just can't hear the subtle differences in sounds.  The sound made by a 't' and a 'd' for example can sound pretty much the same, making the process of 'sounding out' a word pretty hopeless. Add to that the problem of the same letter pattern having completely different sounds such as 'cough' and 'though' and you can imagine the problems faced by the dyslexic.

Sometimes just to make things more difficult it can be difficult to remember the visual shape of letters as well; you might know you want to write a 'd' but end up putting 'b' instead even though you know perfectly well the difference in sounds. English has lots of similar looking letters 'p', 'q' 'i' and 'j' just to name a few. The strategy of 'does it look right' isn't helpful either because a dyslexic might write many different spellings of the same word and they all look right!

(image credit: bbc.co.uk)

When H started nursery it was already apparent that she was probably dyslexic too. Dyslexia is on both sides of the family and so, although I'm not sure of the statistics, I knew that our genes combined would seem to double the chances. H was such a funny little thing - incredibly creative in her way of getting around her difficulties. She often confused words and names for things once offering to post a letter in the 'post lamp'!  Her poems were full of half rhymes and when she was seven, having got frustrated at trying to write a very imaginative story, she drew instead a fantastic and lengthy storyboard with captions and little speech bubbles. Her teacher was amazed at the detail and left it up on her wall for many years after H had left her classroom. S began to use the computer very early on becoming very computer literate.  Her report from school states that in Primary 4, aged 8, she could have 'very easily taught the ICT lessons herself'.

Certainly life in the dyslexic household has its frustrations and sometimes I grow weary of being home teacher and walking dictionary but I have also come to appreciate how pretty amazing the human brain is and that difficulties don't have to be difficulties at all - just differences. My family is a collective of very quirky individuals with their own strengths and gifts and sometimes my non-dyslexic self feels very ordinary in comparison.

I'm linking up with the lovely Sarah at Hello Wall with this post at The Monday Club: