July 27, 2010

the biscuit incident


^

My Prep teachers name was Mrs Hoare. Yes, pronounced whore. I obviously never understood why this was funny until I was older. Mrs Hoare was an older lady with grey hair and those glasses that turned dark in the sun. She was rather strict and made sure that we had impeccable manners and only the neatest of handwriting. One day after show and tell she sat us all in a circle on the mat. From her desk she withdrew a packet of Arnott's Chocolate Teddy Bear biscuits. She opened the packet with her wrinkly hands and proceeded to give a Chocolate Teddy Bear to every second person in the circle. I was one of the lucky few to receive one.

Mrs Hoare then looked at us rather sternly and told us what we wanted to do with our biscuit. To my six-year-old brain there was only one obvious option. I ate it. All the other children who got a biscuit sat there gleefully licking their chocolately fingers while those who didn't looked rather mournful and wondered what they'd done wrong. When all the biscuits were consumed, Mrs Hoare gave us her trademark glare and then yelled at everyone who got a biscuit, for not sharing with those who didn't. And she yelled LOUD.
It wasn't a very classic teaching method that Mrs Hoare employed, but boy did it work. I have always shared since.

July 13, 2010

snooze


I loathe getting up in the morning. I absolutely hate it. Every morning when my phone belts out "Haven't Met You Yet" by Michael Buble at 7:25 I slam my palm down on it and groan. No matter how early I go to bed of a night I am never ready to leave my deliciously warm bed when I need to. Unless that time is about 1.30 in the afternoon. I just hate mornings. Full stop. There have been a few instances in my sixteen years of life when I have been up early. Like, waking-up-at-4am-to-get-to-the-airport-on-time and the other Saturday when I had to get up at six to get to work on time. These incidents just about killed me. The early morning airport trips I can manage as there is always that little flutter of excitement for the journey ahead as I get dressed through bleary eyes. But working at 7.30am, even though it was a one off, was awful.

It is a proven fact that teenagers need lots of sleep. Twelve hours in fact. But, because of hormones or whatever, we cannot physically get to sleep til 11pm or later. So that means that when we get to sleep at 11.30, we would not just prefer, but NEED, to sleep til that time the next day. Teenagers need to sleep. Especially me. I am one of those people who need plenty of sleep otherwise I become a complete wreck. So if I have not had enough shut-eye I will probably become a mixture of "I'll bite your head off" or "Boo-hoo, stop teasing me!" My family knows not to say anything to me in the morning, besides a friendly hello, until I've had my shower and breakfast.

I like to think I am getting better at it. I can force myself out of bed, into my slippers and trudge into the kitchen to get my Coco-Pops better than I used to – but it still kills me a little inside. It is just not in my DNA to be up early. I inherited it from my Mum who hates getting up too, rather than my Dad who is always out of bed by seven. But if I sound bad in the morning department, you should meet my friend. We’ve been friends for seven years and every sleepover we ever have had I’m always up first, and I definitely know not to even try and wake her up.

The thing about mornings is that you should never set your favourite song as your alarm, because it will guarantee to make you absolutely hate it.