tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35916248675410610502024-03-14T01:25:17.580-07:00The Pineapple TartThe Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.comBlogger284125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-8106427888798649622012-01-09T01:20:00.001-08:002012-01-09T01:23:27.619-08:00New Year Resolution<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9azQcVp_LMWhwCGbugDrM_W84mFNbqeeIfdUQEISmfAiKataiowzVCt2TG9YDuud_Q5J0guiOvwF0gPdA_9tLwQQDX71qqZKo0i4pkBYuOMLnZWZngsRdMDswhvHtPHIc2Vhiv73SQkw/s1600/NYR.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 319px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9azQcVp_LMWhwCGbugDrM_W84mFNbqeeIfdUQEISmfAiKataiowzVCt2TG9YDuud_Q5J0guiOvwF0gPdA_9tLwQQDX71qqZKo0i4pkBYuOMLnZWZngsRdMDswhvHtPHIc2Vhiv73SQkw/s400/NYR.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695559894724196338" /></a><br /><br />So if you don't hear from me again... You can consider our account closed.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-91969667447040314152011-12-28T04:43:00.000-08:002011-12-28T05:18:46.993-08:00Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-M7J4Oe8d0_ULI2kjqP9Fdkrwi_bU3GWqCf1ueo0dgMmE9DHAXqC5lsQCI1HDWBzUtYlMFVL8_2gMCJdPs1-fYaLZcBJLsD4AQHrYfLRD2gHvaXBWikHoq5rAFIEa0sHZooL1tsOD0Q/s1600/tiger+mom.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 194px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-M7J4Oe8d0_ULI2kjqP9Fdkrwi_bU3GWqCf1ueo0dgMmE9DHAXqC5lsQCI1HDWBzUtYlMFVL8_2gMCJdPs1-fYaLZcBJLsD4AQHrYfLRD2gHvaXBWikHoq5rAFIEa0sHZooL1tsOD0Q/s400/tiger+mom.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691159740022081106" /></a><br />The most hysterical part of this tongue-in-cheek memoir of extreme parenting is when Amy Chua discovers the existence of Dog IQ rankings. Amy feels 'nauseated' when she discovers family pet Coco, a cute Samoyed, who attends Doggy Kindergarten classes - ranks only 33rd for breed intelligence ...<br />Amy refuses to believe Coco might just be an average dog - not fit to be part of a dog sniffing team - so she scours the internet till she finds some research which states 'the Samoyed surpasses other breeds in determination, focus and endurance...'<br />She writes: 'My spirits soared. For me, this was the perfect combination of qualities. If the only issue was a stubborn, disobedient streak, that was nothing I couldn't handle.'<br />A couple of nights later she's having yet another row with husband Jed who thinks she's pushing their two daughters too hard - the Chinese parenting method insists on hours of music each day, no sleepovers, no playdates, no TV, straight A grades - the house is full of tension, there is no breathing space... <br />And Amy flashes back at him: "What dreams do you have for Sophia or for Lulu? Do you ever think about that? What are you dreams for Coco?"The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-59626367476304321992011-12-26T07:16:00.000-08:002011-12-26T07:20:22.836-08:00BC:ADThis was the moment when Before<br />turned into After, and the future's<br />Uninvented timekeepers presented arms.<br /><br />This was the moment when nothing<br />Happened. Only a dull peace<br />Sprawled boringly over the earth.<br /><br />This was the moment when even energetic Romans<br />Could find nothing better to do<br />Than counting heads in remote provinces.<br /><br />And this was the moment<br />When a few farm workers and three<br />Members of an obscure Persian sect<br /><br />Walked haphazard by starlight straight<br />Into the kingdom of heaven.<br /><br />U.A. FanthorpeThe Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-86124990564774883312011-12-26T01:12:00.000-08:002011-12-26T07:26:02.047-08:00Peace On Earth<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdrxsKaCK5xxTaF0pdGdoYDS70ekBvkHg9NpKiaGx9sSTZVwIE39RkKCnbv_pdFUEEfYefgzpxTWKJM1uYbUORFuQmK0ag5Y6jm-FOIm4SEqLVA9MLPEjupTcL_IOzpFAhS7M5o7nxJ4/s1600/christmas+2011+024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdrxsKaCK5xxTaF0pdGdoYDS70ekBvkHg9NpKiaGx9sSTZVwIE39RkKCnbv_pdFUEEfYefgzpxTWKJM1uYbUORFuQmK0ag5Y6jm-FOIm4SEqLVA9MLPEjupTcL_IOzpFAhS7M5o7nxJ4/s400/christmas+2011+024.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690365572250735442" /></a><br />Who could ever have guessed that Monopoly - a game of ruthless property grabbing - would bring peace to the Tinsley household at Christmas? Once Nick established the ground rules (backstab and cheat all you like but no biting or kicking your siblings) the children played without rowing for <em>hours</em> - while I peeled Brussel Sprouts.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-32276139636673478402011-12-22T03:18:00.000-08:002011-12-22T03:32:39.073-08:00Badminton<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEzdyjjqtShYXc0VOcnimmN20kaabiRR5EcVStMlf4VGOyg9tz-C5Uty6zaxixhxE5GzOF6SWGXDctuZUcKW3CHjs7IKE56kk0hiZHlkjjwKo0dDf8FMHlmAjruPGbk3ZmIQeSPLKRBo/s1600/badminton+2011+002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEzdyjjqtShYXc0VOcnimmN20kaabiRR5EcVStMlf4VGOyg9tz-C5Uty6zaxixhxE5GzOF6SWGXDctuZUcKW3CHjs7IKE56kk0hiZHlkjjwKo0dDf8FMHlmAjruPGbk3ZmIQeSPLKRBo/s400/badminton+2011+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688914178750481458" /></a><br />Since when did badminton become a risk sport? When I returned from the grocery shopping the kids were playing together; three of the four had riding hats on and the fourth had a sulky expression.<br />"What happened?" <br />They spoke up in unison. They said: "Florence attacks us when she misses the shuttlecock."The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-74451767665817116892011-12-19T07:04:00.000-08:002011-12-19T08:05:30.532-08:00Charlotte's Web<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA6l5FheaLkug9aGDBoWCszd3km90aUeR2PSziOlT4zFm25lrPd9e4PdLPadGkR6PU3ki0SqAwCm-5lZUKok0nmMH_futR31Rq06NNH2HCNt3Y3vYIUIlhgWdl6ND0xFQ9lMLojnt09U/s1600/charlottes+web.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 115px; height: 115px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA6l5FheaLkug9aGDBoWCszd3km90aUeR2PSziOlT4zFm25lrPd9e4PdLPadGkR6PU3ki0SqAwCm-5lZUKok0nmMH_futR31Rq06NNH2HCNt3Y3vYIUIlhgWdl6ND0xFQ9lMLojnt09U/s400/charlottes+web.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687856542438930178" /></a><br />It doesn't surprise me that Charlotte's Web is almost 60 years old. A children's book that deals with the dark side of farming wouldn't get past most editors now-a-days. We live in an urban world now - there are a dozen degrees of separation between fluffy farm animals and prepackaged meat. <br />And yet this story of a runt who is rescued from slaughter by a bloodthirsty spider who weaves 'some pig' in her web to save him - then dies after hatching her egg sac -is a literary classic. It has sold 45 million copies and been translated into 23 languages. <br />How reassuring to realise that innocent children can unquestioningly accept the life cycle of birth, reproduction and death - it's adults who have problems with itThe Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-1648921948131334772011-12-15T00:55:00.000-08:002011-12-15T02:08:36.451-08:00The Apple and the Tree<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkDGkjrC9yJa6ZTWl-lm-WgkMoVjvEJRdJokjqKPoVCTFhxPH2BfqCH6-AenDbO7PS4aDtS4MF5pd8vdp3ULZnT4abURy5llasAExzNz3gv8vW9y7Kq_hUaA8GYSAH6Mc_3a93YKfRjn4/s1600/IMG_0812.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkDGkjrC9yJa6ZTWl-lm-WgkMoVjvEJRdJokjqKPoVCTFhxPH2BfqCH6-AenDbO7PS4aDtS4MF5pd8vdp3ULZnT4abURy5llasAExzNz3gv8vW9y7Kq_hUaA8GYSAH6Mc_3a93YKfRjn4/s400/IMG_0812.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686290464132689954" /></a><br />Tonight was the School Winter Concert - it's always fab and so terrifically popular the parents of performers are allowed two tickets only. <br />No tickets came home with Beatrice (our singer) so I went into the school to investigate. <br />The choir mistress handed me a large biscuit tin. "All the consent forms are in there. Kids who brought back consent forms got tickets." <br />Well, in truth I couldn't remember if I'd signed a consent form or not. I have forms stuck under my nose every day - "Sign that Mummy" - and I sign. <br />Humbly I said: "Please may I sign a form now?"<br />She shook her head. "Too late. All the tickets have been allocated." <br />I tried not bluster. I said: "It doesn't matter if I don't have a seat. Please may I stand at the back?" <br />"Security have been told to turn away those who don't have a ticket."<br />The picture became a bit clearer. "You expect me to drop Beatrice off, then sit in the car and wait for her?"<br />After school I searched Beatrice's schoolbag. The consent form was there. She'd forgotten to hand it in.<br />I said: "Luvvie, there's no place in the school choir for the vague!"<br />She looked confused. She said: "I thought the choir was for singing?"The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-85844024556504380792011-12-08T08:17:00.000-08:002011-12-17T21:45:42.194-08:00Randy Old Man<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUXWLrPPyWtK4iaXsX07XC5U5jkn4Eaiv6GgwrofjC59vy6nYvcMrarDuCDvU9BKIQCZpjtreS8c5AjuB6c8d7r5IpNNcRucWx0ZUrqWrHC_0E7huKaVdPDTC8FrefgEBbHP1LDfiv7jQ/s1600/December+2011+026.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUXWLrPPyWtK4iaXsX07XC5U5jkn4Eaiv6GgwrofjC59vy6nYvcMrarDuCDvU9BKIQCZpjtreS8c5AjuB6c8d7r5IpNNcRucWx0ZUrqWrHC_0E7huKaVdPDTC8FrefgEBbHP1LDfiv7jQ/s400/December+2011+026.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687340431019387442" /></a><br />Sahara's at least 21 - in horse years that makes him a very old man. He suffers the aches and pains of old age: his back legs are stiff, he can't bend his neck to the left without groaning, he needs built up shoes to keep standing. <br />For a month we've been gently stretching and flexing - already he's working a beautiful outline; he floats over the ground at a trot... <br />Last night, for a brief crazy moment, he forgot he was an old man - he fancied a night with the girls. He jumped the post and rails fence that separates the geldings' paddock from the mares...<br />Perhaps I should say that he <em>tried </em> to jump it...<br />This morning the grooms found him straddled - hindlegs with the geldings, forelegs with the mares, and his abdomen horribly bruised where the pole had cut into it till he was rescued.<br />"Silly old fellow," I told him.<br />He rubbed his head ruefully against me. He knows he's been rather silly. But there's a gleam in his eye which suggests that he might just try it again.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-84913965454739396002011-11-28T23:25:00.000-08:002011-11-28T23:53:21.507-08:00Middle Age Spread #2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXf0Zqdw-mt5qZkRhMG7U2E4WaBi1H8HTlw6viVUDVix_ad3nVm-d4tZmRSCBPoO9Ng__SAH28gKq3JhTt5_SYMiml1VDfxGj8EeNjISxVu5kFgu9JN9_CE9Mx4yFvx4nwVHxgompnqU/s1600/OverweightREX_468x313.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXf0Zqdw-mt5qZkRhMG7U2E4WaBi1H8HTlw6viVUDVix_ad3nVm-d4tZmRSCBPoO9Ng__SAH28gKq3JhTt5_SYMiml1VDfxGj8EeNjISxVu5kFgu9JN9_CE9Mx4yFvx4nwVHxgompnqU/s400/OverweightREX_468x313.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680322071954375426" /></a><br />For seventeen years since we met, Nick has lusted after my body - my shoulders, my legs, my symmetrical eyebrows - <br />"You're such a builder," I told him. "Why can't you love me for my beautiful mind?"<br />Be careful of what you wish for....<br />Since the onset of middle age spread (and it's NOT my imagination) I have noticed a subtle shift in the content of Nick's compliments. Finally he has started to love me for my mind.<br />And I don't mind telling you I don't like it at all.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-77703824928426056282011-11-23T07:09:00.000-08:002011-11-23T07:47:48.827-08:00A Sara Crewe Moment<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_rY1_QRqn1NJrW-par8l4JIykVBX1Mideemohgud30adHN3HIiq5BlSc7AzWq7Eqwbgfz7QYmEWlLy2rWduh4OxZ0CygmYWbsOP-HdwpipUL6EIKR_wRHe9EWB6X_00VGv9eO7W-9CA/s1600/princess+on+a+pony.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_rY1_QRqn1NJrW-par8l4JIykVBX1Mideemohgud30adHN3HIiq5BlSc7AzWq7Eqwbgfz7QYmEWlLy2rWduh4OxZ0CygmYWbsOP-HdwpipUL6EIKR_wRHe9EWB6X_00VGv9eO7W-9CA/s400/princess+on+a+pony.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678210944946339378" /></a><br />My favourite part of A Little Princess is when Sara Crewe, stripped of her fabulous riches and made to work as a servant, meets a street urchin less well off than herself. And even though Sara is hungry she gives her a roll of warm bread to eat. <br />At Pony Club last week Octavia and Alice fell off when their bold ponies bolted. This week only Octavia turned up in time for their lesson. I gave her a very safe pony - to help her regain her confidence. When Alice finally arrived, only Coco, the bolter was left to ride.<br />Octavia spoke up and said: "Give Alice my pony. She's more frightened than me. I'm frightened too but I will ride Coco." <br />When Coco bolted this week, the little Princess kept her seat.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-23957511067334187262011-11-22T14:47:00.000-08:002011-11-22T15:09:50.610-08:00Groundhog Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4o8uqkgS3aV1UHXqUBUsUO-ZyNezsKBSODSGkKijj2n0KEczgt2CJAqmGNwbwKXpkaF0JUuoQShZB1_jnbcktR2DzijpWR7v5C7v_VvfO4KeIUqTCesSB7fp66oI8L_dubNp4bQheyA/s1600/imagesCAB4RPXF.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 116px; height: 114px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4o8uqkgS3aV1UHXqUBUsUO-ZyNezsKBSODSGkKijj2n0KEczgt2CJAqmGNwbwKXpkaF0JUuoQShZB1_jnbcktR2DzijpWR7v5C7v_VvfO4KeIUqTCesSB7fp66oI8L_dubNp4bQheyA/s400/imagesCAB4RPXF.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677959916484228626" /></a><br />Teaching pony club was always a challenge but now it's an impossible challenge. Because tonight I realised I'm repeating myself and that's always fatal with me. Tonight I looked at the nervous wee faces of the children, and the expectant faces of their parents and the stoic faces of the ponies and I thought "Groundhog Day Help!!"<br />Last year when I started to teach there were also nervous wee children and expectant parents and stoic ponies, but then I was fresh to the challenge. I encouraged the children, impressed the parents, and loved and petted the ponies. <br />But I'm not able to do it again.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-75108895151262739852011-11-21T03:54:00.000-08:002011-11-21T04:18:04.787-08:00Sleep Paralysis<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1QQ8d6G3OkikM7L6dhkz-GLqkpNdYKFAIYOcpYtcIV5HczjfM1jfba_nYvXEshpViHdMhpQ5KVzq0VnrG05TbpydA-bcfMC2GhNfv5KLPYHp3RWgM2cwL9lc6wUHgLe8R7P3yFwkU9Q/s1600/fussli_nightmare-300x243.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1QQ8d6G3OkikM7L6dhkz-GLqkpNdYKFAIYOcpYtcIV5HczjfM1jfba_nYvXEshpViHdMhpQ5KVzq0VnrG05TbpydA-bcfMC2GhNfv5KLPYHp3RWgM2cwL9lc6wUHgLe8R7P3yFwkU9Q/s400/fussli_nightmare-300x243.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677416601775557810" /></a><br />Last night as I slept, a tall heavy man, dressed in black, with a knife in his hand pulled open the windows and entered our bedroom. He stood silhouetted against the street light. I needed to scream - because I was frightened and I wanted to frighten him off. But my screams were caught in my throat. I tried and tried to make noise and eventually I woke myself up. And realised it was a dream.<br />It is said (and I quote)<em>'Sleep Paralysis is possibly a hereditary disorder in which one experiences very frightening seconds or minutes of total body paralysis with little respiration and eye movements. The victim in this state feels awake, but cannot move or speak. In addition to the immobility, common symptoms include feeling choked or suffocated, hearing strange noises like footsteps and voices, seeing beings or dark shadows, and feeling an existance of someone in the room. Although these symptoms often direct the victims to believe in ghosts, mistransmission of neural signals in the brain causes Sleep Paralysis. When a person sleeps, his brain sends signals to inhibit any muscle contraction. If he comes into consciousness before the brain sends signals to activate muscle contraction, he cannot move his body, and consequently, become "paralyzed". </em><br />It is said drinking wine before bed doesn't help. It's worse when you're tired and stressed. <br />It is said sleep paralysis can't kill you. <br />That's good to know.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-62575754492325970142011-11-17T00:43:00.000-08:002011-11-17T01:07:55.288-08:00There Was A Little Girl<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-qotd0fOZAvkW8-2-IBfR2L9sCb0rBbSf-K3cAeByrvOSDx9Ssvqcb2_AFZ-b9pZ95g3HMhd-zDeeRHeph9owJ3iIKyD4V66lH8YwOtbAufdoS99UYECDynAOWFCfqZleZ8sTwnRAT4/s1600/girlwithacurl_willcox.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 127px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-qotd0fOZAvkW8-2-IBfR2L9sCb0rBbSf-K3cAeByrvOSDx9Ssvqcb2_AFZ-b9pZ95g3HMhd-zDeeRHeph9owJ3iIKyD4V66lH8YwOtbAufdoS99UYECDynAOWFCfqZleZ8sTwnRAT4/s400/girlwithacurl_willcox.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675884234347386626" /></a><br />THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL <br />by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow <br />There was a little girl, <br />Who had a little curl, <br />Right in the middle of her forehead. <br />When she was good, <br />She was very, very good, <br />But when she was bad, she was horrid.<br /><br />I know this little girl. She lives in my house. Sweetest child in the world on her good days, but anaemic and easily tired and by the end of the school week, she's a venomous demon. Picks fights with her brother and sisters. Would argue a black cow was white. Yet though she tries everyone's patience I can't say I've ever been tempted to resort to the poem's conclusion:<br /><br />Her mother...<br />she did spank her most emphatic.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-29848395324408851262011-11-16T00:55:00.000-08:002011-11-16T05:08:22.441-08:00What Doesn't Kill You #2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknPhOdF5QvtahP3LwhPV2LaL-_6DplBL-0FgQMnIfyk4Qdd-H0FUIX7hpeUnqd05eHn5cIT6uJXjADwCW1ppzqenu61ZH-00DhbV2-vFgWPvWmbTUHX1o-tOSyH64cr9s8hyphenhyphenSePdjHTg/s1600/bolting+pony.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknPhOdF5QvtahP3LwhPV2LaL-_6DplBL-0FgQMnIfyk4Qdd-H0FUIX7hpeUnqd05eHn5cIT6uJXjADwCW1ppzqenu61ZH-00DhbV2-vFgWPvWmbTUHX1o-tOSyH64cr9s8hyphenhyphenSePdjHTg/s400/bolting+pony.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675533505633579586" /></a><br />It's only the third week of pony club but tonight my absolute beginners were given an impossible challenge. The quiet kind horses they've been learning to trot were requisitioned for private lessons, leaving us the wily, experienced ponies.<br />I tried my best to explain that when it comes to horses small never means docile: ponies have mouths like iron bars: if you pull to stop, they will pull against you; tug of war with 200Kg. <br />The girls repeated walk halt transitions using their body weight and closing their thighs -<br />Then I let them loose on the obstacle course - paths to steer into, cones to bend round, three trotting poles in the middle...<br />Two feral cats growled in the dark - two ponies bolted bucking wildly - two girls held on for as long as they could - <br />Then green with fright, but with admirable pluck, they remouted and resumed the course. <br />Afterwards, they congratulated themselves: "Anne says we stayed on for <em>almost </em>as long as professional riders."The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-14052661836029044052011-10-27T01:09:00.000-07:002011-10-27T01:41:19.792-07:00No Parent Policy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsaFi-LCCD_H-0HLkY6LMIIV6siFuaOm30sOKz_LQIvAGcqEz-k5uzbCZCwW4cfbsBG3bZsDO_Yx3bxaxhmq6i7REAIqM3IKU9OdPb2WCCpNhlsVPfhY1tROkJItyE2mdhVjOxHdyIjo/s1600/bea+swim+gala.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsaFi-LCCD_H-0HLkY6LMIIV6siFuaOm30sOKz_LQIvAGcqEz-k5uzbCZCwW4cfbsBG3bZsDO_Yx3bxaxhmq6i7REAIqM3IKU9OdPb2WCCpNhlsVPfhY1tROkJItyE2mdhVjOxHdyIjo/s400/bea+swim+gala.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668088525989070722" /></a><br />My kids are in Swim Squad at school. We pay a fee for this privilege. We drive them to 6am sessions, and pick them up after training. <br />Today I tried to spend five minutes poolside admiring Rex and Bea before going on to a parent teacher meeting.<br />I was asked to leave the pool. <br />I was told: "We have a No Parent Policy at all our training sessions; in the past we have found parents have interrupted coaches during sessions and disrupted the training for all swimmers. Their focus quite rightly should be on the children and they should be able to coach without interference from the sidelines."<br />After I got over feeling hurt and insulted - I began to wonder if I should adopt the same brutal attitude to the pony club mums who stand paddock side shouting superfluous instructions during my teaching sessions? It would certainly make my life easier. <br />But then I realised the loser is not the mum but the kid. Kids love to see their mums watching - my two were trilled by my five second appearance - just enough time to wave to them - when I picked them up Bea asked: "Did you see I'm diving much better?" and Rex said: "Do you see I was the fastest in my lane?"The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-47234147808168356262011-10-26T00:19:00.001-07:002011-10-26T00:51:49.796-07:00Middle Age Spread<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMIE5nxcyzSxycetSUKuufm7OyrN4v0wd8L-X_kyhN9blWpcqsUp4CXxHNjAYS4nvJBRGjkbukhNjXu822hLZxwhglQxkkUbIw6i5slGyFab9JITEY7efb0GK78SbLoWuLPP2-TAs_uw/s1600/middle+age+spread.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMIE5nxcyzSxycetSUKuufm7OyrN4v0wd8L-X_kyhN9blWpcqsUp4CXxHNjAYS4nvJBRGjkbukhNjXu822hLZxwhglQxkkUbIw6i5slGyFab9JITEY7efb0GK78SbLoWuLPP2-TAs_uw/s400/middle+age+spread.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667699153794873202" /></a><br />For years I have been a thin girl - size 10 in most my clothes - and I just keep on wearing them season after season even though they're washed out and threadbare and faded - they fit and I like them and that's all matters....<br />Until the middle of August, 10 weeks ago, when I tried to fasten a faithful pair of jeans and they refused to meet at my waist. <br />I wasn't particularly worried - I was in Ireland and I was eating potatoes every day. And everyone knows if you eat lots of potatoes you start to look like a potato. I was confident when I returned to Bahrain, the weight was simply melt off.<br />Except it hasn't. My clothes still don't fit - inspite of pilates and riding, organic brown rice and teetotalism.<br />I never thought Middle Age Spread would arrive over night without fanfare or warning. I expected a slow creep of weight gain. And not for another ten years at least. <br />I'm emotionally attached to my faded, funky clothes -I don't want to replace them with elasticated waist bands and foundation garments and big knickers...<br />The bottom line is: I don't want to grow older.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-78947608874694580082011-10-25T05:04:00.000-07:002011-10-25T10:17:39.126-07:00Salmaniya Hospital<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWoligcW2oYTxH57EyapTAT1I_WGTQ9LgQBY3JmdhsverWMTWPa8lML8IJVrdaQJGnhSW2TOIWBt42hRsnSx55RD7jZWEnV0sjKqXD7liLepte1vHkouBHGwFRqtRxF-T8hCfYLhyphenhyphenjZE/s1600/bahrain-salmaniya-hospital-07_06_11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWoligcW2oYTxH57EyapTAT1I_WGTQ9LgQBY3JmdhsverWMTWPa8lML8IJVrdaQJGnhSW2TOIWBt42hRsnSx55RD7jZWEnV0sjKqXD7liLepte1vHkouBHGwFRqtRxF-T8hCfYLhyphenhyphenjZE/s400/bahrain-salmaniya-hospital-07_06_11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667462185039932098" /></a><br />I woke up with a hole in my retina, and sparkling floaters and blurred bits in my eye. I walked to Salmaniya Hospital - I was unfit to drive with my eye.<br />For six months Salmaniya Hospital has had controversial press coverage - medical staff were arrested and detained during the civil unrest in the Spring. I was a little bit worried the soldiers on the gate would think I was some sort of snooping reporter - come to hunt out a sensationalist story for one of the Great British papers - but I was ignored walking through. I wandered past Oncology and Kidneys and Maternity - I didn't know where I was going - <br />Finally I picked up the courage to ask a guard for directions. He pointed out where I should go. He advised me to jump the queue at Reception. <br />The Emergency Eye Clinic was busy and bustling. The staff were thorough, efficient and kind. I sat on a hard chair and waited my turn. Just like any other hospital, really.The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-17399190419075053342011-10-24T01:45:00.000-07:002011-10-24T02:24:50.943-07:00Modern Classics<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WyhkJqRFHhYVR5mDErE3383IKzZPTwOB_l_KIDjn4KGzBB5jSfEuTg9v5_p0a-rYZT7Ct3kp5ILeoDCui9Epg_nx5yOagoE119Ap_RS1m_8EHsS6iTacrRNqL8QCw0TAPoGWJHznORE/s1600/A+Little+Princess.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 115px; height: 115px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WyhkJqRFHhYVR5mDErE3383IKzZPTwOB_l_KIDjn4KGzBB5jSfEuTg9v5_p0a-rYZT7Ct3kp5ILeoDCui9Epg_nx5yOagoE119Ap_RS1m_8EHsS6iTacrRNqL8QCw0TAPoGWJHznORE/s400/A+Little+Princess.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666986650733909138" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Q49d3fM9UitEOj1hrkoshgU8zYSgS31k5WcWrHjIM0Gs-PxopzrPr4E5e4nY8br8RB-C5-cZgeFaXjVua08YqJYGLLl4d5obMDnRj1LCVxoEN6TTs_Jwx_2VejUvllzGkVhIMVm8KDA/s1600/Lemony+Snicket.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 115px; height: 115px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Q49d3fM9UitEOj1hrkoshgU8zYSgS31k5WcWrHjIM0Gs-PxopzrPr4E5e4nY8br8RB-C5-cZgeFaXjVua08YqJYGLLl4d5obMDnRj1LCVxoEN6TTs_Jwx_2VejUvllzGkVhIMVm8KDA/s400/Lemony+Snicket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666985997954108306" /></a><br />Can I recommend yesterday's Observer supplement: Reading With Kids Ages 8+? <br />The reason I know that the book list is good is that I have four non-reading kids - physical kids not cerebral - yet they've picked up and voluntarily read for themselves most of the books that are showcased. <br />Including Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events which they read with such relish I became alarmed! Why did my kids want to read gothic horror - with mutilated parents and a grotesquely evil uncle - are their lives too secure? uninspiring? <br />Then I realised that my favourite novel from childhood - A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett is almost the very same story - a cherished child whose comfortable lifestyle is cruelly removed by the death of a beloved parent - thrusting her into a brutal world - where despite her much reduced circumstances she manages to retain her integrity and kindness ...The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-8729351594883459262011-10-23T09:17:00.000-07:002011-10-23T10:06:32.185-07:00Painfree ParentingEleven years ago today I went to the hospital for an induction. <br />The booking-in midwife examined me. She said: "You're already 6cm dilated."<br />"Without pain? Is that possible?" I asked her. <br />She suggested I take a walk. I walked up and down (and down and up) while Nick read the paper. At lunchtime the consultant came to break my waters. <br />She said: "You're 9cm dilated."<br />"Without pain? Is that possible?" I asked her.<br /> *<br />Today Rex was 11. He wanted a party. <br />"Without pain? Is that possible?" I asked him.<br />He invited 14 footballer friends. They arrived in their runners with sunblock. Nick was the referee with a whistle. I took a video of them. They ran up and down the village pitch for an hour. When the game finished they drank only water. They were too hot and exhausted to eat. I put the video up on the TV. They watched the game highlights and chatted. They said: "Great party! Thanks for inviting me," when it was time to go homeThe Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-82055611900679343982011-09-26T03:38:00.000-07:002011-09-26T05:45:57.335-07:00Flogging A Dead horse<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZyeQZaK7QGh0sg26WYjRj6BDQhr5us7yOMp5OwUW9AqUPdiUPKpuPqBafHtY8NCIokB8Sw67rkFl776F9rOW4Rb2Ha45kO-Rdq7IF1UR50mfGUzPjzkyH-a_2oW2YEExIyyhzQyslCdo/s1600/tired+horse.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 112px; height: 61px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZyeQZaK7QGh0sg26WYjRj6BDQhr5us7yOMp5OwUW9AqUPdiUPKpuPqBafHtY8NCIokB8Sw67rkFl776F9rOW4Rb2Ha45kO-Rdq7IF1UR50mfGUzPjzkyH-a_2oW2YEExIyyhzQyslCdo/s400/tired+horse.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656617327895153026" /></a><br />There's a rule at the stable I ride at - if you want to queue-jump the livery waiting list you've got to allow your horse to be used in lessons. <br />"How many lessons?" I asked. <br />"Two lessons, three times a week. He'll be used for beginners - he's such a good horse..."<br />6 lessons with 6 beginners - pulling his mouth and and kicking his sides and sitting like bags of potatoes... <br />"I'll think about it," I said.<br />I started to make out a list: Those who wish to ride my horse: <br />a. will not jump him<br />b. no whips or spurs<br />3. must weigh less than 60kg <br />Then I thought of Black Beauty - valiant and noble and good. And treated so harshy by insensitive jockeys towards the end of his life.<br />I went back to the stables. I said: 'I'm sorry. The answer is No. "The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-62894653004876102042011-09-24T06:15:00.000-07:002011-09-24T09:51:03.231-07:00BIG SKOOL<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3Uk5EIHjJheBzh-4NausksK4DaGHw0Dny1lDPtBErOD2-aCV0D-XlvIdYRirQ0nxkxBL3a8osQmM9Hv0QjUKJYAop6FT1CpvMBE36RmgDIIuCQlFdj-LGgIcz83s-LThNToRk8Kg-Ao/s1600/newspaper.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 77px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3Uk5EIHjJheBzh-4NausksK4DaGHw0Dny1lDPtBErOD2-aCV0D-XlvIdYRirQ0nxkxBL3a8osQmM9Hv0QjUKJYAop6FT1CpvMBE36RmgDIIuCQlFdj-LGgIcz83s-LThNToRk8Kg-Ao/s400/newspaper.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655926315262612978" /></a><br />When Nick's sister started at convent grammar school thirty five years ago her parents were given the most incredibly useful advice from the Mother Superior- START BUYING A BROADSHEET NEWSPAPER AND ENCOURAGE YOUR DAUGHTER TO READ IT.<br />Not just for the Home and World News. Or the reviews of theatre and books. Not just for Business and Travel, Science, Technology and Nature.<br />But for the extensive, fantastic vocabulary...<br />Today Maud and I read together a World News story about Israeli diplomats airlifted out of Cairo after protests outside their embassy escalated into violence: <br />We struggled with 'diplomatic abyss', 'speaking on condition of anonymity', 'besieged building' and 'international obligations'. Then Maud remarked: "It's going to take me at least a week to read one newspaper, Mummy."The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-90195178140695929492011-08-14T04:12:00.000-07:002011-08-14T04:45:33.848-07:00The Lord is my Shepherd<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1ytUyUn84ErGenj4d55wyrLsvw9A-Swu-k8AEo7uG358kh5x7TSBvxd_ZhZ6R4suOcgeTkS8-XifjYCDqxM37XszdrVoo27ylvPpmv46Z08BCrtcLh3AEVUEV0S4t8smWYNI5oRdq84/s1600/good+shepherd.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 197px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1ytUyUn84ErGenj4d55wyrLsvw9A-Swu-k8AEo7uG358kh5x7TSBvxd_ZhZ6R4suOcgeTkS8-XifjYCDqxM37XszdrVoo27ylvPpmv46Z08BCrtcLh3AEVUEV0S4t8smWYNI5oRdq84/s400/good+shepherd.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640671835586001938" /></a>
<br />Maud (11) suffers from obsessional separation anxiety. She worries constantly that Nick or myself will be killed in a car or an aircraft - leaving her to cope alone with her Type 1 diabetes which has her walking a knife edge between life and death every day.She copes with her anxieties by comfort eating - which is probably the most dangerous thing a diabetic can do... (Diabetics who cannot control what they eat go blind and have feet amputated.)
<br />I believe in seeking professional advice.
<br />I sought audience with our minister.
<br />I explained Maud's dilemma.
<br />I asked him for help.
<br />I hoped he might offer to speak with Maud.
<br />Instead he referred me to Psalm 23 which starts: The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.
<br />I went home to the children. I said: "The reverend says if the Lord was my shepherd, I wouldn't worry so much about Maud..."
<br />There was silence.
<br />Then Bea said: "How can the Lord be your shepherd, Mummy? You are not a sheep." The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-23529537345460126252011-08-10T11:19:00.000-07:002011-08-10T12:27:02.296-07:00Dyslexia Does Not Mean Stupid<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Y0BEI-yjHb58MzP0TuRIlIV0P82AW9Sktbc18DEIdVAGo1ik9-3jeQQF4HHLGK1ISCDPGUH7w0PJDzR-KuiKZiOdx_kZKDf4DkYEtUT5lxiSuBURqTvCQiSQyAVBw079ErJ4bx488gk/s1600/imagesCAZGBZ21.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Y0BEI-yjHb58MzP0TuRIlIV0P82AW9Sktbc18DEIdVAGo1ik9-3jeQQF4HHLGK1ISCDPGUH7w0PJDzR-KuiKZiOdx_kZKDf4DkYEtUT5lxiSuBURqTvCQiSQyAVBw079ErJ4bx488gk/s400/imagesCAZGBZ21.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639309857018770130" /></a>
<br />My son Rex is a bright little boy - articulate, intelligent, and a born leader. He also suffers from mild dyslexia and receives learning support at his school in Bahrain.
<br />Should we have to move back to live in Northern Ireland I'd like Rex to go to the grammar school I went to. To get into the school requires the passing of an entrance test. The school has many pages on its website devoted to the admissions procedure - and the 'access arrangements' which ensure a child with mild dyslexia (like Rex) are given 25% extra time in the test - the same as he would expect to receive if sitting state exams such as GCSE or A Level.
<br />The school (naturally) requires an Educational Psycologist's report stating that Rex is dyslexic before they can give him the 25% extra time.
<br />The school has made it clear the assessment done on Rex in Bahrain is not enough to convince them my son is genuinely dyslexic. However, mysteriously, they have also said Rex cannot be assessed by an Educational Psychologist in NI just so he can sit the transfer test. (Why?)
<br />I phoned Education Board to seek their advice. The woman I spoke to suggested that if Rex was dyslexic he was probably <strong>too stupid </strong>to go to grammar school.
<br />Induge me with this list of Famous People with Dyslexia
<br />Mohammad Ali, Hans Christian Anderson, Beethoven, Alexander Graham Bell, Orlando Bloom, Napoleon Bonaparte, Sir Richard Branson, Erin Brockovich, George H.W. Bush,
<br />Julius Caesar, Prince Charles, Cher, Agatha Christie, Winston Churchill, Tom Cruise
<br />Charles Darwin, Walt Disney, Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Michael Faraday, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Henry Ford, Benjamin Franklin, Zsa Zsa Gabor,
<br />Galileo, Danny Glover, Vincent Van Gogh, Whoopi Goldberg, John Grisham, Woody Harrelson, Steven Hawkings, Tommy Hilfiger, Dustin Hoffman, Sir Anthony Hopkins, Magic Johnson, John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, Keira Knightley, John Lennon, Jay Leno, Carl Lewis, Steve McQueen, Michelangelo, Mozart, Jack Nicholson, Louis Pasteur
<br />General George Patton, Pablo Picasso, Edgar Allen Poe, Nelson Rockefeller, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Rodin, George C. Scott, Steven Spielberg, Sylvester Stallone, Jackie Stewart, Quentin Tarantino, Thomas Thoreau, Mark Twain, Jules Verne, Leonardo da Vinci, Robin Williams, Woodrow Wilson, Orville Wright, Wilbur Wright and William Butler Yeats.
<br />The only other thing these people have in common is that none of them has ever been educated in Northern Ireland.
<br />The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-40327411991284994112011-08-03T00:47:00.000-07:002011-08-03T01:28:51.110-07:00Diabetes Math<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4r9v5fw5zb4Z88YSgjl-0a21LnaBc5lY-ZUOl33-N2I65VWjLN62W2U_NybCb5VGUwgUimoVolWOW4rkt9ojMj2bcF1tDGULD9HpxbCKmkN-J34hgsW377DTZhyphenhyphenYt_TdC5nIBsVLTEs/s1600/Diabetes+Math.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4r9v5fw5zb4Z88YSgjl-0a21LnaBc5lY-ZUOl33-N2I65VWjLN62W2U_NybCb5VGUwgUimoVolWOW4rkt9ojMj2bcF1tDGULD9HpxbCKmkN-J34hgsW377DTZhyphenhyphenYt_TdC5nIBsVLTEs/s400/Diabetes+Math.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636543344103717698" /></a><br />Maud (11) has been learning how to manage her diabetes - the Northern Ireland way. <br />First we assume everything Maud eats comes out of a packet. She weighs the food she wants to eat. She reads the nutritional information on the side of the packaging to find out how many grams of CHO are in 100g of the foodstuff - then she calculates how many grams of CHO are in the bowl on the scales. (CHO is an abbreviation for carbohydrate)<br />Then using her ICR (Insulin Carbohydrate Ratio) she calculates how many units of insulin she needs to digest the CHO.<br />She checks her blood sugar (BS) by pricking her finger and feeding the blood into her blood sugar meter.<br />If her reading is higher than the recommended range she must calculate how much insulin she needs to bring it down - using her personalised ICF (Insulin Correction Factor).<br />She adds both insulin requirements together and shoots up before eating.<br />Good job Maud is good at maths.<br />Compare this to the Middle East way:<br />When Maud was diagnosed she was told: "You have type 1 diabetes. You will be given two injections a day. You will eat a low fat diet. You will eat organic wholewheat pasta and rice. You will not eat sweets or processed food."The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3591624867541061050.post-31885495304668044762011-08-01T11:08:00.000-07:002011-08-01T11:19:52.261-07:00Slieve Gallion<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqf8gk4BABA7PwAYhYj7f71_BdBzNy8Qy28yuRQONFl1p1eL2-GQ5M6ffkmdmtz0vl9MvfGXnQHN1G7Q-UNUSZi-ZOxLY72YUmg_J5Bc0U32K0k9w_KUiw_1F5L925uF18_3ihuKTQy4/s1600/087.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqf8gk4BABA7PwAYhYj7f71_BdBzNy8Qy28yuRQONFl1p1eL2-GQ5M6ffkmdmtz0vl9MvfGXnQHN1G7Q-UNUSZi-ZOxLY72YUmg_J5Bc0U32K0k9w_KUiw_1F5L925uF18_3ihuKTQy4/s400/087.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635953888221823106" /></a><br />Another fun day out in Northern Ireland and this time we're climbing Slieve Gallion. Such a lovely walk past foxgloves, ferns and fir trees in Iniscarn Forest Park, turn right at the pylons and climb, until we reach the heather on top. Hurrah! <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DLvotjtKXK4NbaPPxwUMiJvdfKyAzswWOkymcGL1JDBAO_tDavOu0kkaxLfzInvR-CnIUKg5hZfHun2lPQgtsMlIpbnCD_yA2HqFffabHpujmtktj7RhfU4714TRoRzqAhCBLs-M1qc/s1600/104.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DLvotjtKXK4NbaPPxwUMiJvdfKyAzswWOkymcGL1JDBAO_tDavOu0kkaxLfzInvR-CnIUKg5hZfHun2lPQgtsMlIpbnCD_yA2HqFffabHpujmtktj7RhfU4714TRoRzqAhCBLs-M1qc/s400/104.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635953022224725810" /></a>The Pineapple Tarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13010873204702734112noreply@blogger.com1