The over-arching theme (buzz word alert!) of Farm Girl’s learning this year is Who Am I?
It seemed the obvious place to start and so far we’ve explored appearance and family, location and favourite things, she’s even created her own mihi. It was time to dig a little deeper; cue Inside Out.
At the Union Homestead Preparatory School and Home for Colourful Thinkers, we’re never quite sure what will turn up during our set a task and retire to weed the garden/clean the paddock/trim the flight feathers on those pesky Houdini rooster chicks/you-get-the-idea timetable slot. Usually it’s thoughtful and on-task; often the work is well presented and grammatically correct, and sometimes she even indulges in a little augmentation and decoration. None of us were prepared for the depth of the response this particular template provoked, though; particularly when it came to red mist moments.
You see, it happens the thing that makes our Farm Girl angriest is the very same thing that’s had us fuming this week: people not listening.
On Wednesday, the hard copy of Farm Girl’s Certificate of Exemption (from a registered school) came through. Glory be and happy day, now the fun could start in earnest! A call to Te Kura (The Correspondence School) was put through; “Chocks away,” we yodelled (or words to that effect), “Action the application you have had for the last month (as suggested by you in order to cut down the waiting time), that magical time you earlier stipulated for getting down to the nitty gritty regarding her ORS funding and teacher aides (please no!) and the likes has arrived.”
But you all know where this is heading. Apparently what we were aiming to do (home school Farm Girl, paying Te Kura for the two core curriculum subjects, thus giving her enrolment in a registered school and ensuring she still has full entitlement to BLENNZ and her Resource Teacher: Vision) is not allowable. “In fact, my dear (that noise you hear is courtesy of The Milk Maid’s molars), it could be seen to be double-dipping.”
We’re going to leave it here…but not before we say, just whispered and not in any way confrontational, why didn’t they tell us that when they read our intentions in our two applications. The applications that took us an entire wet weekend to prepare and rehash and titivate and examine and rehash again because there may be a hint of ambiguity in there. Why didn’t they allow us to talk to someone in the know, the “my dear” lady for instance, when we emailed and telephoned, and telephoned and emailed asking for direction. Ah well, as I type our application is being shuffled around the rarefied air of progressively bigger wigs in an attempt to get a definitive ruling and, just quietly, we simply want to be left alone to get on with it. Like teaching Farm Girl in the way that best fits her needs, and lavishing a few final goatie cuddles on Miss Ulrika, who departs the Homestead tomorrow morning for her next adventure,
…all the while enjoying our super-funky new curtains.