Exam Time: Season 7, starring Tracy Alexander

I work from home most of the time. And I am mostly alone. Except in exceptional circumstances such as . . . exam season. It is, to clarify, my seventh public exam season. During this period I take on extra roles including taxi driver, nutritionist, supply teacher and negotiator of virtual landmines. There have been moments when I’d have rather been sitting in an office, far from the hothouse of data cramming, but being around and available when your kids are stressed is, of course, one of the privileges of flexible working. And I embrace it.

Being truly seasoned, I have tips. They may not be useful, or practical, or wise.

(There are ten, because there are always ten for alliterative purposes.)

1 A dog is invaluable

Dogs do not give you helpful advice. Dogs do not whisper about your chances. Dogs do not read your predictions. Dogs do not care about your revision timetable. Dogs lick your face. Only dogs understand what teenagers are going through.

(Warning: Dogs are for life, not just for exams.)

2 Less is more

There is too much talking. Parents have done exams themselves. They know everything. They want to tell you. This is all white noise. Talk less.

(Unless you’re discussing meal-planning for the day after the last exam, when eating breakfast, lunch and dinner in bed in front of Netflix is obligatory. Then more is more and more and more . . .)

All the words you need:

I love you.

Do you want a lift?

Do you have a bottle of water?

Don’t forget to leave your phone outside the room.

I love you.

3 Actions

Actions speak louder, and more intelligibly, than words.

Deliver, wordlessly, a hot drink or a tasty treat, a hug, or a gift*

*A stress toy, chocolate, or the pig from Moana are all top gifts.

(A Revision Guide is less appealing, but preferable to the course text book thanks to its relative size.)

4 Food and drink

Stock up on an abundance of both, nutritious and not nutritious.

Sugar is bad because of that up and down thing, but sugar is good because it tastes nice and makes people happy.

Exam mornings require easy to swallow slop.

Water all students as though they’re hydrangeas. Adrenalin starves the body of water. Dehydrated brains don’t work as well.

(It’s important for the support worker to eat delicious treats, and make the most of the units the government allows us.)

5 Rest breaks

Rest breaks are intervals between revising. They may vary in length, from most of the day to half an hour. (Less than half an hour is punctuation.)

Call me old-fashioned, but a rest break should involve something other than a screen. See 6) Exercise.

6) Exercise

The dog is the perfect excuse to get the examinee out of the house. In the absence of a dog, walk to the take-away. Walk to the bakery and buy cakes. Walk to a friend’s house.

Use those apps everyone has that count your steps and make a random minimum target for exam season . . . however small.

Even better, run, play tennis, skateboard . . . swim in the sea . . .

(Don’t eat, sleep, revise.

Also don’t check your phone, eat, check your phone, sleep, check your phone, revise, check your phone.)

7) Positivity

Exams are not the beginning or the end of the world. They’re exams. Some people do better than others. Some people work harder than others. Some people are tall and some people aren’t. Some people can remember every box on the periodic table and some can’t, and some don’t want to. Where you end up in life is about way more than a few capital letters next to a few subject names on a sheet of paper. Chill!

8 Mess

Who cares?

Leave the past papers, the scribbled-on A4 pages, the text books and the revision guides where they are. Scoop up the chocolate wrappers, the discarded drinks and the tissues. Repeat.

Abandon all ideas of personal space for the duration. 

9 Being asked for academic help . . .

Do not use the voice.

(I don’t know what the voice is, but I know not to use it. Knowing and doing are two different things.)

Do not use the word obvious.

10 Results

What’s done is done. Rejoice regardless. They’re young, and, as the lovely Mrs Gillman who taught all three of my wee ones used to say, “You’re a long time grown”.

 Tracy Alexander

@tmalexander
www.tracyalexander.co.uk

Year of the Cat - Eve Ainsworh

 

A few months ago I posted about my back problems. Oh the fun I was having then! Writing a few pages and then limping off my chair in agony, grumbling at the cat and eating biscuits to cheer myself up.

Quite quickly it dawned on me that my previous fantasies about the wonder of being able to sit and freely write at a computer was complete and utter rubbish. My daydreams had LIED to me. This was not an easy process. Writing was painful both mentally and physically and I was fed up. I moaned at the cat again, but he just looked at me – smug expression on his face - and pranced gracefully away.

Then, thankfully, after a few months of physio, lots of walking and a change of mattress – my back problems seemed to improve. I was happy. I finished book three with fewer problems. I was still eating biscuits.

But now I’m here and I have an entirely different issue.

It started with pain in my arm. Not triggered by typing, I hasten to add, but by kneading dough to make hot cross buns for 48 people. This is not something I recommend unless you have the arms of Popeye. Within weeks, the pain had spread to my neck and suddenly it felt as if I had a metal fist gripping the top of my spine. A metal fist that was plugged into mains electricity.

This is not nice at all.

It is especially not nice when all ‘looking down’ activity becomes so uncomfortable. So this includes writing, reading and completing my ‘which cat are you’ quizzes on Facebook. This is practically my entire day. I started grumbling at the cat again. I ate more biscuits.

The doctor was sympathetic, but realistic. “It’s your posture. It’s because you write.” She said with a sad smile. “Try shifting position. Move around. Get a massage.”

I shifted positions and I moved regularly, but my head was still as stiff as the piece of hot cross bun I found discarded down the back of my sofa. I liked the idea of a massage, but this cost money. Of course, like most writers I’m not exactly rolling in spare cash so this wasn’t a viable option. Not unless my kids wanted to eat stale hot cross buns that day…

My husband tried, bless him. Well, he put his hands around my neck.

I think it was an attempt at a massage…

I started to grumble at the cat again. And then I watched as the cat uncurled itself carefully from his coiled position. I watched him stretch gently front paws and back. Then he tipped his head, licking the back of his neck – each movement fluid and with care. The cat does this several times a day. As did my dog. They get themselves into the tightest, weirdest positions and then they stretch out of it.

A lightbulb went off. Ok the lightbulb blew, but I wasn’t changing that – not with my neck.

I started to watch some Youtube videos, some basic Yoga moves and followed some of the simpler ones. Now, every morning and evening I stretch and after a typing session, I work on my shoulders and neck. And it’s helping. The cat even looks at me with a kind ‘I told you so’ expression on his face. Either that or he needs worming again.

 

 

I might even treat myself to a Yoga class soon.

I can use the money I saved in biscuit consumption….

 

Eve Ainsworth is the author of Crush and 7 Days (Scholastic)  7 Days was nominated for the 2015/16 Carnegie Medal and was winner of the Dudley Teen Prize and FAB Books Prize 2016