Oh, the wind!
As a teacher, I know that it is no myth that the wind has tendencies to send children loopy. I’ve seen it all before- the bedraggled hair, the flimsy grey trousers flapping about the legs, the ‘I can’t walk normally so I’ll pretend I’m an astronaut on the moon’ shuffle to the line at the end of play. Back in the warm depths of the classroom with whiteboard ready and lesson plan to hand, there really is no point in trying to stick to the timetable. I know, let’s write a poem about the wind!
Because the wind takes over. The children are exciteable, hungry for more extreme weather, too restless for normal work. They chatter, they fidget, they play with each other’s hair. Some even take to rolliing on the carpet or diving across it, or throwing pencils around on it. Well, I’ve seen that happen in other classrooms.
So, I know all about the wind sending children over the edge, or ‘bonkers’ as I like to put it. But my question is this: how does my eleven month old son know that this is how chidren must behave?
Last night he went to bed on nothing more than a bowl of porridge and half a soya yogurt. I suppose an empty belly may possibly have woken him at ten-thirty, but what on earth woke him at eleven, eleven-thirty, twelve, twelve-thirty, etc, etc.
It rattled, it shook and it ripped around the house. I loathed the pretty wind chimes I’d hung outside and I cursed the fences that creaked and the gates that banged. Our household did not sleep last night. The children even rose from their beds with hair sticking out in small clumps, as though they had been out there, walking on the moon all night.
This morning my daughter and I played a game in the car: who can spot the most things that have been blown down in the night. She won, because I was too busy trying to keep my eyes open with matches.