Expectations from tutors and examiners suddenly rise, you’re living in a new place away from mom and dad, and you’ve got to navigate a whole new world called adulthood.

For many teenagers, independence is a hurdle that can trip you up if you’re not ready for it.

The Adult Education School, in Dundonald Street, Hamilton, helps its graduates bridge the gap between high school and beyond through its college preparation programme.

Learners are given guidance on processes like selecting a degree course, filling out applications and sitting entry exams.

Yet according to programme director Thaao Dill, one of the most important parts of college preparation is learning how to think and act for yourself.

“The primary difference between secondary and post-secondary education is the level of independent agency that is required,” Mr Dill said.

“For the first time in a student’s life, they will be responsible for their relationship with their place of education.”

In school, if you fall behind on your work, a teacher will usually try to intervene, often by getting the parent involved.

“At that level, their primary goal is to get you to transition forward,” Mr Dill said. “So, they are very likely to offer you opportunities to make up the work, bring things together in a more generous way, just to make it as easy as possible for you to get from one year to the next.”

That won’t happen at college or university.

“They’re not calling you out or ringing your parents,” Mr Dill said. “They’re just not. All the correspondence is directly between the student and the school.

“For many young people, that’s hard. Not because they are flawed or damaged or something’s wrong with them – just because it’s new, it’s something that they very well never dealt with previously. And that can be really hard.”

It’s vital that you handle this correctly.

“If you don’t hit the deadline, maybe you can successfully negotiate an extension with your lecturer, but it’s not guaranteed,” Mr Dill said. “You can’t involve your parent to do that negotiation for you.”

And what if you fail class?

“You have to make up for that credit deficiency in one of several different ways. But to investigate those ways, you’ve got to seek out that support independently. Your parent can’t call your advisor or your counsellor.”

College preparation at AES

The Adult Education School currently has about 90 learners, about half of whom are aged 16 to 18.

The school encourages learners to act independently from day one, but this intensifies in the college preparation programme for its graduates. More than 20 AES graduates have passed through the college preparation programme so far.

“Our college preparation programme is designed to help each learner navigate the bureaucratic obligations around, applying, being accepted and registering for classes at Bermuda College or for any post-secondary study,” Mr Dill said.

“That means nailing down exactly what the requirements are for admission. How to be accepted, how to register for classes, how to choose your degree programme, your interests and needs, identifying transfer pathways for further studies.”

For learners heading to Bermuda College, that includes a site visit to experience the resources on campus.

Mr Dill said: “We basically function as their own personal guidance and prep students for transition to college.”

It’s not just about filling out forms and figuring out where the library is.

“It’s also just the general independence that people are encouraged to have while they’re here,” Mr Dill said.

“We need them to think of solutions on their own. That’s the whole point: to help the young people become more comfortable, to accept the premise that, ‘I am in charge of my life.’

“They can’t wait for some grownup to tell them what to do. They have to make choices on their own behalf, for their own reasons.

“It means supporting students in getting more accustomed to genuine independence early on in their educational journey.”

Parents, be bold

Encouraging independence can be challenging for parents.

“Our kids are the most valuable part of our lives and success for them is non-negotiable,” Mr Dill said.

“Success must happen, which means that we tend to step in to prevent them from making mistakes, particularly in school. This is helpful in the short term, but can be quite counterproductive over time, especially as they get older.”

One solution – which goes against the grain for many parents – is to allow their children to make mistakes.

Mr Dill explained: “Let them make mistakes when they’re young, because the consequences can be compensated for much easily than when they get older.

“If you miss your application deadline when you’re 17, you have to wait another four months for another chance. That’s annoying, but let’s say you’re 35 and applying for a job that you need to feed yourself and you miss that deadline. That’s much, much more consequential. So let the students make mistakes.”

For more information about the Adult Education School, email [email protected]

The post Learn to think for yourself appeared first on RG Magazines.

They may be the most demanding bosses I’ve ever had, but come on, they’re also the cutest. Often, literally, at the same time. I mean, who else could have a mini breakdown because they (checks notes) don’t know where their crayons are (in the craft drawer), insist they haven’t seen them in ages (was colouring before bed last night) and that it is therefore somehow my fault that they didn’t see the pouch right in front of them (yeah, I totally made them blind).

Then, of course, two seconds later they curl up against me and tell me I’m the best mommy they have ever had. Yes, I do realise I’m their only mother, but the sentiment is real. Exhausting, but adorable.

Parenting is hard most days, rewarding most days and so very tiring all of the days. There are times when I feel like me and daddy are starring in one of those kidnapping movies, where the captors are a bit nuts, but since we have Stockholm syndrome it’s all good.

Like any demanding job, it’s crucial that we maintain some work-life balance. Or should I say kids-me balance? Either way, while we pour so much energy into taking care of the loves of our lives, we need to remember to keep some of that energy.

Being Supermom is no good if you ignore the “me” part of your job. As in, me needs some time away from those terrors. Did I say terrors? Obviously, I meant angels. Yep, angel faces and voices, drill sergeant attitudes.

After three kids I have learned to carve out some time for myself. With everything we do for them, taking a moment to breathe is something we absolutely need to do for ourselves. If only just to make sure we have the energy to jump back into the ring. Round Two!

Of course, what that looks like differs for each person. For me, I like to curl up with a book, build some Lego, do diamond painting or even find an hour or two to do some pampering, like a massage or mani-pedi.

Of course, it takes some time-wrangling but getting buffed, body-wise, can be just the thing that lets me have the patience to not tear my hair out when I have asked the little one to hurry up and get her shower… for the fifth time that night.

That’s another one, a salon visit with a mini head massage feel like a fair trade for all the times I do actually pull my hair out.

Seriously, we only have so much gas in the tank. So, an integral part of taking care of those beautiful and amazing tiny ones is making sure we keep the engine going. We can’t give more to them if we don’t also remember to give some to ourselves. It makes us better parents and better humans in general.

So, the next time you have to start the countdown to three (two… two and quarter… don’t make me say three!), start a second countdown to your “you time”. Set the timer, lock yourself in the bathroom (after the munchkin’s long- awaited shower), and just take a breath. Because being rested and refueling truly is the best thing you can do for those tiny dictators — and yes, the crayons were in the craft drawer after all. Fancy that.

The post Diary of a Frazzled Mom appeared first on RG Magazines.

It’s a fairly new word used to describe people like me, whose brains don’t fit in the mainstream definition of “normal” but, weirdly enough, by the same definition it actually also describes those brains that do “fit”.

Which is pretty awesome if you think about it. We are all connected by our differences.

But at its very core, it is the concept that all brains work differently… some slightly differently, some more so. I’m in the more so bucket. And I’ll be honest, when I was finally diagnosed with adult ADHD, I nearly cried. For so many reasons.

On the one hand, I was so utterly relieved to finally have a real explanation for why I often felt so lost. Why I found it so hard to connect. Those tears were tears of relief.

For most of my life, I was told that I could easily lose my head if it wasn’t attached to me. This was supposedly a joke, yeah, but my brain took it as a criticism. And hey, let’s be honest, it probably was. I’d lose track of the words and my thoughts mid-sentence, so I learned how to “discretely” have key phrases to give myself time to try to remember what in the world I was actually saying. And let me assure you, I did not always succeed at this!

I started so many projects and often “failed” at finishing them. I’ve never seen the end of a checklist, but lord do I love making them. I mean, it’s really the only point during the day that I am completely organised. Procrastination is my middle name but I hate the absolute debilitating fear that both comes from knowing I haven’t finished the task I set for myself but also from the idea of the task itself (so therefore I cannot even bring myself to restart it).

I get distracted by the smallest things, which is not usually a peculiar sentence, but the sheer ease in which my mind slides away from a thought is astounding really. My brain moves so fast at times that I’m about ten sentences deep into a conversation with one of my colleagues by the time I have managed to get the word hello out in the morning. I have what I call “foot in mouth” syndrome where, if something inappropriate could be said in any situation, it is definitely going to be me that does it.

Knowing why I had all these struggles, finally, truly was a relief. I may be a dweeb but I’m a dweeb for a reason.

But on the other hand, when I was diagnosed and actually “knew” there was something wrong with me, I cried for that reason too. I know, I know, there’s nothing actually wrong wrong with me but initially, I fell into the deep well of depression. I know that it is cool to say that we all love to be unique but honestly, at the time? I would have quite happily been a little less unique!

But in the end, I actually realised that I am a superhero.

No, I’m not really but wouldn’t it be cool if that was the end of this story?? But yeah, I sat myself down and learned to accept who I am. I talked to my doctor, and I opened up to my people. I learned to accept that I am different and that is OK. It’s also quite funny at times and that’s fine too. But most of all, in the end, I learned to give myself grace.

The post My ADHD journey appeared first on RG Magazines.

There’s a bit of skill and patience needed when you have such old bones in your humble abode. It’s a tightrope at times, but also worthwhile. Our home is quaint but, like most old treasures, it takes some gentle handling.

Our first foray into the joys of “old house living” was Day 1 or Moving Day.

Let me set the scene. First time homeowners, buoyant on the idea of walking through the doors of our new home with our furniture, the copious amount of stuff that makes up our world, and with the intrinsic knowledge that it was, for the first time, OUR new home. Signed, sealed, delivered… it’s ours.

We had several walkthroughs and took pictures, so we knew what to expect. Again, old home, old bones, old finishings. We also knew that, due to the longevity of the sticks and stones, we would

probably have a somewhat of a job doing cosmetic changes.

But we had a plan! We had volunteers to help tile, to help paint, to help do all the little bits and pieces that those rose-coloured glasses missed seeing before we had to, y’know, actually live there.

Volunteers that we chose to pay with beer and pizza, mind you, but volunteers nonetheless. Our first “party” in our new home was to be days of mucking in but, having a good circle of friends and family, doable. We called, they answered and off we set.

What we hadn’t planned for, when we unlocked the doors, on our first day, was the ceiling in the kitchen somehow disappearing. Okay, not so much disappearing but, more to the point, relocating to the kitchen floor. Yes, you read that right. Our kitchen ceiling fell down. You can probably imagine our faces. This is not how we expected our first look to be when swanning our way into our own little piece of paradise. This was not outlined in the volunteer contract either. I’m pretty sure that’s when my husband’s best friend started re-evaluating his life choices.

So, there we were, staring at the mess that was now our kitchen, and we did the most quintessentially

Bermudian thing that you can do. We called our village. And within the day, we had a friend of my dad’s that knew how to install ceilings and a friend of my brother’s who was willing to do a quick roof/leak fix and my electrician buddy to check on the ceiling lights and, well, we had a village. A village of people that were willing and able to come to our rescue. We had my other brother doing the general tiling and my mom doing the fancy tiling and my husband’s friends alternating between a sip of beer and a paintbrush. We had my girlfriends helping with doing the kids rooms whilst talking me off the ledge thing whilst making sure that my wine tumbler was sufficiently full. Was it done in an afternoon? No. Was it done faster than expected? Also no. Was our new home filled with the energy that we needed? Yes, yes and more than that, yes. Within hours we turned our new house into a home.

So, yes, buying and owning an old Bermuda house takes a dab of skill, a heap of patience, the ability and frame of mind to deal with the often small and sometimes big issues. But above all that, it takes a village.

It is no small task to take on the weight of history, or for my poor ceiling at the time, the weight of a downpour, but it was/is made easier when you have people who are willing to step up for you.

The post My old Bermuda house appeared first on RG Magazines.

I’m no Mario Andretti. I feel no need for speed, no matter how many times I’ve seen every Fast and Furious movie in the franchise.

I am, however, a gadget person. When I like a car, mainly it’s because it has all the bells and whistles that my little geek heart can dream of. And I can dream up a lot of bells and whistles.

So when I was given the chance to test drive the Honda HR-V, I was more than excited. Firstly, I’m as

environmentally conscious as the next girl and this beauty is top notch. For a lesson on hybrids, the car takes gas but as you drive it stores up the kinetic energy in the battery. Gas lasts longer and you don’t need to plug it in. Big plus for me! My driveway is far enough away from my house that the concept of plugging anything in always seemed a bit unwieldy for me. But I still want to do my part for keeping Bermuda sustainable so … score!

When you turn the car on, it starts in battery mode, meaning that you have that moment of, wait, did I remember to actually turn it on, that you get with fully electric cars. Over a certain speed, the car can switch to gas usage but there is a button to keep it in battery mode.

One thing that I thought was quite funny: there’s no spare tyre! The battery takes up most of the back carriage, so they have this ingenious kit to fix flats. You know, that foam stuff. Honestly, there’s a part of me that wants to get a flat just so I can use it. Told you I’m a bit of a geek. This is some 23rd century type of car maintenance.

On to the gadgets. As a mom with three kids, grocery shopping takes up about most of my weekends and there’s nothing worse than having to put bags on the ground to open the truck. HR-V has the best solution. The trunk opens with a foot sensor. One little foot wave and alley-oop, the trunk opens on its own. No oranges rolling down the parking lot. Or hands full with kiddy bikes? Again, a ballet pirouette and ta-da! It can even close on its own. Yeah, I’m way too excited but, you get me, it’s a game changer. Oh, and the back seats come all the way up. Like a Transformer. Seriously, like if Optimus Prime was a car seat.

And to talk about no-touch convenience, the front doors open with a touch if you have the key on your person. No need to pull a handle. It’s like magic.

For the more standard features, there’s USB ports in the back and front so no longer do you have to do the plug-in tango with your passengers (read: kids with too many electronics). In the front, you have the added convenience of a wireless charger. Gotta have some perks for being the only one tall enough to reach the pedals.

There’s a rear-view camera which is kinda standard nowadays but, and get this, there are side cameras as well. Any Bermudian that hates parallel parking, now you can actually see exactly how much space you have (no more side scrapes). These cameras automatically turn on with the indicators which means that the bike tryna take the nip on the inside, I see you mate!

The car comes in dark grey (most popular), white, silver, black, red and the newest colour, opal white for the shimmer and sparkle lover in us all. It’s a Honda so driving is a bit of a dream. Smooth sailing people. Conveniences and gadgets mean this is a popular car and as you know from living in Bermuda, the good stuff tends to sell out quick!

The post All the gadgets a geek could dream of appeared first on RG Magazines.

Having said all that, I do have a few preferences. Both of the cars that I have owned were Suzukis because I really like how they drive. Both were Class C because I really dislike being parted from my money. I’m not a huge fan of white, black or really any coloured cars besides grey… and silver, maybe? Although to be fair, that’s pretty much grey “from anotha motha”. Reigning theme here is, basically, I’m not overly adventurous when it comes to the family car. 

So when I was offered a chance to test drive a car, one that I don’t have to worry about figuring out how to afford, I totally jumped at the chance to go big. The Hyundai Kona is a Class F fully electric car. It’s not overly large by size but in terms of vroom vroom and va va voom, this car has it all. And it’s electric! You can enjoy all the perks with the added bit of smugness of being an eco-warrior. 

The Kona has the full complement of all the bells and whistles that you would expect. You know, like the rear camera so I can have an up-close view of that pole I just hit. Or the sunroof that provides my husband with the most perfectly round head sunburn. The sunglass holder, because hello, how is that not cool? It even has heated seats in the front AND the back as well as ventilated seats in the front. Not sure why but it’s still cool though (see what I did there?). And as a woman with the requisite cavernous purse, the keyless start is pretty much the best thing ever made. 

On to the electric stuff. Contrary to the belief I had, you only need to plug it in every couple of days but there’s no harm in doing it whenever. It does actually plug into the regular wall socket but that will make it charge a bit slower. Auto Solutions actually has a collab with BeSolar if you are interested in installing a plug specially for the car, cutting our fossil fuel electricity altogether. Unfortunately, you do still have to buy gas but it’s a fraction of the amount. 

The Kona is a zippy little car, that drives smoothly and quietly (like really quietly, I honestly thought it had turned off at times). It’s good for the environment, good for having that sense of superiority that we all like to have and as an added bonus, with this thing called the “re-directional charge”, your car can act as generator in a pinch. Best. Car. Ever. 

The post Hyundai Kona Electric appeared first on RG Magazines.

Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account. –Oscar Wilde

New Year’s Resolutions. The time-honoured tradition of making grandiose plans with the purest intentions of keeping none of the said plans. How many times have we promised to go to the gym more, become a vegetarian or drink less (yeah right)? How many times have we gone on about all the healthy, wealthy and wise decisions we intend to make for the betterment of self in the upcoming year, only to peter out?

This year I have decided not to not make resolutions that I actually have no intention of keeping. Instead this year, I resolve to:

• Take fewer pictures… and spend every moment in the actual We spend so much time making sure that the world can see how much fun we are having that we often miss having said fun. I resolve to have more fun this year that’s just for me.
• Spend more time with deprived children… my own. Life passes us by so quickly, and you get caught up in a world of “get this chore done so I can move onto the next one”. I resolve to just stop sometimes and play with them.
• Drink more wine… the good kind. Once we get the kids to bed and chores are finally done, my husband and I both are usually too shattered to do much more than grunt at each other. I resolve to let the dishes remain unclean once in a while, sit under the stars and talk like we used to when we were dating.
• Exercise less… and experience more. We force ourselves to the gym, and we force ourselves to mindless classes (one, two, three, four and again!). I resolve to find ways to keep fit that engage my mind and soul as well as my body. Take the kids for long walks, take them swimming, and play Twister… that’s still a thing, right?
• Fall out of love… with candy and empty calories. Having spent the last year being pregnant, I also spent the year gorging myself on junk food. I resolve to satisfy my sweet tooth not on containers of icing (yes, I kind of hate myself) but on a few dark chocolate raisins; on more fruit instead of Lion bars.

This year I resolve to keep my resolutions… not by just not making them, but by making ones, that I want to keep, to live my best life.

The post Making good resolutions appeared first on RG Magazines.

We decided to buy at a late stage in our lives because, one, we were tired of contributing to the empty equity of others; and two, if you weren’t born with the proverbial silver spoon in Bermuda, well, it simply takes this long to build up the considerable down payment. And boy, did it hurt my heart to transfer that money for the purchase. A fool and their money are soon parted.

When I say “fixer-upper”: by the time we actually closed, parts of the roof had fallen in and a myriad other thing needed to be done (we didknow about these beforehand). Thus, we started our journey into the renovation world of our new home. Did I mention that the two of us, two kids, and one on the way were going to be attempting to live life normally, in the house, while this was going on?

As luck would have it, my dad works in the construction industry and has friends, lots of friends. Do you know the saying, “It takes a village”? Well, that doesn’t only refer to raising children. In my case, it applies to making our house an actual home. We had two weeks to get our new house liveable, and this had to be completed while both my husband and I were working full-time, leaving our evenings to work on the house. With that said, I couldn’t actually do much to assist with any of the heavy lifting which left the menfolk to paint, tile, fix and mend. I was charged with entertaining the kids, keeping them from underfoot.

We were living temporarily in an apartment owned by an uncle, and didn’t have much furniture, so there was less to move. The home-buying process started months before and, I can tell you, living out of a suitcase while going through copious amounts of paperwork and legal wrangling, is not an easy living situation. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Then again, so did having another child. These decisions always seem so much easier in my head.

One of the trickiest parts of the process: our bedrooms. For the first time, our kids were getting their own rooms. Each room had concrete floors, which needed more than rugs and paint. So, we went to every flooring store, from Carpet Professionals in Paget to Souza’s Carpets in town, and looked at wood tiles, regular tiles and at carpets and epoxy floors. We then looked at our dwindling bank accounts, which pretty much made the decision for us. After all the searching and discussion, we finally went with… rugs and paint.

Even after the frenzied pace of renovating just to get us in the door, the move-in brought its own issues. We had no appliances, no bedroom furniture, still a leaky roof and the impending rainy season to contest with. With emoo.bm in hand and a mate of my brother’s on tap for repairs, we managed to coddle together what actually looks and feels like a home now. To look back and see from whence we started until today is pretty amazing. Taking on live-in renovations is not the easiest thing to do but we did it while remaining friends. Our now three children have a forever homestead and surprisingly, still, both parents to share it with.

This article was originally published in the Fall 2018 edition of RG Magazine.

The post Here’s How One Woman Survived Live-in Renos appeared first on RG Magazines.

It brings to mind being a teenager on my first booze cruise, summer nights around a bonfire at the beach, boating on Paradise Lakes with a few of my closest friends and more than a few of their closest friends. It makes me think of being dragged to family weddings with your parents and having a blast because those lot know how to party, of school dances (not regular dances but DAAANCES), of entire days being spent on the sand with just a cooler and a boom box – (Yes, I know I’m showing my age, but those were the days!). I’m transported to the hours spent fishing off the rocks with my mates, doing more chatting than actual fishing.

And the thread that ties all those experiences together is the tunes. We defined summer by the music and still do even if today’s music isn’t quite as good. We defined summer by the choice of which of the many concerts we actually could afford to go to and not wreck your budget, again still an issue we deal with if to a much higher extent now. We defined summer by the hours spent picking out and putting together the perfect outfits that made you look cute but was flexible enough to let you whine down, whine down to the ground. We defined summer by the impromptu parties up someone’s house where the coolness factor was defined by how well they slung tunes. And nothing messed up summer more than a broken Walkman.

More than the food of summer, the drinks of summer, it’s the music of summer that truly makes the memories of summer. Music is one of those things that transcends to create a feeling that is more than the sum of its parts. For me, that is and always will be old school 90’s reggae and soca. My summer theme songs have that classic four-four beat. A little ‘Hot This Year’ and I‘m eighteen again celebrating the best parts of being a Bermudian, before life and kids got in the way (not that I’d trade those munchkins for the world… most of the time). A little ‘Twice My Age’ and I’m suddenly seeing Bermuda as the beautiful island paradise it truly is and not just the place where life with all its adultness of work and responsibilities conspires to keep my head down. Music allows you to use the eyes of your heart to truly see the world around you.

I hear some good tune and my soul, if not my body, dances and a little smile reaches my lips.

Shabba!

This article was originally featured in the Summer 2018 edition of RG Magazine.

The post When I See You Smile, I Can Face The World, You Know I Can Do Anything… appeared first on RG Magazines.

I start boggling in my head no matter when or even where I am. Even just walking down the street (I might even flip out a few hand bogles if I think I can get away with it).

It brings to mind being a teenager on my first booze cruise, summer nights around a bonfire at the beach, boating on Paradise Lakes with a few of my closest friends and more than a few of their closest friends.

It makes me think of being dragged to family weddings with your parents and having a blast because those lot know how to party, of school dances (not regular dances but DAAANCES), of entire days being spent on the sand with just a cooler and a boom box – (Yes, I know I’m showing my age, but those were the days!).

I’m transported to the hours spent fishing off the rocks with my mates, doing more chatting than actual fishing.

And the thread that ties all those experiences together is the tunes. We defined summer by the music and still do even if today’s music isn’t quite as good.

We defined summer by the choice of which of the many concerts we actually could afford to go to and not wreck your budget, again still an issue we deal with if to a much higher extent now.

We defined summer by the hours spent picking out and putting together the perfect outfits that made you look cute but was flexible enough to let you whine down, whine down to the ground.

We defined summer by the impromptu parties up someone’s house where the coolness factor was defined by how well they slung tunes. And nothing messed up summer more than a broken Walkman.

More than the food of summer, the drinks of summer, it’s the music of summer that truly makes the memories of summer. Music is one of those things that transcends to create a feeling that is more than the sum of its parts.

For me, that is and always will be old school 90’s reggae and soca. My summer theme songs have that classic four-four beat.

A little ‘Hot This Year’ and I‘m eighteen again celebrating the best parts of being a Bermudian, before life and kids got in the way (not that I’d trade those munchkins for the world… most of the time).

A little ‘Twice My Age’ and I’m suddenly seeing Bermuda as the beautiful island paradise it truly is and not just the place where life with all its adultness of work and responsibilities conspires to keep my head down. Music allows you to use the eyes of your heart to truly see the world around you.

I hear some good tune and my soul, if not my body, dances and a little smile reaches my lips. Shabba!

The post When I see you smile, I can face the world, you know I can do anything… appeared first on RG Magazines.