Decisions, Decisions

Hello avid reader, have you missed me? I have missed you! Have you noticed how life happens in waves. Nothing for bleedin' ages - same old mundane day to day - then BOOM! A million things land on your plate at once and you're struggling to remember what a lazy Sunday morning felt like!

Well that's been my week - or two. Toddle along towards half term and then suddenly we realise we've only a week left and year 11 haven't done a mock question and the drama classes haven't had their baseline test marked yet and scurry, scurry, scurry away trying to catch up on things you didn't realise you were behind on. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't bring any books home over the half term, and to my credit I haven't... just 19 essays and 8 classes of test papers... Joy.

Now, of course I hear you say reader "But you had a whole 6 weeks to get those things done! Why on earth are you bringing it home!" and do you know why? Why I really have to bring these things home? Why I can't just sit at work and plough on through? It's not for wanting to, or idleness, oh no. I already have slaved my way through DiPs and SiPs (no, I don't know either) through baseline test after baseline test, through each and every child's book or folder checking for each and every piece of homework and classwork in the right place... There is always more. That's on top of the meetings, and the training, and the meetings, and the after school rehearsals, and did I mention the meetings. I think recently, I have spent more time in meetings about my job than doing my job! But that is the nature of the beast...

So seeing as it's half term for me at the moment (They made us work 4 days too many accidentally last year so we all get an extra week this HT!) it's a chance to recuperate and recover from the speed of the last half term! Not going to lie - was so much more full on coming back after maternity leave than I expected! This of course leaves me questioning my life decisions. Working non-stop and whirling through life 6 weeks at a time seems unproductive. Or maybe it's really productive but not really living? I don't know. But that's how it is right now. Then there's our kitchen - decisions to be made on final design thoughts, which company to use and how soon we want things doing. Then there's decisions for darling son. Does child continue his routine for the simplicity or do we shake things up as he grows - opening up ourselves to judgement and ridicule when it potentially goes wrong. There's probably another million decisions I'm just not admitting to needing to make yet on top of those...

All very enigmatic I'm sure but it's because the answers to all these question are really quite clear and it's more a matter of being brave or organising myself or just getting the heck on with it all! So here goes...

Playing Grown Ups and paying the price

Dear reader, you'll never guess what... I have been out! Oh yes, amongst babies colds and teething; amongst teaching and filing; amongst grading and marking; amongst dieting and surviving I have been to the theatre! Not just any old theatre as well, I went "up London" for a night watching the breath-taking Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellan in No-Mans land.

I put on make up! I got on a train! I ate dinner with a close, old friend! I got cultured for a night! And most importantly, I was alone! No child, no husband, no work, no worry to follow me on my journey. Just a book of interest and my thoughts to keep me company until I arrived.

No-man's land is a Pinter play which focuses on the evening and morning after two older gentlemen meet at The Bull's Head in Chalk Farm. It delves into the murkiness of Alzheimer's and destroys our preconceptions of life in old age. Beautifully acted (of course) by even the two lesser known adjoining actors to our big stars. The audience was abuzz with laughter and sorrow.

Child was lovingly palmed off onto Granny and Grumpa for the night, so coming home after dark to an empty house was a completely bizarre experience. I even naturally went in to check on him before heading to bed myself, only to realise with a mixed heart of longing and relief, that he wasn't there. After a blissful night of deep sleep, he made up for his absence since by teething all night with the most horrific cold and only settling if suspended upright - using my face as the scaffold to his tiny body - writhing every few minutes in helpless pain and anxiety at his situation. My heart bled for him all night as I sat up and cradled him - tiny and limp yet whimpering - trying desperately to fix a problem I couldn't control; but I feel my kids at work probably paid the price for the approx 3.5 hours sleep I got as a result of his tossing and turning.

So now, I sit at the end of a another week, a little closer to half term and the prospect of day time naps, wishing myself in to a bed of softness and bliss and yet, I am expected to be a grown up again this evening and head out to a local for birthday drinks... The price we pay for having it all I guess. Only a few hours til bedtime... right?!

Here it goes again...

So a while ago now there was this band called OkGo and they did an awesome upbeat song which I have shamelessly thieved the title of to use as my blog post title this evening. The video was particularly great as I'm pretty sure it was shot in someone's basement, after Sunday lunch, when the kids are bored as their folks have gone to sleep... It reminds me of college days and making our own videos, replicating favourite movies or tv shows. Seriously... Go to that famous video streaming site and watch it. It's awesome in the truest 90sesque form of the word.

But why; I hear you call; are you using a repetitive title? Well, dear reader, this is the night you hear of darling husband... as he's gone and abandoned me again!

I shouldn't jest really. He is away on a course trying to improve his position at work - some thing which is commendable and I love that he is constantly trying to be more innovative and work smarter at his role. But I shouldnt say too much as I can already hear his smugness floating in from far away and we wouldn't want his head getting to large now, would we!

The biggest impact he seems to have is on darling son. My boys are thick as thieves really. Man could not be a better father to boy and boy relishes in the games they play and the time he gets to spend with his Da. Boys particular favourite at the moment is to be thrown about the house like Spiderman: "pffp! Pffp! Pffp!" Goes the sound effects. Zip! Zip! Zip! Goes the boy. Giggles ensue. Repeat. I can't help but smile even thinking about it now.

I am more of a cuddly mama. We don't go gallivanting about the house like the boys do; but instead snuggle in toasty nests made of blankets and love. Boy tries to practise kissing. An enthusiastic, if dribbly, affair; with lots of opportunities for having the side of your face sucked if you time it badly. He means well.

All this is made slightly more gross and boyish by the fact that boy currently has a stinking cold.. and is probably teething again somewhere under all the bunged up snottiness. Love him anyway for all the rattiness in the world.

Tonight, C's absence feels clearer. Boy keeps tossing in his sleep from not being able to breathe right and I know Da would know what to do. Instead, I try to sleep alone and listen out, half dozing half awake, more murmurs of tiredness and torment... I just want him to be well. Cuddles will have to do...

Bzzzz bzzzz bzzz

Hello dear reader. I know you are probably wondering all about the interesting things that have been keeping me away from you all but I have to be honest and say sheer procrastination has...

So, I am now trying to relax after a long weekend of work - God bless Open Day parents and their tiny, tiny, primary school minions - and there is the most giant sodding fly I have ever seen bzzzz bzzzz bzzing about my head. Every time I get comfy and think about calling it a night.. off it bzzzes again! So I figured it must be a metaphor for my conscience telling me to get a move on and write to you all. I am hoping that Fate will look kindly on me for doing so and send the bastard thing away. 

This week the open days come thick and fast. After a delightful Saturday morning, with a painted smile and a sore throat, we now get to continue the thrill of parading ourselves for more tiny minions in a hope of scoring their appreciation and - like a kid watching an advert for MacDonald's in the 90s - will use the dreaded pester power to 'encourage' their parents into allowing them to come to our school. 

The balloons are out. The marking criteria is up. Let them come in their droves...

I was particularly proud this week of my year 11's. They are not destined to be the shiniest tins on the shelf (we all know the types) and it's pretty impressive that they all even make it to class without causing a riot sometimes but his week we were observed with our groups. My class absolutely blasted the Head of English away with their knowledge of Shakespearean context and it's links to Macbeth. I even had the kid who was most likely to leave by the end of year 10, discussing freely his thoughts on how James I impacted Shakespeare to include witches in the play (he was obsessed with them if you don't know!) and how Lady Macbeth reflects the evil within them. I could have kissed all of them on the way out if that wasn't highly unprofessional and downright gross.

He said to me "are they always like this?" 

And I had to be honest (and pray it doesn't change) when I said "yeah... pretty much."

Have remained smugger than Lady Macbeth at the beginning of Act 2 ever since. ;-)