Now this, this is good.
I have cakes in the oven, cakes cooling on the side, cakes in the stomachs of R and the lovely G-man who is here for the rugby. It's all good.
There is more biscuits to make, the dining room table to clear and washing to do, but life is lovely.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
It's been a hard few days....
On Wednesday, one of my major wants was suddenly and abruptly unrealised. In my own way, for the last few days, I have decided that that means that it will never be realised, and in fact I should just stop even wanting it to be realised. I have cried, sworn, and prayed, not in that order, and none of them just once, and I have spent a lot of time just ... sat.
It's a verb, to sit. A doing word. And yet, in the last few days, when I have just "sat" I have not done anything. My brain suddenly turns off - overloads, I suspect - and when my body has rebooted my brain, I discover that anything up to 30 minutes has gone by. It's a strange feeling, and not one I enjoy.
The good part of what has happened, and you know me dear reader, I must find the good part, is that the words from R have been amazing. He has opened up with his feelings, with his wants, with his own self in a way that he hasn't for a few months because life has been busy. I needed to hear the things he said. He needed to say them. We needed to do this together, and we did.
Thursday, I went to work. The boss asked me what was wrong because one of the others said I wasn't so well. I tried to say nothing, but apparently the tears were a giveaway. I explained the situation, and he was supportive, he was lovely in fact. I stayed, I taught, I managed all day, the children were adorably lovely, as my class so often are, we created, and we played and we listened to a fabulous author who told us how to write, and we swam and had the worlds most lovely day. IN the back of my mind, was the aching though, but I squashed and squeezed it back, and I wouldn't give in.
I have taught through bereavements, through divorce, through moving, through eviction, through a partners alcoholism, through huge domestic problems, and now through this, and I love my job. All the little achievements were just that bit more special today, all the things that happened, the little cards from children made in wet play, the little messages left on the board, the random hugs, the silly jokes, the models, all mattered that little bit more today.
Friday was more of the same. Easier, in many ways, but the same.
And today is Saturday morning.
We have a friend coming to watch rugby at 2pm ish. We have friends coming around tonight to game. I have a million, million books to mark, and a science scheme to think about and a folder to set up for next half term, and planning for the last week to catch up on.
But it will, it *will* all be fine. It has to be. It cannot be any other way.
It's a verb, to sit. A doing word. And yet, in the last few days, when I have just "sat" I have not done anything. My brain suddenly turns off - overloads, I suspect - and when my body has rebooted my brain, I discover that anything up to 30 minutes has gone by. It's a strange feeling, and not one I enjoy.
The good part of what has happened, and you know me dear reader, I must find the good part, is that the words from R have been amazing. He has opened up with his feelings, with his wants, with his own self in a way that he hasn't for a few months because life has been busy. I needed to hear the things he said. He needed to say them. We needed to do this together, and we did.
Thursday, I went to work. The boss asked me what was wrong because one of the others said I wasn't so well. I tried to say nothing, but apparently the tears were a giveaway. I explained the situation, and he was supportive, he was lovely in fact. I stayed, I taught, I managed all day, the children were adorably lovely, as my class so often are, we created, and we played and we listened to a fabulous author who told us how to write, and we swam and had the worlds most lovely day. IN the back of my mind, was the aching though, but I squashed and squeezed it back, and I wouldn't give in.
I have taught through bereavements, through divorce, through moving, through eviction, through a partners alcoholism, through huge domestic problems, and now through this, and I love my job. All the little achievements were just that bit more special today, all the things that happened, the little cards from children made in wet play, the little messages left on the board, the random hugs, the silly jokes, the models, all mattered that little bit more today.
Friday was more of the same. Easier, in many ways, but the same.
And today is Saturday morning.
We have a friend coming to watch rugby at 2pm ish. We have friends coming around tonight to game. I have a million, million books to mark, and a science scheme to think about and a folder to set up for next half term, and planning for the last week to catch up on.
But it will, it *will* all be fine. It has to be. It cannot be any other way.
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