The Teaching Mum

A light-hearted look at parenting through the eyes of a very busy English Teacher.

My First Day at Work Smirk.

1 Comment

Monday 6th July

At 5.30am this morning, I woke up and glanced at my phone and my snoozing boy. Yes, I know he should have been snoozing in his cot, but I needed sleep and we all know how much of an imperfect Mum I am. ‘Yes!’ I silently fist bumped the air as I returned to snoozing for another 45 minutes. Then, at 6.15, my alarm sounded and woke both me and the dozing boy up.  The Other Half came in and laid with him while I had a shower; it was the first mid-week shower I have had with no crying baby, no screaming three year old, no yelling that there is a (tiny) spider on the wall and no yanking (and breaking) the shower door open to ask if I had been in there for two minutes yet. I could have stayed in there all day.

By 7am I was dressed, the boy was dressed and the girl was dressed and eating breakfast downstairs. Sounds pretty awesome doesn’t it?  Although, there is a big difference between being dressed and being ready. Grabbing the boy, I made my way downstairs to sterilise the bottles, choose the food to take to Grandma’s, make up the formula for the bottles and pack his favourite (only) toys.  I also had to pack up my girl’s clothes for the day and, of course,  I had to get her a *rolls eyes* Fruit Shoot before I could gather everything up by the door in the hope that the Other Half may take pity on my plight and pack the car up for me. (He didn’t.)  I had four bags and that didn’t include my work handbag.  As we were about to leave, the boy began to cry in his car seat.  Suddenly, I remembered I had to grab him a spare sleep suit so I dashed upstairs.
‘Stay with your brother,’ I said to the girl.
‘No,’ was her reply and she came upstairs with me following me so close that I tripped over her feet.
I came back down stairs and then realised that I had forgotten a cardigan for the girl so I ran back up again with the her hot on my heels.  After reaching the outside door, I panicked that I hadn’t switched my hair straighteners off so I ran upstairs once more, by this time I had a bit of a sweat on. (Cardio.)
‘Stay with your brother,’ I begged.
‘No!’ She set off behind me, pushed past me on the stairs, jumped onto the landing.  ‘I win!’ She cried. The straighteners were, as always, off and unplugged and I ran back downstairs.  By this time, the boy’s face was almost blue with crying.  Might as well run upstairs again for the laugh, so I did.  Just kidding.  I loaded them and everything else into the car and set off to my Mum’s house as she was having both of the children for the day.  Lucky her…

At 8.20 I arrived at work and it was like I had never left.  It was nice to be able to walk and not waddle along the car park and it was lovely to be able to fit through the door that leads to our department.  I said my hellos, found an empty classroom and just enjoyed the silence for two whole hours.  Two hours of no crying, of no feeding, of no mopping up sick, of no running from room to room just to see if my three year old followed me in a blind panic, no being climbed on, no GCSE moderation marking; it was bliss.  But, then I became acutely aware that there was no smelling of my boy’s head, no ‘Cookie Monster’ kisses from my girl, no giggles from the Jumparoo, no random questions about Paw Patrol or Andy’s Dinosaur Adventures; I was missing them.  A few guilt ridden minutes passed before I opened my emails and was greeted with literally hundreds of the buggers. My boss had given me a few jobs to do so I cracked on.

I get to appreciate good grammar humour once again.  Us English Teachers, we’re a right laugh.

Break time was the first time was able to see some of my old students.  One girl stared at me, looked at my stomach and then my newly acquired fringe; she looked confused.  I smiled.
‘All right?’ I asked.
She looked embarrassed and then spoke to her friend telling her that I was back.  Her friend stared at me blankly and admitted that she had no idea who I was.  It was nice to see that I had made an impact with my teaching.

I was invited to help some students from my old Year 10 class with their coursework.  Upon entering the classroom, there were more glances at my fringe and a few mutterings of my name being spoken under breaths. One boy broke the ice by asking if I had had my baby.  I glanced at my stomach, breathed in, stood a little taller and replied that indeed I had (whilst secretly cursing the fact that I still had not lost my baby weight). I sat with a student and helped him improve a letter he had been writing.  I found myself getting into the swing of things again when I started reciting some old friendly phrases of mine.
‘Connective comma!’
‘Change that to an ‘ing’ word and add a comma and what have you now used?’
‘A complex sentence, Miss,’
‘Stop using random commas!’
‘What should I use then?’
Commas (comma) when used correctly (comma) are ace (comma) but when used incorrectly (comma) that can be the difference between a C and a D.  Is that right?  Oh I don’t know!  I much prefer the question mark and the exclamation mark; you know where you stand with them.  Bugger, did I just use that semi colon correctly?
*Pulls hair out.*  Now I know that I am not using the asterisk properly.

By the afternoon I had returned to the empty classroom to continue writing a series of lessons about Frankenstein which is one of my favourite books.  However, I was concerned about how I was going to engage a group of Year 10 students in a novel written well over one hundred years ago?  The language is challenging and the narrative structure is a little confusing also.  I figured it out though and through my use of the asterisk once again, I will describe my actions:

*Googles You Tube*
*Types in Penny Dreadful*
Sky Atlantic comes up trumps once again.

I left work a little after 4pm and raced over to my Mum’s house.  Noticing my girl in the window, I waved giddily only for her to stare blankly back at me.  It was nice to see that she had missed me.  I knocked on the door to be greeted by my Petit Filous splattered, dishevelled Mum.  If you read my post about my Mum’s special birthday, then you know how lovely she is and how smart and bang on trend she always is.  Bless her, she let out a huge sigh and told me that the boy had spent the majority of the day crying and looking around for me (he was crying in her arms at that very moment.)  I grabbed him and he stopped and suddenly my guilt kicked in once again. 

Grandma P before having both of the Munckins all day and after…

We packed up the car once again and I left a slightly broken Momma Bear alone for her to catch her breath and get some rest before she had them again on Wednesday.  We arrived home just after 5pm, ate dinner as a family (with a food splattered boy moaning in his high chair), bathed the girl and put them both to bed.  At 9pm I finally sat down with my first cup of tea of the day (I drank tea and dunked biscuits every hour on the hour during maternity leave) and by 9.15pm the boy was crying and ninja flippin’ in his cot.  Don’t judge me for this, but I needed a decent night’s sleep.  I removed him from his cot and placed him next to me in my bed.  He had a little feed, a long cuddle and together we drifted off to sleep.

The following morning, we woke, I showered, he pooed, he put his hands in his poo, I freaked out, I grabbed his hands, I got poo in my nail, I freaked out, I put a new nappy on quickly, I showed the Other Half my nail, he told me I was gross, I washed my hands and cut my nail and started the process of getting ready for work all over again.

Happy Tuesday to me!

A Cornish Mum
The Dad Network

One thought on “My First Day at Work Smirk.

  1. Pingback: And now my watch has ended… | Teaching Mum

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s