164 days….

It was a pupil free day for me at school today – the kids spent the day at Mums while I went in to school.

I usually don’t like pupil free days if there is no personal development seminars on … I don’t have a classroom to sort out, and my lessons are repeated 15 times a week so the prep is minimal. I don’t really have much to do on pupil free days and so I feel like I’m getting paid for doing very little.  It wouldn’t be so bad if I could log onto a computer there and actually DO something I need to do … but I usually end up photocopying of cleaning something out.

Still … it proved to be a day I shall not forget in a hurry.

The deputy called me aside and asked “so how many days a week can we have you next year”.  It seems that all the staff I’ve worked with (5) have asked him to keep me (she’s soooo cute, and she has those big eyes and soft, shiny hair – Dad can we keep her).  It seems they think of me as being “safe hands” for supply days when they are away.
So he is going to make a representation on my behalf to have me employed as a *permanent* employee at the school.


I’ve never had a permanent job before. I’ve had the life of a scientist which involves living from one funding cycle to the next, or a casual project officer which is good but without much job certainty over the long-term (and no paid leave).  Despite this, I’ve never been without work (well at least not when I wanted work – there was always work for me to do).

But permanent!

I know!

Of course it will still depend on how much district office feel like being @rseholes.  But since I’m sure you’ve helped with this little number, you can whisper in the ear of the people at district office ….


Of course, no good deed goes unpunished.

In between writing the above and now, K came to me, said she felt all swirly in her tummy then deftly threw-up about 500 ml of liquified tomato, pumpkin, eggplant, chicken and noodles into an old ice-cream container.  I would have said it was because I made chicken curry for dinner, but I didn’t put any curry in their food.


I don’t do the vomits.  That’s YOUR department.  I do every other illness and doctor’s appointment, every vaccination and dentist visit.  But I don’t do the vomits.  Hearing someone vomit makes ME want to vomit.  Smelling vomit makes me gag.  Looking after vomiting kids was where you really shone through.

Damn it.  This is NOT my gig.

She’s asleep now and I seriously hope that she will not vomit again tonight.  I have visions of that mammoth 15-hour session she had a few years back where she was heaving every 30 minutes for hours on end.  You patiently nursed her through while I’d peep in, smell sickness and run outside for fresh air.  You held her hair and stroked her back and held that bucket of sick for her, then washed her up and snuggled her in bed with you.  Somehow, you were almost always immune from catching the vomits yourself.

Please don’t let her spew again.  Or me.  Or H.

I don’t do the vomits.

I *really* miss you tonight – not only do I want to tell you my good news but I want you to relieve me of vomit duty.

You rocked as a husband and Daddy.

I love you so much.