Once upon a time, I used to like to work some little mildly amusing lines into my 100-word academic bios. These said things like, “and is a mother to two kids, two cats and a couple of very traumatised fish” or “Kimberley holds the view that sleep deprivation isn’t a form of torture, it’s way of life.” I figured that in all likelihood, no one ever read these things, but if someone commented, I’d know they had.
No one ever commented.
Eventually (and quite ironically, in the latter example), I became too tired to even bother attempting humour.
I mention this as I crawl out the other side of a seventeen day marking operation. SEVENTEEN. That’s not counting the Sunday they helpfully told us we could do more “if we chose.”
What we’re talking about here is rearranging my Day Job so that I knock off at 4, then marking onscreen from 4pm-9pm, plus all day Saturdays. Three of ’em. In a row. That’s over a thousand responses to the same question, and you’d better believe that my ability to string together a sentence right about now is badly compromised.
But there is no rest for the wicked. Tomorrow we’re interviewing for a replacement manager, as the farewell festivities for the outgoing one pick up pace. Thanks to COVID, large gatherings aren’t allowed, so there are lots of small sub-farewells. One of them is at my house, which needs to be guest ready by tomorrow night, and kinda isn’t, what with the work hours noted above. But it should be a relaxing night, and my family are voluntarily absenting themselves (well, to be fair; one was never going to be there, another volunteered, so when it got to the third, I just told him he wasn’t welcome!) and then over the next few days the same understanding family are reconvening to start celebrating the Festival of the Husband.
This year is a milestone year, so the Spousal Unit will get a fuss made of him with some beach time and dinners out the weekend before, and then lots of special home-cooked meals the weekend after (which is what he actually asked for; Miss 21 and I do like to show our love via food!), plus a special dinner out on the mid-week actual day. And we’ll use the everyone-home-for–weekend-after-Dad’s-birthday opportunity to set up our annual Christmas display.
So I told Mr 19 that while I know he has work shifts that weekend, I expect Full Elf Mode in between.
Quick as a whip, he retorted: “Fifty per cent. Take it or leave it.”
I did try to negotiate, but he wasn’t having it. I’m not overly worried. Judging by these photos, I reckon he’ll be able to find more Christmas spirit than he currently anticipates. He’s got 37 days.
It’s not like he has a lot of choice, living in our house.