See him? He is ‘falling asleep’.
This makes him a ‘lucky bastard’.
As you were.
See him? He is ‘falling asleep’.
This makes him a ‘lucky bastard’.
As you were.
Trying very hard to…
Wipe my Little Man’s nose…..
Here is what happened yesterday.
6 am – Get up. Grumble, get dressed and catch the bus.
7am. – Swim 1500 metres.
8.20 – I am at my desk and getting papers ready for the 9.30am meeting.
9.30 – attend meeting, which goes on until 11am.
11.10 – head over to room where we are conducting our Orientation for our Postgraduate students. Discover to my delight that there is no laptop even though I asked for one.
11.12 Race across campus without trying to look like I’m racing.
11.20 Get laptop from office.
11.22 Race back to Orientation trying to breath deeply (“Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean…”)
11.32 Orientation starts, with a slightly panting MC… (hair was perfect, though.)
12.30 All done, I take questions from the students afterwards.
1.10 I get my lunch bought for me by the President. I’m helping out at the Graduation Ceremony that afternoon from 4pm and the University buys you lunch if you do. I have a salad and salmon thingie that is sublime after my usual purgatorial lunchtime break, and pretty much just stare at lint for the hour.
2.00 Students visit in my office, seeking help on module choices and basic pastoral care.
3.00 I have 40 emails waiting for me. I take up chisel and start picking at them.
4.00 Already? I head over to the O’Reilly hall and find my gown upstairs, then set myself up along with my fellow helpers as stewards in the hall. We’re standing the whole time and the hall is warm to say the least. It is a lovely occasion, though, the families are so proud and the graduands are so happy. Getting to take part is an honour.
5.30 The academic procession starts and the ceremony proper takes place.
5.45 I and the rest of the stewards slide away. I make my way to the bus stop and low and behold the trusty No. 47 rolls right up. If I had missed it it meant no bus for an hour.
6.30 Home! I take off the work gear, get into mummy gear and go sit down.
7.00 I drop off like a granny on the couch. Just five minutes….
8.00 Wake up with a start. What the what? An hour? But laundry! Bins! Dinner!
8.15 Eat dinner with the altered consciousness that sleeping in the day will do to you. Little man is put to bed and I go to bed just a few minutes after. I’m white noise tired, and term hasn’t even started yet. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Here comes the start of term!
And here I am blogging. Seriously, though, I can see my caffeine intake go up and up this time of year. I try to give blood regularly and I can only imagine what the poor bastard on the table is like once he gets a pint of my stuff
Doctor: How are you feeling?
Patient: Like I have to clean all the things! Let’s go!
Doctor: Holy crap?
Patient: Something wrong doc?
Doctor: Your ankles just doubled! And your hair is now ginger!
Patient: Huh? (Looks in mirror)
The wee man knows all about coffee. Doesn’t drink it, of course, but he knows that Mummy gets her coffee after dinner and that doesn’t change. That, and the demands of life here at the moment mean that the coffee intake is due to continue, if not even increase.
It is the only way, some days, I get to think clearly at all.
Term time is about to start here in UCD. The campus is already very busy, with the many graduations we have going on as well. Car parking is a nightmare, but thankfully I’m a public transport girl, so I’m relatively unaffected.
I always say I won’t write during this semester, or during September, but what happens is that the stories decide now is the perfect time to arrive, and I find my head is buzzing with ideas and stories and scenes and all the rest. I am seriously considering getting up at 5.30am to do this, but I don’t think I would last. My good humour certainly wouldn’t.
And finally, I am 134 pages into White Feathers. Susan Lanigan makes all of us look like hacks. Yes, sorry she does.
So the days are settling into a new rhythm: no carbs or sugar Monday to Friday, and eat what I want Saturday and Sunday.
I begin to think I could live like that. It is a happy compromise, neither too much nor too little.
The Goldilocks Diet. Huh. Bet someone has already thought of that.