Things have been motorin along here in Thame. The usual old hum drum of domestic servitude coupled with finalising a thesis and attempting to study for an exam has increased my points in the ‘don’t talk to me about tiredness’ debate. My brain could be heard eatin itself at times. It has been busy. Before we knew it the girls’ First Holy Communion was upon us, which we celebrated back at home. The Small Man’s passport arrived only the morning before we flew back to Ireland. Not funny. I think Mr Postman questioned my mental health after the reaction he got when I signed for it. The Communion was a themed event, a ‘Bring-a-Mug-Bring-a-Chair-Bring-a-Dessert’ gathering. We had a blast, organised chaos in our empty home. Our two girls and their classmates, gorgeous in their innocence. Families and friends all catching up. The weekend ended with my final degree exam. Suffices to say there was cramming. I could have gone the Red Bull route and pulled an all-nighter but fearing heart palpitations and possible cardiac arrest from that stuff, tay, Lucozade and Polomints saw me through. Content with the break and knowing that after five years it is finished I feel a great sense of achievement. It is akin to running a marathon. At the start you can never envisage the end but one foot in front of the other, you get there. I kinda miss it already. Sadistic, I know. I will have to find a replacement shed/allotment/garage. It was my space, my project, a reason to hide away and foster thoughts. Throughout the year, amidst the turmoil of the move and the absorption of the kids emotional highs and lows, it was a welcome constant and acknowledgement that I was apparently able to do something right. Allegedly.
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