Today was a funny old day. The apocalyptic snow, much hoped for by the majority of my teaching colleagues, wasn't quite enough to herald a magical 'snow-day'. It was however, enough to make the journey in a little longer and a little more hairy than usual. Fortunately Dexter and I were in the safe hands of the lift-share ladies. The nursery drop-off was a tad kamikaze and we arrived at school on the bell.
Lessons were generally quiet and calm, and the day ended with a celebration event for a colleague who very sadly passed away a couple of weeks ago. It was well-attended by current and former staff and students. Although it was an upbeat and uplifting tribute to a magnificent lady, I bawled for the whole hour and a quarter.
I've always been easily moved to tears (sporting achievements, baby animals, John Lewis adverts), but since having the boy, I cry at the drop of a proverbial hat. I don't know if it's hormones, a weird 'mum' thing or just sheer knackeredness at the whole juggling act that is life, but I regularly find myself having a good old-fashioned cathartic weep.
I took part in the celebration, and spoke a few words about said colleague. I love a bit of public speaking, and am not normally phased or emotional. I lost it however when reminiscing about the kindness this lady (mother of three boys) had shown me during my pregnancy. These 'pet babies' certainly know how to tug at the heartstrings.
I guess today's picture reflects a little moment of normality - of my boys happily bonding over a 'Microsoft Sales Specialist Assessment' (no wonder Dexter's looking pleadingly at me) - just before the bedtime routine.
I am not smug mum, I am simply grateful for the little things, and probably should remember that more often.