A man's a man for a' that

I pop in and look at my blog quite frequently. It's a bit like looking at my monthly payslip - for some reason I keep hoping to see more.

I love reading my fellow bloggers' blogs. I end each day, after
marking/preparing/writing action plans/writing the SEF, browsing through the blogs, keeping in touch and up-to-date, empathising, laughing and constantly in awe of the way in which everyone else keeps their blog up-to-date.

So I started thinking. Is it that I have nothing to write about, because I have no time to do anything other than work? Or is it that I do have things to write about but no time? No energy? Sadly it's a bit of each.

Since school started in January, work has been crazy. With a one day respite because of the snow, then the poor attendance of the pupils (all of whom live very close to school and some of whom even had the brass neck to sledge on the school fields but not come into school because their parents said it was too slippery), it was an unsettled start. We have had an ofsted inspector in to train the SMT how to judge lessons using the new framework, we have had a learning and teaching review and now I am supposed to be typing the pre-review briefing for the Faculty I line-manage (the review is the week after next). Alongside this is the day-to-day teaching and huge effort to get Years 10 and 11 close to their target grades. This ridiculous obsession with reviewing everything that moves is getting me down.

On the home front things haven't been much easier. Little E's dad has decided that he can't collect Jen on a Friday evening, when she's due to spend a weekend with him, as he has to pick up her baby brother from nursery on Fridays. Can you hear me holding my tongue? Now, don't get me wrong, it is nice to have Little E for an extra night each week, but it does mean that my weekend opportunities have lessened. I don't like going out if Little E is home, so I save my socialising for when she's at her dad's. I'm not martyr, I do get a babysitter sometimes, but I feel better if she's not around when I go out.

The major downside of all this is that LE feels like her dad doesn't want her there anymore. Last time she was there, quietly eating her breakfast he yelled at her for not chatting at the table. He followed this up with the appalling comment "I can always speak to your mum about you not coming here anymore." I'm still holding my tongue - nothing offensive on this blog!

I have been out though.
Last night I went to a Burns' Supper. I was asked to do the Lassies' response. Now, I've never been to a Burns' Night Supper so this sent me rushing to Google. I read all about the traditions and the poetry but nowhere could I find an example of a Lassies' Response to the Laddies' toast to the Lassies. All I could find were instructions to be witty, inoffensive and make reference to some of Burns' poetry. Very unhelpful. In the end I wrote something, a poem in fact, and hoped that it would all be ok. In writng the poem, I confess I was inspired by Working Mum's last blog and my friend Anne.


First, the toasting of the Haggis, with appropriate Burns' poem. Then, after eating, the homage to Burns (which went on for a while (mine was only short - help!), then the toast to the Lassies' which went on and on and on. Several pages of witticisms, an exploration of Burns' attitude to women and a few of the speaker's own chauvinistic opinions fortunately set my mind at rest. My response was, after all, most appropriate.

The Lassies’ Response (with apologies to Burns and thanks to WM)
after A Red, Red Rose and A Man’s a Man for a’ that

O, laddies are like red roses,
Lolling round the day long,
We lassies pick up all their cloth-és,
Make decisions, choose the roses,
But we love them still and that’s a fact,
For a man’s a man for a’ that.

As fair art thee, our canny lads,
As strong, as bold, as brave,
Tho’ ne’er a thought for what to cook,
Or change the loo roll, do the shop,
We love thee still and that’s a fact,
For a man’s a man for a’ that.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dears,
Cos you’ve left the tap on,
Till a’ our tears gang dry, my dears,
Cos you’ll never change, that’s clear,
We’ll love thee then and that’s a fact,
For a man’s a man for a’ that.

And fare thee weel, our kind laird Bob,
And fare thee weel dear Ann,
And we will come again, next year,
Drink your scotch, down your beer,
And we’ll still love thee and that’s a fact,
For the man needs Ann for a’ that.

Not bad for a stressed, over-worked single mum.

Now I have to decide if I'm suffering from the onset of flu, or a hangover.

So. I do have a life... sometimes!