331. A job to be done

 ‘What’s up?’

My head is slumped on the table, my right hand deep inside a king size tissue box, my left one clutching a tissue, my shoulders are heaving and my whole body shaking as I am sobbing uncontrollably. All around me scattered all over the dining table are piles and piles of papers: incomprehensible marking grids, achievement charts and performance level trackers.

‘What’s up?’ My husband sounds truly concerned.

I howl. Which makes Baby rush into the room too. Cool as a cucumber she  lifts both her hands in the air.

‘Mum’s marking the mock exam papers. It’s just a bit of a shock but she’ll be fine.’

She disappears up the stairs. I howl some more because she doesn’t take me seriously.

‘Come on! Surely they can’t be that bad!’

‘I have 36 to go through. And with every one of them I realise I’m a terrible teacher! I must be!’

My husband is busying himself and I think he is abandoning me but the d thud of an object put down beside me followed by a soft tinkling noise make me lift my head. A strong drink on ice. I blow my nose real hard, take a noisy gulp and let out a huge sigh.

‘Feeling better? … I’ll help if you want.’

That has the same effect on me as the strong drink. My husband could never do my job! The papers would be marked in no time but probably not following the grading sheets and their diplomatic turn of phrase.

So I get back to the task in hand. The drink seem to help and the papers are becoming better as I work my way through the pile.