Wait. I see a light? A finish line? My soul?

It is such a cliche but DUDES I do not recall being this frantic for this long leading up to Christmas EVER before.

I seriously feel like I’ve been sprinting since the beginning of this term 10 weeks ago. You know, when the boys got back to school only to then return in isolation with whooping cough for a whole week.

Some of us (Chef, me, sometimes Grover, occasionally Felix and every now and then Oscar) are still coughing until we wretch. It’s a delightful illness that we could have the effects of for t.w.e.l.v.e. months. Yeah. YAY all you parents not immunising simply because you think you know better than the medical profession. Cough on.


Every year I make a range of goodies for the teachers. I have adored each and every teacher my school-aged children have ever had. Isn’t that remarkable! I have similarly adored all the kindy teachers my children have had – excluding of course the Godly Kindy of Hell last year. They barely managed to deserve a card.

This year I was super organised. I had purchased the boxes the gifts were going in, I had made the jams a couple of months prior, two slices were made and I decided that’d do them, each with a card I would fill with a thoughtful, hopefully tear-inducing message of gratitude and love.

What I had not done was the labels to go with these various tasty morsels. And of course I don’t do any old label. There’s a craft component as well as a quirky or witty or word equivalent of jaunty message about what’s in it, how to store it and how best to serve it.

I know. What an IDIOT.

Last night, at around 1am,  as I applied a band-aid to my index finger such was the pain of writing the hundreth label (NINE teachers people, NINE) I was wondering why I don’t just buy them each a box of Roses like the rest of the world and be done with it.

So cue today.

Jasper’s kindy graduation was this morning, the bigger boys school picnic next, a quick run down to the Mall to buy my nephew his birthday present and we’re currently back home for about 30 minutes. Then it’s back up to school to see the school form a farewell tunnel for the Year 6s, which will probably make me cry and then on to my nephew’s birthday party.

That coming home for half an hour was purely so I could be horizontal for 10 minutes just to regain my composure for this afternoon.

After 10 weeks of sprinting to this finish line here we stand. One boy on the cusp of high school, one about to become the big fish in the little pond, one so ready for school and one even readier to start pre-school. I am spent. Exhausted. Pure and simple.

And it is all so worth it. After all our teachers put up with throughout the year the least I can do is show our true gratitude with some homemade goodies and a card that tells them how appreciative we are.

But next year I’m starting them at Easter.