24 and a half plus 7 equals 40. No, wait . . .

No, my math skills haven't finally bitten the dust. Not that they were so high above the dust to begin with. I can still remember getting a score lower than my age on a calculus test in college. But I mean, come on! Who really uses calculus, other than mathematicians? Anyway, I digress (as usual). These numbers are merely representative of some of the things that have been going on since I last wrote. Let's start with the easy stuff. The HALF references the fact that we just had the February HALF-term holiday, which came after a particularly difficult first HALF of the spring term, but which also marked that we are HALF-way through the school year. Since coming back from the holiday, I feel better physically, and am so much more at ease with Angela's situation, which has been amazing. But, I've felt a bit wrong-footed at work. I'm not quite sure if it's actually me, though, as everyone is on edge following the Ofsted inspection. At any rate, some people have been a touch snippy, with comments that I don't quite know how to take - they could mean nothing, or they could represent their true feelings which they've been too polite to express before. I'm not going to go into specifics, but I'm trying not to take it personally, trying to chalk it up to the pressure and stress that everyone is under. Just keeping my head down.

So, 7. 7 refers simply to the number of hours I had to deal with a screaming baby on my ride home to NY over half-term. It penetrated even through my earbuds, and I had a pounding headache by the time I reached my apartment. In fact, I don't really know what was worse, the screaming baby, or her Chav mother trying to "soothe" her by loudly humming the theme tune to "The A-Team." Frankly, if she were my mother, I'd cry too.

The trip home was good, and generated a few numbers of its own: 5 is the number of boxes I unpacked. 4 is the number of contractors I met with to do the kitchen and bath, and I'm still too traumatized to actually write down the numbers they gave me to do the work! 3 is the number of suitcases full of clothes I brought back to NY so I wouldn't have to ship them. 2 is the number of suitcases full of groceries I brought back to London (6 boxes of cereal, 8 boxes of mac n cheese, 10 boxes of granola bars, etc.)  And, finally, 1 is the number of miracles my family was granted this year.

Moving on to 40. That's a bit of a funny one. They say you should never read your reviews, but I've never been good at following that advice. So, I found a somewhat nasty review of me on ratemyteachers.com from the end of last year (so an Ursuline girl). Now, at the risk of sounding cocky, I'm a good teacher and my students like me. Just look at the number of caring girls who came to Mommy's wake last year. But, there's always a few you can't reach, and there's always those who decide  to get back at you if they get in trouble, or do poorly. Students are virtually powerless, so they resort to things like websites that allow you to vent your poison anonymously (quite brave, huh?). Anyway, this particular spoiled brat had a few things to say, but my favorite was "She's jealous that I'm three times the writer at 18 that she is at 40. Sad." You can imagine my ire at this! How dare she! I am not 40!!!!

And that brings me to the last number: 24. This is a number I've thought about a lot over the last few weeks. It's another life philosophy of mine for when life tries to knock you down. Some people believe that being strong means you don't let things affect you, but that's not true. Being an English teacher, it makes me think of a quote from Macbeth. When Macduff is told of the murder of his family, he is overcome with grief. Malcolm tells him, "Dispute it like a man." Macduff responds, "I shall, but first I must feel it like a man." You have to feel things, and those feelings are valid. But, there comes a time when you have to put those feelings aside, deal with it and move on. So, many years ago, I came up with the 24-hour rule. Basically this rule means that, when something goes wrong, when you have a disappointment, or some issue at work or school, you get to wallow in self pity for 24 hours. But, after that, you need to get it together and deal. This way, the feelings are acknowledged and not bottled up, but you don't stay mired in them forever. Life goes on, and we need to go on with it. Even when we think we can't. I never imagined living without my parents, but here I am, still going. By the way, the 24 hour rule clearly would not apply in truly traumatic situations. You need more time for those. But, the basic principle is the same - eventually you have to get up out of the depths and start living again.

So, for a girl who hates math (or maths, as they say here), I certainly have been consumed by numbers lately.  I'm sure it's just a passing fever and the world will right itself soon. Only time will tell . . .