In Praise of Nobby

Now, it wasn't the nicest way to stay up all night - there I was, one o'clock in the morning, holding my daughter's hair back while she vomits into her rubbish bin... Yes, the lurgy has landed chez Nobby and Me and no mistake. I had it last weekend and now Poppet is down with fever, puking and other unmentionables. Yuk.

But of course then we faced the dilemma that has been plaguing other working families for decades - who should take the day off work to look after the sick child? How typical that the one child who so rarely gets sick decides to do it during my first foray back into working life for nine years. Yes, ok, I know the work is voluntary; hang on, let's get this straight a minute, actually I am paying them for the privelege of being taken to pieces and put in my place by a dozen six-year-olds five days a week. (Its clear I need a lot more practice at this teaching malarky after watching several little faces glaze over during my explanation of subtraction yesterday. One little boy took it a step further and crawled away from the whiteboard grumbling 'this is boooooring'. Oh bugger.)

Anyway, long story short, the morning after the mid-night visit from Cardinal Chunder I was due to have my teaching skills observed and assessed by my mentor. And bless him, Nobby, who comes in for some serious stick here from time to time (ok, all the time) got up early, raced to the office and back before school-run time, set up his computer and files on the dining room table and volunteered to work from home and guard the invalid while the missus went to work.

My hero.