As time goes by...

This year's Christmas tree is, I think, the biggest and bushiest I have ever had. Youngest son and I went to fetch it on a bright, clear morning a couple of weeks ago. By the time we got to the farm, heavy clouds were gathering with intent, and as we started the drive home, a few heavy drops plopped down. The sharp shower that followed should not have been a problem, but for the fact that the tree would only go into my car with the roof down. There's something very silly about driving an open-top sports car in the rain, and sillier still when there's a five-foot Christmas tree bobbing in the wind whistling above the windscreen. This event has already entered family legend as another example of their mother's advancing eccentricity.

I'm ashamed to discover that more than half a year has whistled by without a single blog post: mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Life has been busy and happy, but there's been little leisure to gather my thoughts and compose them into considered prose. However, I've promised my Dad that I will try to follow his example and update my musings more often and in this season of new resolutions, it's a good time to make a start.

Almost immediately after my last post, daughter-in-law was elected as a local councillor. After years of grassroots activism in local politics, and with eldest son as a willing and energetic campaigner and supporter, she polled an unexpectedly high majority on what ought to have been a marginal seat. I am turning into a Hyacinth Bouquet soundalike: "my daughter-in-law the councillor" trips off the tongue so nicely.

Summer started with the usual rush of exam marking. Tight deadlines and heavy workloads at all three levels mean that the end of term and the first few weeks of the holiday are businesslike and strictly timetabled. People ask why I mark public exams when I could be lounging on a beach somewhere. The second part of the question is easy to answer - I don't much like lounging on beaches. But there is more to it than that: it is, without question, the most rigorous form of professional development for a teacher, discovering how students all over the country tackle topics I deliver in the classroom week by week.

August was all about closing a chapter in my life. With youngest son off to university in September, the time had come to empty the old house and put it on the market. After ten years as a family home and a year as a young man's bachelor pad, there was a lot of clearing out to do. Lofts, cupboards and cavities under and behind furniture were all emptied into the light of day, sorted, and divided into unequally into two piles: to skip, and to keep. All of the children helped out a bit, but special mention goes to daughter who spent dusty hours clearing lofts and sorting and boxing books with a ruthlessness of purpose. "Do you actually *need* this? No? Skip, then." Second son arrived just in time to rescue the day when I tripped and sprained an ankle badly: he lugged boxes into and out of the hired white van as we moved the remnants of our life into a hired storage unit.

After nearly three weeks of hard work, two eight-ton skips and twelve boxes stowed, and enough dust to bury a small city, the almost-empty house echoed sadly as we set off for a celebratory trip to Bramall Lane to watch the Blades beat Walsall in a very satisfying game. I felt quite nostalgic for the years I've been a Blade by adoption as we spilled out with the cheerful crowd after the match.

The Michaelmas term started at a run and continued that way. My most daunting task each year is learning the names of new students, closely followed by re-orienting my picture of familiar faces into new year-groups. I love the buzz of energy at the start of the school year, and the settling back into the rhythm of a day punctuated by bells and familiar tasks. Who would have thought that the awkward, stroppy schoolgirl I once was would eventually find comfort in the repeated patterns of school routines!

There have been some delightful interludes with my lover when we have found space between his work and mine, including a city break early in summer, but his illness clouded the end of the long holiday which has put our collaborative project on ice. Instead we've spent time together clearing the backlog of his daily work to give him more time for rest and recuperation.

The Christmas holiday has been one of family logistics: daughter's car lives outside my house, so their stepmother's big birthday party saw children and partners converging here for lifts north, then returning here before dispersing to their holiday destinations. The day itself was spent with second and youngest sons and their bosses and families in their London gastropub: quite the most congenial way to spend Christmas day. A trip to introduce daughter-in-law to my Dad yesterday rounded off the Christmas travelling for the year, and I came home bearing quite the most glamorous Christmas present I have ever received: a Fortnum and Mason hamper full of seasonal gourmanderie.

I'm looking forward to 2012. The most significant date in the diary so far is the expected date of arrival of my first grandchild. Eldest son and daughter-in-law are stuffing their house with things that hadn't even been invented when he was born, but which are now de rigeur for a twenty-first century baby. I'm delighted that they still want to use the hand-knitted blanket I made for him thirty years ago: it gives me a real sense of continuity and helps to offset the terror I feel at this next step along the matriarchy timeline.