Today was my last day of attending uni classes. Like, for good. My last year of the course, and my very last class.
Was kind of a weird feeling, its been so much of my life for the past six years. And the life of my family, the kids having attended the odd lecture or tutorial over this time.
And being admired by all the 12 year olds in my class. I mean 20 year olds. I’ll get it right one day.
The funny thing is, no one at uni really cares its your last day. There’s different students in each of your classes, all at different stages in their course. There’s different tutors and lecturers, some you only ever see once or twice. It all goes on.
But, I thought, my husband and kids would care. They will be proud of me for having got this far. They will celebrate with me, and be happy for and with me.
So, upon arriving home to an empty house, preparing dinner and serving it up to the grumpy husband and starving one child (the other one came in from swimming fast asleep and could not be woken), I was eventually able to let everyone know that I had officially attended my last uni class, and that aside from my final exam, I was pretty much done.
There was a flurry of congratulations, a bottle of bubbly popped and an enourmous congratulatory, surprise bunch of flowers was produced.
Then I came back to reality, to a five year old saying “good, now we can have dessert” and a grumpy husband saying “that’s nice, means you can finish unpacking the boxes from moving”.
At least Godzilla was still asleep. Means he couldn’t say anything.
Although, he has been asleep for quite some time. He hasn’t eaten and can’t be woken.
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or concerned.