It felt strange to reach the end of the first school term of my teaching career with no date in the diary for a cheeky coffee with my mother, a catch up which would have allowed me to recalibrate, decompress and make sense of it all.

Without indulging in a pity party (just a small one?), the last few weeks have felt like peak overwhelm and have seen me a little out of kilter. I have rarely felt in the the driving seat – sometimes my feet have not even reached the pedals and back seat driving or a hand-break would have felt like an indulgent luxury. I promise that I would have moved on from this extended driving metaphor but even my sat nav decided to down tools – perhaps fatigued at making so many reactionary decisions for me. It has taken me until now to take a brace position and remind myself that I can read a map when technology/life starts to buffer.

It will come as no surprise to my loyal reader (bless you), that I am pants at asking for help in these situations and that I prefer to project a rufty tufty ‘can do’ attitude instead of admitting that I am having a ‘wobble’.

Lucky for me then that my band of brothers can take a wobble in their stride even if remains publicly unacknowledged by your’s truly. These friends have reminded me that there is little that a pair of trainers, some irreverent use of whatsapp and a yoga mat cannot overcome. As we yoga teachers like to say, ‘wobble is good, it helps to engage the core’.

Reader, my core is now solid – perhaps not ready to model a bikini on social media – and the firebreak of a half term holiday has allowed me reflect on my learnings (after all, I need to remind myself that I am a teacher for term starts on Monday).

• Jellies wobble and this is their USP. You cannot but smile at a jewel-coloured, wobbly jelly and they always get the party started. Chivers’ original advertising ran with, ‘Perfect purity and exquisite transparency’; this is me folks, perhaps not pure, but totally transparent now that I have had a public wobble. In a couple of weeks we may even have a party, by then I should be able to just tremble slightly when I move and this may pass for an acceptable dance move.
  
• Wobbling stops you from falling down. Fisher Price had this learning all wrapped up in the 1970’s with their ‘Weeble’ family – delightful roly-poly, egg-shaped 2 inch characters who did what they promised on the box; ‘weebles wobble but we don’t fall down’.
  
  Back from my half term break, I have the energy to research why this family of delights always righted themselves. Apparently any roly poly toy is at stable equilibrium in its upright position. My learning from this is that my ‘roly polyness’ could be my super power ; I just need to work around the conundrum of how to wobble without engaging my core – a core which would surely insist on strengthening up – ergo seeing the demise of my roly poly muffin top which should be tasked with keeping me upright.
  
  My wobble at learning this tautologous chop-logic is deepened when I discover that the Weebles family were discontinued because they represented a choking hazard to infants. I find myself distracted by trying to work out if a toddler can actually swallow a 2 inch toy. I am saddened to think that unless a rumoured comeback is made by this resilient little toy family, then the world will be a darker play date without the Weeble Camper Van and light-up circus set.
  
• I find myself reaching for my wine glass and recall that my sister never referred to people as having had too much to drink, or getting ‘slightly tiddly’, instead she used to say, ‘are you getting a little wobbly Bob?’ She must have known that a glass of medicinal ale is just what any doctor would order for a case of the wobbles and it is good to have a little drunken kitchen disco (just me?) when lifeing involves too much heavy lifting. I raise a glass to you, Sis; you were wise beyond your years. I am also reminded by one of my sister’s dear friends that Sis also referred to ‘sandpaper people’ – those folk that the universe provides for us to rub off our awkward edges.
  
  Sis would surely be impressed by my transparent and wobbly rounded curves. Mum would raise her coffee cup.

This week last words go to Himself. Once I finally get over myself for my public and indulgent wobble, I admit to Himself that I have wobbled/am still wobbling/will no doubt wobble again now that I have the hang of it. Naturally this is no surprise to him – he is not a teacher but he can recognise a jelly when he sees one and has indulged me with the space to right myself. Full credit goes to him for not responding to my flipping obvious confession with , ‘no shit, Sherlock,’ but instead a more poetic offering:

‘That’s how astronomers discover distant plants. They record the ‘wobble’ of a planet as it crosses the face of the sun. And, the sun shines brightly, my lovely’.

Play date anyone?