Morose & Verbose - esaciar's blog

[Stívarðr Reynitré]

Okay. So. Here we go.

Writing a blog.



I am esaciar. I'm very recently 29 and therefore stalking 30 like a bent cop on a drug bust - I can see it, I know what it's up to and sooner or later, although I can keep it under wraps for now, I'm going to have to confront it.

There is a 'mrs. esaciar' and even a beautiful, little girly 'mini esaciar' and they make my life light up. Very few people ever get close to me. As the title suggests, my levels of misanthropy are legendary and I despise the vast majority of life on earth - but if you're within that 'circle' with me - you'll be loved; more than life itself.

I like history and I like reading, but mostly I like writing. And beer. And whiskey. And wine. And food.

I want to travel someday - mainly to places with forests and snow and towering mountains that ache with the memories of centuries past. My interests are diverse, impulsive and follow absolutely no consistent evolution whatsoever. I like what I like and I'd like others to like it too.

I am a teacher. A primary school teacher. Some - many in the 'know' - have officially told me that I am an outstanding one at that, but I am just sharing stuff with people, and since kids are largely sponge-like people, they're the best people to share with.

I am a simple guy with simple tastes. I like my people and my places.

If you'd like, I'd love to share them with you. So be a good sponge...please?

Oh, and the name? I'm a miserable git who likes big words.

[Stívarðr Reynitré]

...Reserved...

[Stívarðr Reynitré]

As a teacher, I have certain perks. Staying at home over the six week holidays is one of them; I'll never argue about this with anyone and fully agree that it is a great perk. However, I must dispel the notion that it's a walk in the park.

Being a teacher means I'm always off at times when my wife isn't...meaning my daughter is always off with me too. She's very young and the absolute reason for my existence (alongside my wife) and so having that time to spend with her is an absolute blessing and an honour.

But, bugger me, is it tiring too.

It's a busman's holiday - as my dad would say. I spend my working life keeping children focused, making sure they don't misbehave, trying to teach them something and seeing out the day hoping that they at least have gained a speck of something from the total effort I have crammed into that day for them. Then I do that during the holiday too!

And keeping the house tidy? That's something that is a real task. I can bet that many blokes have returned home and had a sly thought creep across their minds. "My wife has one job to do. One job! Just keep the house tidy whilst I'm out, and look at the pig-sty state of this place!"

Well, let me tell you, ease off on that thought there. It's impossible to keep a house tidy with a child inside it for a full day. You run the hoover around - they spill muesli on the carpet. You clean the windows - they wipe their grease ridden hands all over them. You light a candle to scent the room - they take a dump in the downstairs toilet and stink the place out. You tidy the living room into a semblance of order - they get toys out, play with them for 5 minutes and then get another one out, completely oblivious to the fact that the last four toys they got out are still cast across the floor. They get hungry and you make them some food - they spend 20 minutes picking out the bits they don't like and smushing them into the table.

But, by God, I will rip the still-beating heart out of anyone's chest should you do anything to remotely even appear to hurt her.

It's a trip, no?

When the wife gets home, knackered from a day at work, she slumps onto the sofa and sticks the TV on and then looks at the hastily ordered carnage that is thinly veiled by my pathetic attempts. She gives me a wry smile and utters, "She kept you busy, then?" because she knows...she has done it too! Because whilst the shelves are getting dustier by the day, and my underpants are left in a heap on the floor, and the bath is full of beard trimmings, and the oven hob has food literally welded to it - well, during that time, I'm loving my child. I'm teaching her to tie her laces, to ride her bike, to talk with dignity and manners, to experience the world with joy and humility, to write her own name, to use a knife and fork, to smile without looking a little dopey...and my wife knows that. She appreciates that. She understands that.

It's great having that understanding.

I'm not a metrosexual man - far from it. I was cast in a role of the typical, traditional male. I was brought up to protect my family. To be the hulking alpha who beat his chest. The woman was the care giver and I was the provider. But my dad wanted that instilled in me because he saw the bigger picture.

I saw him drive 500 miles in a day for his job. I saw him give his entire monthly wages to pay for us and he was still wearing trousers that were frayed at the seams, two sizes too small for him and so worn by washing that they were several tones lighter in colour than looked stylish. He sacrificed without a thought because he was a hard man. A man who loved his family and would do anything for them. There's a place for the traditional male in today's world if they live by that code. He was the provider, he was the hero, he was the reliable workhorse.

My wife works, my mother never did. But the sentiment remains...I'll do whatever is necessary for my family. Their protection, their emotional wellbeing, their financial security...everything and anything.

Teachers get a lot of bad press lately. We're scamming the tax payers, we're workshy, we have it easy, we clock off at 3pm everyday...but this isn't my rant about being a teacher...but being the person behind the teacher. My job doesn't define me anymore than your job defines you. We are who we choose to be and what we choose to do.

I love being a teacher because it's so very rewarding. But I also love it for the holidays. Tell that to someone and they usually head off on a rant of epic proportions. But let me explain...

Being a teacher means I get to be a professional; I get to be the breadwinner and provide for my family; I get to have disposable income and keep my family in a lifestlye that gives us choices.

More importantly, I get to see both sides of the coin, though...because I also get to be a parent. And that is amazing, and tough, and tiring, and beautiful, and everything else I've just mentioned. I'm lucky. I know I am. But don't ever call me lazy.

Just a little insight into my life.