I’ve made a variant of a Polish saying my mantra lately: this is no longer my circus, and these are now Father’s monkeys.
I say it a lot.
Whenever someone wants to fight over the gym and how and when it will be used?
Go ask Father.
Whenever someone wants to talk about the fish fries: Go ask Father (or, lately, the secretary he’s decided is in charge of them).
It’s not that I won’t help with these things; but the thing is my decisions have no meaning and are very short-term in nature. The kids will be gone within two months and we’re none of us good at stretching work out. We’ll be done with all we can do by May, easily, and yet we have contracts until June’s out. Well, some of us do. The rest of us are hourly, and I’d like to protect those hours, but heck if I know what it is we can all do.