I keep meaning to write... but things have been a little crazy. (In short: job stress and money stress.) My class is still small (16 students), but there are a few issues in the classroom that have been weighing on me. I affectionately (?) refer to this group as my "special ed" class. (I'll write more specific details about them later... too tired to get into it tonight.) At the end of the day, I am usually so exhausted that all I wanna do is sit on the sofa (I mean, ridiculously uncomfortable futon) and veg for a few hours. Yesterday was particularly bad... and I really wanted to come home and start blogging about it. But once I walked in the door, I couldn't bring myself to do anything work related. So after dinner I threw on my sneakers, grabbed my mp3 player, and walked around the block twice listening to soothing tunes (Ryan Adams and Nick Drake were in heavy rotation). I felt much better after that.
So instead of airing my grievances tonight, I'll leave you with some funny stories. I'll save the heavy stuff for another time.
I was walking up the steps to the faculty room with my phone in my hand, when one of the 8th graders noticed it and asked to see it. I held it up, and since I had just flipped it open to check for messages, the display screen was still lit. She saw a picture of my 17 year old godson holding his son (2 months old at the time the pic was taken), and she said, "Is that your baby daddy?" I didn't think people actually said that. I thought it was just in bad rap songs.
Yesterday morning I asked the kids to go to the rug for story time once their folder was put away. My Attention Seeker (who, incidentally, has been doing quite well the past few weeks) was the last one sitting. He looked around the room and noticed that everyone else was on the rug. He jumped up and said (seemingly to himself): "Hey, I already got my folder! What am I waiting for, an invitation?"
When I was taking my kids down to lunch today, I passed the 4th grade on the steps. The following conversation ensued:
4th grade girl: "Miss M, you look older than when we had you. I think it's your hair!"
Me: "What?! What's wrong with my hair?"
4th grade girl: "It looks different now. It makes you look older."
Little Old Man, patting me on the shoulder in an attempt to console me: "She meant to say younger. It makes you look younger."
He shot daggers at the girl, who dissolved into giggles. I really miss that class.