It’s right around this time of year that teachers actually start to feel comfortable and confident with their new class. They feel like they’re actually being effective and making a positive difference, and they begin to remember why they love their jobs.
Which is why today’s parent teacher conferences fall at the perfect time.
To provide a reality check.
This job sucks.
When I have kids one day, I am never going to yell at them, punish them, set rules/curfews, or prevent them from doing the things they want to do because I’m going to be the cool parent who understands that children are people too, and they should be allowed to do as they please and make their own decisions.
Said my 12 year old self.
What a fucking idiot.
I originally bought this oversized wine glass for my Tami Taylor Halloween costume, but it turns out it’s great for special occasions, like Mondays, Daylight Savings, and 4:55pm.
Two kids went home sick today, the first school day after Halloween, which is just sad.
These nerds need to step up their candy-gorge game. I expected half the class to be out.
I’ve had a stomach ache for 3 days.
Today there was a cockroach in our classroom the size of my hand.
It was literally the largest bug I’ve ever seen in real life, and it was hanging out right under one of our computers. My co-teacher spotted it first and relayed the information to me in the calmest, quietest tone she could muster (and if you know my co-teacher, you can appreciate the restraint this took) in order to not draw the kids’ attention, whispering the phrase “I’m going to throw up” no less than six times.
I’m not good with bugs. But more and more kids were spotting it, and the classroom was one second away from full blown hysteria. I appreciated that my co-teacher was PRETENDING to take action by grabbing a tissue box, but, let’s be real, she wasn’t going to do shit, other than possibly puke on herself.
It was up to me.
So I calmly walked over to the roach with a mountain of tissues, scooped it up, and placed it in a plastic ziplock bag. The kids gasped and then erupted into applause. They were being absurd and beyond dramatic. Then, for the next 20 minutes, they were unable to focus on their writing task. They were giving me the thumbs up, congratulating me, telling me how brave I am– pretty much anything they could do to avoid their work. You know how 9 year olds are. It was a total overreaction and completely ridiculous.
I’ve never felt cooler.
Age 9 seems like a good time to learn this– Being depressed is NOT the same as being disappointed.
#themoreyouknow
Me: “When should we perform CPR on a child?”
CPR Trainer: “When the child is unresponsive.”
Well then. Break out the AED machine. My entire class is legally dead.
My co-teacher (on the phone with her husband): “So, Emily decided to take her bra off, and then our principal walked in to observe us.”
I mean…there was a bit more context to that story but yeah.
That’s pretty much exactly what happened.
(For the record, yesterday was National No Bra Day. I’m a philanthropist.)
People often ask me what it’s like to teach at a city public school, so I figured I’d go ahead and create a pat answer that almost anyone can relate to.
You know that feeling you have when you’re trying to fold a fitted sheet? It’s like that.
But instead of one sheet, you’re folding 30 sheets at the same time.
And every sheet has its own unique challenge, in addition to the inherent challenge of it being a GODDAMN FITTED SHEET THAT WON’T FOLD.
Some of the sheets have holes in them, and no matter how gentle you try to be, you end up accidentally ripping them more, because they’re just too damn fragile.
Some are as stiff as cardboard and simply can’t be bent in any direction, no matter how hard you push, tug, and pull.
Some smell like stale sweat so you have to figure out a way to fold them without breathing, lest you vomit.
Some are falling apart at the seams.
Some have bed bugs.
Some are tear-stained.
Some are straight up covered in pee.
But you’re still expected to fold all 30 of them every single day, all at the same time, and put them neatly away. In a pristine pile. In a tiny, overheated closet that can’t possibly hold a pile of 30 sheets.
Then at 3pm, EVERY SINGLE DAY (even on the days you DO manage to create an actual pristine pile, which happens an average of 1 day per decade), the sheet manufacturers come by, rip open your tiny closet, rummage through your neat pile, and derail everything you worked so hard to do.
But don’t worry, you get another chance to fold them bright and early the next morning.
And every morning.
For the rest of your life.
But yeah otherwise teaching is great!
Kid (to my coteacher): “Um excuse me, can you please blow in my eye?”
No. No she cannot.
No literally. There is definitely a rule in the teacher handbook about blowing in children’s eyes.
If not, there should be.
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