It was a very long week, wasn't it? Here are some things I wanted to say but didn't get around to:
Searching the Help Wanted Ads
Thursday afternoon I hopped online but couldn't think of anything to say. Or anything I wanted to say without being ugly. Instead, I searched for other jobs I could do besides teaching. There weren't any listing needing "washed-up school teachers" in any of the places I looked. Let me know if you see anything out there. I'm not really looking to move, but if I were, this would be the time before we do anything crazy like buy a house.
So what's my deal? I'm just in over my head right now. I went to my weekly meeting with the other 8th grade teachers and came back depressed because it just feels like I am not doing half of what I should be in terms of keeping track of my students. Lots of paperwork. Not that I don't believe in the philosophy. I just believe that I hate having a life-consuming job sometimes. Most of the time.
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Traffic Sucks
On Wednesday night, I drove 13 miles across town for a meeting. It took me an hour to get there. I was lamenting what 13 miles means in the city compared to the country, and in Nevada that actually means, the barren desert. When I lived in the barren desert, I used to have a friend who lived 15 miles from me. It would take me 10-15 minutes to get to his house. In those days that I lived in rural Nevada, I drove a lot because one had to get out of town for supplies and fun. Sure it took hours to get somewhere, but that somewhere would be 150 miles away.
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Living in the F Lane
Despite warnings that progress reports were coming out this week, about 40 of my students ended up with F's in my class. Sure, I teach the brightest and the laziest. It's about driving my team nuts this year. (I hear next year's group is worse, but in two years it will be good again.) Spring hasn't even sprung yet and students are getting crazy. The parents we've met with are confused in the changes they are seeing in their students. We just nod our head, "Yep. Lots of drama. Lots of hormones."
The good news is that about half of those students have crawled their way up to a passing grade. (Not before those F's had been reported, though.) I gave personal invitations to the rest of them to work on resurrecting their grades over the weekend lest I should have to tattle on them to their parents. Oh the fear in their eyes! (Those progress reports are sent via the student, so you know they'll never make it home.) I do not believe I should have to give personal invitations to students to turn in their work. Irritates me. Furthermore, those missing assignments were done mostly in class, so those students have the assignments somewhere. The assignments are likely finished or about 15 minutes away from being finished. Crazy.
For next year, we are working on a no-late work policy in our program. I hope so. All of us teachers are for it; we just want to know it will be supported by administration.
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He's Finally 6--Now 7--Now 8
It's been a long birthday week for my stepson. He had a party with some friends on Sunday, but his birthday wasn't until later the week. Basically his was a birthday brat for days. He's at his grandparent's house this weekend, having more birthday. I'm so glad it's finally over. I was rather amused by the fact that he thought each time he celebrated his birthday this week that he actually gained a year. Only a child would actually want that. Adults prefer to subtract years everytime we celebrate.
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A Rant About My Cluttered Life
We are working on spring cleaning this week because we have a lot of company coming in the next few weeks. One weekend we will be packed in like sardines here, but it's better than $179 a night for a room, I say. Anyway, I'm about the lose my mind. What is it with the kids and their stuff? They bring home 5-6 pieces of paper a night, half of which I have to sneak into the trash because it's just sooooooooooo important--important enough to keep, but not for them to find a place. And what about the little bits of this and that? Little toys, erasers, buggy things, bouncy balls, barrettes. Bleah. Where do those things come from? I don't know. I can tell you where they go.
And my sweetie is all about little pieces of paper everywhere that have numbers on them. Phone numbers of important people? Computer configuration numbers? When I ask him if they are important, he gives them a glance and throws them away. Could he possibly do that when he gets home from work at night instead of letting them pile up for a while until I threaten to light a match?
Honestly, they all have to wait for me to be a b*tch about things. It's the wife/mom thing to do, I suppose.
Is HappyChyck perfect? No. She has more pens than Office Max scattered everywhere. And paperclips. And tubes of lip balm. None of those things she can find when she really wants them.
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