I secretly believe that my life is a reality show. I mean there have to be cameras somewhere. Someone has to be watching this mess unfold. The things that happen to me n a daily basis have to be scripted. Somewhere in the dirty drop ceiling that is my classroom is a hidden camera.
Ashton Kutchner is going to tell me I have been 'punked' for the last five years any day now.
One of my students is named after a famous basket player which is good because he does a great job of faking the dramatic much like his namesake does on a charge in the playoffs. I have told him on several occasions that the way he treats me reminds me of my ex-husband and I really need him to stop. This, of course, makes me some form of reject basketball wife.
Anyway Freethrow today decided that he does not want anyone to be next to him. I mean no one (including me) can walk around him, use crayons, or breathe the same air as he. To prove this point his stand up and tells a young lady, who happens to be picking up a yellow crayon from his table, to "move away from my table you BASTARD!". Now, if little Freethrow truly knew what a bastard was, he would realized that he probably fits into the same category as the person that he is directing his rage toward. Heck, I probably do to.
The students froze in a moment of disbelief. Then slowly I could see 17 other little faces turn and look at me. I think in their little heads they wanted to see the precise moment that their teacher lost it and subsequently lost her "good county job". I really believe that I heard one of them say "aw hell". I would have addressed the "aw hell" but at the moment the "bastard" trumped it. Hey, you have to pick your battles.
I will have to admit that I may have blanked out at that moment.
Let me let you in on a little truth. Teachers really try to be all that you see on TV and on those "other blogs". We try to be friendly and make things colorful. We try to love your child. But the honest truth is many times the sweet, loveable, little baby you send to school becomes an angry demon once he walks through the school doors ( I blame this on the crap they serve in the cafeteria. I'll talk about that another time). But sometimes your little baby can send us over the edge.
All I know is when I came back to being me...everyone was working peacefully and Freethrow was back to work.
When does Spring Break start again?!
Ashton Kutchner is going to tell me I have been 'punked' for the last five years any day now.
One of my students is named after a famous basket player which is good because he does a great job of faking the dramatic much like his namesake does on a charge in the playoffs. I have told him on several occasions that the way he treats me reminds me of my ex-husband and I really need him to stop. This, of course, makes me some form of reject basketball wife.
Anyway Freethrow today decided that he does not want anyone to be next to him. I mean no one (including me) can walk around him, use crayons, or breathe the same air as he. To prove this point his stand up and tells a young lady, who happens to be picking up a yellow crayon from his table, to "move away from my table you BASTARD!". Now, if little Freethrow truly knew what a bastard was, he would realized that he probably fits into the same category as the person that he is directing his rage toward. Heck, I probably do to.
The students froze in a moment of disbelief. Then slowly I could see 17 other little faces turn and look at me. I think in their little heads they wanted to see the precise moment that their teacher lost it and subsequently lost her "good county job". I really believe that I heard one of them say "aw hell". I would have addressed the "aw hell" but at the moment the "bastard" trumped it. Hey, you have to pick your battles.
I will have to admit that I may have blanked out at that moment.
Let me let you in on a little truth. Teachers really try to be all that you see on TV and on those "other blogs". We try to be friendly and make things colorful. We try to love your child. But the honest truth is many times the sweet, loveable, little baby you send to school becomes an angry demon once he walks through the school doors ( I blame this on the crap they serve in the cafeteria. I'll talk about that another time). But sometimes your little baby can send us over the edge.
All I know is when I came back to being me...everyone was working peacefully and Freethrow was back to work.
When does Spring Break start again?!