So, pretty much, working sucks. Sorry for using such vulgar vocabulary... but it really does. I have been back in the classroom for five days now, yet it feels like months. The students complain and act surprised each time I ask them to work. I often break out in laughter at their behavior. How can a teacher asking you to work surprise you everyday? I can't believe I forgot how needy, feisty, emotional, giddy, resistant etc. teenagers are. Just listening to them attack each other is so ridiculous. Get a little confidence, could you? A LITTLE CONFIDENCE! DiAnn would say that I have such a great opportunity to help these children build confidence in themselves. Nice... I do hope I don't destroy any one's confidence. Crazy cats. They do wear me out.
I feel like a little old lady as I hobble out of the school each day. My feet just throb with pain. Most people I talk to say their "plantar fascia" (or whatever it is) eventually goes away. I have been going on three years now at least and it is just getting worse and worse. Oh, my dogs are barking.
The worst part of working is dropping the girls off for someone else to raise. I feel like I am so tired after school that I don't spend any quality time with them. I have got to make sure that I am hugging them a lot and talking to each one individually. They seem happy where they are and I am pretty sure they are safe. Come on, they are safe.
Even B has been traumatized by all of this change. I now get to his school late to pick him up each day. About 10 minutes late. The third day I could tell something was wrong because everything was making him cry. He asked why we don't go down to Susan's house. Emotionally he cried, "Why do we only go down there at Easter? We can go other times too!"
Finally he asked me (teary eyed) how he was going to call me if I didn't come pick him up. Unbeknownst to me their school was only half day on the very first day I went back to teach. The school had a hard time getting in touch with me and I was over an hour late picking him up. It was a mess. Apparently he is now afraid that I will do that again. "Don't you know our phone number?" I asked.
"Not your phone. Can't you write it down for me on a little piece of paper that I can keep in my backpack all of the time?" he petitioned, crying a little once again. Sad, sad times.
