Well, we all went back to work/school today–except the tweeners. Can you believe those two have an entire week off? They call it ‘President’s week’ for cripes sakes! Seriously–if we’re going to give our tweenagers this much time off, I would expect those people (some call them ‘Presidents’) to work a lot harder for me. I have not been impressed enough by the last eight years to stock up my refrigerator the way I’ve had to, and be forced to nag about housework.
Anyway, the short people and I went back–and the short people were suitably exhausted when we returned. In fact, I hear one of them freaking out as I sit and type–Dad was in charge of settling them down to bed this evening (after a failed attempt by Mom), and the Cave Troll has been acting according to his name. His newest thing is, when he doesn’t like something, he opens his maw and shrieks like a rabid goblin. The exact pitch and warble of this shriek causes an instant rise in blood pressure and red spots to dance before the eyes–and Dad tends to pitch a fit in exact proportion to the one being pitched at him. Suffice it to say, that I’m betting the Cave Troll is wishing he’d gone along quietly with mom instead.
On the work front (are all ears open on this one?) I was depressed when one of our newer teachers got a non-reelect. I was really depressed, because I felt sort of a kindred spirit with this woman. We’re both largish, red-headed, un-ignore-able women, and we tend to try to mother our students in a way that makes the anal-retentive squeamish.
I was made vulnerably aware that, if the Grand Royal Prickweenie had been there when I was untenured, when my self-confidence had just been shot down by a ginormous number of things I shan’t elaborate on today, I would not have had this job. He would have hated me on sight (as he has done to date) and I would have been non-re-elected (again–but that is another story) and I’m not sure I would have had the chutzpah to pick myself up one more time. I might have gone back to waitressing or become a copy-editor (everybody laugh!) or something. Not that it would have been a bad fate, but I like teaching. Hell, before the Prickweenie and the Nightmare in a Size Six, I used to LOVE teaching. I think I’ve done some good in this profession. I mean, I’ve got a wall of testimonial from the people most important to me in it–the students!– and it saddens me to think of the Gradgrinding mean-ness that has replaced the spirit of joy in this school. There are a lot of causes for it, but mostly I blame the same lack of tolerance that I think is the downfall of a lot of humanity’s greatest gestures. It just sucks to be in a school where a kid can flounce out, get a referral, and get one period of suspension from my class only, when another kid can say, “Really–you want my cell phone?” in honest puzzlement, and get a three day suspension from school AS A WHOLE. And the flouncing bitch is so much more of an oxygen thief than the cell phone kid–I mean, where’s the fucking justice? High school kids are always saying, “It’s not fair!” Just because life has taught adults that things seldom are fair, doesn’t mean that the high school kids don’t have it right when they think that they SHOULD be!
*sigh* Well, my students were happy, anyway–having a teacher gone for four days is like winning the lottery of slackerdom, and they sure did milk the subs for every last nano-second of movie time. They milked me a little too, but since it took me most of the day to catch up on most (only MOST, not ALL) of my e-mail, I let them. I gave those damned movie assignments for a freakin’ reason, right?
But on a lighter note, Chicken and I are all signed up for Stitches West on the Capitol Corridor train and I even got us a couple of classes. In one way, I don’t really want to go–I don’t want to leave the little people, and I know I’ll spend too much money, and there’s a whole day of writing, completely shot…
But on the other hand, Chicken loves going. She’s not even a serious knitter–she just likes going someplace with me. She’s been amazingly clingy lately–here’s hoping that a day spent completely in mom’s company will remind her that mommies can be bitchy disasters too.
Oh–and I haven’t gotten my thing on Ravelry yet. It’s not done!!! Besides, I keep looking at the booties–with the pattern I came up with all on my own–and trying to figure out if they will fit human feet or not. The really sad thing is, I’m on the second one! I mean, didn’t Steph write a whole chapter on that place that ain’t a river in Egypt? When I post these booties on Ravelry, you can tell me if I live there or not!
