In fact, I've been trying to get past those few sentences and on to a real entry for four days.
Teaching is hard, you guys. All right...not so much hard-(if you are into that sort of thing it's actually really fun)-as time consuming and stressful. And I also have that Wendy person at home....
I've been joking a lot lately about how I wish there was a pill for this. The stress, I mean. The stress of making a million decisions all day about where kids should sit and how they should pass papers around and whether or not they should go to the bathroom and which words to use so I don't crush egos/receive emails from parents. And then there is the paperwork. And trying to appear smart and professional in front of co-workers. And portfolio reviews.
Did I tell you guys the story about how I cried in front of my direct supervisor?
It's a great story. It has everything you want in a blog entry: Anticipation and angst over potential failure, humiliation and emotional seepage in place of the blindingly impressive intellect that one planned on displaying, eventual relief when one realizes that not only is one not going to die, but that there is actual approval and understanding in the universe...
I'll tell you that story sometime....
Right now, I should tell you the story about our kitchen.
Once upon a time, Mo had off from work for a non-denominational two-week "Winter break." Carl was there too. I don't know why. Holiday togetherness. That sounds good.
Anyway, all it took was a few days of dewy-eyed, loving togetherness before we started ripping the paper off the walls. Literally. Ripping paper off the kitchen walls and painting them orange. Why orange? BECAUSE. That's why.
Good story, huh?
Here's a picture of Wendy wanting nothing to do with Santa:
He didn't take it personally. She still got some good loot for Christmas. :-P