Around this time of year, I start to think about next year. I don't know about you, but it only takes me about 5 months to start wanting a new class. I'm someone who LOVES the romance phase... I love when things and fresh and shiny and new. I love getting to know the kids, getting to see my routines come in to place, getting through the first big events of the new year. This is why I have had more short term relationships than long ones. He who must not be named only sticks with me because we spend the majority of our time in complete silence, in opposite rooms, doing our own things, and then suddenly and spontaneously finding each other again and jumping in the sack!
As we approach our hundredth day, state testing, parent conferences (again) and report cards, I begin to think of all of the other careers I coulda, woulda, shoulda had.
For example, I see those kids on the street collecting signatures for GreenPeace. That seems like a fun job. And I know girls who make a lot waiting tables- make even more when they dance on top of them. I think of all the girls in their cute designer business suits working in office buildings. The front desk girls in my dentist office wear matching outfits. And they aren't scrubs. They actually must go shopping together and buy matching little business outfits. I think about how nice it would be to have a job that afforded me that kind of luxury. Instead, even though I try to look cute, I know deep-down everything I wear to work inevitably ends up with glue, paint or snot on it.
And around this time of year, I get tired of writing parent emails, and I get tired of planning lessons, get tired of being tired. I also stress because our district is so small. People get RIFed every year. It hasn't been me yet, but I am actually one of only two teachers at my school who haven't been teaching there for like, forty-five years. If they RIF anyone, it could be me. And then, I worry non-stop about that. I worry about being fired, of pissing someone off with my radical ways, of getting a new, less understanding, less cool principal who hates me, of losing my job, or getting fired, and going broke.
And part of me thinks, "eh, might not be so bad! I could go to massage school."
But part of me would really miss hearing, "teacher! teacher!" and would miss scraped knees, and tattle tails, and sharing time, and lunch count.
I hear you! Today at our staff meeting, my principal handed out our preference sheet for next year's placement. I put down in order of preference: Grade 3, Grade 3 and Grade 3 because I have not in the past ten years taught the same grade in two consecutive years (nor been in the same room for more than 14 months) and am crossing my fingers that THIS is the year. If not, I may join you in massage school. :)
ReplyDeleteyou stole all the words outta my mouth. seriously.
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