Snow Angels and Shizz

I sort of feel like I'm in the Gilded Age of teaching...ya know, a super crappy time coated in all the feels I have toward educating the children; at this point,  it's the only thing that keeps me getting up every day. It's the Gilded Age because I am actually happy, not stressed, that we've missed three days in a row and will probably miss a fourth on Monday because of blizzard-like conditions that swooped in overnight. I literally have sat on the same couch cushion for three days straight with minimal moving. I've managed to make it to the gym once, go for a snowy walk, break out the Wii for Just Dance 3, and get myself inordinate amounts of food and La Croix waters from the kitchen (luckily in the same room as the couch). A year ago, I would have cheered, then jeered, at the thought of so many snow days in a row, and now? Now, I'm jaded. Having that 20-something moment of needing to "find myself" career wise. On top of that, you can only sit on the same piece of furniture with your cat while talking to your boyfriend on the phone without thinking, "wow, I'm literally snowed in with a furry man cat. I am sort of a cat lady." Le sigh.

I haven't worn real clothes in three days. THREE DAYS. And no, gym clothes don't count. Spandex in public is really only acceptable if you're going to or coming from the gym. Take note, ladies.

So, after fighting with a spaghetti squash for 15 minutes, I'm sitting here smelling the yummies bake in the oven while I formulate a million 'what ifs' in my head for the near future. Instead of divulging too much, I'll just tell you more about me from the perspective of the children:

I am an idiot. I know nothing about college, student loans (or how to avoid them), ACT scores, or scholarships. As a matter of fact, I should just stop trying to tell them things because I just sound stupid when I "lecture" about having a plan for the future.

I still have no idea how to be a good teacher. I certainly know nothing about Shakespeare or English, and I really should stop with all this history stuff about Rome because what in the world does that have to do with reading and writing about Julius Caesar?

White girls can cook? ANNNNNDDDD bake?

Apparently I'm the most generous person ever: one child literally takes my water every day and guzzles it after lunch. "Thanks, Ms. Freeman!" You're welcome, I guess. I mean, is it couth to say "thank you" when you didn't ask in the first place?

I don't understand the difference in late and on time. I mean, I should totally let you in if you're sprinting down the hallway and still around the corner when the bell rings. Shame on me for making you get a note to class. I'll work on that.

I am a social outcast because I don't watch Empire. I can't believe I don't know who pushed pookie or boo boo or bae down the stairs last week.

Sit in chairs? Who sits in chairs? On their bottoms? Looking respectable? I missed the memo where we sprawl across desks and chairs because we're 'tired' and just don't feel like learning today. Next visitor to my room should expect me face down on the lectern. I can totally teach that way.

Whoever came up with putting things away after you use them should be placed in front of a firing squad. How dare I ask the children to push in their chairs and put away the borrowed pencils at the end of class. And stack textbooks? No. That's doin' too much.

Leave school at 3pm when I'm allowed to walk out the door? Well, if judgmental looks and mumbles from the permanent fixtures are all I have to worry about as I grab my belongings at 2:59, I'll surely shake them off at the slam of the heavy metal door. Some people, for their own sanity, get their crap done strategically during planning, before school, and while the children are working. Some of us are over the times where taking work home is the norm. If I took work home at this point, I'd cry all the time, have no boyfriend, and really be a cat lady. No bueno.

So, in the spirit of getting to scrape the cool looking (and super stubborn) spaghetti squash, I'll spare you any further weirdness or insights into my soul. I'll probably watch You've Got Mail for the third time in three days and continue to sit on my couch cushion. C'est la vie, people.