Well. Blake seems to be sick again. I seem to be sick again. I’m starting to wonder if he’s bringing it home from playschool or if I’m bringing it home from my slightly more grown-up version of playschool. I’m also starting to wonder if I’ll ever be free of this headache.
This week has been a struggle to keep it together – literally. On Monday my glasses fell apart, right on my face; fortunately, I was still getting ready to go to work, so I was able to switch to my loathsome second pair. Yesterday my ‘vog fell apart, right on my foot; unfortunately it was at school so I had to swap a looming caf duty and limp around for the rest of the day.
Today nothing has broken. Yet.
But today also sucked in a less dramatic fashion. Today – if you didn’t already know – is Grade 9 Take Yer Spawn to Work Day, and Bat Masterson made it a school-wide career day. I spent the day herding reluctant 11 Faiths into sessions. More than half my class skipped the whole day; by the last ass-numbing lecture on financial planning, I was down to 7 kids.
There’s a reason I didn’t want to be an elementary school teacher, and today has written it in neon letters a foot high: AT LEAST THEY GO AWAY AFTER 75 MINUTES. There are some kids in my class whom I never want to see in this life - ever again.
And how was Hallowe’en? Fine, except for my lil’ sickie. He wore his Buzz Lightyear costume to playschool and apparently loved the excitement of it all. He even answered the door for a few kids last night, so he got a little taste of the true spirit of the season.
on Sunday, before he got sick
For my part, I dressed like a bee with the stuff I keep around from my clubbing days. (I’ve decided that if I have to make an effort on Hallowe’en, I’m trying too hard.) It worked out really well – most of my co-workers were delighted with me, and my students were suitably freaked out. Of course, Blake demanded that I wash off my black lipstick & glitter as soon as I got home – being sick, he was thrown off by my non-mommy appearance. He calmed down as soon as I was back in jeans, with a normal mouth.
imagine me doing little directional dances
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*