Lame-o

I have been so lame this week that I'm actually sick of myself.  Does that ever happen to you?  I only worked on Monday for half a day so I've been at home, alone with myself for three days which I usually enjoy, but not this week.  I work tomorrow (THANK GOD!) for one of the worst fourth grade classes I've ever seen, but oddly enough, I really enjoy working in that room. I get to bark out orders like Tommy Lee Jones does in every one of his movies

"Blah, blah blah, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse blah blah blah."

and that makes me feel good and important, because like all teachers, I only went in to this profession for the power it gives me over weak and helpless children; the money; and June, July and August!  Just kidding.  I should stop giving the anti-teacher movement ammunition.  They don't need it.

Although I have been lame, I have been kicking some major ass in Angry Birds! Now that I read that last sentence, I think that is just further evidence of my lameness.  But look at my progress!

And...

And...

In case you're not a player of Angry Birds (lame-o) those are a few of my score boards and if you'll notice they all have THREE STARS!  That's perfection, my friends. 

So what has been making me feel so bad about myself this week?  I feel bad that I lost the frog again.  He's in the house somewhere getting drier and drier, I can just feel it.  Either that or there is a thriving community of tree frogs in my house that are mostly really good at staying out of sight.  Who knows.  I never once saw that frog poop.  Isn't that weird?  And I am also getting anxious about traveling with my children across the country by myself.  Mitch has to stay here and work so I can afford to take the kids on fabulous vacations.  I'm pretty much ready for the trip, I think, but I keep thinking of the worst things that could happen, like losing a kid in an airport bathroom, or dying in a fiery plane crash.  That would suck.  But I have to get out there and do stuff or else I end up feeling lame for sitting around my house with my thumb up my butt.  (In my defense, I never actually had my thumb up my butt.)  

Sheepdog and Coyote

I subbed in a fourth grade class with kids I've known for a few years now. There is a kid in that class named Paul*. He is one of my favorite kids in the world because he is so darn happy and likable, but when I sub in his class it's like we are in that old Bugs Bunny cartoon where the coyote and the sheepdog are pals until they punch the clock to go to work, and then they are mortal enemies for the work day, and then at the end of the day they are friends again and go out and do something together. I'm the sheepdog, Paul is the coyote. He comes into school, we are happy to see one another, then the bell rings and it's on. He is NEVER doing what he is supposed to be doing and he has the loudest voice in the world, so everyone always notices and then the other kids tell me and I'm expected to do something about it CONSTANTLY.

Last year his third grade class had a student teacher and she taught the whole day so my job was to sit by Paul and keep him on task. One day when she was talking to the class, he was at the pencil sharpener, sharpening his pencil. It was loud, and annoying and it went on and on and on. I was waiting for him to look at me so I could give him the evil eye and a quiet reprimand. He turned around after about five minutes of uninterrupted sharpening, and I looked in his hands and he didn't even have a pencil. I was so surprised I almost laughed out loud and I couldn't bring myself to say anything because I thought I would laugh in front of him which would be like the sheepdog rolling over and showing the coyote its throat.

So at the end of the day today Paul told me that I have to write a short note in his planner to tell his mom how he was in school. I told the brutal truth, Paul read it, smiled at me and said, "Have a great weekend, Mrs. Lindahl!" I love that kid.

In other subbing news, we played a game in the gym today called Sofa. Weird name, I don't know why it's named that. It's like a dodgeball free-for-all, played with seven to ten balls, with everyone gunning for everyone else, and if you get hit, you have to sit on the sidelines until the person who got you gets out. It's total chaos. I bet if it was studied by psychology and educational experts it would be found to be a TERRIBLE game that bruises fragile self-esteems, as well as little bodies, but the kids LOVE IT. I love it too because there is no other social context (that I have found) that allows you to chase after an eight year old, and when you corner him and he cowers, you fire a ball with all your strength at his head, and it's okay!
It makes me giddy!

*Not his real name.  His real name is Russel.*


*No it isn't.