Who's Your Daddy?

This was title of the sermon this morning. It's message simple: Who's your daddy? Who's your boss?

Jokingly I tell people the reason I became a teacher was because I liked being "the boss". And is it ever fun! I get to say when things happen, how they happen (well somewhat) and who they happen to. I am in complete control-- they ask ME. When I say jump, they say, "Frog hops or like we're jumping rope?" Being in control is euphoric. Like running. You move your feet one before the other and you breath air in and out. And, you move from one place to another-- you're making it happen. Perhaps that's why I like living by myself. Typically I am a neurotic neat freak and give everything a place. (Tonight, however, I decided to not wash clothes or take out the trash. My actions aren't affecting anyone except Hurley, and he likes dirty clothes.)

We wake up, we put on our faces, we go to work, we go to the grocery store, we go to the gym. We live a life in control. And, it's not until that control is taken away that we realize we're not.

This week I'm going to attempt to not be driven by my own "boss" (and see what happens).

Tuesdays

Tuesdays are long. I go to work, work late, work out and make it home around 6:45. This gives me time for a quick pick up around the house and then take Hurley on a walk. Then, a group from church comes over. They are generally mildly annoyed by Hurley. Ok, mildly is putting it mildly. Hurley just thinks that they are his best friends who came over to see him. He licks and jumps on them. I tried giving him a raw hide bone, but that did not suffice. So, even though he had been a captive for nearly 12 hours, I put him back in his kennel while they were here.

After they left, I couldn't WAIT for a hot bath. You know the kind I'm talking about. Just a hair too hot, so all your muscles relax. And even though you ration bubble bath like food in a concentration camp, there's just enough scent to be euphoric. It was PERFECT. Finally, a break.

The door opens.

Did I mention Hurley has figured out how to open doors? A new trick. He scampered in there and perched his front legs on the side of the tub while wagging his tail. His head poked up over the side. This is somewhat normal, so I talked to him and left it alone.

The next thing I know I am being splashed in the face by his slimy bone catapulting into my luxurious, stress-relieving bath!

Tuesdays.

There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom

Well, life has definitely sped up since August. The beginning of school is like a whirl wind in west Texas. You don't exactly know where it's going to go or if it's going to slap you in the face with dirt. This year has brought many changes, both good and bad. It is teaching me to grow as a person, employee, and teacher. I am really enjoying my kids. (yay!)

I say all that to say this. Our numbers are incredibly high this year and as a result, teaching space is limited. For half of the school day I work as a reading interventionist pulling low readers out for extra help. The only space available lies near the bathroom in a "pod" area. There is a white board, a janitor closet, a staff bathroom, and a bathroom used by the entire school. Sometimes, it's hard to get a small group focused. They are more interested in kids skipping down the hallway or janitors moaning and groaning in the closet while digging for a mop. Classes leave for P.E. or Library. A teacher they know walks to the bathroom and waves. Not unique to today, I felt pressed for time. I was working hard to keep the kids on track amidst the chaos ensuing around us. As I went to explaining plot, young girls ran from the bathroom yelling for me (even though they don't know my name, kids result to tattling to the nearest adult). I reluctantly left my hard working students and went to investigate the problem. "A boy is in the girls' bathroom!!!" they informed me. I wasn't sure what sort of mischief was occurring in this unsupervised area, but I was annoyed. I had kids to teach, here! I rounded the corner and found the stall door wide open and a small boy with pants unzipped. I backed up and let him finish. When he came out, I quite calmly and sweetly (OK, as much as I could muster) asked, "Did you know this was the girls' bathroom?" And this was his reply, "Yes. But the boys' bathroom is tooooo dirty." Oh my.

I escorted my new first grade friend back to class and tried to resume my "class".

And so it is a day in the life of me... teaching by the bathrooms.