Nutella and wholegrain bread sandwiches;
Mashed potatoes and tea by the mug.
When I’m tired of tea, then lemon and honey tea steaming my cobwebs away.
Routine and looking forward to reading my Bible.
Recognising with some perplexity that I am keeping up with my laundry and groceries and even learning new recipes on weeknights. What is happening to me?
Teaching and planning and then making it up as I go along as I give up and laugh with the friendly hooligans that some call students (the word “student” implies study and is therefore for the most part inappropriate).
Ignoring the cloud hanging over my head that says any respectable twenty four year old should be able to drive. I’ll start tomorrow. Or the next day. Just can’t face it today.
Mad dashes to get it all done and then evenings where my motivation and energy are somewhere at the bottom of the recycling bin, underneath the paper cuttings and used up glue sticks.
Cacophony and then quiet, battlefield and monotony, welcome distraction and then pleasant predictability. I never know which will be next.
It’s an enigma, this adult life where I am the teacher, the wise one, the one who leads a group of wildly different people forward in their understanding of the world, in their realisation of their potential, in just getting them happily through the next forty minutes.
Moments where I feel I have utterly failed as a teacher. Planning and forgetting. Facepalm moments every hour. Assigning homework and then realising I should have corrected it in class while I’m cooking dinner that evening. Wondering if somebody presses the mute button on the remote every time I start to speak because the phrase “in one ear, and out the other” certainly applies here. and here. and here. Oh help. I’ll stop thinking about it.
Feeling both elated and frustrated in the same thirty seconds.
Leaving the school chuckling about some comment one of the kids threw out.
Sitting at the table at home doing anything but correcting that tedious test twenty six times over. Wishing for automated homework correction. Oh bring it on.
Getting creative with lesson planning and being the laughing stock of the seasoned senior students. They have seen it all. I will try no more. I will bore them to tears and then I will cry myself. But at least they won’t be laughing.
Waking up and hoping again and trying again and the cycle repeats again.
Laughing, always laughing. It’s either laugh or cry, and I know which I would rather do.
Throwing my hands up in the air at the old idea I had that I would ever become I strict schoolmarm.
I am not a strict schoolmarm. I may be one by the time I am eighty four. But by then I will have got so used to laughing that I won’t want to be a strict schoolmarm anymore. It’s all so disillusioning. It’s all so enlightening. It’s all so very different to what I expected. And yet it is exactly what I should have expected.
This is who I am today. Horizons unfold and I follow.