I wish I could write more about my job. I really wish I
could. But in this world, writing about other people’s children without their
knowledge in a public forum seems unadvisable. I bet in Europe I could get away
with it.
Generally speaking, it’s the end of the year and that means
that my days are filled with insanity and nonsense. It’s quite invigorating. Teaching
the last weeks of May is like following a tornado down a narrow hallway of
Grecian urns without letting any of them fall. And the tornado is wearing
short-shorts.
Here is what I say all day long:
“Please don’t do
that.”
“Please put that down.”
“Why are you doing that?”
“That’s not appropriate.”
“Who let you wear that to school?”
“Sir Mixalot is a lyrical genius, but please stop singing ‘I
Like Big Butts.’”
Then I get home and I say these things:
“Do you have to go potty?”
“Please stop screaming, my love.”
“Will you take him?”
“Please take him, I have to go to the bathroom.”
“No really, I have to go. I’m not just going to hide in
there and look at my phone.”
“I know I just went ten minutes ago.”
“I don’t know why you didn’t hear the toilet flush. I
flushed it.”
“Fine just give me the baby.”
Here's a question: what do you find yourself saying all day long?
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