This is from a year ago. And from today.
News flash from my classroom today: “It’s hot!” Not like the kind of hot that means cool or sexy. The kind of whiny, extended short o comment that implies that, as a teacher, I should be able to distribute ice packs and personal fans to each and every smelly tween that occupies the rice cooker that was my classroom today. Barring that, I should at the very least allow the whiniest and most obnoxious student a coveted chair in front of the rattling box fan while everyone else drips in silence.
On days like this, I become Teacher of the Year, submitting in my T o’ Y e-portfolio footage of myself responding to these surprising “it’s so hot” revelations with insights like, “Boys and girls, raise your hand if you were unaware of the fact that it is hot in the classroom today,” and the ultimate I-want-my-kid-in-HER-class response: “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I’m sorry. But at these temperatures and dewpoints, the sarcasm loses its solid consistency, melts, and just drips on out. “Eustachia,” I hear myself saying, “Let me get this straight. So, you’re saying —basically—-that you have noticed that today, our classroom—this room—it is—how did you put it? It is—- HOT?”
Did I mention that I am sick? As a result of this, there were certain points when I was pretty sure that my brain had reached the official “poached” status as defined by the Joy of Cooking, and my eyeballs weren’t far behind. Everyone wanted to go to the handful of destinations in our building that boast air-conditioned nirvana: the main office, the library (picture big-eyed children imploring me to let them return books). And, of course, the nurse’s office. See previous post https://peachyteachy.wordpress.com/2012/02/03/hello-world/ for a perspective on how much booze I need to buy our school nurse to make up for the Urgent Care Express that my students call home. I’m the one who should have assigned everyone to make a BFF club sign while I went down and stretched out on a cot.
It would be silly and trivial of me to ask for prayers that tomorrow we may be blessed with a consistency less that of a molded Jello salad and more that of an Arctic hare. I am more than capable of striking deals with the Universe on my own up in here.
But perhaps we could take the tiniest moment to picture together, one perfect, glistening snowflake? Aaaah.