Robert
and I have met our threshold this week. Him working two jobs, me
juggling the circus act, neither of us getting any good sleep.
Last week we get a notice. Our THIRD grader's spring concert. Can't miss this event. To us, it's a cute little collection of nursery rhyme and blues, but to her, it might as well be SMALLTOWN IDOL.
But there's those fumes. They're running low.
You give your school a week notice. That ought to be enough time to find a substitute. And by golly, they find one. She will surely retire after this half day with the 3RD grade rascals. Some stupid bunny loaded them up on jellybeans and miniature chocolate eggs and I think they are all possessed by an evil entity at this point or at least kuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
I will note here that when a teacher requires a day off, it's done all online. By this idiot named Aesop. I swear he's the same Aesop that had that had a flipping tortoise beat a rabbit in a race. Aesop is now reincarnated in the form of an online sort of "signup genius" for the elementary teacher. You simply type in your date, the reason, and hit save. The system does the rest of the work for her. But remember here, this elementary teacher, the one that requested the day off, is pretty much off her rocker at this point.
Day before the concert you arrive at school. The hurricane that you are. The same old bun in your hair, wrinkled shirt that you hide with a glamorous scarf, and nikes. The nikes because you have pretty much surrendered to being the least bit stylish.
You walk over to your desk. You notice an unusual object sitting there. The object is faintly recognizable, in fact you used to use one prior to birthing children. Now you prefer any old plastic bag.
Next to the purse: your attendance folder, and someone's lunch. You walk out to the hall asking whose it might be. There's your team leader. She says, "Oh, Sherry, you're HERE." From her room, exits a substitute teacher. The very one the mighty Aesop assigned you. "Do you have your sub plans? I can't find them," she asks. I assure her that I am very much HERE and will stay HERE the entire live long day. Unless they call an indoor recess. Then I will locate the nearest escape hatch. "You must have the wrong day," I reply. "I'm out TOMORROW." Poor thing had gone senial. You help her collect her belongings and console her on the way back down to the office. You even suggest she has time to clean out her pocketbook or play Yahtzee before 'The View.'
She feels really bad for mixing things up. I mean, it's hard as you age, you forget things, you get confused. I had her feeling good by the time we reached the office. About aging. And about taking the blame for the wrong day and all.
Once we explain to the school receptionist what had happened, she looks for the original signup. Obviously she doesn't realize that Aesop is an idiot, so I wait. As long as it took that damn tortoise.
"Sherry, it says here, April 23rd. That's today. YOU typed that." I had typed in the WRONG DATE.
I had three options right about now.
1. I could leave and enjoy a morning at home.
2. I could stick around and watch my rascals give this poor soul the ride of her life or
3. I could check myself into the nearest facility for the mentally insane.
Fortunately, FIFTEEN teachers had also called in sick and they needed subs. Only difference is these other teachers were legitimately sick. I had faked sick but I faked it on the wrong day.
They ended up sending my substitute to the fifth grade. I proceeded to my classroom to prepare the day. I had exactly 17.5 seconds.In that mad dash to my room, I text Robert. His tank is empty, too and he has no chance to refill because he's at the high school working with students on a video presentation.
I tell him he won't believe what I did. I explain it in fifteen words or less, put my phone aside, and begin my teaching day. Now Robert is receiving the text by now. He's HALF reading though. He's two steps to comatose himself and he is working. All HE sees is "Avery's school concert" and "I mixed up the days" and "there's a substitute here."
Wait for it. Wait for it...
Immediately, he panics. He's got to keep his Father of the Year status. His Hollywood starlet is on stage! "I got to go!" he announces. "My daughter's concert is today! We mixed up the days!"
Fifteen minutes later, Robert arrives at Avery's elementary school. Sits in a folding chair amongst 100 other fathers and mothers and listens to a few nursery rhymes. He's looking for me. He even texts me, "where are you?" and "did you save me a seat" but by now I'm deep in my seventy-third lesson of verbs and not seeing any of his message. He even looks up at stage and says to himself, "these kids are really little." He's not seeing Avery, he can't find me, and he doesn't know WHO THE HELL all these parents are in that gym.
Suddenly, he looks down at the concert brochure. It reads "SECOND GRADE CONCERT."
With whatever brain cells he can conjure up, he realizes he is, in fact at the wrong concert. His daughter is a THIRD GRADER, her concert is TOMORROW and NOT today and his wife is a BLAZING MORON. (:
Last week we get a notice. Our THIRD grader's spring concert. Can't miss this event. To us, it's a cute little collection of nursery rhyme and blues, but to her, it might as well be SMALLTOWN IDOL.
But there's those fumes. They're running low.
You give your school a week notice. That ought to be enough time to find a substitute. And by golly, they find one. She will surely retire after this half day with the 3RD grade rascals. Some stupid bunny loaded them up on jellybeans and miniature chocolate eggs and I think they are all possessed by an evil entity at this point or at least kuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
I will note here that when a teacher requires a day off, it's done all online. By this idiot named Aesop. I swear he's the same Aesop that had that had a flipping tortoise beat a rabbit in a race. Aesop is now reincarnated in the form of an online sort of "signup genius" for the elementary teacher. You simply type in your date, the reason, and hit save. The system does the rest of the work for her. But remember here, this elementary teacher, the one that requested the day off, is pretty much off her rocker at this point.
Day before the concert you arrive at school. The hurricane that you are. The same old bun in your hair, wrinkled shirt that you hide with a glamorous scarf, and nikes. The nikes because you have pretty much surrendered to being the least bit stylish.
You walk over to your desk. You notice an unusual object sitting there. The object is faintly recognizable, in fact you used to use one prior to birthing children. Now you prefer any old plastic bag.
Next to the purse: your attendance folder, and someone's lunch. You walk out to the hall asking whose it might be. There's your team leader. She says, "Oh, Sherry, you're HERE." From her room, exits a substitute teacher. The very one the mighty Aesop assigned you. "Do you have your sub plans? I can't find them," she asks. I assure her that I am very much HERE and will stay HERE the entire live long day. Unless they call an indoor recess. Then I will locate the nearest escape hatch. "You must have the wrong day," I reply. "I'm out TOMORROW." Poor thing had gone senial. You help her collect her belongings and console her on the way back down to the office. You even suggest she has time to clean out her pocketbook or play Yahtzee before 'The View.'
She feels really bad for mixing things up. I mean, it's hard as you age, you forget things, you get confused. I had her feeling good by the time we reached the office. About aging. And about taking the blame for the wrong day and all.
Once we explain to the school receptionist what had happened, she looks for the original signup. Obviously she doesn't realize that Aesop is an idiot, so I wait. As long as it took that damn tortoise.
"Sherry, it says here, April 23rd. That's today. YOU typed that." I had typed in the WRONG DATE.
I had three options right about now.
1. I could leave and enjoy a morning at home.
2. I could stick around and watch my rascals give this poor soul the ride of her life or
3. I could check myself into the nearest facility for the mentally insane.
Fortunately, FIFTEEN teachers had also called in sick and they needed subs. Only difference is these other teachers were legitimately sick. I had faked sick but I faked it on the wrong day.
They ended up sending my substitute to the fifth grade. I proceeded to my classroom to prepare the day. I had exactly 17.5 seconds.In that mad dash to my room, I text Robert. His tank is empty, too and he has no chance to refill because he's at the high school working with students on a video presentation.
I tell him he won't believe what I did. I explain it in fifteen words or less, put my phone aside, and begin my teaching day. Now Robert is receiving the text by now. He's HALF reading though. He's two steps to comatose himself and he is working. All HE sees is "Avery's school concert" and "I mixed up the days" and "there's a substitute here."
Wait for it. Wait for it...
Immediately, he panics. He's got to keep his Father of the Year status. His Hollywood starlet is on stage! "I got to go!" he announces. "My daughter's concert is today! We mixed up the days!"
Fifteen minutes later, Robert arrives at Avery's elementary school. Sits in a folding chair amongst 100 other fathers and mothers and listens to a few nursery rhymes. He's looking for me. He even texts me, "where are you?" and "did you save me a seat" but by now I'm deep in my seventy-third lesson of verbs and not seeing any of his message. He even looks up at stage and says to himself, "these kids are really little." He's not seeing Avery, he can't find me, and he doesn't know WHO THE HELL all these parents are in that gym.
Suddenly, he looks down at the concert brochure. It reads "SECOND GRADE CONCERT."
With whatever brain cells he can conjure up, he realizes he is, in fact at the wrong concert. His daughter is a THIRD GRADER, her concert is TOMORROW and NOT today and his wife is a BLAZING MORON. (:
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