I teach little bitty kids. It is fun.
Like when they whisper-sneeze on the side of my face, or when the gleefully announce that they just took a big poop–a humongous poop–unassisted–to the whole class. Modesty is for losers and grown-ups; not sure the terms aren’t interchangeable in the mind of a preschooler.
Here is some more stuff I’ve picked up in less than two months on the job:
Fact: Dream big and you CAN bring every wood chip on the playground indoors. Also, I hate rainy days with the white-hot intensity of a thousand burning suns.
For real, I need this:
Fact: there is no method to my madness when it comes to choosing the line leader. Most days I just stare at the ceiling day, thinking of a way to get a present, and I snag the nearest kid. Just kidding–I know exactly who I’m snagging and it usually is a quiet one who also happens to be standing right next to me. Only the line leader is satisfied with my final decision and everyone else is filled with the worst kind of epic rage.
Truth: There are only so many pairs of tricked-out shoes with pulsating lights that Miss Toni can look at before she has an actual seizure.
Fact: If a bobcat took on a preschooler in a street brawl, my money’s on the preschooler because PRESCHOOLERS WILL TAKE YOU DOWN.
Real talk: Forty-five percent of our day is spent potty-break in’ it up; Twenty-eight percent is spent washing hands; 12% eating our weight in goldfish crackers to prevent rioting; 10% fighting ghosts made of red hot lava; and 5% blatantly running full-speed into walls.
I feel like–and look like–I’ve run a marathon at the end of each school day, which consists of five hours of actual kid-time only twice a week. Caleb be like:
Except just kidding: I would never in a million years bring any amount of glitter within a ten mile radius of my classroom.
So full-time teachers, I salute you. Like really, if I had a hat on, I would take it off in appreciation and mad respect for you.