This is my high school graduation picture:
But I've always thought that K looked more like I did as a child. I was 7 here:
(Hey, boxx, you're still there! Send me a password, huh?)
I taught the nicest class today, my last one for the year, certainly, as even in a good year, nobody is starting research project this close to the end of school. This was actually the culmination of a project. The teacher -- very flaky -- had me come to her room to show the kids how to write the entries for their Works Cited pages. She had warned me that this was a tough class of seniors. I'm not sure what she meant by that; she likes everyone to think that she has magical abilities with kids and maybe she hoped they'd act up with me. They were absolute dolls. We went through a couple of examples together, and then they just all asked for help with their individual sources. Every single one of them asked intelligent questions and every single one of them said thank you.
So I think I mentioned last week how I was going to have to be evaluated by the administrator who was a gym teacher until, like, five minute ago. When I came in this morning, I prepared a packet for him of all the documents (memos, announcement, flyers) that I'd put together in the last year that dealt with the closing down of the library, as well as a printed-out Power Point presentation that showed pictures of moving day and how I supervised the movers. It took me all morning to put together and label for him, which was really fine by me because it was something constructive to do. I expected him to be overwhelmed by it, and he was. He did take it from me, though, and then asked if I would "make things easier for both of us" by just jotting down three things I'm doing now. "Now? I'm not doing anything now. This is what I did all year." Uh huh. So I wrote down three things I'm doing now, it took a minute and a half to write, and that's the essence of my yearly evaluation. Not that I care, because if he hasn't actually observed me, he can't write anything bad, which is pretty clear, and the last thing he wants is attention drawn to the fact that he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. C'est ca.
I have so much to do in my house that really, I should never go to work. My living room is suddenly unbelievably cluttered with stuff: the bag of sweaters we brought home from K, both of the cat carriers, a case of cat food that arrived just before we left on Saturday. Luggage. Oy.
My days of the week are all off because Monday seemed like Sunday and now it's Tuesday but I think it's the first day of the week. Maybe watching Lost tomorrow will put me back on track.
The best laugh of the day is over here at Fi's place.
