The other night my husband asked why I'm not writing as much anymore. I told him I'm really busy and besides, I haven't had much to write about.
He looked at me and said, "Seriously, you work in a middle school."
True, middle school is a target rich environment with acne, young teenage drama, drug sniffing dogs and adults who are simultaneously trying to maintain control and stay sane.
Last week was my first encounter with a drug sniffing dog. He was black and white with a patch of black fur over one eye. He was so cute I wanted to pet him but figured that probably wasn't allowed. Anyway, the principal, the assistant principal (who is a giant of a man), and the police officer came into the classroom asking everyone to leave the room minus backpacks, jackets and purses.
Afterward I told my husband who asked if the dog found anything. "No, except probably my leftover venison chili."
Which brings me to another school topic -- lunches. Occasionally I will eat a school lunch. And let me tell you, the school lunch matrons are as intimidating as they were back in the '70s and '80s when I was in school. Hair nets are never a good look on anyone. Anyway, right before Christmas I was going through the line when one of them asked, "Why are you here?"
I was stunned and felt like Oliver Twist asking for more porridge. She then caught herself and said, "It's just that in the teacher's lounge a special holiday lunch has been set up for you guys."
Last week, my husband made my lunch. I hate making lunches. I would rather clean an entire kitchen after a tornado than make lunches. I went to the teacher's lounge and opened my bag. Inside he neatly tucked a little note saying, "I love you. Have a good day." And then I pulled out two pieces of cold, leftover pizza; a handful of red grapes, and about six pieces of Hershey's kisses in red and green wrappers. It looked like a five-year-old's lunch. Poor guy, apparently packing lunches isn't his favorite thing either.
Occasionally at school some students will ask me if they can eat in the classroom with me. It's OK with me as long as they follow my rules: 1) clean up their own messes 2) don't be too loud, and 3) don't bug me when I'm reading my Kindle.
But I imagine they are eating in the classroom for the same reasons as me -- it offers a quiet refuge from the noise and drama of middle school.
Some of these kids are in desperate need of a hug. But since I can't do that I smile at them, listen to their stories and tell them to take another bite of their turkey melt.
Wondering why after all of these years the basic dynamics of middle school haven't changed?
The Wondering Texan
True, middle school is a target rich environment with acne, young teenage drama, drug sniffing dogs and adults who are simultaneously trying to maintain control and stay sane.
Last week was my first encounter with a drug sniffing dog. He was black and white with a patch of black fur over one eye. He was so cute I wanted to pet him but figured that probably wasn't allowed. Anyway, the principal, the assistant principal (who is a giant of a man), and the police officer came into the classroom asking everyone to leave the room minus backpacks, jackets and purses.
Afterward I told my husband who asked if the dog found anything. "No, except probably my leftover venison chili."
Which brings me to another school topic -- lunches. Occasionally I will eat a school lunch. And let me tell you, the school lunch matrons are as intimidating as they were back in the '70s and '80s when I was in school. Hair nets are never a good look on anyone. Anyway, right before Christmas I was going through the line when one of them asked, "Why are you here?"
I was stunned and felt like Oliver Twist asking for more porridge. She then caught herself and said, "It's just that in the teacher's lounge a special holiday lunch has been set up for you guys."
Last week, my husband made my lunch. I hate making lunches. I would rather clean an entire kitchen after a tornado than make lunches. I went to the teacher's lounge and opened my bag. Inside he neatly tucked a little note saying, "I love you. Have a good day." And then I pulled out two pieces of cold, leftover pizza; a handful of red grapes, and about six pieces of Hershey's kisses in red and green wrappers. It looked like a five-year-old's lunch. Poor guy, apparently packing lunches isn't his favorite thing either.
Occasionally at school some students will ask me if they can eat in the classroom with me. It's OK with me as long as they follow my rules: 1) clean up their own messes 2) don't be too loud, and 3) don't bug me when I'm reading my Kindle.
But I imagine they are eating in the classroom for the same reasons as me -- it offers a quiet refuge from the noise and drama of middle school.
Some of these kids are in desperate need of a hug. But since I can't do that I smile at them, listen to their stories and tell them to take another bite of their turkey melt.
Wondering why after all of these years the basic dynamics of middle school haven't changed?
The Wondering Texan
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