It’s been a rough week. So rough I don’t really want to talk about it.
Things are looking up a little, though. After a student-father meeting that went about as badly as it could go, I got a kind e-mail from another mom which ended, “Thank you for all your work with our daughter. She has enjoyed your class this fall.”
The house is an undecorated, dusty mess, but I know that the pounding, drilling and other craziness will very soon give way to a space in which I can cook, clean and move around without tripping over myself every five minutes. Is it obsessive to organize cabinets in your dreams? I don’t think so.
Tests and quizzes are over and graded, and now just final exams stand between me and a long vacation. If a half-page list of works and principles labeled “Review Guide” can make me as popular as Santa Claus this time of year, I’m happy to do what I can.
The puppy whines, jumps and generally terrorizes the cat, but her habit of wrapping her front paws around your waist in her best imitation of a hug brought me to tears one dark afternoon. She knows “sit” and “no,” and is learning “lie” (no animal of ours will be raised on incorrect grammar, thankyouverymuch.)
I have attended my last class and written my last paper for grad school. LAST. One more semester of occasional observations and meetings, and then I will be a teacher in the eyes of the state.
In a long line of students with questions, complaints and paranoia, one waited patiently for her turn yesterday and then said, “Merry Christmas” with a pretty green candle. I don’t know if I’ve ever smelled anything so sweet.
