04-24-2002 @ 11:08 p.m.
I was reminded today why I am not an elementary school teacher. Not that I really had it in mind as a career (at least not since the third grade) but chaperoning a group of second graders to a play--all the second grades in the school--puts all the reasons and chaos in my face. People who spend their lives in elementary schools (or junior high or high schools, for that matter) are worthy of my highest admiration.
I flat out do not have the patience or je ne sais quoi to be calm and cool when kids are bouncing around in their seats, bumping each other, poking each other, talking loudly, making lots of weird noises, asking to go to the bathroom and all manner of child evils. I just have a low threshold for children, I guess.
I have a lower threshold for some children than for others, that's for sure. The boy who is obsessed with my daughter and who smothers her with unwelcome attention I have almost no threshold for. I do feel sorry for him. I know his home life isn't all that great. He was bothering Joey today, chasing her at the park and slamming into her and just bugging the crud out of her. She came to me and told me what was happening. Brandon immediately started backpedaling and being defensive. I just asked him to give her some space. He seemed so deflated when I said that. I felt bad for him but at the same time, he needs to learn about respecting personal space. Then there's a boy in another second grade class who is sporting a mohawk. What's up with that?
And, in case you were wondering,
"You are the Marilyn Monroe Barbie! You have a natural charisma and love attention. You want to entertain the world and people are drawn to your personality. On the other hand, you could also move to Los Angeles to become an aspiring actress/singer and eventually die hungry and alone, thinking that no one will ever see your talent. Ahh, well. You win some, you lose some."
I always fancied myself something of a curvy Marilyn Monroe type. Emphasis on the curvy, de-emphasis on the suicide and affairs-with-the-Kennedys part.
And that's all the news that's fit to print in Lobotomyland. Nytol!
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