Critical Mass: What’s In Your Fan?

My husband took a week off between the old job and the new job.  He was here.  Every. Day.

God love it.

When Monday morning dawned last week, none of us were feeling…um, schedule-y.  We need to buckle down. I can’t do the work for them.  I learned the hard way, that if I do, they will kick back and go, “Look at that Mother work that equation!”

This week is half gone.  They didn’t finish last week’s work.   The school year is winding down and they have a play this week, a research paper due Friday and a final the same day.  Next week, they have a concert and a Nations Notebook.  Both will deliver a speech on Monday that was due on the 9th.

All the while, ignoring the big pieces of Science and Algebra.  They have 4 weeks to do a semester’s work.  Well, no.  They’ve had all year.  If they want to pass, they have to eat sleep and breathe it until it’s done.

As far as the play goes, I’ve washed my hands.  I’m showing up because I’m the teacher’s assistant.  This semester, the young people are behaving as less mature, not more.  Last week, in rehearsal, I read all of them the riot act.  Marched to the back of the theater.  Told the teacher.  She said, “Thanks.”  The students continued as before.

I will fulfill my obligation to the teacher and my daughters, but I am letting go of the outcome for these kids.

The concert? Don’t get me started.  It will be all I can do.  I feel a migraine coming.

Next Friday at 7:00.

This is something I forgot in the years we weren’t in school or co-op.  The end of school, wall-climbing, grade scrambling, spring feverish, restless, sap- is-rising…blues.


It’s do or die.

And I am Bruce Willis jumping backwards out the broken window of a burning high-rise…

Yippee Ki Yay.






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