This particular tall latte macchiato isn’t especially well made, the foam is already deflating, but it’s the start to a typical day for me. A day I will record for Trish’s event as it comes around for year two, and sadly, I missed the first one.
The children start coming in the classroom at 9:00. It’s always Evan first, who stands at the door and shouts, “Good morning, Mrs. Smith!” It’s important to him to be first up the stairs before anyone else enters the room; lately he cries if someone beats him.
And then it’s a flurry of activity: attendance and lunch counts, checking of assignment notebooks, Word Study lessons and reading conferences, Math which is all done online now. We fly from one lesson to another, with a snack at 10:30 as our lunch time is at 1:45.
“Have a good dinner!” I said to the class the first day of school, and now it’s our daily joke.
My favorite time of the day is when I read to them after lunch. They gather around me, these eight and nine year olds, and listen. They are rapt as I bring the books to life, showing them that literature is better than gaming. We’ve just finished Road Dahl’s The BFG, which is always a favorite; I want them to have heard it before they see the film in August.
I leave school at 4:30, driving down congested lanes of traffic with people invariably going at least ten miles over the speed limit who never get caught. I live in trepidation of being pulled over by some policeman, for some minor violation. As occurred last year: “Excuse me, ma’am, are you aware that you rolled through that stop?” To which I want to say, “Were you in my class?”
An exuberant English Cream lab named Humphrey is the first to meet me at the door. I hear his tail pounding the wall before I even have closed the garage door. Everyone is happy to be home, to have dinner, to indulge in our pleasures for the evening.
It’s reading for me, up in my study. The stack of Man Booker International Prize books wait, persistently calling my name, making me wonder how there will ever be enough time in the day to accomplish all I want to do. “One at a time,” I tell myself, trying to slow the internal rush which threatens to steal my joy.
The day closes in peace for me. Not watching the news, getting all stirred up about violence and drama I cannot solve. I cover myself with the Word, knowing that it gives me strength to face another day. Tomorrow.