Exactly one hour and 24 minutes past mama's bedtime.
I *try* to go to bed by 9:00 every night.
Which gets me 8 hours of sleep, seeing that I get up at 5:00 a.m.
But I've had 2 cups of coffee.
In an attempt to stay up and prepare for my planned observation next week.
I've worked nonstop since you went to bed at 6:15.
Over three hours.
This seems to be a recurring theme the past couple of weeks.
Because, let's be honest.
Long gone are the days of simply passing out worksheets and popping in videos.
*Makes me want to sucker-punch anyone who tells me that it must be nice to work 8-4 and have summers off.*
Excuse the violence.
I've decided to have a positive attitude, remember?
Going to work with a purpose.
Making it better.
Making my students better.
For me, this means giving my all to my job.
And still trying to balance work life and home life.
To love my job, but leave work at work.
Not so possible when you're a teacher.
Can't do your actual "work" until the work day is finished.
Because during the work day, you're a bit preoccupied with a little thing called students.
In other work news, my worst nightmare finally came true last week.
I say "finally" because it was inevitable.
Especially when you're me.
And have been blessed with my "luck".
Of course it involves pumping.
Because the pump and I have a love-hate relationship.
I hate the pump.
And the pump loves to torture me.
I was in an important meeting during my plan time.
Plan time = pump time, FYI.
I started to panic as the meeting started to run over.
I knew someone was covering me until I could return to my classroom.
But all I could picture was 20 antsy fourth graders testing the limits while Mean Mrs. Green was away.
I was also very aware that I still needed to pump.
I asked our super-understanding counselor if I could borrow her office.
I normally pump in my classroom during plan time.
But, my heavens, I couldn't do that with 20 fourth graders in there.
Because my meeting ran over, remember?
I knew I'd have to make it a quickie.
So, I locked both doors.
And started my business.
I texted Gabe to tell him how crazy my morning was.
And how awkward I felt to be in an unfamiliar office.
Doing something so personal.
The door handle started to rattle.
I yelled, "Someone's in here."
And held my breath.
Then, I heard a key.
I yelled, "PLEASE DON'T COME IN".
And what do you know?
In waltzes my principal.
It took her a minute to fully comprehend what was going on.
She immediately turned around and said (at least a dozen times),
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry".
I'm not so sure which party was more mortified.
On the positive side?
She's a woman.
But still my boss nonetheless.
And my evaluation is next week, remember?
Life of a working mama.
Good thing you're cute, Chunkin.