Emmy, hamming it up for the computer camera.
Or maybe one of those weeks.
Or maybe one of those months.
It could even be one of those years. I can't tell yet, since we're only into the second month.
(Ugh.)
We have not gone a week without someone in our small family getting sick. I brought in the New Year with pink eye and strep (3 bouts with each, 3's a charm, eh?). Little Bibi developed an ear infection a week ago. And Dear Hubby came down with strep throat on Sunday. Now Emmy's complaining about her ear.
(Check my tonsils mommy.)
My "not a classroom" finally turned into a classroom on Monday. PP said, "It's done but the workers left a mess in there." Nobody wanted to clean it up. I said, "can I have classes in there? I'll move the junk." "Yes" she replied.
(Phooy to those messes.)
So 2 classrooms of kids, 1 student teacher and I got it cleaned out. We moved yucky tables, 1 shop vac and some leftover plywood. We pushed junk shelves and unwanted boxes out into the hall. The kids popped the furnace vents on. They helped me move the majority of the music stuff, including 4 carts of instruments, 6 drums, a cart full of textbooks, a desk, a rug and a puppet stage. They were angels whose enthusiam knows no bounds. They said how nice it was not to have to push carts anymore after music class. They thought the purple paint was cool. I passed out "good coupons" to all.
(Sweet Angels)
And then there was the crap we couldn't throw out: comments that I'd be shoveling the path to, and cleaning the annex because I moved in before it was opened "officially" and it wasn't in anyone's contract. Everyone whose anyone in the school had an opinion to share, about the state of the renovated bldg., about the kids traveling to an outside bldg., about what should have been done better, about that d@m purple paint on the wall. My magic phrase became, "You're going to have to talk to the PP about that."
(The Boss)
The kids and I set up the instruments, hopefully never to be moved again, or at least for the next 4 months. I pounded a new makeshift peg into my Bass Xylophone, one of the casulties of demolition derby cart riding. I was just in the process of moving some shelves when the teachers' aerobics group came in and wanted to hold their after school class in there. I felt like the Little Red Hen. "Who wants to help thresh the wheat? Who wants to help grind the grain? Who wants to help make the bread?" "Not me! Not me! Not me!" Who wants to eat the bread? Me! Me! Me!
Nope. Not. going. to. happen.
I'm not on their christmas card list for next year.
