I got home late last night, after 8:30. My new commute is now about an hour. It’s a compromise I have to live with. I love where I live now and I still love where I work, so I am dealing with it. When I got home after last night’s conferences, it felt so very good to take off my heels.
Mr. Malarkey had started dinner, so it was ready quickly. And while there was so much I wanted to tell him, I found that I just couldn’t. Not because I feel that I can’t talk to him, because I can. I am a lucky woman to have the husband I have.
I just felt utterly unable to put words to my thoughts.
I couldn’t tell him about James, who fidgets and flutters like crazy, who can’t sit still, who does no work, but is still on grade level in reading and math (or he was last year, when he was in the fifth grade.)
I couldn’t tell him that I just don’t know what to do about James any more. Mr. Principal wanted to move him to another class but I have fought to keep him in my room. I hated telling James’ father that I just don’t know what to do. I should know what to do, shouldn’t I? “I don’t know what to say anymore,” his dad said to me.
I couldn’t tell my husband that this was the shortest and one of the saddest conferences ever.
I couldn’t tell him that I hope to see a fellow teacher shitcanned for falling asleep during a class. While he was asleep some of his students were doing something that they most CERTAINLY should not have been doing. Ms. Assistant Principal has been so very upset.
I couldn’t tell him that I am never more aware of what we’re up against than when I have to meet with parents. I don’t know why, but it’s so overwhelming. I hesitate to calculate how many of these conferences I have sat through over the years.