Summer School or Bust

"Hey...how was your day," my husband asked, eager to hear all about my first day of Summer School training. "This," I said, holding up a digital picture for him to see, "was the best part of my day." "Is that a cardboard bear," he guessed, squinting. "Yes," I growled, "I pulled it out of the discard pile." "So the best part of your day was pulling a bent and broken cardboard bear out of the garbage," he said, by way of clarification before daring to ask, "How is it going to fit in with your program?"

The ensuing shriek limited his audial capabilities for quite some time, cutting off communication until I was better able to express my complicated feelings.

"Remember the year I pitched a tent in my Summer School classroom and we hosted reading in there," I sniffed. "What did you say," Brad asked, "You want to go camping?" "Then there was Sundae Fridays where we rewarded students who met their goals to frozen treats at the end of each week." "Huh?" asked my husband, "You want to go to TGI Fridays for ice cream?" "We sang songs, made Worms-in-Dirt, played math games..." I sighed. "How are you going to take the kids fishing," Brad wondered.

So what's the big deal," Brad asked later, when his hearing had (mostly) returned, "You've taught with programs for your entire teaching career." I glared at him. He obviously has NO compassion. "Aren't programs pre-planned for you," he persisted. "Yes," I sulked. I decided that this would not be the time to tell him how, after twenty-five minutes of watching the program webinar, I'd rolled my chair over to my administrator and asked when the commercial would be over. We bought the program...you don't need to sell it to us anymore. Teach me how to use the nifty on-line teacher dashboard! I was handed a fruit gummy and told to behave myself. I spent the remainder of the time outlining my own helpful hour-long webinar complete with celebrity cameos, cartoons and a fun quiz. My administrator made a note to never give me a roll-y chair again.

"So, really what you're frustrated about is that you have to learn something new," Brad summed up, shielding his throat and backing away from me. "I LOVE learning new things," I protested. "We've had our four-wheeler for over a decade," Brad pointed out. "Yeah...so?" I grumbled. "Do you even know how to start it," he asked, shielding other vulnerable parts of his body as I began to shake with fury. "That's not even comparable," I yelled. "Have you ever made a cup of coffee with our keurig machine?" he laughed, "You're just not a big fan of learning new things." "Potato salad!" I screamed. "That's actually a great example," Brad agreed. "It took you twenty years to learn to make  the best potato salad in the world." "How is that a great example," I glared. "You never gave up," he smiled, "just like you won't give up in making this a great learning experience for the kids this year."

So with that somewhat questionable advice and horrible pep-talk, I threw myself back into the ring. A girl, some academic programs and a cardboard bear. All focused on helping students to learn. I've decided to name him Buster.