"You know that Mercury is in retrograde right now, don't ya?" my friend Kathy remarked, trying to help me understand the lunacy that is currently my world. I simply stared at the lunatic in front of me, trying to reconcile this misalignment of the planets when, really, it was just the humans in my life who were unbalanced.
I had inadvertently crossed paths with the human hurricane of happiness...a dictator of delight...who incessantly insisted that EVERYONE share in her peppy positive attitude.
It was my own fault. But I just couldn't remain silent in the face of such good cheer. I would NOT allow anyone to extort elation while I still had exasperated breath in my body, black sweatshirts in my closet and gray clouds over my head. If it was war she wanted, war she would get.
"But I don't want war, Amy," she giggled (Erin only giggles, chirps, or encourages), "I just want you to smile!" (All of Erin's sentences end in exclamation marks.)
First I had to map out alternative routes in the school as Erin appeared EVERYWHERE, shaking her pom-pom pen at me. Yes...there's a bell on it too. At one point, my 4th graders had to soldier-crawl past a corridor intersection before making a mad dash down a darkened hallway to avoid her. Then I had to start walking with my elbows out as Erin had scheduled random huggers to accost me. It was time to go on the offensive. And, not to brag, but there are few out there who can out-offend me.
I cut out and hung pictures on her classroom door reminding her that, inside of every silver lining, is a gray cloud. She clapped and thanked me for using glitter to outline her name. Okay...obviously Erin lacks the skills to decipher subtle strikes aimed at taking her down. I targeted her "Spirit Days" initiative with a very blatant meme. Well...not TOO blatant. I toned down the language. It was Erin, after all...it would be like feeding bologna to a bunny. You could do it but it wouldn't be appetizing.
Yesterday, without warning, she came dancing into my room, belting out Omi's "Cheerleader." I ripped the heart-shaped box of chocolate she was holding out of her hands and tossed her out the door. I rallied the troops. Not everyone was on-board. "But Mrs. Krist is so nice," one nine-year-old protested. "Nice is for suckers, Suzy-Q," I snarled, "You're either with us or you're failing 4th grade." Morale is critical if you're an elementary teacher. We photo-shopped Erin's face on the Grinch, devoted hours to re-writing lyrics, and then practiced the chorus for our principal. When Erin finally popped in, she listened, enchanted, hands clasped over her heart, before complimenting my students on their creativity and singing talent. They were stunned. FINALLY...someone is getting it!
Today, I found my mailbox had been glitter-bombed. My classroom door adorned with an inspirational message. "This has GOT to stop," I growled as I googled the possible jail time for slashing tires. Happily, the sentence was the same for all four tires as it was for one. Might as well go big.
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