Perhaps you think this post might be about basketball. You know, because the term "March Madness" gets thrown around crazy-style all over this month.
This post is not about basketball. I don't even know what is going on in the world of basketball.
What I do know is that I hate all that is March.
I used to love March . . . long ago, there was a time of idealism and hormones and faux-rebellion and faux-freedom called . . . high school. Granted, I would never in a billion years go back to high school, but there was one solid month of the year I looked forward to and that was March. Strange how things change, isn't it?
Years ago, as an idealistic, know-it-all seventeen year old, 30 pounds lighter and full of dreams and complaints, March was the time of cheerleading nationals. And while I loved cheerleading and had a great time with my buddies, March meant nationals and Disneyland. And what I really looked forward to was Disneyland. Getting out of school for a few days, competing, having your heart broken from not winning ("IT WAS RIGGED! IT'S BECAUSE WE DIDN'T WEAR BOWS, BUT SCRUNCHIES!") but then having it quickly pieced back together through the mutual love of all things Disney.
That was what March used to mean.
13 years later, post marriage and kid, March has taken a dreadful turn . . .
Now March is full of grading, grades, conferences and science fair projects. I freaking hate March. If I could somehow fall asleep at the end of February and magically wake up on the other side in April, life would be sweet. I have spent so much time on getting work done this month (by the by, it's only March 15th) that I still have Valentine's Day stuff up. I am eeking out every penny of Valentine's Day decor.
I think what really makes the whole thing miserable is the class I've got. The kids are tough, the parents are tough . . . this school year is just tough. So putting in all the work just makes me bitter. So this is how I've tried to decompress . . .
This is how I spent my time at the end of the grading period:
This is how I spent my time getting ready for conferences:
And this is how I celebrated (mostly) finishing my conferences:
And now I'm blogging. I have red cabbage juice boiled and ready for experiments tomorrow, I have chicken bones that need to be cleaned (ew) and I'm blogging. Meh.
On top of all of that, we had Luke's first parent-teacher conference. Yikes! It is way bizzaro to be on the other side, I'm telling you what. The long and the short of it is that Luke is young. Poor kid - he's got ants-in-his-pants and just wants to move. All the time. They occasionally allow him to wander, which is good, as long as he's not disruptive. Surprisingly, he still soaks it all in and is bright, being able to answer a lot of questions that his buddies in class don't know yet.
Did I tell you he is one of three Lukes? So he goes by Luke Bickel. Full name. Not "Luke B," but "Luke Bickel." So he calls himself "Luke Bickel" as do all the other kids. When I ask him how to spell his name, he says, "L-U-K-E, spells Luke Bickel!" Cute. When I come to pick him up, there is always one girl (the same girl) who screams across the room, at the top of her lungs: "LUKE BICKEL! YOUR MOM IS HERE!" until he notices. And usually he doesn't notice for a good long while.
So my days have been full of school school and more school. I'm completely exhausted, but no rest for the weary until Science Fair night is over and done with next Thursday. Yikes.
This post is not about basketball. I don't even know what is going on in the world of basketball.
What I do know is that I hate all that is March.
I used to love March . . . long ago, there was a time of idealism and hormones and faux-rebellion and faux-freedom called . . . high school. Granted, I would never in a billion years go back to high school, but there was one solid month of the year I looked forward to and that was March. Strange how things change, isn't it?
Years ago, as an idealistic, know-it-all seventeen year old, 30 pounds lighter and full of dreams and complaints, March was the time of cheerleading nationals. And while I loved cheerleading and had a great time with my buddies, March meant nationals and Disneyland. And what I really looked forward to was Disneyland. Getting out of school for a few days, competing, having your heart broken from not winning ("IT WAS RIGGED! IT'S BECAUSE WE DIDN'T WEAR BOWS, BUT SCRUNCHIES!") but then having it quickly pieced back together through the mutual love of all things Disney.
That was what March used to mean.
13 years later, post marriage and kid, March has taken a dreadful turn . . .
Now March is full of grading, grades, conferences and science fair projects. I freaking hate March. If I could somehow fall asleep at the end of February and magically wake up on the other side in April, life would be sweet. I have spent so much time on getting work done this month (by the by, it's only March 15th) that I still have Valentine's Day stuff up. I am eeking out every penny of Valentine's Day decor.
I think what really makes the whole thing miserable is the class I've got. The kids are tough, the parents are tough . . . this school year is just tough. So putting in all the work just makes me bitter. So this is how I've tried to decompress . . .
This is how I spent my time at the end of the grading period:
This is how I spent my time getting ready for conferences:
And this is how I celebrated (mostly) finishing my conferences:
And now I'm blogging. I have red cabbage juice boiled and ready for experiments tomorrow, I have chicken bones that need to be cleaned (ew) and I'm blogging. Meh.On top of all of that, we had Luke's first parent-teacher conference. Yikes! It is way bizzaro to be on the other side, I'm telling you what. The long and the short of it is that Luke is young. Poor kid - he's got ants-in-his-pants and just wants to move. All the time. They occasionally allow him to wander, which is good, as long as he's not disruptive. Surprisingly, he still soaks it all in and is bright, being able to answer a lot of questions that his buddies in class don't know yet.
Did I tell you he is one of three Lukes? So he goes by Luke Bickel. Full name. Not "Luke B," but "Luke Bickel." So he calls himself "Luke Bickel" as do all the other kids. When I ask him how to spell his name, he says, "L-U-K-E, spells Luke Bickel!" Cute. When I come to pick him up, there is always one girl (the same girl) who screams across the room, at the top of her lungs: "LUKE BICKEL! YOUR MOM IS HERE!" until he notices. And usually he doesn't notice for a good long while.
So my days have been full of school school and more school. I'm completely exhausted, but no rest for the weary until Science Fair night is over and done with next Thursday. Yikes.
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