Destined to be a Poop Deck Swabber on the Titanic

Do you ever wake up in the morning? I sure hope so.

I wake up late...every morning. We have a regular alarm clock, the barnyard miracle I bathed with on Saturday, and a completely useless inner clock.

I ain't kidding. I've overslept for at least a year and a half now. And WOW, does it set your day up for a great start!

Yesterday was terrible. I don't know what exactly happened, but when my dear husband got home, the children were sitting silently at the dinner table...EATING. That's how scary I'd apparently become since they got home from school.

I don't usually lose control to that extent, but I was ashamedly dropping potty word bombs like candy off a Mardi Gras parade.

I'm sitting here trying to figure out my school crap to figure out what's the quickest way to get out of school with a degree that's good for something more than separating recyclables.  (And no, I haven't found it.)

I'm getting my degree in Elementary Education, and the thought of me being a teacher is nauseating. I'm serious:  I would be the worst teacher ever.

I respect the heck out of teachers. They're given a bunch of demands on how they have to teach math without making the students grieve for the items that disappeared in the cold, hard reality of subtraction. They have to teach history without talking about the human propensity for violence, disagreements and the occasional dismemberment for recreational purposes. They have to teach about how the world was created, but they have to teach something that isn't proven, won't ever be proven, and quite frankly, gets my panties in a wad just thinking about it. They're told that they have been charged with molding the minds of America's future, of stirring the melting pot of international intricacies in order to create a more perfect union.

Well, guess what? I ain't that kind of woman. I don't know what it is, but I can't sell out like that. I can't check who I am at the door and put on my politically correct face. I can't tell 25 students that they have to sit there and ignore li'l Johnny, who's slam dancin' in the book nook because his momma didn't pack the Ding Dong's he wanted for snack. Twenty-five other kids have to be lectured on why Johnny acts this way, and how his mother is clearly neglectful and should seek therapy for her insensitive ways. Li'l Johnny needs his butt tore outta the frame!!!

Don't get me wrong....I really respect and admire people that teach. I honestly don't know how you make it to till 5:00 every day without hitting the bottle. I guess some people are cut out for it, and others aren't.

I'm wrapping up a course called "Foundations of Diversity and Exceptionality" right now. (If that don't scream tree-huggin-conscience-fondlers, I don't know what does.) It's all about how the classroom is the emesis basin for self-expression and individuality. THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG WITH Y'ALL!

Rae-Rae came home telling me about a situation that took place in his class that was all over me like white on rice, and I decided to contact my course mentor. (Yeah, it's not "teacher" or "professor" anymore. I guess that would make me base jump into the Grand Canyon to realize that there is another person in charge that's gonna tell me what to do.)

Better put on your tolerance toboggan right quick.

There's a kid in Rae-Rae's class that is of a different religion and previously hailed from a country in a rather grumpy part of the world. I'd share his first name, but it's so stereotypical that you'd think I was making it up anyway.

Each morning, the kids say the pledge and sing the 'Star Spangled Banner', which actually surprises me. I'm surprised that hasn't offended somebody by now.

But this particular child screeches and makes fun of the lyrics of our national anthem each morning, and sits at his desk and talks to himself during the pledge.

Just hearing this makes me wanna punch the kid. I ain't sayin' he's gotta conform, but he can at least sit there and shut up while the other kids show some respect to their country.

I e-mailed my course mentor, and asked her how this situation should handled, according to our recycled toilet paper-printed textbook. I almost went Ralph Macchio on our picture window when I read her response.

According to her Ph.D. stuffed britches, the class should adapt the pledge and national anthem segment of the morning to accommodate this child. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

She went on to say that his needs are most likely not being met, and he probably feels intimidated and out of place during this daily routine. She said that he should be given the opportunity to acknowledge his home country and rituals and explain them to his classmates.

I don't have a problem with that. Whatever....my kid's just gonna come home and ask why they're still throwing rocks at tanks in this kid's country.

My issue is that as a teacher, I can't tell this little pot licker to sit down and shut up, or go wait in the hall if he's gonna act like a bipolar orangutan. Why is his right to be a butt more important than a lesson in respecting others? Oh, that's right, because HE has to be respected.

I really try not to judge people based on stereotypes, but I'm tired of my kid being told to sit there and accept li'l Jo-Jo's temper tantrums because he's been made to feel uncomfortable.

But anyway...I am so freakin' frustrated with school and trying to finish a degree in brainwashing while sticking to my beliefs. MY beliefs. I don't ask you to sit there and watch me sing "Oh Holy Night" in pig latin because I'm a Christian and it's my right. (Remember? I'm a US-born, Christian, white citizen....I'm lucky I haven't been fined for that trifecta alone.) But if I want to do it in my spare time, I have that right.

I'm not a good candidate for selling-out. If a principal asks why I would be a good teacher, there's a good shot I'm gonna laugh in their face and go into a rant about how their school is teaching my kid calculus in first grade, but they can't tie their shoes.

Maybe that's why writing is so important to me. I don't have to pretend. I don't have to lie. I don't have to beat my head against a wall every day to avoid offending Jo-Jo's three-legged pet frog.

Y'all, please pray for me. I'm getting ready to send my manuscript out to publishers, and if I get sucked back into classroom mode, I'm gonna shove myself up a chimney.

I hope y'all have a great day. I looked back at my to-do list from last night, and I'm thinking I'm gonna have to edit it a li'l bit.

1. Hog tie Bruce Springsteen and drag him to the roof of Wal-Mart, where he can sing about Santa all he wants to.
2. Hunt down Michael Bolton and velcro him to the wall of a kindergarten classroom after they've had cupcakes and punch.
3. Buy 87 candy canes for a bunch of kids who are gonna find them crunched up in their backpacks come Memorial Day. 
4. Fix a dinner that nobody will eat. 
5. Oversleep....again. 
6. Read about how all of my friends are celebrating the holidays together while we're living next door to Russian mobsters disguised as a homeschooling family of car salesmen. 
7. Drop off Blondie at Pre-K without her backpack, folder and blanket for naptime.
8. Make sure Rae-Rae takes Mr. T's present to him today. 

Actually, I've done pretty good today. I can cross off numbers 6, 7, and 8. The high point of the morning was definitely see Mr. T run a victory lap around the car rider line with Rae-Rae while pumping their fists like Rocky. That's why he's a good teacher. 

I'm gonna go on Pinterest and see if I can find a DIY cerebral enema to get rid of my lousy mood. Or maybe another face mask...