Yesterday I realized that I need to figure out a way to teach multiplication that makes children want to learn it. It is very frustrating to see kids just refuse to be bothered. I’ve shown them why it is practical to learn to multiply. I’ve tried to make it fun. I’ve tried, I’ve tried, I’ve tried…
I did some small improvements yesterday, so that is a good thing, but a few of them just don’t seem to care or want to be successful in school. I have this one young lady who has a very regal sounding name that just can’t be bothered to make much effort in class. She’s done just enough to not have had the bad note sent home (D and F notices went out yesterday), but if she doesn’t pull her head out of her royal butt, she won’t have a fun report card.
I also had six extra students yesterday because one of my fellow teachers got the Covid. Yay! Nothing like having 35 students in a room that really fits about 27 pretty well.
Wednesdays are for bitching and moaning, apparently.
A hump is not always bad.
A hump should not always make you sad.
It should make you wait, maybe.
It should make you feel great (shady).
A hump is a bump and a trip to the dump with a lot of stuff to carry.
Pull up your pants and jump it.
That was worse than the bitching and moaning.
My interest in poetry has really been renewed as of late. At some point in the next few weeks, I’m going to go through and compile all of the random poems I have put in the blog and put them in one place. That’s going to take me a day or so, I’m sure.
When Betsy woke up earlier that morning, her day nurse, Patti, told her the interesting news of the day.
“The actor, Aidan Mann, is downstairs in the ER right now. He brought some poor old man in this morning. Isn’t that exciting?” Patti shared.
“I guess so,” said Betty, as Patti checked her vitals. “Who is Aidan Mann and more importantly, where is Marcy?”
“She was off before you woke up, poor thing. The older gentleman that Mr. Mann brought in was Marcy’s neighbor, from what I heard.”
“Oh no. I just love her. No offense, dear, you’re wonderful, too, but Marcy made me feel so much better.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Betsy. You seemed so peaceful when I checked on you earlier that I didn’t wake you up right away. How did you sleep?”
“I slept wonderfully. I had these amazing dreams. I was a doctor, maybe, or a nurse like you in a hospital, but it wasn’t this one. I was a brain surgeon, I think. I don’t know. I just remember it was…(she paused for a few seconds with a smile on her face)… It was a funny kind of dream, if that makes sense.”
“It does. I’m glad you got to dream. A lot of time the pain meds stop that from happening.”
Patti finished checking on Betsy and added her notes into the computer system.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Betsy?” Patti asked.
“No, I don’t think so dear. I’m going to try and go back to sleep. I want to see how the dream ends,” replied Betsy.
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few hours. Sleep well.”
Betsy lay in her hospital bed with her eyes closed. She kept thinking of Marcy. She hoped she would see her again soon.
As she drifted off to sleep, she began to dream. There was an older man standing in front of her. He had the bluest eyes. They seemed almost electric.
“Hi Betsy,” he said. “I’m Jonathan. My body is downstairs. Soon yours will be, too.”
See you tomorrow.
Hello from the Irish Cultural Center back in April, I think. It was a fun night, either way.