Friday, March 25, 2016
(VERY) Slow and (Kinda) Steady
But today I had a solid plan: I would substitute-teach in the morning (the Arlington schools are closed for Good Friday, but our neighboring town of Belmont is only half as holy, and they were open for half a day), come home and do all my dinner prep (the Chardonnays are rarely all home for dinner at the same time any more, but tonight we would be, and I had a lovely meal planned of ham steak and colcannon ["bubble and squeak"] and fresh fruit), and then work out, eat lightly at dinner, and take a long hot bath.
INSTEAD, I had a classroom full of hellion thugs. Frankly, fifth-graders are not the most fun to teach. They've lost all desire to please the teacher (the hallmark of second- and third-graders, my favorite), and they don't have the basic social skills of older students. And these kids were especially wound up because it was a half day before a long weekend and there was a sub. Plus, the teacher left very spotty lesson plans, which is always annoying. I got through it, but by the time I got home, I was exhausted.
And also in a lot of pain. For some reason, subbing is extremely hard on my knees. I think because I'm standing more than I realize and I expend so much energy starting from the soles of my feet. It takes a lot of effort to keep a classroom engaged and under control!
In any event, after running two errands, I came home, collapsed in my comfy chair with my exciting new library book, and indulged in two of my secret weapons:
We did have the lovely dinner and completed our Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon, which started last June, and that was great fun.
I'll do chores all morning, and then Husband and I are attending many, many hours of live theater. Our pal Handsome D is starring in a trilogy; we've seen Part 1, and tomorrow we see Parts 2 and 3. He is marvelous, and we are looking forward to it. I can still eat small meals, but it won't be a day of much movement.
Maybe Easter, the day of rebirth, renewal, and miracles, will be a workout day for me. Who knows?
— Lady C