I am weary, let me rest

It's much harder being the actual teacher this year than subbing for Mr. C was last year. That may seem obvious to the outsider, but I fully believed that logging in a month in Mr. C's room enabled me to say that I had walked in the K teachers' shoes, even if only for a few steps. It has now become painfully obvious that I only looked at their shoes and maybe gave them a little polish.

As that metaphor rasps out its last painful breath, I consider all the things that hadn't occurred to me then. Things in addition to the reading and math activities that we do every day. I have to write my own schedule for things like computer use, activities outside the room, show and tell, and so on. I need to make sure Scholastic book orders go out and then are put in on time. I need to create a class calendar and hand it out to parents. I need to type up my initial conference notes. And much more --- and that's without yet mentioning the most salient fact of all: the buck now stops here. I'm responsible for all that.

I had a father call me today and ask if his daughter would be getting homework soon. It's the fourth day of school, this is kindergarten, and that's the second inquiry I've had about that. (Both were from Indian parents, for whatever stereotype-feeding fodder that's worth.) The kids are still getting used to the schedule; of course they're not sending papers home. And there's not going to be any homework all year, because, well, your kid is in kindergarten. She is five.

Okay, so tired.