Posts Tagged Under teacher
When a Mother Runs, Perspective Comes
The morning is cool and cloudy, ideal for running. Getting in a run is usually a highlight of my day. I pop on my iPod, crank up the volume and try to keep pace with the up-temp
beat of rock or old school disco. But not even a head-banging dose of mullet rock, courtesy of Judas Priest, can get my motor running today.
I’ve just come from dropping my daughter off at school where her teacher cornered me by the storage cubbies. The look on her face said she didn’t want to have a friendly chat about how nicely my daughter shares or how great her art work is.
As she launched into a description of Phoebe’s out-of-control behavior on picture day earlier that week, I felt sick to my stomach. My daughter brought the already challenging task of trying to get more than 50 pre-schoolers to sit still for a group photo to a grinding halt, she informed me. Refusing to cooperate, Phoebe whirled across the playground like a tiny tornado leaving chaos in her wake.
By Dorothy O'DonnellVolunteer for Brainless Tasks and Find Nirvana
I never feel more stupid than when I volunteer in my daughter’s kindergarten class.
Her teacher snaps out instructions. My job, I think, is to help the kids draw three pictures that describe their weekend and then write a one-sentence summation.
I’m supposed to help my daughter, Mimi, her friend, Anni, a boy, David, and a girl, Samantha.
“This way!” I say. Mimi goes the other way, as does giggling Anni, while David heads straight to his seat, as does Samantha.
By adminThe Teased Gene Passed Painfully Down
My daughter came home from school today and used a word that made my blood run cold. No it wasn’t THAT word.
A Full-Time Working Mother IS a Good Mother
I am a full-time preschool teacher, and a single mom.
One of my favorite things about my job is that warm and fuzzy feeling I get because I am doing something good for others; contributing to my community I live in by teaching its smallest members the basics of life.
What can be more rewarding?
Yet, my altruistic bubble was burst the other day by my seven-year old son’s comment, “Mom, I wish you had some other kind of job, so that you are not all done playing when you get home.”
By Svetlana Nikitina
