entry and stuff
I'm supposed to write about crossing your "t"s, and dotting your "i"s, I guess. A metaphor, about making sure... to have all your ducks in a row. Another metaphor, shaken, not stirred. I sit here, feeling uninspired, worn and tired, soon to be fired, my job expired. Right. Back on track. Taking a few minutes, while the children are playing quietly, having put the rest down to nap. Just a metaphor, because the act of actually making sure your letters are finished comes automatically, as an adult, unless you're writing longhand. I hate longhand. And we all use computers so much many of us have terrible handwriting. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking with it. Truth be told, I can't remember learning to write. Isn't that almost criminal, while I teach children to hold pencils and get their ABCs to paper, that I can't remember what it was like to learn myself? "QUIET!" I hiss. Whoops. I need to tell them to be quiet, so they don't wake up the other children.
Be right back.
I can't, though. Now, the metaphor? I feel like I'm STILL learning to cross my Ts. My last employment situation had so much paperwork and so many inspections I had my licensor's home number speed dialed, and, pardon my French, they were so far up my ass they knew if my tonsils were in compliance. That's just a metaphor, they had very little to do with my ass. Except that time my licensor had me bend down to make sure I didn't have plumber's crack showing. I didn't think it was any of her business, but I let her check, anyways. I guess some people feel weird about licensing men to watch children. Now I'm an employee, and there's a whole different set of Ts to cross. How to approach a two-year-old, number of interactions per hour to make sure you maintain, number of words to avoid, in between numbers, trying to form myself to a new set of expections while I contort more like a lowercase q or z. Letters. I haven't written anyone a letter in forever, or hardly received any, it feels like. I have some nice cards on my fridge from the parents of the kids I just sent to kindergarten thanking me for helping their kids learn to write, and cultivating a love of reading. funny. I don't think anyone would have me teach anyone to write if they were watching me flounder now. Whoops, the two wakeful kids are arguing again, and I really need to check on them - they have markers.
Be right back.
No, I can't remember learning to write, even my name. I do remember turning letters into a cool pictogram that represented my name, printing each letter over the other so my name was written in the space of one letter. Things your kids might do if you give them names they can write in three or four letters - none of your Phillips or Theresas will. Oh, right. Sorry, it's 2014. None of your Tristans or Sueanna Christals. I knew someone named their boys Qim and K'ael once. I wonder if they're still named that - they'd be teenagers now, and I can't imagine sticking with that. heh. Says Zed. I'm sitting here, not getting my writing done for Idol. This is the only time I've made to do it in, if I don't, I'll be disqualified, again. But I have to go take care of these kids, I've got my own "t"s to cross. I feel more star-crossed than "t" crossed. They're arguing again.
I'm back. They were arguing about whose name something was. I mean, they argue over that all the time. Sometimes they'll argue over whose mommy "mom" refers to, when they say it. "My mommy." "No, MY mommy!" "NO MY MOMMY!" They like their mommies. I read the Big Pumpkin book, and after the witch, the vampire, and the ghost, when the mummy comes in, everyone's always really happy. They like their mummies, too. I think they think she's just a funny-looking mommy, because they always say "mummy!"
Today, though, they're arguing about letters. One's crossing his T. He says it's his. But the other boy says it's for HIS name. But his name doesn't start with a T, so I don't know. I get them both new pieces of paper, this one is crumpled and ruined. If I weren't trying to keep them quiet, I'd put the markers away. They're both starting over. Tristan's crossing his T.
And Isaac's crossing his I. Of course. Gotta cross your Is, too.
His mummy told him so.
Be right back.
I can't, though. Now, the metaphor? I feel like I'm STILL learning to cross my Ts. My last employment situation had so much paperwork and so many inspections I had my licensor's home number speed dialed, and, pardon my French, they were so far up my ass they knew if my tonsils were in compliance. That's just a metaphor, they had very little to do with my ass. Except that time my licensor had me bend down to make sure I didn't have plumber's crack showing. I didn't think it was any of her business, but I let her check, anyways. I guess some people feel weird about licensing men to watch children. Now I'm an employee, and there's a whole different set of Ts to cross. How to approach a two-year-old, number of interactions per hour to make sure you maintain, number of words to avoid, in between numbers, trying to form myself to a new set of expections while I contort more like a lowercase q or z. Letters. I haven't written anyone a letter in forever, or hardly received any, it feels like. I have some nice cards on my fridge from the parents of the kids I just sent to kindergarten thanking me for helping their kids learn to write, and cultivating a love of reading. funny. I don't think anyone would have me teach anyone to write if they were watching me flounder now. Whoops, the two wakeful kids are arguing again, and I really need to check on them - they have markers.
Be right back.
No, I can't remember learning to write, even my name. I do remember turning letters into a cool pictogram that represented my name, printing each letter over the other so my name was written in the space of one letter. Things your kids might do if you give them names they can write in three or four letters - none of your Phillips or Theresas will. Oh, right. Sorry, it's 2014. None of your Tristans or Sueanna Christals. I knew someone named their boys Qim and K'ael once. I wonder if they're still named that - they'd be teenagers now, and I can't imagine sticking with that. heh. Says Zed. I'm sitting here, not getting my writing done for Idol. This is the only time I've made to do it in, if I don't, I'll be disqualified, again. But I have to go take care of these kids, I've got my own "t"s to cross. I feel more star-crossed than "t" crossed. They're arguing again.
I'm back. They were arguing about whose name something was. I mean, they argue over that all the time. Sometimes they'll argue over whose mommy "mom" refers to, when they say it. "My mommy." "No, MY mommy!" "NO MY MOMMY!" They like their mommies. I read the Big Pumpkin book, and after the witch, the vampire, and the ghost, when the mummy comes in, everyone's always really happy. They like their mummies, too. I think they think she's just a funny-looking mommy, because they always say "mummy!"
Today, though, they're arguing about letters. One's crossing his T. He says it's his. But the other boy says it's for HIS name. But his name doesn't start with a T, so I don't know. I get them both new pieces of paper, this one is crumpled and ruined. If I weren't trying to keep them quiet, I'd put the markers away. They're both starting over. Tristan's crossing his T.
And Isaac's crossing his I. Of course. Gotta cross your Is, too.
His mummy told him so.