May is a unique month in the teaching field which no human is inherently prepared to survive. During each day of this month, teachers across the nation do the impossible. For those outside of education, I present to you the month of May from a teacher's perspective in the form of a 31-day confessional:
May 1: I think I can still count down to 31. I might as well get used to doing things backwards because my whole life is about to be.
May 2: A 45-minute lesson lasted 10 minutes. This is not a drill.
May 3: Pretty sure I'm allergic to my students, not pollen.
May 4: Do you think parents would consider a truce? Neither of us deserve this.
May 5: Cinco de Mayo! Is it illegal to install a margarita machine in the teachers' lounge? (Note to self: learn what "lounging" is.)
May 6: I let my kids charge their iPhones in class in hopes that they will forget their charger.
May 7: Netflix and ch...HAHA, jk. You're grading this weekend.
May 8: It's Mother's Day. Some mothers are teachers. They do not make $1 million. I now know the meaning of injustice.
May 9: Student of the Year goes to whoever asks me the least amount of questions between now and the end of the year.
May 10: Irony: kids will draw on every single thing I own, but they won't draw in art class.
May 11: I dreamed it was August again. I don't think I'll go back to sleep for the rest of the month.
May 12: How much pay would I get if I retired after five years of teaching?
May 13: There was a full moon. It was Friday the 13th. I bought canned goods and cases of bottled water in preparation for Armageddon.
May 14: I'll vote for whatever presidential candidate promises to classify jeans as professional dress.
May 15: New idea: group projects!
May 16: Newer idea: no more group projects!
May 17: I started crying at lunch over a broken plastic fork.
May 18: I think the sun is punishing me by coming up earlier every day. That's how the solar system works, right?
May 19: A fellow educator admitted to placing her hand over her heart as if pledging to the flag during the blessing at dinner.
May 20: A kid left his lunch in class today. I ate it during my conference period as a snack.
May 21: I won't let students play card games or watch movies in class because I firmly believe we must all suffer through the bitter end.
May 22: I need to prepare these kids for college. So, arts and crafts day?
May 23: I kan wordz sumtimez.
May 24: I began scheduling class parties every day for the rest of the year so I could stop bringing lunch to school. Instead, I will consume cupcakes for sustenance along with my tears for hydration.
May 25: Asking kids for missing assignments is like a full-out hostage negotiation.
"Josh, this is your final warning. Just pull the worksheet out of your bag and no one's grade will get hurt."
May 26: I agreed to put on pants today. You're welcome, world.
May 27: My grading implement of choice is now half of a peach crayon.
May 28: I have 12 K-cups left in my coffee stash. This is only enough for one day.
May 29: In the shower, I mistakenly used shaving cream as shampoo.
May 30: Minutes should be shorter.
May 31: Why would the calendar gods give May an extra day?! WHY?!?!!
June 1: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz