Kelly kind of gets a job.

Well the two months of freedom (in terms of time) which I spent watching all the seasons of Friends and Parks and Recreation, and washing countless dishes is finally over. I got myself a job. And by that I mean, I wake up early and wait for the phone to ring, hoping that some hapless elementary or high school teacher somewhere in Utah Valley has gotten the flu. And as luck would have it, today was that day. I dressed myself in my most "teachery" outfit (sans slick hair bun) and went off to teach a 6th grade class.

Ah, 6th grade. I remember it well. Ms. Cox was my teacher and she was wonderful; we mummified a chicken and I showed off my prowess as an 11-year-old expert in Greek mythology. What I didn't remember about 6th grade was what a horrible time it was for everyone. All of a sudden you don't remember if boys had cooties or not and you don't feel like a child anymore, but you're still treated like a child.

So there I was attempting to teach this 6th grade class who are all so obviously confused with themselves, and it didn't help that I was confused with myself. I haven't been in 6th grade for ages (obviously) and I haven't done anything even remotely resembling 6th grade work for just as long.

To paint a picture of what I mean:

I think I might have caused several students in my class to miss at least one word on their spelling test because I could not (for the life of me!) remember how to spell the word "thieves". Yes, thieves. Oh, how debilitating spell check has turned out to be.

All day long, I felt as though I were running around without my head or my pants, or something crucial to being a good, authoritative, fun teacher. And the moments when the students could sense that, they struck. 11-year-olds are at the height of their sneakiness and I feel lucky that everyone survived the day.

So hats off to anyone who has ever taught elementary school, you are saints and martyrs and probably sorcerers. I sadly, am not.

-KB