That Other English Teacher Is Trying To Kill Me, Too

You know how some bloggers exaggerate the truth for purposes of humor?

Well, I water it down as to not appear as crazy as I really am.

Although I think it's the people around me who are the crazy ones.

I wrote a post the other day about helping Teen Son write a 1500 word essay on "Blowin' In The Wind."

I told you that Monday morning he was pounding the mouse madly on the desk, shouting, What else can I write? I need 1200 more words! What should I say?

I told you I was spitting out ideas left and right, pacing like a krazed Kramer. What I didn't tell you was that Teen Daughter was in the family room writing a five paragraph essay on how to succeed in school. So the pacing back and forth was from essay to essay.

What does cannon balls fly mean? Teen Son barks.

I think it has to do with war, I tell him.

I need three more sentences in the expectations paragraph, Teen Daughter shrieks. I have to have a total of five.

Have you used the buzzed words: engagement, meaningful learning, deep thinking? I say.

How do spell Zimmerman?

Wait, no first, I need two more sentences in the learning environment paragraph. Just two more.

No, you've got to help me, I only have 626 words.

What do I say in the conclusion?

Who's Pete Seeger? Hurry, I'm going to be late for school.

Daughter finished first, snapped her notebook shut and demanded her brother drive her (the 3 blocks) to school.

Only brother needed 412 more words.

So Daughter proceeded to...how can I put this gently...have a full-fledged meltdown in the family room. The Other Parental Unit stepped in and drove her (the 3 blocks) to school, in one of the (5) cars in our driveway.

Teen made it to 1480 words, rushed out of the house and wildly began backing up his car on the grass around car #4--the 1975 Cadillac.

I bolted out in my pjs and bare feet, dodged the piles of dog doo doo in the yard--we've got a lot of poop going on in our lives right now--to guide him. When he backed into the fence I screamed like a Miley Cyrus fan. When he pulled forward and then backed into the Cadillac, I screamed like a Miley Cyrus fan on crack.

Later that day, just when I thought my nervous system had recovered, Gradeschooler comes home and tells me he has to write for 15 minutes.

He sits down and diligently begins.

After 88 seconds he says, Has it been 15 minutes yet?

Two minutes later he says, Has it been 15 minutes yet?

Three minutes later he says, Is my time up yet?

A minute a half later he says, Why are you drinking that beer so early?

If English teachers are going to send work home with a prescribed number of words, sentences and minutes, they should send home some Xanax as well, don't you think?

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posted at Humor-Blogs