Work, Work, Work

Every homecoming week, the student body sponsors a series of dress-up days. And as proof that no one really outgrows the desire to be a pirate or a cowboy or superhero, many of the staff get involved as well. Two years ago, my friend Cathy and I went all out for "Future Career Day." My costume? A stay at home mom--complete with unwashed, messy hair, a pair of sweats, ratty slippers, a long sleeve t-shirt, and a rubber baby doll poking out of a sling strapped to my chest. I drew concerned looks from my colleagues (my apparent inability to avoid banging fake-baby's head on door frames, copy machines, computer monitors) and a mock blessing from a student dressed as the pope.

Today, things sort of came full circle. Owing to a wierd schedule, I ended up with only one class today. Rather than spend as much time taking Evie back and forth to day care as I would spend actually teaching, we had our first take your daughter to work day. She spent the 45 minutes in my classroom cooing on the floor, grinning at the Advanced Placement Eleventh graders who were happy for a reason to avoid the assignment on Gulliver's Travels. ("Is she a mean little person like the Liliputians?" a student asked.) Only once did she scream and wail (after bonking her own head into the desk), prompting the teacher next door to poke his head inside my room to ask which of my highly-motivated, grade concious students was complaining about his grade now.

But even when she's at daycare, Evie has a job. According to Kiera--the three year old daughter of Evie's sitter--Evie "does paperwork" every morning for an hour or so with Devon, Kiera's baby brother. I guess they do look a little bit like Dwight and Jim . . .


After all that work, Evie goes down for a morning nap, waking just before I arrive at 11 or so. But after lunch and playtime, its back to work, while she "helps" mommy grade papers.


You won't be surprised to learn that Evie's assistance has yielded a new version of an old favorite excuse. Instead of the kids telling me "the dog ate my homework," I find myself regularly saying, "My daughter ate your homework."


Teaching half time is tough, but I'm lucky to work for a school that's willing to let me. I'm even luckier to have the best job in the world--being Evie's mom.
Jen