In a way that attempts to be as entertaining as possible, I will try to give you a bit of insight into my day…you know, if you’re even interested. If not, I get it.
My alarm goes off. I curse at Siri in my head and snooze it.
Snooze again. Jake’s alarm goes off for awhile, I elbow him, he snoozes it.
You’re getting the picture now I’m sure.
I consider sleeping another 15 minutes and that decision is almost solely based off of how clean my hair is. Since I only wash it about every third or fourth day or so, usually I can squeeze in a little extra sleep.
I don’t get out of bed gracefully — actually I don’t do much of anything gracefully. I roll off my end and hope that my feet hit the floor first. You would think that would be the easy part but sometimes it’s my knee or even my palm that hits the floor first. I’m not a morning person.
I trudge my way into the bathroom (with Jake still sound asleep, by the way). I brush my teeth, I pee, I turn on the shower…you know the usual morning activities.
This is usually when I’m fighting with my hair. Sometimes I win, sometimes I don’t, and sometimes it takes half a can of dry shampoo to keep me from looking like Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean because I was too lazy to wash my hair even though it’s day 4.
My bathroom smells like dry shampoo and hairspray and my husband is complaining about the air quality and his lungs as if he’s ever had to deal with day 4 hair. Please. There are some things men will never understand.
I’m now standing in my closet — it’s a big closet and my favorite part of our house — trying to decide what to wear. I’m sure for most people this is an easy decision and most of the time I feel like I have too many clothing items and that I need to clean out my closet. However, right around 7:15 AM every day is when my brain decides to flip that switch that says “everything you own looks like crap.” So, of course, I stand there for 10 minutes waiting on some kind of wardrobe inspiration that never comes and usually end up turning a plain white t-shirt into something “chic” by covering it with a gaudy necklace or a well placed scarf.
It works, people.
I am now scrambling to throw together a lunch for myself. Depending on how recently I’ve gone to the grocery store or if we have leftovers from dinner the night before (usually a while ago and usually not) I’ll probably end up taking popcorn, a banana, and a granola bar for lunch. I’m a teacher. We don’t get “real” lunch breaks like most people. There’s no leaving and getting Zaxby’s or Flying Burrito (well, sometimes there is but not usually). So if I can’t throw it in a sack and sit it at my desk for half of the day then I’m probably not eating it for lunch. Some people I work with eat salads with strawberries or avocado every day. There’s a lot of preparation involved in that…so I eat my popcorn or some oatmeal or chips from the vending machine and call it good.
This is usually around the time I get to school. It’s about 6 minutes away from my house as long as no one decides to drive their tractor down the rural highway I take — which happens more often than you would think. I park way in the back of the parking lot so my Fitbit will log the extra steps (don’t judge me) because I have crazy co-workers who also have Fitbits and who think it’s fun to frequently challenge each other to see who can get the most steps in a week. Don’t worry, I’ve never won.
More days than not there is a student or two who is about to show up to make up a test or get help on an assignment. Sometimes there’s a Student Council meeting to facilitate. I attend to these things while I make sure I have everything ready for whatever it is I’m teaching that day (you can’t be a teacher without having the ability to multitask, it’s literally impossible).
The bell rings and first hour begins. I do my thing and then repeat it a few times throughout the day, partly because I teach the same classes all day and partly because some kids just need to be told something 584 times before they actually realize that yes, it is required. Sometimes kids say things that make me want to scream (but I don’t…usually). For instance, on a day where they come in and I have a 5 question pop quiz on the board over the chapter they were supposed to have read in their novel last night one student came to me and said, “Um, Mrs. Cockrell, I didn’t read that chapter, what do you want me to do?” It takes every ounce of effort I have in me to say, “Well, the reading was required and you were here yesterday when I reminded everyone, so I guess what I’m telling you is that you still have to take it,” when what I really want to say is, “Oh! Goodness, well I’m sorry. I’ll just cancel the entire pop quiz today because *insert student name here* didn’t read the chapter! It’s really unfair of me to expect you to be able to read 10 pages on your own. Forgive my ignorance, A’s for everyone!!” But I didn’t respond like that and I’m pretty sure that was due to some act of God. Of course, it’s not all like that. I have some really incredible and talented kids, but those stories aren’t nearly as entertaining so…
On any given day there’s either a faculty meeting, I have duty, or there is a Student Council meeting. I would give you a run down of any of those….but that would be working under the assumption that I remember them. They all kind of end up blurring together in a never-ending stream of meetings and obligations that exist because someone says they have to and for the most part, that seems to be the only real reason. Although sometimes there’s food.
This is normally about the time I get home. Unless there’s a homecoming assembly that I have to set up for, or a parade I’m in charge of, or testing tomorrow that I have to go re-organize someone else’s room for, or I have essays to grade, or it’s a Tuesday, or . . . well you get the idea.
This is about the time the hubby gets home. Most days — maybe 2 or 3 a week — I’ve managed to have dinner ready by now. I consider this one of my greatest accomplishments. And you can almost guarantee that whatever I cook is either a recipe from Pioneer Woman or Euna Mae’s. If it weren’t for Ree Drummond and Amy Hannon I would probably just eat Velveeta mac and cheese for dinner every night. Which we do have sometimes because it’s delicious. I have to run the Roomba while I cook (or while I watch TV instead of cook) because my dogs shed in a way that makes me wonder how in the hell they aren’t bald and my husband and I are just a couple of suckers who let two 75-pound dogs stay in the house all day instead of outside where they probably should be.
Jake and I eat on the couch while we watch TV, usually because the kitchen table is covered in mail/bills/work stuff/whatever I didn’t feel like figuring out what to do with. Again…don’t judge me.
Depending on what my Fitbit says (remember, we are still not judging) I might go on a walk. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to talk Jake into going with me so that we can bring the dogs. This usually ends with one dog (Walter) wearing himself down to exhaustion from pulling on the leash and collapsing on the floor in a pool of drool while the other (Nala) takes offense at literally every living and moving creature she sees on our little one mile loop around the neighborhood.
7:30ish – 9:00ish
If it’s a Sunday we watch “The Walking Dead”, “Fear the Walking Dead”, or “Game of Thrones”…depending on which one is in season. If it’s Tuesday we watch “Fresh Off the Boat.” If it’s any other day we watch some other show we are addicted to on HBO or Netflix. I know…we watch a lot of TV. You’re still judging, I can feel it through the screen. Sometimes we break up the TV watching with some book reading (mostly me) or some homework (mostly Jake — he’s getting his MBA) or Jake will get his guitar and play while we sing for awhile. When we’re at home, we like to relax. Both of our jobs can be pretty stressful. Our house is our sanctuary.
We transfer the TV watching to the bedroom.
I’m out like a light, ready to get up in 8 or 9 hours and do it all over again. Hooray for routine!