Aaargh!

No, it isn't talk like a pirate day.
I'm so frustrated with my Friday night class. Only two more and I can put those non-motivated students out of my life.
Tonight I thought I was being observed. The last time I was observed, the supervisor just showed up and I continued with my class as usual. This time, the supervisor contacted me last week to say he was coming this week. That, of course, made me nervous. I made sure the students were assigned an essay that we could discuss. They've been fairly good at that.
I talked to another teacher who said she is really just a "facilitator" for her students. She breaks them into small groups and let's them figure things out.
So, I started tonight with small groups for parphrasing practice. I gave them an Urban Legend about Bonsai Kittens (kittens that are grown in bottles to be bottle-shaped. No, it's not true, it's an urban legend.)
I broke them into groups of four and told them to paraphrase the legend and the explanation of the legend.
"What if we don't want to collaborate?" one boy asked.
"But I want you to collaborate. You can learn from each other."
"I work better on my own. Don't take this personally," he said, turning to the other members of his group.
"Oh, I'm taking it personally. I will not collaborate with you," said an older woman with grown kids who should definitely know better than to take an 18-year-old seriously.
Then she refused to work with him.
I was just praying my supervisor didn't appear soon. Then we discussed an essay by Martin Luther King about the oppressed. Hello? Does anyone know who Dr. King was? I got blank stares. What's oppressed? What acquiesance? What's nonviolent resistance?
We played a grammar game for extra credit. Some of the students talked incessantly about nothing. They should have their own Seinfeld episodes.
I explained the same things over and over.
I told them about logical fallacies and showed them youtube videos to reinforce the fallacies. I showed them the hilarious Saturday Night Live skit about Joe Wilson who yelled, "You lie!" during Obama's speech to illustrate the bandwagon fallacy.
Finally, I tried to discuss an entertaining essay on when it's okay to lie. It was obvious none of them had read it. Fine.
I gave them a writing assignment and wished them good riddance (in my thought bubble). Then I looked in my mailbox and saw a reminder that students deserve good customer service. Well, you know what. I'd like to see a little more effort before those students get good customer service from me.
I'm working like a dog to entertain them, tap dancing as fast as I can in a four-hour class on Friday night. Did they know the class was on Friday night when they signed up for it?
I'm tired of teaching. Physically and mentally.

Learning Lessons

While my husband was away for five days, I learned some important lessons about myself. Well, two.
1. I get to be the good parent because he flies off the handle.
When he was gone, I found myself becoming the yelling parent and I wondered if the only reason I am the calm, caring parent is because he yells so I don't have to.
On Tuesday night when Spencer stayed out until 10, I was the one who met him at the door with threats of grounding. It was a school night after all.
You already know how I handled the things with Grace (see post below).
I found one too many wet towels in Tucker's room and sentenced him to two full loads of laundry, washed, dried and folded, before he saw his friends again.
At that point, all of my kids were asking, "Why are you so mad?" "Why are you taking this out on me?" Good questions.
And, the moment my husband returned, he jumped right into the yelling role again, and I became the soother, trying to smooth things over.
The second lesson, I learned from my husband's trip:
2. You'll get a more joyful welcome home if you arrive at 4:30 p.m. rather than 4:30 a.m. And don't expect sex when you come home at that hour either.