Once upon a workday.

Today, while writing report after report and written notice after written notice and listening to the speech pathologist play games and have fun conversations with kiddos all day, I began to question my career choice. My office is a little boxed off, double mirrored corner of the room in which she does therapy, so I get to listen to her fun times with kids, after which she sends them back off to class. Perfect!

Not long after daydreaming that I, too, was an SLP, she asked me to keep an eye on a (somewhat infamous) trio of kindergarteners for a few minutes so she could take an emergency phone call. Oof course, I said. What a wonderful opportunity to read a story to a group of cute five year olds who can’t talk good!

One child (who I had actually just been writing a report about) spent the first half of my story time shaking one lone die in a metal box. Not so soothing. The boy to my right and his amazing eyelashes was actually engaged and wanted to comment on every image from our story. The wee lady in the bunch is a firecracker, and she asked to go potty. Assuming that she’d probably get lost going by herself and not feeling safe about leaving the other two kiddos, I asked if she could wait a minute? She nodded and leaned onto the table to listen to the story that I was trying so, so hard to make a fun time. Almost immediately, she chattered something at me, the only words I could understand being “uh-oh,” “potty,” and “pants.” Her neighbor shouted, “A mess! A mess! A mess!” Yes, a puddle the size of a pizza gathered around her shoes. Did I mention that this room is about an eighth of a mile (literally) from her classroom and dry clothes?

Oh, and then the secretary came over the intercom and asked me to send one of the boys halfway across the school for picture re-takes. Yeah. Again, not so much the kiddos you can send alone for these sorts of things. And then I cried. Oh, ok, I didn’t cry. Actually, everyone came to my rescue and the day was saved. And then I went and finished some more reports and written notices and medicaid billing logs and stopped being covetous of other people’s jobs. The end.

About lindswing

Once upon a time, I was born, grew up a little bit, did some stuff, and now I have a blog. I deeply respect the Oxford comma.
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One Response to Once upon a workday.

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