It's true. I really do love my job.
The past two years had several days when I clicked my heels together and wished I was ANY place else. I'm thankful it was only days and not weeks or months. This year I'm starting with a teacher I can respect, like and who seems to really understand and want what is best for the short folk. AND she knows how to train them from the get-go. {pauses to sing "hallelujah"} I have immense admiration for her.
But, my hours have been cut. In June, it was explained to me that it was "my turn". Over the past 22 years, my hours only changed when I went from half day to full day. When hours needed to be cut, other aides bore the brunt. I don't wish other aides ill, but I've always appreciated those in charge understanding the enormity of the job of working with the short folk.
- So much prep
- boo boos
- hand holding
- training
- errand running
- phone calls
- and K teachers not having pull outs to have any prep time of their own.
Things I'm learning:
- It's incredibly discombobulating to come to work with the crowd of parents dropping off students and when class is already in session.
- I have no time to get my wits about me or plan the day with my teacher.
- I wear my frustration on my sleeve (not planned, but observed via a co-worker)
It's one of those moments when a person feels tested.
"You can do this!"
"It's not personal."
A tiny part of me is enjoying the extra time to get a chore or two done in the morning after everyone has left the house. (I have a Pollyanna side) Though it's still in the awkward stages. I mean, how many times can a person vacuum the house during one week?
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