It started after the nine consecutive days I taught in mid-March, over spring break. The mountain was especially crowded and my classes were bigger than usual. One day I had 12 kids, which I know to veterans is not a big deal, but I'm still new at this so it was challenging. Just counting heads all day long to make sure everyone was with me took extra energy. But what was even more challenging was the weather, which was unseasonably, punishingly hot, and the rule is, we are supposed to wear our full uniforms at all times, no matter what. Because as we all know, rules are rules, and apparently this rule was made before anyone could conceive of global warming, or skiing in 60+ degree weather in heavy, insulated pants, jackets, gloves and helmets.
So for nine days, there I was, leading my large, easily distracted, overdressed flush-faced groups of variously capable charges (who hailed from places like Florida and Kentucky and Texas and Oklahoma, and were understandably confused by the tropical mountain that was frying them to little crisps), through icy melting slush while simultaneously trying to stay one step ahead of the maddening crowds and also losing 10% of my body weight in water. This meant a Whole New Order of priorities. They were:
1. coming up with a lesson plan that was appropriate to conditions, crowds, and the wider skill levels and shorter attention spans of larger classes, while
2. paying extra-special attention to basic survival (no one hurt, no one lost, no one seizing from heat exhaustion) and
3. maintaining a cheerful, can-do attitude.
I'm not sure how I managed to do all of the above, but I did. Then, when I woke up on Day 10 with nowhere to go and nothing to do, I went into a stupor. It was like my whole entity was wondering what the hell I had just been through. It didn't help that somewhere around day 6, in my rush to get to Morning Meeting in time, I slathered what I thought was sunscreen all over my face and neck, only to find out that late afternoon that it was just lotion. I was so sunburned that it hurt when my bedsheets touched my skin. And I'm just now shaking the last of the of it off.
BUT, it was also amazing. So many, many, many things I learned. They fall in these basic categories, so I'm going to right about them this way:
- Girls
- Boys
- Fleeting Unrelated Experiences
- Little Misfits
Girls first. Next time.
xo,
Granny
