Tuesday was one of those days. It was as if a thick fog encased my brain.
It could have been from the stress of a looming Friday deadline for the VSLA conference.
It could have been because I ate some sugar Monday night.
It could have been because my back has been in so much pain I've barely been able to walk this week.
Or maybe it was all three of those things. Whatever the case, all my synapses definitely weren't firing.
When I went to pick my students up from PE, they weren't there. Baffled, I glanced outside. Now, why I thought there was any possibility the PE teacher would take my class outside without jackets I have no idea. I also have no idea how when I saw the kids that were outside that I didn't realize that they were younger students outside for the recess. But as I said, my synapses weren't firing.
A minute or so passed, and the kids outside didn't line up. I rationalized that they must be lining up at the other outside door. So, I headed toward it.
As I walked toward the outside door, I passed our kindergarten book buddies. At this point, my brain should have jolted itself out of the sludge. But, it didn't. It stayed stuck in the mire.
Why? Because every double-special day, my students transition from PE to art and I pick them up from art, not PE. Every double-special day I greet our book buddies because they have art right after us.
But I saw my colleague and said, "I can't find my class. I think they must be outside."
My colleague must have been too stunned to respond.
Eighteen kindergartners called out, "Mrs. Narita, your class is right there." They gestured wildly at the closed art room door.
Doubled-over, my colleague tried not to wet her pants.
Thank goodness for kindergartners.