Short Pants and the Classroom Frustration

I've been putting off blogging...for months now. Not because I don't like it. Mostly because it like running. It takes time for me to get in the running mood and when I do, I'm a machine. Likewise, it takes time for me to get in the writing mood and when I do...well I guess that's where the similarities end.

Let me tell you about this lady who drives me crazy. I will call her Short Pants because she wears those old lady short pants. The pants can't exactly be considered capris because they're too long. They're not pants because they're too short. They hit her ankle at about the same place the top of her socks end...and her socks are pulled up. Mostly, I don't have to worry about people thinking she's the teacher. Anyway, Short Pants has been in my classroom since the first few weeks of school and her job, in my classroom, is to help me...to make my life easier. So far, she's failed. I ask her to copy something front/back and she copies it only front then back and staples them. I ask her to take one page and make it front/back. She copies only one side. I ask her to create a stapled packet and she makes the papers front/back. It seems like she deliberately does things to piss me off. And I could understand why. You see, I just don't like her. I didn't like her in the interview. She was all harsh and weird. I didn't like her the first day of school because she tried to take over my class. I didn't like her today because she 1) talked to individual students during our very quiet reading time which created a ripple effect of chatter throughout the room and 2) shushed (or shhh-ed) my students when I gave them permission to chat. It's so hard for me to like this lady and I don't know what it is exactly. I've never really had a problem not liking someone. I forget mistakes fairly quickly and I tend to forgive easily in most cases. This lady, however, is like the word 'though.' She breaks the normal phonetic spelling patterns of my life. Last week I tried so hard to like her. It worked sometimes. And by worked I mean I didn't yell and her. It's just such a chore to think about my words and actions and blah blah blah and to actually force myself to make conversation with her. Seriously?

At a recent professional development doohicky someone said, "I can't afford to do this! I don't have time!" The lady presenting said, "You don't have time NOT to." Maybe that's how this is. Maybe I can't afford not to work a little harder at this.