Toegate Update – Day Eight – By Miss Weight – so much rhymage!!!!! So, my toe is all growed up from a bad bruise to a hematoma!! Which sounds like a tumor but its not a tumor. Its just a pool of black and yellow blood and pus gathered underneath my tail. Its wicked gross but a great icebreaker. I am out of the boot, which now leads me to walk in fear down the hallways, hands out like Frankenstein, shouting “do not step on my toe or I will END you.” One kid stepped on my foot trying to come hug me and I wrote him a referral. At the bottom, in tiny tiny letters, it said “fake.” But I meant it. I really meant it.

Today ends our last full week of school!! Thank you, Jesus. I don’t know if either the students or I could have stood each other another minute longer. Everyone is on auto-pilot and just trying to survive at this point. The teacher with the room next to me stumbles over in between each class to warn me about the batch coming into my room. We all sit, muted in the faculty lounge, wondering how we are going to squeeze the last few days out of the students before we truly lose them to the summer.

I remember those days. Especially the end of eighth grade and the end of senior year, where the simplest task becomes impossibly hard in the beckoning light of vacation. I’m starting to get questions like “where do I turn papers in again?” “do you know what class I go to next?” Their brains are totally off.

Next week we only have to suffer through four days of crazy. The week after I’ll be in Great America with my eighth graders, who are all vying for position in my entourage, as I’m considering requesting a wheelchair on behalf of the toe. I’m sure it will be healed by then, but any excuse to get to the front of the line.

There are so many in this graduating class that I will miss terribly. They are a unique group. Really bright, really funny. Some are more like friends than students, and come into my room on break to fill me in on who likes who, who isn’t texting who anymore, who got in trouble for dresscode violations, and share birthday donuts and warm pasta salad with me. They keep threatening to never come back and miss me, and that would honestly make me sad. They are a group that I have felt really myself with. I hope the best for them in high school.

I recently found a group of seventh grade girls giggling over a note, which I promptly tore away from them to giggle over myself. They had been constructing pick-up lines. Here are some of my faves:

  • You’re like a heart attack. A good one!
  • Do you work at Hollister? Because you smell good.
  • You’re my glasses. You make me see clearly.
  • You’re like a good sock. I don’t care what foot I put you on.
  • If we were on the Titanic, I’d float your boat.
  • Are you from Oklahoma? Because you sizzle my pan. Handle.
  • You’re like a really nice fingernail. I don’t ever want to clip you off.

I’m glad they’re so terrible at them, because if they were actually any good, I’d be a little worried. They’re so cute and innocent. I might miss them over summer….maybe.

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