It's my own fault. I like making the kiddos work, and they seem to enjoy it, as well.
I go into work on Friday with high hopes. If all goes as planned, I should be able to piece together about two hours of correcting and, if necessary, student conference time. Yippeee!
First class comes in and notices two typos on their open-notes test. Ooops. Sorry! I didn't want to give them the really difficult test, so I typed up a completely new one the other night and madly made copies. Quick fix and they're back at it.
I look at the correcting. Time to get started now that I've fixed the typos on the original copy of the test.
But, wait! I need to create four classes to add to my Google Classroom account. Plus, each account needs a specific theme, and it has to match their colored class bins (purple for A, blue for B...). Oh, and don't forget to get the class codes to write on the board next week when the websites go live.
All of a sudden, class is over. In comes class #2. After getting them started and having them all correct the mistakes on the test, they're off and running. However, this is my "What do you mean by" class. If I say, "Everyone stand up!", they look at me curiously and ask, "What do you mean by that?" They question everything. EVERYTHING.
By the time I am done answering "What do you mean by 'all of the above'?" (It means ... all of the above) for the fifteenth time, I've had no time to start the correcting because I should probably have an activity for the students to do on Monday when they sign in to Google Classroom. I start making a quick ten-point quiz for them to take when the class ends. In comes class #3.
This is my class of meticulous workers. I know at least five of them will not finish the open-notes test even if their classmates finish thirty minutes ahead of them. I'm up, I'm down, I'm walking, I'm scanning, I'm reminding them of the time. By the time I say, "You have two minutes left," I've only partially gotten through creating my ten-point quiz and still have not even touched the pile of correcting. Seriously. It's sitting not eighteen inches from my face, and I'm ignoring it as best as I can.
After lunch, class #4 files in. They straggle, and we're missing some who dawdle at their lockers post-eating, or they're running to the bathroom because gawd forbid they pee on their time instead of mine. Finally, we get settled and started. After making sure they correct my typos, and after pointing out the corrections on the board, I still have one kiddo come up to me and say, "Number 45 doesn't have an answer."
"That's because YOU don't LISTEN."Ooops. Damnit. Look, my failure to make any headway today isn't this child's fault. I make a joke out of it as best as I can, but truly, I ... already ... covered ... this ... extensively ... fifteen ... minutes ... ago.
At the end of the day, Goggle classroom is set up, the quiz is done, and only six students failed to finish the open-notes test. That's not too terrible. I, however, did not touch the pile of must-do-today work. I don't even bring any of it home. I'll look at it again on Monday and see what I can do with it.
Matches? Recycle accident? Robbery?
Like the students, procrastination can often be the only answer. At least I know some things never change -- my desk will still look exactly the same as it has for a week when I return to it. There has to be some level of comfort in that.
