Calling out sick

I’m sick. I’m not talking the sniffles. I’m talking coughing up a lung-can’t lift my head off the pillow-need a nap after just taking a shower-sick. I can’t imagine how I would catch such a nasty pestilence (vocab. word of the week!) It could never be due to the fact that I work with snot-nosed kids all day in a classroom with no windows or ventilation. It could never be the stress of planning a wedding, closing on a house, and patiently managing things like my fiancé putting all of the response card postal stamps on the left side of the envelopes!

You’ll have to excuse my sarcasm. As any teacher very well knows, the amount of work it takes to prepare to be sick can often times be more work than when we are actually there. In an effort to keep your substitute from jumping off a ledge after the experience, detailed, step-by-step plans and materials are a must! This is of course if the district can actually find a sub. to take your place (Let’s face it: Who is crazy enough to take on that job?) After making it official, the intense guilty feelings soon surface. But it’s too late. You’re out sick. The damage is done.

As I sit here on my couch, tissue in one hand, nebulizer tube in the other, I wonder only the important questions: What will be stolen from my classroom? Will my fellow 8th grade teachers ever speak to me again? Did my sub. make it to lunch without crying? Will I ever get my kids back to earth after 3 days of substitute teachers?

I would like to think of myself as a dedicated educator. Regrettably, with this passion comes a great deal of stress and frustration when things don’t go as planned. I can’t really remember a time in my life when I didn’t crave having a purpose. I’m pretty sure most of my childhood friends would confirm my domineering personality. I was a tad on the bossy side to put it graciously. I liked to be in charge, but more so, I loved the possibilities of what I could accomplish if I put my mind to something. I’m pretty sure my cabbage-patch dolls had the BEST birthday parties on the block and this was no accident. It took careful planning.




As a kid, I can easily recall my early entrepreneur adventures. At twelve years old. I was hired to baby-sit a young boy (who ironically ended up as one of my students 10 years later) and spent most of my summer entertained by G-I Joes and goldfish crackers. I made 60 dollars a week and highly anticipated seeing those three twenty-dollar bills firmly attached to the refrigerator by a magnet each and every Friday.

In high school, I remember putting in a full day of classes and later juggling an after school sport, a night of homework, and part time job.

It didn’t end there.

At 19, I began my own competitive cheerleading business where I coached for the last six years. I ran my business through college and then school nights after landing my first teaching job. I “retired” last year to get married and settle down and I miss it every day.



Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. For as long as I can remember, I have never lacked work-ethic. Even though I’m pretty sure my students appreciate me the same amount my cabbage patch dolls did, I can’t stand missing a day of work and am hoping for a speedy recovery!