I have a backpack problem.
They’re everywhere. Some of them are the kind on wheels that you would take on a vacation.
Which, if we’re being honest, is not really a backpack and more of a suitcase. And, considering we don’t take textbooks home in the first grade, is kind of unnecessary. And we don’t take binders home either. The most we take home is a homework folder and a bunch of junk mail from our cubbies advertising soccer clinics, and cheer camps, and festivals, and LifeTouch pictures that you didn’t pay for, nor ask for, but please look at them and then decide if you want them, and then make the teacher write down whether or not you returned the pictures or the money or a portion of both because we have nothing better to do except agonize over backpack problems.
Anywho . . . the backpacks are out of control in my room.
OUT OF CONTROL, I said.
It is killing me like no other. I don’t know if it’s because I have 32 kids (hence, 32 backpacks) or if it’s because I’m older now and just can.not.take.it.for.one.more.minute.
When I first started teaching, we had hooks outside our door so our backpacks were never inside the classroom.
But when I started teaching at my current school (a long long long long long time ago), we didn’t have hooks outside the door and so I just let my kids keep their backpacks inside.
You never know. Maybe they needed something from inside their backpack. Even though almost every first grade backpack I know is about as flat as a pancake because THERE IS NOTHING EVER IN IT except for maybe a permission slip or picture money and then that never gets taken out because THEY DON’T HEAR YOU ASKING FOR THAT STUFF EVEN THOUGH YOU SAY IT FOURTEEN MILLION TIMES.
I’m not yelling. I’m just talking loudly.
Here is what my room looked like today.
Please play horror movie music as you view the carnage.