Who, Me?

You may remember that, a few years ago, around this same time, in fact, I didn’t (did NOT) lose a kid.

I lost my mind.

You can read all about it {HERE} if you feel so inclined or need a refresh.

Well, I sort of did it again.

Kind of.

And some of it was my fault. I admit it. It’s true. But some of it was because of circumstances beyond my control.

So listen.

On Tuesday, after lunch, my class and I were in our classroom sort of transitioning between math and Show and Tell . . . and it wasn’t the smoothest of transitions because some kids needed to go outside and grab their Show and Tell item out of their backpack, and some other kids were shoving their math counters in my face even though we have used the math counters for at least a solid week now, and they should know to put them in the counters tub which is clearly labeled “Counters” and also has a picture graphic on it, and it’s always located at the carpet area on the shelf, and some other kids might have been doing a somersault or a cartwheel, but however you look at it, we were experiencing mass chaos between activities.

BETWEEN ACTIVITIES, I said.

And then our principal came over the intercom and she said:

You can stop ducking and covering now. Please proceed to the blacktop and follow our Earthquake guidelines.

Um.

I was honestly thinking I had somehow missed the announcement that we were having an earthquake drill, and I forgot, or my intercom wasn’t working earlier or . . . I mean . . . what in the world . . .

And then it kind of sort of dawned on me . . .

Did we just have an earthquake?

I think maybe we had an earthquake . . .

I happened to have an upper grade student in my room at the time, helping me with Sight Word Testing, and so I looked at her and she looked at me, and then I thought . . .

Well shoot.

I guess I’m the adult in this situation.

Goshdarnit.

Somehow, I got my kids to line up and we got out the door, and we went to the blacktop.

And then, because we’ve only been in school for a month, and because I’ve been busy trying to teach and live and survive a freaking HEATWAVE and stand on my feet all day, and deal with the longest afternoons that ever existed in all the land because afternoon recesses keep getting cancelled due to the fact that playing on our blacktop is, in essence, playing on the surface of the sun, I DID NOT HAVE A CLASS ROSTER IN MY EMERGENCY BACKPACK.

I DID NOT.

So please, whatever you do, whatever you think, please, for the love of Teachers and Their Flair Pens Everywhere, please do NOT tell me how you have multiple copies of your roster laminated, or several already printed on Astro Bright paper and color coordinated by specific disaster events, or that all I need to do is shrink it and keep it in a plastic sleeve on my lanyard, or anything else helpful and well-meaning-ish.

Thank you, but NO.

That’s like saying DO YOU HAVE A BACK UP COPY ON AN EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE SOMEWHERE OR IN THE CLOUD SOMEWHERE when someone’s computer crashes and they’re crying about it. Well, clearly, they don’t have a back up anywhere whatsoever, otherwise WHY ARE THEY CRYING.

So thank you, but NO.

Can’t we just all clap for me for remembering to bring the emergency backpack out to the blacktop with me in the first place?

Why, thank you.

Once we got to the blacktop, I just decided I would count my kids. Forget the roster. I have 25 kids. I can count to 25, even in a disaster, believe it or not. And when I’ve had 32 kids before, counting to 25 is like child’s play.

HOWEVER.

It’s extremely difficult to count to 25 when you want to count to 25, but you keep only getting to 24.

No matter how many times I counted my kids, I only had 24.

And NO ONE WAS ABSENT THAT DAY.

Meanwhile, my assistant principal kept saying my name over and over again because I’m supposed to hold up a green sign showing administration that all my kids are present and accounted for. The other side is red which I’m supposed to hold up when all my kids are not present and accounted for except I JUST WOULD NOT ACCEPT THAT FACT AND ALSO . . .

This was me inside my brain:

My kids kept trying to help me by saying things, such as:

This Kid’s missing! This Kid’s missing!

And then This Kid would say No, I’m not. I’m right here.

And then it would start over.

Kid 1 is missing! Kid 1 is missing!

And then someone else would say No, she’s not. She’s right here.

Which would lead Kid 1 to say I wanted to tell her I’m right here. No fair!

YOU GUYS.

When I decided I needed to get a grip, face reality, pull out that stupid red card and admit to the entire school that I had lost ANOTHER student . . .

I turned around . . .

And walking toward me, with one of our secretaries, was my missing student.

We’ll call her So and So’s Sister because that’s exactly who she is.

She is So and So’s Sister.

So and So from my I DIDN’T LOSE A KID, I LOST MY MIND story.

NO EXAGGERATION. I can’t make this stuff up.

I lost two kids from the same family – three years apart.

WHAT ARE THE FREAKING ODDS OF THAT? That’s what I would like to know.

So and So’s Sister was in the bathroom.

She never asks to go. She is not a frequent flyer. In fact, she loves being in the classroom, and her mom told me that she said she doesn’t want to be at home on the weekends, she wants to be at school EVERY SINGLE DAY.

So is it my fault that I forgot she was in the bathroom when she is practically never ever in the bathroom ever?

Yes.

I know it’s my fault.

And.

Again.

Please, no matter what, please, even if you think you’re being helpful and kind, and even if you think you have the best bathroom system that’s ever been invented, and even if you just can’t help yourself, please for the love of Teeny Tiny Teachers and Their Teeny Tiny Brains, please do NOT leave a comment with any type of bathroom system suggestions or recommendations.

Thank you but NO.

It doesn’t matter.

None of it matters BECAUSE I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THAT WE HAD HAD AN EARTHQUAKE.

Did my teammate next door?

Yes. They got under their desks and everything.

Did my teammate next to her?

Yes. They got under their desks and everything.

Did my last teammate on the other end of the building?

NO. Nope. She did not duck and cover, either. And she didn’t feel it, either.

And we decided it’s because our classrooms are on the end.

Either that or our equilibrium is off. Either one.

But you guys.

I have lost track of EXACTLY two kids in my entire career.

And they are siblings.

And their parents only have the two of them and I just keep trying to lose one as if my life depended on it or something. It’s the darndest thing. And their mom is a speech pathologist in our district and spoils me rotten with wonderful treats all random-like, and she should really stop because it’s like she’s rewarding this ridiculous behavior of mine.

I mean WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ME?

When So and So’s Sister came back from the bathroom, and saw that no one was in our classroom (you’re supposed to leave your doors open when you evacuate during an earthquake and lo and behold, I did! Not on purpose, but I did!) she turned to walk back down the stairs in a I wonder where our class went, maybe it’s recess time sort of way, and saw our secretary.

And because So and So’s Sister is brilliant, and sweet, and adorable, she said, with all the maturity of a smart six year old:

Do you know where my class is?

And our secretary said I sure do!

Happy Ending however you look at it, right?

But honestly?! HONESTLY!?

I mean, I didn’t REALLY lose her. She was in the bathroom.

Right?

I’m getting just a little bit too tired for this.

Either that. Or my equilibrium is off.

Either one.

I mean . . . I think I need professional help at this point.

PS I laughed and laughed about this later. The best part? So and So’s Sister wasn’t even fazed. Oh, to be six again. Even sixteen. With all my brain cells intact.