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Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Should Pinky Teach Prep?

It’s that time of year when teachers at our school are required to nominate their preferred grade of teaching for 2015.

“Thought I might try out teaching Prep next year,” I commented nonchalantly in the staff room this morning.

My colleagues, Rach and Kyles, stared back at me like a couple of stunned mullets. The silence was palpable.

“You wouldn’t cope,” spluttered Rach.

“You don’t have the patience, Pinky!” squawked Kyles choking on her tea.

“How would you know?” I demanded, outraged they would think I lacked the serenity and fortitude to handle a class of five year olds. The Preps would love me!

Later on I quizzed two of my favourite teacher aides, Donna and Carmen, who’ve both spent a lengthy sentence of incarceration in Prep and might be a bit less judgmental than those other two bitter crones.

“It’s pretty demanding, Pinky,” they both conferred. “They don’t leave you alone for a second.”

“Do they… you know… have accidents?” I enquired cautiously.

Donna and Carmen glanced at each other furtively.

“Not much,” they murmured, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

It seems to be quite a monumental decision to switch from teaching ten year olds, so… I’ve weighed up the pros and cons below.

I should be able to handle the mathematical concepts in Prep.
You know... one plus one equals two.

Preps are cute in their own funny little strange way.

I can dress down (even more) for work what with all the finger painting and clay modelling and all.

They’ll have the crusts cut off the sandwiches in their lunch boxes and I love sangers with the crusts cut off.

I’ll be able to join them in their afternoon nap every day.

I will be able to expound my knowledge about things I know nothing of and they won’t remember what I said, dob me in to their parents and make me look like a fool.

They’ll follow me around like I’m Justin Beiber and I’ll feel loved again.

There may be some wee and poo accidents involved.

I won’t be able to understand a word they say.

I won’t be able to tell the girls from the boys with their unisex uniforms.

I’ll have to read The Hungry Caterpillar which always makes me hungry.

I’ll have to be nice to them when they hurt themselves instead of saying, “Harden up princess.”

The mums will be the same age as my children.

The kids might call me Grandma.

I don’t like paint or snot.

Apparently Preps don’t have naps anymore.

What do you think? Should I make the move?