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Wednesday, June 15, 2016

The Dab

My four week contract teaching year six finished at the school last Friday but I was called back for two days this week for some relief teaching. That meant me scooting from grade to grade in my highly inappropriate high heels and dragging my Mary Poppins-like bag everywhere.

On Tuesday, the words, “You have to teach grade twos sport in the afternoon session” struck fear into my inner soul and I felt my loins shudder (not sure what loins are but something deep inside me shuddered anyway).

Teaching sport is not my forte. Especially teaching sport to people who are less than three feet in height.

As it turned out, I serendipitously (made word up) happened to be in possession of a pool noodle at that exact moment (what sort of teacher doesn’t travel with a fudging pool noodle) so I was able to adapt my drama game of ‘Fruit Salad’ into a game where everyone ran around hysterically whilst being chased by a ‘pineapple’ with a pool noodle… thus getting exercise.

Exercise= sport.

The grade twos bloody loved it too. There were accolades all round from the minions.

“We LOVE you Mrs Polinkish!” they screamed.
The parents picking up the preps probably weren't all that impressed with all the screaming and violent activity but you can't please everyone.

I turned up today expecting to be in charge of a year five class but was told that my morning was to be spent in year one.

OR MOR GORD. I bloody love grade ones. There was this one little flitterby gibbet with no teeth and freckles and I just wanted to hoik him on my shoulders and take him home. So cute!

I don’t know how grade one teachers ever get cranky with them they’re so adorable those little fudgers.


I have a fan base at the school now. When I’m on duty all these small critters come sidling up to me and whisper in secretive tones, “Hello. Are you Mrs. Poinker? I’ve heard you dab. Can you do it for us?”

Apparently I’m a hero because I ‘dabbed’ in class one day for the grade sixes.

It’s a rumour that’s been circulating throughout the school, perpetuated through older siblings and cousins and now I’ve been labelled as ‘the teacher who dabbed’. I’m a veritable legend.

Either they think I’m cool or an idiot. I still haven’t figured it out. I won't do it for them of course. Got to keep the mystery alive.

But that’s the end of my booked work at present. I’m in limbo which is a weird feeling. I wonder if I’ll ever work again?