Welcome to my world.

As I sit in my classroom at the end of the day and stare blankly into space, I wonder what I have gotten myself into. We are now one full month into the semester, and I think I've aged about 2 and a half years. And apparently my new name is Miss. As in "Miss, this stuff is mad hard Miss." Or "Miss, why do we gotta have assigned seats?" Or "Miss, can I go to the bafroom?" Every once in awhile I get a Miss Johnson or Miss J, but mostly just Miss.

This is an interesting ride. And by interesting I mean unexpected and not necessarily bad. As I get to know my students better I start to understand better what my job is. It's crazy how different they all are. They are basically good. I teach Math A to 9th and 10th graders. I'm lucky. The school is in Harlem, and the kids are awesome. They don't seem to understand that there's only one of me. They all have questions at the same time and seem to think that theirs is more important than the rest. I've tried to explain to them that I can only be in one place at a time, but they don't believe me and continue to yell for me to come to them. If that's my only complaint, I'm doing great. It's not, but I'm still doing great.