Living For the Weekend

For the last few years I have been like Lady Grantham, “Weekend, what’s a weekend?” Mondays and Saturdays were the same. With no child at home going to school and a very self sufficient husband, everyday was all about fun for me. Well, maybe during the pandemic it wasn’t all about fun, but those days were really all alike.

Now that I am teaching seven or eight 3 hour classes a week I am exhausted by the time Friday rolls around. It’s like being twenty-eight years old when I used to come home from a long work week on Fridays and go to bed at nine o’clock.

I am not complaining. I love all my students. In fact it is so sad when one class ends and I say good bye to them. Tonight’s class was a wild one. This was their final and when they walked me to my car, carrying all my equipment, they gave me hugs and told me they would see me again soon.

Teaching is the most rewarding thing I do. I love figuring out all the different ways people learn and try to tell students the same information in many different ways until I see that spark of understanding. But it is exhausting by the end of the week. Thankfully I only teach one class on Fridays. Come the evening I will be ready for bed early, but I probably won’t beat Russ there because no matter how hard I work he will always work three times more than I do and not complain. Just living for the weekend.



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