Whoa. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's back hurts tonight, my friends. Hurts from bending over backwards, jumping through hoops, and fending off those who would walk all over her. But she plods on, carrying her burden, inching closer all the time to that finish line one and five-eighths years away.
Yes, Mrs. HM looks forward to those days of sleeping in. Of not giving a fat rodent's behind whether somebody who is old enough not to really, really has to go to the bathroom real quick. I swear. This is the oldest group of not-fully-potty-trained youth I have presided over. Ever. And they're not yet able to go two hours without feeding, it seems. Sneaking in purloined cereal tubs from the free breakfast program. And having the audacity to walk right by me with the empty tub to throw it in the wastebasket, after leaving it in the desk yesterday. Two strikes, buddy. Heed the caution flag I threw at you today.
Oh, and it's a mystery that somebody looked up grades, and can't figure out what the assignment marked p a r t i c with a date beside it stands for, but wants to know why he had an F for that grade. Um. Read the description. Oh. You did. Then surely you understand.
And someone else wants to know why he doesn't have a grade for an assignment labeled transfer grade for new student. Just what IS that, anyway? Um. It's a transfer grade for a new student. So if you're not the new student, you will never have a grade for that one. That's why there's nothing by it. No incomplete, no missing, no zero, no dashed line. Nothing. It doesn't pertain to you. But it has to go there or else I have to go back and find every new student at the end of the semester and update their quarter grades unless I put it in that way so it will average automatically.
Then somebody needs to come in after school while hanging around killing time until practice to ask to see his grade. Which can be accessed online if one does not owe any lunch fees. And which can be asked in class on Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's work time, and she will break policy and tell, but not on her unpaid after school time when she is trying to get caught up, after spending her time digging out missing assignments for those who asked, which will never again cross the desk of Mrs. HM, but at least she tried.
Oh. My. Achin'. Back.