Today was the third Sunday of the month. Which in and of itself isn't that special except for the fact I teach the 2-4 year olds at church on the third Sunday of the month.
Don't get me wrong; I love kids, especially that age group. But the monkey in the wrench is Trot, who is ALSO in that class.
Calling Trot a handful is like comparing a land mine to a firecracker and when you throw in the fact it's Dad and not another teacher you just add a layer to the degree of difficulty.
Rounding out the trifecta? It's cold and flu season and 5 out of the 7 I had this morning had a science experiment growing in their nose and trying to escape as often as possible. One of the remaining 2 is new to church and spent the entire time crying like they'd never see their Mom again, and the other one? Trot. Yelling and hollering "Jesus walked on the water!" at the top of his lungs while hip checking a little girl named Grace into the wall and repeatedly taking away a horse from a kid named Alex.
Mind you, I'm at church and don't really want the other kids telling their parents that Mr. Ted threatened to "beat Trot's tail" so I just kept asking myself why did I take the chance of having a stroke every month to do this?
About the time I was ready to handcuff Trot to the drain pipe under the sink (knowing him he'd go all Jack Bauer on me and I'd wake up in the hospital with a battery cable stuck to my chest) this little fella named Peyton came up to me, hugged my neck, and said "I like it when you're the teacher".
Just when I think I'm out, they pull me back in.
It also helps knowing that Trot is moving up to the next class in about 3 weeks.
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