I have again, thankfully, completed the worst 45 minutes of my week. Only something like 30 weeks to go. Heaven help me.
There's a reason that lunch ladies are always portrayed as mean and old. If they aren't mean, the kids walk all over them and all that walking makes them old. I think I feel a wrinkle coming on.
I don't know what it is about me, but they think that when I'm present the rules do not apply. Today I told them, very sternly, that they did in fact apply. That lasted all of about two seconds until someone interrupted my very believable speech with yet another inane comment that did NOT fit into the conversation.
I'm sure that a full half of the problem is that most of these kids are either mine or offspring of my friends and I'm simply not a scary figure to them. They plead with me to not tell Mrs. C who is quite possibly the nicest person I've ever met, but do they care what I think? NO.
I have the policemen who want to tell me all the rules and how I'm not enforcing them correctly all while breaking a rule that I know to be in place. I have the food stealers who think that because it is a joke it shouldn't be punished. I have the slow eaters that I practically have to force feed so that the cleaners can clean up. I have the fast eaters that want to rush off to recess (which I'm supposed to supervise) before half the kids even have their food out. I have the kids who think that just because they are in line first they should be the first to use the microwave. Never mind that their food requires 7 minutes of cooking and the kid behind them needs 15 seconds. (I understand lines, but can we use a little reasoning? They are often the same kids that wonder why they have to sit there and wait for the others to finish, too.) Seriously. And I haven't even touched on recess. And since I have no desire to relive it, I won't.
If my hair isn't grey by the end of the year, I'll consider myself lucky. And when it comes time to volunteer next year, I'll keep my hand down, thank you. A lunch lady I am not.