Home Visits

* Some names have been changed or altered to protect the innocent :)


That means I am working like a fiend in my classroom.

That means my house is a wreck.

That means it's time for HOME VISITS!

Home what?

Yeah, we get our class lists, are assigned a related arts teacher to go with us, and then we head out to introduce ourselves, pass out some information, and generally just get everyone excited for the Beginning of School.

This excitement thing?  Yeah, generally not a problem for the parental units of the group.  It's the soon-to-be-fourth graders that often need a bit of work in the excitement department.

I really do have a lot of fun going out and meeting all my families, though.  It's the social butterfly in me, I suppose (this surprises absolutely no one that truly knows me).  Funny thing is, the longer I teach here in Frankfort, the more it's a getting reacquainted deal than an actual meeting new people deal, and when I do meet new people, it's amazing how far my reputation precedes me.  Comical, really. 

Ugh!  Another sign that I'm old.

Last night, though, I think I had the FUNNIEST encounter on a home visit to date. 

Well, unless you count the time my teammates and I went to one home and the lady told my teammate to wait while she went to put on her bra ...

But I digress!

I show up at this last house, a lovely couple and their two children, boy and girl, and they immediately invite me in.  They have this great home with some amazingly comfy-looking furniture.  And as they offered me a seat, I mentioned that I'd thrown my back out, and that, based on the comfy-ness factor of their sofa, I may not ever want to leave. 

I sit down while their son, a kindergartner this year, flits around the living room, talking a mile a minute, and generally attempts to entertain the troops.  At some point, I realize that my butt is vibrating, and I make mention of this fact.

Okay, I don't say, "Hey, my butt is vibrating!"  My mother has raised me better than that ... my dad? Not so much, but my mother? My mother has attempted to raise both my sister and I to be nice, "not-so-young" ladies.  She swears my dad came along behind her and undid it all ... or most of it, but that's neither here nor there. 

I think I said, "Oh!  Some thing's vibrating."

To which, the dad chuckled and said, "J* must have turned on the massaging feature for you."

The mom started laughing and said, "Well!"

The host with the most, clearly, this kid is!  I launched into my spiel about what I'd brought with me ... what they needed to fill out before school, and then asked them if they had questions or concerns.  It was at this point in the conversation that they asked their children to go up stairs because they wanted to talk with Miss Murray for a minute.  We began a frank discussion regarding their daughter's progress.

We're in the middle of this discussion, when we hear a very loud, "MISS MURRAY!!!!"  from the top of the stairs. 

"Yes?"  I answer.

"Put your feet up, Miss Murray! I want you to put your feet up!"

The dad and mom just bust a gut!!  Seems that J, concerned for my comfort, had hit the foot stool feature on the sofa as well, and he wanted to make sure that I used it while we chatted.

OH.  MY.  GOODNESS.  I hope I get that kid when he's in fourth grade!!  He was an absolute riot!


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