Next week, I’ll be going back to work at an actual school building. I’m sure it’ll be a little startling after eighteen months at home, but despite a healthy case of nerves, I’m really looking forward to it.

I got a job teaching tenth grade, an age I love; and frankly, there wasn’t much keeping me at my old job. You see, first my principal offered me a part-time position, and then a month later decided I couldn’t have it; and then, to hold a hot iron to the already seeping lesion, he called a week after that to say that if I did decide to come back full-time, I would no longer be working with my One True Teaching Love.

And really, if the social studies teacher on your team isn’t going to tell all 150 of your students that you sometimes pee in your pants when you laugh too hard, what’s the point in reporting for duty? Also, I’ve really gotten used to the Enrique Iglesias that she blasts toward my wall during homeroom. If I knew that some other teacher was over there crooning “Hero” with her while I languished away across the building in a Enrique-Free Zone, I think that just might put me over the edge.

Anyway, Renee, my One True Teaching Love, was complaining yesterday that she hasn’t been featured enough on my blog. I reminded her of the 30th birthday photo spread, but she still wasn’t satisfied.

“Look,” I said finally, “you’re just going to have to say funnier things when we’re together.”

“HEY!” Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed a finger in my face. “You KNOW that there’s hardly a time we’re together that you don’t almost pee your pants.”

I had to admit that truth of that, and so FINE: it’s Renee’s day.