Teaching During the Holidays

Teaching during the holidays is like: 

herding cats and trying to count all of their fleas.

swimming with 23 toothless piranhas.

(they won't kill you, but they will gum the heck out of you) 

having a wrestling match with a swarm of mosquitos.

putting a leash on a tornado.

swimming in a pool full of lemon jello.

giving a Tasmanian Devil a bath.

training goldfish to jump through a hoop of fire.

running through a field of porcupines. In shorts.

holding two dozen helium balloons underwater.

climbing a mountain with flippers.

crossing Niagara Falls on a tightrope while carrying three backpacks.

eating popcorn with braces.

clipping a tiger's fingernails.

putting zombies behind the wheel of a car.

playing floor-is-lava with a litter of puppies.

giving monkeys a bottle of wine before asking them to write an essay.

My brain has melted like a popsicle.
I swear the children have become magnetically attracted to the floor.
Nobody remembers how to do anything.
I've forgotten what quiet sounds like.
Paper covers every surface of my classroom.
Everyone has to go to the bathroom all. the. time.

And, yes, there is a reason why I didn't put a Christmas tree up in my room.

One more day of school. Just one.

This is the block of fudge I devoured after the kids left last Wednesday.
I have no shame. Or sanity.