Je ne veux pas travailler.

My mom said the tone of my blog has become increasingly morose. As has my morale. I have been suppressing the urge to physically hit children for about a month now. It's okay; it's normal this time of year.

Thankfully, today we went on a field trip where teacher responsibility was minimal. The kids attended a financial literacy day (which was probably more beneficial to me than them). I they learned the difference between equity investments and fixed income investments, bonds, CDs, stocks etc. They even wrote pretend checks and created a budget where they had to invest a certain percentage of their earnings. The kids were pretty blasé about it; I, on the other hand, was furiously taking notes and starting to sweat fretting about my imaginary mortgage.

Unbeknownst to me, our princiPAL had deemed this pre-spring break week "Jeans Week." I showed up in dress, a blazer and heels. I never wear heels to school. My boys noticed and gave me HELL.

"Why you trynna be all tall? So you can finally look down at us 'steada up!"

"Ayyyeee, talkin' bout 'I'm a Barbie girl in a Barbie world!'"

"Yeahh Ms. M come in wearin' dem heels...she trynna pick her up a BANKER today! She on the prowl."

Am I that transparent?

These kids are WILIN' out, and the next three days are going to be hell, but on Friday, you can't tell me NOTHIN'.

Why, you ask? (listen to this while reading the rest of this post)

I'm boarding this:

And heading here:

Et puis, je fume.

Peace out, homies.