I was late (not actual late, more teacher-perfectionist OCD late).
I wore new clothes.
I used my new pen, stamper and stickers, and got incredibly excited about it.
I did a little whoop at my new shiny laptop.
I got incredibly excited that the canteen had free apple crumble and custard, and didn’t even think about the imminent weight gain of the next nine months.
I thoroughly enjoyed meeting every single new person I came across, big and small.
I re-arranged my classroom.
I tutted at the chewing gum left under tables.
I walked around the morning before all the kids came back, making the most of the empty corridors.
I exchanged secret excited grins with a teacher on the first morning as the bus park began to fill and all you could hear was teenage babble.
I used my teacher stare. It worked.
I got every so slightly freaked out at the fact that when I asked for people to listen, a whole class of children immediately turned their eyes my way, and listened.
I remembered names.
I forgot them again.
I sighed internally at the thought of three Ellies in one classroom, and tried to think of funny ways for my own brain to remember them individually. I failed.
I made jokes.
They were awful, and I definitely saw a Y9 roll her eyes.
I didn’t care (I would have last year, a little bit).
I emailed my first parent.
I wrote my name on the board, and children wrote my name on their books. You understand.
I got nervous. Every single lesson.
I cannot WAIT to do it again next week.
I’m hoping that this is how it always feels (optimist).