Missing

After a months days without them, the realization that I sometimes try to deny has set in... I miss my students, or, as I prefer to acknowledge them by, my children. Don't get me wrong, it is great to be able to stay up all night, watching re-runs of drama series that used to have me glued to the tube when I was in college (ahh the nostalgia..) and reading till I doze off into dreamland (and of course waking up with aches and pains, which isn't a surprised considering I slept on my 570 pages Marian Keyes book, but of course I digress), and being able to wake up way after the sun shines into my room (failing to stir me from my slumber of course). But I do miss them...alot, all 33 of them in my class and some of those whom I don't even teach anymore but never fail to greet me with that shy and sometimes cheeky smile when they see me around school. It was good to be able to divert my attention away from certain things which could sometimes bring me down , and turn my attention instead to the boy who tried to predict if I have a boyfriend by flipping a coin, or the girl who complained to me that the boys in class are calling her 'helmet head' and 'hammer shark' because of her new (and rather hip) haircut, or the boy who loves to tell me new things that he discovered or read about and asked me questions as the class walked down for break or while we're moving from room to room. Yes, I've said it once and I'll say it once again, I miss them and love them as if they were my own (well, I feel that they are, except that I don't have to give them pocket money or make sure that they're occupied on weekends or see them grow into teenagers full of angst and cringe as they dye their follicles every shade of the rainbow). Even though I never stayed with them for more than a year, they are always in my heart (here's where the sounds of violins playing can be heard) cheesy, I know, even by my standards, but hey, it's the truth.