Stuff that stupid expression: “Those that can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” What a load of bull! Teaching is bloody hard. I couldn’t do it, supervising the Sprogs’ homework is difficult enough. Mind you, I’ve made it tougher by giving up alcohol (well, early in the week) (well, except for tokay, but that’s not grog, it’s dessert). It means Nice Mummy has been replaced by Scary Mummy. Scary Mummy almost popped an artery last night when Sprog 2 couldn’t see the mathematical pattern in 2, 4, 6 …. “7?” No, no, no, noooooooo!!!!! Doing patterns of fives was no better. “Sprog 2 – let’s try this again: 5, 10, 15, 20 …” “Um, 30?” replied Sprog 2, with a look of sheer, clueless terror on her little face. I sighed: “Pay attention! 1 and zero, 1 and 5, 2 and zero, two and ….” Nuh, still not getting it. So we moved on to reading, which was its usual hair-tearing disaster.
So, all the people who are suggesting I try teaching are NUTS. (It’s about as likely as me becoming the next editor of Harper’s Bazaar, bwahahaha). Because I lack two things: a degree and patience. I am a patience-free zone. Can’t even bear facials (one of the reasons I’ll never edit HB). And, yes, yes, I know there are ways to get around the degree thing, but no, no, I don’t want to explore them because I would be terrible at it. I would make people cry. I would make me cry.
Ah well, looks like it’s back to the stuffed pet shop idea. I’m thinking I could hold “decorate a stuffed puppy” kids’ birthday parties out the back. Oh, wait, you’d need patience for that. Drat. Foiled again.