It Was Only 9:17 a.m.

We are thriving.

We are not.

There is a spider.

Now no one is thriving.

Actually, that's not true. One student is crying because the spider had a life, so now we're having an unexpected conversation about empathy.

Meanwhile, someone has a chicken nugget in their pocket, someone else is crying under a table, and two students are still arguing about something that happened yesterday.

I try to get everyone's attention.

"Give me five."

No.

"Track me."

Also no.

I answer one question and somehow create five more.

One student has a story they desperately need to tell me. Another is tapping a pencil with the intensity of a professional drummer. Someone appears to be cutting their shirt for reasons that remain unclear.

At this point, it feels like we have lived three full days together.

It is 9:17 a.m.

And somehow, in the middle of all of it, we read. We write. We solve math problems. We learn things.

Tomorrow there will be another spider, another mystery, another off-topic story, and probably another chicken nugget where a chicken nugget should not be.

And somehow, we'll learn again.