The Weather Outside is Frightful

"Rudolph the red nosed reindeer!"  the kids howled mere feet from me while I tried to answer emails in our office during my lunch break.
"Reeeeiiindeerrrrr......" a teacher harmonized.
"Had a very shiny nose!"
"Shiny nooooose...." the harmonizing continued.
"And if you ever saw it!"
"Saaaawww it...."
The kids, I could handle.  The adult, no.

"A man can let a woman be independent when he knows he's the man."
I gulped some of my small glass of wine and ate a wildly overpriced fried oyster.
"BUMP.  What do you mean, if he knows he's the man?"  my supervisor advised my other supervisor.
I was glad she was willing to take on that fight.  I just wished my wine and entree hadn't cost so much.

The kids laughed at the Charlie Brown Christmas story.
"Look at that tree hair!"  one called, when faced with the famous tree's falling needles.

I stood at the Housing Authority with the kids, ready to do the monthly walk to school that requires me to be at school at 6:30AM, meet a parent and drive to the apartments, and then walk with the kids back to school and have them arrive by 7:30.  I don't have to do it, I hate getting up early, but I always end up enjoying it.  I felt bleary, I had been at the Housing Authority dinner until ten hours before I was standing in front of the Center the following morning.

The little girls put on reindeer antlers and Santa hats over their hijabs.  The boys ran like heathens.  The people of the upscale community we walk through looked on in distaste.  My tutorial group of girls purred lasciviously at the assistant principal they have a crush on.   Mohammed screamed like a girl when a dog walked beside him.  It was good.

"When might be a good time to call you and address your concerns?" I emailed the pervasive parent, who had emailed half of the school about some perceived affront to his child, taking nearly a month before actually contacting me.
"Can we talk Friday during the break?  I've had a busy week!"  he responded.
BUMP.

I watched a teacher I work with allow students to shave off his beard by the flagpole in order to raise money for one of our kids that has cancer.  The sick child is my student. 
The live stream flashed on the screen and the class I was with screamed with excitement.  I saw a cell phone flash on the screen and I saw Andrew's face.
They face-timed him.
I saw his pale face, laughing, bald head laying against the hospital bed. 

I stood in line at the Dollar store, waiting to buy treats for my Housing Authority kids.  It was the last night of tutoring before the break.  I had cash that I had received as a gift from one of my classes.  The line was taking forever.  I child I teach at school was a couple of people ahead.
"That's the Spanish teacher,"  he said loudly.
"Everyone hates her."

I made it.  I survived the week.  Family Christmas matters crashed in, but I navigated that, too.

I looked at Facebook.  A video popped up in front of me of a man swinging an axe into a live pig's head.  It stood next to him, innocently, unaware of what was about to happen.  I quickly swiped away, trying not to see.  I felt a prickly heat crawl up my neck and on to my face.

And then I cried.