My fantasy school year was awesome… I would be teaching the same reading classes that I’ve been teaching for the past four years. After school I would grade some work and then head home, nice and early, to spend the late afternoon with Griffin and Sarah. I would smile sympathetically at teachers who catch up on work over the weekends, knowing that my weekends are reserved for family time.

Monday looked good. I had fewer students than ever before. My first day’s lesson was tighter and more successful than ever before.

Tuesday looked even better. My student-teacher was great.  My students were well-behaved and excited (!) to be in the class. My newly repainted bookcases were gleaming. It was going to be a Very Good Year. (I was especially lucky because I’d heard that the eighth grade was much larger than projected and some teachers were struggling with 40+ students in their rooms!)

Skip to Friday… I sleep in because I know it will be the last time I will be able to for a very long time. (And the amount of preparation that I should have done was so impossibly huge that I decided sleep would be more useful.) Three of my reading classes have been dissolved. I spend much of the morning explaining to confused students that they won’t have me as their teacher anymore. Then I teach two sections of reading, with some students pulled in from the dissolved sections. Then a very short lunch. I’m too nervous to eat so I erase my board and write in big colorful letters, “Welcome to Mr. Roy’s English/History Class!”

A few minutes later, I am smiling and shaking hands with thirty-two diffident students, most of whom I have never met before. They take their seats and I introduce my new eighth grade English/History core class. (I’ve never taught English. I’ve never taught history. I’ve never taught a double-period core.) Two hours later, still alive, I dismiss the class, wishing everybody a good weekend. I wonder how many textbooks I should lug home for the weekend.

This is all just to explain why I have dropped off the face of the earth. With 24-hour notice during the first week of school I was handed two additional courses (English and U.S. History). On a certain level, I am very excited… I’ve always wanted to teach U.S. History, and I’ve always wanted to try teaching a double-period class (the rhythm of your day is so different when you teach fewer, longer classes). But it is a phenomenal amount of additional work.

I’ve got what’s called “four preps” now: reading 7, reading 8, English 8, and history 8. (For those of you who don’t teach, a “prep” is a single subject that a teacher needs to prepare for. So if someone teaches three geometry classes and two algebra classes, they have “two preps” because they need to prepare material for geometry and algebra.) Lesson planning, even when I have a textbook to work with, is a slow process for me. It’s especially challenging when I need to learn the material myself, since this is my first time teaching it. (Sadly, I know many first-year teachers who have been handed similar schedules… which may help explain why teacher retention is so poor.)

I try to hold myself to 10–11 hours at school on weekdays plus one half day on the weekend. Right now, that’s not really enough time to stay on top of it all, but I have to draw the line somewhere. As my student teacher revs up and I develop some routines for the new class, I expect things will get a bit easier. In the meantime, it’s just about all I can do to be a decent teacher and a good father.