Zombies.
They are real, folks.
Three of them roll out of bed and stumble their way out of my boys' bedroom every morning between 8.30 and 9 o'clock. They sit at the kitchen table clumsily trying to feed themselves for what seems like an eternity every morning. They wander around moaning and (I think?) trying to get dressed and make beds and brush their teeth for another exhaustive amount of time.
They are incapable of forming coherent thought until nearly lunch time, when I start to catch glimpses of real human kids behind those blank and lifeless eyes. And learning? Ha! They move in slow motion and their brains are not turned on until some time after lunch.
By evening they are full of pep and could probably go until midnight if I let them.
Despite my best efforts to convert them, their body clocks run on the exact opposite time table as mine (I blame their father).
I am a morning person.
I love to watch the sun come up while I sip a steaming mug of coffee. I do all my planning, cleaning, shopping, thinking in the hours before the rest of the house is stirring.
By the time I finish lunch, my brain is starting to slow down. Perhaps it's even melting bit by bit. Sometimes I think I can feel all of my intelligence and motivation leaking out. Dinner rolls around, and I am the one stumbling about grunting incoherent sounds. I am not long for the land of the living.
Just when the boys are ready to sit down and tackle phonics and math for a few hours, I find I have become one of the walking dead myself.
We are faced with a choice: zombie students or zombie teacher?
