I'm done.

If you thought that was what I said at the end of the day, I won't lie. I might have. Actually my exact words were something like, "Does anyone know how to apply at Walmart?" But, that is not the point of this post.

Today, I assessed (second time in as many days) my little friends (term used loosely these days) with the district writing assessment. Both yesterday and today, I talked all about what good writing was and how we had learned all about how to be a rockstar writer this year. I reminded them that good stories have a beginning, middle and end. WITH DETAILS. At the end of my soapbox speech today, I read the scripted portion of the assessment. I almost choked on the words, "I cannot help you." Because really, when don't I?

Feel free to begin inserting sad violin music now. About five minutes in, one of my lovelies brought me the writing declaring, "I'm done."
"OH NO YOU ARE NOT!" I thought, but said, "Did you tell the whole story?"
"Yep, BME...done," said the student.
"Are you sure?" I asked with tears welling up while I stared at the three misspelled, mispunctuated sentences.
"Yep. Can I draw now?" the student asked.
"No, writing is the only option, so you might as well take this back to make sure it's how you want it, or put down your head to wait," I said with a little bit of a sharp tone while thinking Ah-ha gotcha...no one wants to rest his head for more than five minutes.
"Oh, can I close my eyes?" the student asked.
"Sure." I said as a little of my teacher heart broke.

Some of the pieces turned in were beautiful, so I'm not sure why I am obsessing about one or two less than stellar writings. Oh I know, it's because I'm fiercely competitive, and my class must be the best. Or, I'm losing my mind. Take your pick.