The Prefect’s engulfing alarm sirened the entire Grade School, signaled the start of the formal opening of the morning assembly while I fumbled through the labyrinth of the multitude punch-in cards at the bundy clock. 7:15! Perfect. Just in the nick of time to start the day right in the good, old Xavier University Grade School.

As the children softly chorused the XU Hymn, I inched my way to the covered court. Mrs. Jamaca were already there, along with Mrs. Jano; usually the first ones to grace the venue by coming to school as early as 6:30 in the morning. As to how they do it? I have no idea. We exchanged warm glances and quipped smiles to acknowledge each other’s presence.

I treasure these moments, when a teacher finds solace in the soft quiescence of the morning and collects her thoughts to pursue a day that promises a joyful (but honestly, sometimes, horrible) chaos ahead of her.

As the prefect capped the assembly to end, thunder of footsteps broke the silence. The students now went to their classrooms.

It’s showtime.

I chatted a little with my co-teachers in the grade level and proceeded to tail the file of my students to the classroom. JC, one of my feeling-close students, approached me to bring in the first dish of the day, “Teacher, Jezreel lost her cellphone in the classroom yesterday.” This is it, Lord. Be with me today!

When everyone was finally seated, I locked my classroom door and started a thorough investigation. I barked and bargained and hollered and coyed and cooed and no cellphone came to surface. I wanted to pull each one of them by their feet and shake them upside down in the air to see what comes out from their nasty pockets. But all I had were faces of innocent children; apologetic of the deed they’ve never done. Little devils! I went to the Prefect’s Office and reported the incident.

Back into the room, I took a deep breath and was ready to start with my class. It went well; my lesson development went perfect. The children were able to meet the objectives I planned for the day. Even the girl who lost her phone chuckled and had fun (unaware of what might come upon her at home later that day). They responded with jolly stance.

The excitement brought upon by the lesson surged in the air, inspiring me to do more than what is meant by ordinary and mundane. Things like these mean every good thing in the dictionary for us teachers. It’s what sustains the very reason of our being here; of even waking up to the nightmare of underpayment. I left the room with nothing less than a satisfied grin on my face.

I was gladly humming my way to the office when my cellphone beeped for a text message. One subject teacher signified her absence. So okay, Teacher A out! How do I plan this? I got my substitution list and found Teacher B to be her sub. Teacher B it is. I went to find Teacher B. Then, out of the blue, Teacher B sent a note: “I am at the clinic. Not feeling well. Might go home in awhile.” Hmmm. So let’s have Teacher C. “I will be at Pueblo.” came the response. Teacher D? Can you sub for… “No! I have a class!” Teacher E? “Ha? Dili man ko sa inyong level!” Ooops, sorry. Later I found out three more teachers were out. PANIC!!! One was on a seminar, one observed a class in the lower level, one was totally gone without a trace of her whereabouts. My “Anger Level” was 9.6 (10 being a completely live fireball).

Okay, Teacher F subs for A and let’s get F for B. If F couldn’t make it, let us make H have her class at HRG so that A’s class will have time for J’s class…and Z for Q…and S for P…and U for T…after all the bloody trouble shooting, Mrs. Paepke, the School Principal, substituted for Teacher X’s class. How I wanted to die.

So Mrs. Paepke sat in Teacher X’s class and I was walking on eggshells. My mind raced. Is the Faculty Room clean? Where is the freakin’ janitor? I saw cobwebs hanging loosely in the girl’s comfort room! Why are there still pieces of paper outside Teacher D’s class? Why are there chairs in the hallway? And why are these boys not tucking in their shirts?! KILL ME! Arrgh!

“Why are you so white in your face, teacher?” asked my boggled student.

“QUIET!!!” I shouted at him in my mind but only managed an unsure smile. I was like mentos, cool outside and outrageously going crazy inside. I started my own class and it ended as quietly as it began.

40 minutes went past and I left the room with my eyes closed. When I opened it, I saw Mrs. Paepke walking back to the Principal’s Office. Then, I realized, I had just began breathing again. Coast is clear. Whew!

My phone beeped. My husband has just texted. “I bought the book already. Kita ta unya. Dinner ta. Ako libre. Pick you up at 4:30. Sharp.”, came with three happy faces. I laughed inspite of myself. I am happy to say that this part of my life is rather, sweet and swell. I have husband who reads and feeds my intellectual monster in his own weird way; “meets me” and buys me dinner every once in a while. Who could complain?

“Mmchge, kita ta. I’m excited about the book. 4:30. Sharp.” I replied. He’s sure would hear a lot from me later that day.

I went back to the office with happy thoughts about the dinner date. Grateful with the fact that this life is blessed with persons who help me strike a balance at the end of the day. This day’s going to be just perfect, traced my silent mutter.

I finally sat on my chair and there, lying on my desk, three notes from different offices: No. 1 4:30 pm, Learning Area Emergency Meeting, MPR; No. 2 4:30 pm, Emergency Meeting with the variety show Director, AVR; and a small unassuming note, “Dear Teacher Ladylou, May I see you later this afternoon at 4:30 pm? I am concerned about my son, I think he has a girlfriend already.” written by Mrs. Always Worried Mother’s on a kitchen stationery.

4:30? I HAVE A DATE!!! It is just my husband, but it is a DATE! Who would want to miss a DATE??? Official Saput Level has just turned perfect 10.

I went to finish all my classes in the afternoon with the 4:30 mark in my mind and then of Mrs. Always Worried Mother. Not her, please! I was not feeling good at all. I was frowning. My students FROWNED BACK.

At 4:30, Mrs. Always Worried Mother was already outside my door. She wore a thousand different hues of violet from head to toe; golden peroxide hair; and true to her rumored wealth, she donned her heavy bangles, earrings, necklaces and rings of Saudi, Singapore, Chinese gold. She had a violet first class imitation of Lious Vuitton bag and a purple Manolo Blahnik inspired peek-a-boo mules. Her nails were French tipped in one of the high end salons in the city, so she said. She’s one walking ube, so to speak. She is not a very popular mom in school. She is known more to be of aloof and, much to the dislike of many, fault-finder.

Some parents, like Mrs. Always Worried Mother, appear to be plain stuck up and aloof. They sometimes put themselves up on a pedestal upon which the teachers cannot reach. In truth, I was apprehensive about meeting her. What if she goes ballistic over her son’s girlfriend? Is there really a girlfriend? What if there is? Yes, I was a bit scared.

But in my private thoughts, I see the parents as equal. They just start to be cuss and indifferent when they begin to feel the teachers lack the effort to make them understand. Otherwise, they are as human as the teachers. Just like how you get impatient when a sales girl in Gaisano does not readily respond to your needs. As for Mrs. Worried Mother, she just wanted a place in the sun where she can understand her growing son better. I darn hoped I was right.

Somehow, I found the courage to really sit down with this mother hen and find out about the joy she makes in prying her nose into just everything. I mean, what can I do? She’s already there, arms folded across her chest, brows up in the stratosphere, looking ready to make a kebab out of me.

Our stiff and up tight parent-teacher conference that afternoon started with how she began suspecting her son of 11 and 4 months got himself a girlfriend and ended with, to much of my surprise, the best chicken recipe; how many minutes tahong should be baked with garlic and cheese; how fresh tomatoes can be grown in the lawn (she grows her own tomatoes with her P500.00 worth of French tipped finger nails); how husbands (and we) snore at night; is it really Pillsburry or Magnolia has the best pancake package; how we love the microwave popcorn; the best fabric conditioner ever; best Math websites for children; the friendly games at y8.com; how to wash your clothes in a washing machine without making the neckline of your shirt look like it suffered an atomic bomb attack.

It downhilled to a friendly chat about life in general; unnoticed events that comprise outside the austere parcel that is the academe. Mrs. Always Worried Mother, is for all that she is, a good mother in all honesty. The good news was, the son did not have a girlfriend. The girl whom he was texting was his group leader of whom he needed to constantly communicate with, or so her boy explained. Mrs. Always Worried Mother was satisfied and left me a recipe for a great Greek pasta.

I was mini-late for the Learning Area Meeting and decided to move the meeting with the Director to an hour later. My Official Saput Level plummeted to -1. The two meetings were stressful but didn’t affect my composure one bit.

As for my date, my husband waited for about an hour and a half at the Grade School campus gates. He got impatient and a little cranky for having to wait, but he can’t help it, he married a Teacher. Clasped in his hands was the dainty, new edition of the classic, “Love in the Time of Cholera” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

The dinner went well. We ate and chatted and joked and talked about the tiny and unnoticed details of life and living in general. The waiter nudged a quiet notice to my husband that they were closing.

My day ended with the same quiescence it has started with; delivered a full circle of events meant to unfold for that day and it was enough. I was ready again to soldier on for another day safe in the knowledge of having a happy and rewarding chaos a teacher’s life is forever bestowed and blessed with.