"Remember, when you are a student you pass nasty gasses because of the scaring."
After breakfast, my dad admonishes me to grade more gently, given my snarkily panicked comment about these kids becoming nurses*. It is, like most things, some manner of translation of a thought that surely flows more smoothly in Arabic. My mom goes through a full red pen for each exam she gives. I balked at this when she threw 5 empty pens at me before finding one with ink, but as I grade some of her lab reports, I totally get it. She is tabulating things to herself in a whisper in Spanish. My giddiness at creating a spreadsheet for results induces a little bit of pedagogical nostalgia, as the London Symphony plays in the background. A robot vacuum scuttles against something across the house.
Oddly enough, this is probably the quintessential and best-case home-home weekend situation.
*The measurement errors are hilarious and terrifying. Imagine someone telling you (not in jest) that your finger is 342 meters long. It's fascinating.













