Perks.

I've had some sort of head-devouring cold for the past four or five days. Behold the progression of my demise:
1. a fever and sore throat that knocked me out on Thursday
2. a sinus thing that kept me miserable all weekend and prevented me from faschnagtery (lard-fried donut making) with Steph yesterday
3. a chest-rending cough that has destroyed my ability to speak like a human. Or at all.

This was fun today-trying to play Bingo-review with my classes in preparation for their test tomorrow. Oh yes. I imparted so much wisdom through the sweet reptile-like rasping of my throat...and a bit of interpretive dance. There was much pity to be had. Also, I had to tell some kids off for being jerks, which means that I busted out a deadly-menacing whisper of doom.

I can only imagine that this was three parts terrifying and two parts hilarious to watch. Or, in all probability, the other way around.

Lesson: public school is a teeming, diseased pietre dish full of amoeba-like organisms known as children, who will complain about everything you do, infect you with everything they have, and whine when you punish them with quizzes and writing assignments. Explore a career in teaching today!

Groundwork for an Introspective Existence

The other night, after a very long day out shopping with Wendy, I stopped off at Wall-Mart. I had promised Erin that I would pick up a few things for her. While perusing the art supplies, I turned my back for a few seconds. You might be thinking, 'no good can come of that, stupid-head. What were you thinking?' My answer to you: shove it. Don't call me stupid-head.

Anyway, my peripheral vision caught Wendy swiping the box of crayons from the shelf, but by the time I turned toward her and reached out my hand, she had dumped the entire box into the bottom of the cart. It couldn't have been the 24-count Crayolas, or even the 64-count. No. It had to be the 92-count box.

"Why did you do that," I asked as I tried to shove all 92 back in the box.

"I don't know," she exclaimed in her woeful gerbil voice, while shoving the crayons through the bottom of the cart. "What's wrong with me, Mommy? What's wrong with me?"

And that's the story about how I became the crazy, frizzy-headed mom with the psycho/hysterical laugh crawling around on the floor at Wall-Mart.

Ways To Get Fired

Tell a Puerto Rican kid that the homework is definitely due on Tuesday, unless of course, he is deported.

I only thought about how bad it might have sounded to a passerby after the fact. You have to understand the context. It's been a classroom inside joke for a few weeks-one kid says to this kid "you should be deported." This kid points out to that kid, "being deported to Puerto Rico is like being deported to New Jersey, as Puerto Rico is a territory of the U.S. you dumbass."

What I said was just playing off of that. But if someone heard just my end of it, oh baby. It would totally go on my permanent record.

Still Trying to Blog This....

It's been a while since I've had a chance to blog. But don't feel bad, wide world of Internet friends... I haven't had a chance to read a book or to cook a nice meal or to teach Wendy how to play the violin or anything.

In fact, I've been trying to get past those few sentences and on to a real entry for four days.

Teaching is hard, you guys. All right...not so much hard-(if you are into that sort of thing it's actually really fun)-as time consuming and stressful. And I also have that Wendy person at home....

Yeah.

I've been joking a lot lately about how I wish there was a pill for this. The stress, I mean. The stress of making a million decisions all day about where kids should sit and how they should pass papers around and whether or not they should go to the bathroom and which words to use so I don't crush egos/receive emails from parents. And then there is the paperwork. And trying to appear smart and professional in front of co-workers. And portfolio reviews.

Did I tell you guys the story about how I cried in front of my direct supervisor?

It's a great story. It has everything you want in a blog entry: Anticipation and angst over potential failure, humiliation and emotional seepage in place of the blindingly impressive intellect that one planned on displaying, eventual relief when one realizes that not only is one not going to die, but that there is actual approval and understanding in the universe...

I'll tell you that story sometime....

Right now, I should tell you the story about our kitchen.
Once upon a time, Mo had off from work for a non-denominational two-week "Winter break." Carl was there too. I don't know why. Holiday togetherness. That sounds good.

Anyway, all it took was a few days of dewy-eyed, loving togetherness before we started ripping the paper off the walls. Literally. Ripping paper off the kitchen walls and painting them orange. Why orange? BECAUSE. That's why.

Good story, huh?

Here's a picture of Wendy wanting nothing to do with Santa:

He didn't take it personally. She still got some good loot for Christmas. :-P

Mixed Messages

At a Monthly New Teacher Meeting

Administrator #1: Keep in mind that you must help inforce school rules.
Administrator #2: Like our policy against IPods.
A1: and cell phones.
A2: and food in class.
A1: and having hoods up.
A2: and hall passes at all times.
A1: But make sure you are having fun. Is everyone having fun teaching your first year?? Because to me, that is the most important thing. To have fun. And Don't sweat the small stuff, really.

A2: ...but also, keep in mind that your class is not your private kingdom. When you close the door, you are not really in charge. School policy is.

A1: Did anyone have trouble posting grades? ...or getting your lesson plans in? ....or with the printing center? Keep in mind; there are a lot of things that just won't work right every time. It's not a perfect world, and you guys know that. Sometimes you have to learn to roll with the punches. It's part of the fun of being a teacher, right?

A2: ...and think about this: GM is about to fold, and thousands of people will be out of a job. But you are still getting paid every two weeks, right? You have a job! And as long as people keep having kids, we'll all still have work to go to!

(keep it in mind)

Job Satisfaction

(n)
Realizing that, even though first-quarter grades are due tomorrow and you still have thirty-five projects to grade and you share a workspace with three other people who like to chat,

.....not to mention the lunch room for the entire Department, which happens to be standing behind you yelling things like WHY DID THE SCHOOL BUY THIS GRADEBOOK SOFTWARE? and WHAT DO YOU MEAN, CATCHER IN THE RYE IS OFF THE CURRICULUM???

......and you also have to type out and turn in all of your lesson plans from the past two weeks tomorrow too, and you only have a third of them done, but apparantly MAKE SURE YOU COME SEE MY BAND PLAY ON FRIDAY is very important to talk about right now...

.....and kids are coming to dump more work in your lap because they suddenly realized that maybe a 30% isn't the grade they want to show their Moms, and maybe their English teacher wants to read this fist-full of crumpled homework from four weeks ago....

....even though really bad school pizza was for lunch today...

...at least I'm not getting a talking-to for folding pizza boxes too fast and making the other box people look bad. At least my work related problems do not involve pulling globs of pork fat out of a sink drain.

*sigh*
This is the life.

Faith...

....works.

*so. happy.*

I actually saw the whole thing the other night; Carl couldn't handle the idea of just turning off the TV and going to sleep????

So we watched. And had a hell of a day yesterday. But it was worth it.

Vigilance

Those of you who have ever flown somewhere and had the thought cross your mind that the plane's engines were definitely going to explode, plunging you 40,000 feet to your fiery, depressurized doom; I have a question for you. Were you seated over a wing?

And while watching that metal blade slice through the clouds and the heat of it's passage distort the displaced air, were you ever seized with the absolute certainty that if you took your eyes off that wing for even a millisecond, the wing would surely snap off?

I have flown many times. I have flown ten times the number of elections in which I have voted. Tell me, frequent voters. If you take your eyes off the TV; fiery doom? I didn't think so four years ago...but then...

...and now, I am very sleepy, and after all, we don't vote by Neilson ratings...

Are you aware that most airplane parts are not bolted, nailed, stapled or screwed together, but glued?

Dear America,
I'm going to count to ten. When I open my eyes-you know what I want to see.
I have faith.
Love,
Mo

October

It's been a busy October for us. We've all been working hard and squeezing as much family time as possible into the weekends. We've managed to do some cool Autumn harvesty type things, like drink cider and hug pumpkins,


...and Carl and I even mustered all of our collective creative energy to get a costume together for Wendy. Behold! The butterfly costume from Old Navy!


I didn't say our creative juices amounted to much. Hey, we had to choose between the butterfly, the kitty cat, and the poodle. You try to make that decision before lunch, surrounded by swarms of snarky moms and cranky kids, all rabid for spectacular Old Navy Halloween deals!

Wendy did love the Trick-or-Treating, though. As soon as she realized that she would get TREETS! LOOK DADDY! I GOT TREETS! just by knocking on doors, she was all about it. Her favorite Halloween treat is candy corn. Weird kid.


She got a good haul for someone so short. We came home with that black bucket filled to the top. We-I mean she made out pretty good!

Tentatively....

I find myself in a conundrum.

Day in and day out, I experience countless situations that I would normally blog about in a heartbeat. There are the caricatures I could draw of the other teachers in my department. There are the endless moments of absurd bureaucracy that rival and often outshine any Office Space moments I ever had back at H & R Crock. (For example, the observation that an administrator scheduled for tomorrow, and then canceled after I spent all weekend preparing for it.) And the students. Oh. Oh the humanity. I would normally be blogging all of them til my fingers bled, there are so many gorgeous, mockable moments.

But I can't. Because talking about that sort of thing online...isn't that the sort of thing that can get you canned faster than a dolphin in a tuna net?

OMG, my people. I actually have a job that I don't want to get fired from.

I'll loosen up soon. I'm sure. I'll stop looking over my shoulder, expecting it to all be taken away and to wake up delivering pizza again.

I can tell you about how I am a "floater-" a designation just as awesome as it sounds. For those of you not in the know, being a "floater" means that I am one of the teachers without a room of her own, who travels from class to borrowed class, pushing all of her materials around on a cart. Only I don't even get a cart, because my rooms are downstairs and my "office" is upstairs, and although pushing a cart full of homework and office supplies down the stairs would be fun...you get the gist.

I put "office" in quotes there, because my "office" is actually a space shared with two other floaters, and also the department lunch room/lounge. Hells yeah. I'm movin on up.

Really, though, all of that is so low on my give-a-shit-o-meter. First-year teachers with classrooms, first-year teachers with a carts, and me? We all get paid the same. It doesn't really matter. I would probably find the cart kind of humiliating anyway. Eff em.

I goes where I please. (provided that it's 4th or 7th period. those are my drinking coffee and eating donuts periods.)

I'll tell you a good story as soon as I can think of one appropriate enough. I promise.