Category Archive

Let me start by saying that this getting up an hour before the kid has been working out pretty well for me, but not so much for my writing habit, which is why I started doing it in the first place. I won’t bore you with reasons why I haven’t been writing, but they are completely legit and have actually provided me with writing material. But for another day, because right now I have some other things to toss around, and I’m falling back on my friend the bullet to help me remember everything.

• My laptop died at the ripe old age of 1 year, 7 months. I know someone in real life who could have fixed it gratis, but his father passed away a few days ago and he has enough on his plate, so I took it to the Ge3k Squad, and here is what happened: I stopped counting charges at $350, and this was before we even discussed the actual cost of repair. So I left and found a guy in the phone book who is going to back up my hard drive (which I had been investigating doing myself for the past few weeks prior to the crash!) for $95, and the manufacturer is going to fix it for nothing, even though it is technically no longer under warranty.
• I am borrowing the laptop I have used at school for the past two years, the exact same one, which I complained about endlessly and called awful names, but which is still working perfectly. Huh.
• Unfortunately, the laptop I am borrowing only connects to the internet via a wireless router, which I do not have, so I either have to use it in a WiFi zone or hold it up above my head on the screened porch and hope it picks up one of my neighbors’ wireless signals. And yes, that is what I’ve been doing.
• I realized in the mountains last week how attached at the hip I am to technology. I can check and send email with my phone, and I can even access the internet, and so both nights I was there I would wait until Mia went to sleep and then I would sit on a trunk by the window in our room and read email and catch up on blogs. Isn’t that ridiculous? I mean, we complain as as society about being too connected too much of the time, but I think deep down inside we are all addicted to the connection. I need to think further about this. I’ll get back to you.
• My daughter has a love/hate relationship with our vacuum cleaner. When I get it out she will come sit as close to it as she can get, sometimes ON it, and lightly touch the hoses and compartments while softly mumbling something I can’t make out; but as soon as I fire it up she takes off in the direction that affords her as much distance from the machine as possible. And when she is running away she looks exactly like Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow when he is running away from the natives in the second pirate movie. I would try to capture this on video for the sake of comparison, but every time it happens I fall down laughing.
• I might have a new job. Shhhhh. I don’t want to say it too loudly. I believe I have the power to screw it up by feeling TOO optimistic about it. I cannot tell you how nervous the whole thing makes me. I have been working in the same school for 12 years. TWELVE. I have never resigned a position, nor have I had to start fresh in a new one in a long, long time. It’s damn scary. And also exciting–don’t get me wrong. But mostly scary right now.
• I yelled at some pre-pubescent boys in the lazy river at water park yesterday, where Mia and I go almost every afternoon. What IS it with me and lazy rivers? Or maybe that’s the wrong question. Maybe the real question is this: Do lazy rivers simply attract obnoxious people? Because these boys were having a bumper car rally with their floats, and they were banging into babies. One of them was mine, but it was over the other baby that I lost it. He was much younger than Mia, and his mother seemed unconcerned that these little cretins kept splashing him right in the face. I couldn’t help myself. For all I know they were her kids–she didn’t say a word to me after the incident–but I didn’t care, I morphed into Classroom Manager Mommy before I could stop myself.
• ANd finally–Happy Independence Day, whatever that means to you.

This was about to be one of those sorry introductions about how I haven’t blogged in weeks because this is such a busy time for people in the education field, and how even though I’m not in the classroom anymore I am just not in the mindset to sit down and actually put words on a page. To support this drivel I was going to give you some statistics from previous Mays to prove that I am indeed too emotionally and mentally overwhelmed to blog. But apparently last May I posted 20 times. TWENTY. That’s an average of five posts a week. Sure, in May of 2006 there were only 7 posts, and in May of 2005 only 2 (which doesn’t actually count, since I only started blogging in April of 2005), so I could feasibly argue my original point. But I won’t. Because I don’t really have an excuse, unless you want to go along with my personal belief that upon walking across the University stage on May 17, thus marking the completion of my Master’s degree, the remaining functional brain cells rolling around in my skull went on an indefinite strike and have not been heard from since. But that is not really true, not to mention physically impossible.

So let’s just skip the boring introduction (and for those of you who inevitably read it because who the hell starts with the second paragraph, sorry about that) and move on to what will undeniably be only slightly LESS boring: A Bulleted Rundown of the Last Two Weeks.

• As mentioned, I graduated. Woo-freakin’-hoo. I am so over it that I don’t even have anything else to say about it. I do have some commentary about the photos taken that day, and after reading this, you probably will as well. First, it should be obvious to you after looking at these pictures that I have not been exaggerating all those times I’ve said Little got all the boobs in our family; and in case there was any doubt that I got next to none of the allotment in that department, my University graciously marked the size and location of my own non-boobs on the outside of my robe. Secondly, I tried [unsuccessfully] to avoid uploading any of the photos that showed my feet, because apparently, that is where the Universe chose to give me a surplus. Seriously, my feet look like CLOWN FEET in every single picture. My mom keeps trying to comfort me by assuring me it was just the shoes I was wearing, but I keep insisting, and rightfully so, that the shoes are only as big as my actual feet! It’s not the shoes’ fault my feet are enormous! And finally, do I have a cute kid or WHAT?
• Having completed a Master of Library and Information Science, and having worked for an entire school year as a school media specialist, I regret to announce that I won’t actually be working as a school media specialist next year. Thanks to the ubiquitous Public School Budget Cuts, my position no longer exists. Before you school librarians start hurling curses and shaking your fists at the education gods, I was media specialist number two at my school–the entire program wasn’t cut, just the second position. I was offered two options: a) returning to the classroom as a 9th grade English teacher, or b) a position called “Curriculum Facilitator,” or CF for short. I chose B. Given what longtime readers know about my last few years’ worth of frustration in the classroom, I would have taken a position called “Chief Sidewalk Crack Filler” over potential incarceration, because going back to the classroom would have incited violent behavior on my part, and I don’t think they let girls take their babies to prison. And anyway, don’t you think it’s hilarious that I’m going to be a CF? Am I the only person who thinks that’s a total scream? Someone should invent an education job whose acronym is SNAFU. We could have adjoining offices and take the blame for everything wrong in our school.
• So two weeks ago I had this excruciating pain in my calf. I would have assumed it was a muscular injury of some sort, except I didn’t remember injuring my calf, so I consulted the school athletic trainer, and after some poking he said, “Well, I guess it could be a blood clot.” You know what came next, right? Oh, Dr. Google, I hate you. Because by the end of that day I was a nervous wreck, so nervous that I actually went to the doctor. The short version of this story (because in the long version I would have to type the phrase, “and after a multi-hour wait…” several times, and I think just seeing it that once is enough to give you a picture of the next 48 hours) is that I did not have a blood clot. There was no actual diagnosis, only instructions to take Al.eve twice a day, and so I can only assume I had–wait for it–a muscular injury. Apparently I have reached a whole new level of clumsiness, one that involves painful injury with no memory. Go figure.
• I was flipping through a magazine a few weeks ago and saw this, and I immediately decided my daughter had to have one. My deepest hope is that these lovely little doors will satisfy her door-opening and closing needs. A girl can dream, right? So I used some graduation money from my dad to purchase one from some website I’ve never heard of, because it was the cheapest one I could find. Nearly two weeks later, I still have not received my order, and after several unanswered emails and dead end phone calls, I actually did some fishing around and discovered a review of the site indicating that it is out of business. So far my credit card hasn’t been charged, so I feel pretty fortunate in that department, but mostly I feel annoyed because I really just want the kitchen, and because if you have a retail site but are no longer selling retail, WHY NOT JUST TAKE YOUR SITE DOWN? Gah.
• Mia and I spent Memorial Day Weekend at my aunt’s lake house. Pictures coming soon, but the entire weekend can pretty much be summed up in two words, spoken as questions, over and over and over again: “Butt? Wawa?” (For those of you who need a translation: Boat? Water?) My baby, she loves the water, and if I thought it would improve her napping as much as riding around in my uncle’s pontoon did, I would dig a pond in our yard and put her bed in a canoe.
• I am almost as behind on reading other blogs as I am on writing this one. There are high fives and kudos and good luck wishes and virtual hugs in order, and although I’m not managing to put them into comments they are out there in the Universe, hopefully finding their way to you.
• And finally, just for old times’ sake, there are EIGHT DAYS left of school.

While some of you were digging your way out of a winter’s worth of snow yesterday, we in the southeastern states were battling the first badass thunderstorms of the spring season*. I was at work when the first one started. I haven’t mentioned this in a while, but I work in a POD, which is really just a large metal trailer. I was here alone because all the sensible people left right after the final bell to beat the storm, so I was a little nervous. Maybe it was my imagination, but I think the building actually shook a little, and when I walked over to a window to have a look outside, a gust of wind picked that moment to slam into that particular side of the pod, and I could actually feel it through the glass. So there I am, standing in the middle of the room freaking out inside, when the double outside doors flew open and wind, rain, and lima bean-sized hail began pouring into the room. Into the library. All over the books.

For one brief moment I panicked, and then I sprang into action. I threw myself into the doorway, grabbed first one door, then the other, and pulled against the wind with every fiber of my being until the doors were latched. I was drenched, as was our floor, but thankfully the shelves protected the books in the path of the gush. One small title that was on display on top of a shelf, a biography of John McCain, got soaked and is now recovering under a vent. I dried out just in time to get wet again on the way to my car, but I left feeling very heroic. I saved the books from the scary storm! I am a superhero! I am a protector of libraries! Now if only I had a cape….

And there may be a cape in my future, thanks to Prizey and

Actually, in Mia’s future, and it’s not really a cape so much as a very cool, very stylish kids’ poncho. But if my kid’s imagination is nearly as grand as my own she will totally call it a cape, and that makes me want to win one even more.

*I know some southern states have been hit hard with tornadoes this winter, but it’s been pretty calm here on the seaboard. I hope places like Tennessee and Alabama have a calm tornado season, as they’ve had quite enough to deal with during the off-season.

I began the morning with my usual shower-time meditation about what I expected to accomplish today (read: I talked to myself in the shower a la William Faulkner, rambling and without end or punctuation or even a real point, just talking and talking, to and about myself while the water runs all around, and ideas and tasks and concerns run like the water, and the noise of my thoughts mingle above the noise of the fan, and–wait, what was I saying?). Writing is always on this virtual list, which is either a good sign that I am moving toward this whole writing life thing, or that I am only inspired to write when it is inconvenient to do so (I also think a great deal about writing when I’m behind the wheel). In my typical stream-of-consciousness shower thinking, I pondered what I might write about in the course of the day, but I kept getting distracted by my dry, scaly, sandpapery hands. Seriously, I actually scratched myself on the face with my fingertips. By the time the shower was over I had not gotten very far in my thoughts about writing. It is really hard to think about writing when your brain is consumed by a single thought. No surprise, then, that on my way to work when I started thinking about writing again, I decided to write about dry skin. I know. Brilliant! I hope you are not disappointed, then, to learn that I got busy and distracted and never got around to writing about dry skin and now do not feel very tied to the subject at all. But like most inspiration, the dry skin situation opened up an even greater, deeper well of material. Here’s what happened:

I was chatting with a friend over coffee before school started, and for almost 30 minutes we talked and unconsciously picked at our respective dry hands until she finally asked if I had lotion. “Yes!” I replied, quite enthusiastically, because I have a bottle of scrumptious grapefruit lotion that is not only soothing and moisturizing but also makes people perceive you as much younger than you actually are. I opened my drawer and reached for it, but it was not there. I opened other drawers, moved things around, looked on my desk and computer station, even opened my bag to see if I had dropped it in there by mistake. No lotion. So I reached for the spot on my desk where I keep a pump bottle of lotion for kids to use, but mid-reach I realized that it too was gone.

I would be willing to bet that everyone who reads this has been a victim of office theft. It’s happened to me, and everyone I work with. Most of what disappears from our classroom desks, however, is food-, money-, or battery-related. I’ve had all of the above removed from desk drawers, and yet, even as I type this, all of the above is in my desk: three 2A batteries, 75 cents, a Nestle Crunch bar, some random 100 calorie snacks, and a calculator (with a 3A battery inside). These are the things kids steal, and yet, all I’m missing is two bottles of lotion. When I sat down at my desk this morning I noticed that my computer monitor was askew and my pencil cup had been overturned, and later I discovered a picture and my stapler out of place. But after the discovery of the missing lotion, I started finding, well, lotion. Little drops of grapefruit-scented lotion. It was on my jump drive. It was on my CPU next to a USB port. It was on a CD next to the monitor. It was on the mouse and the tape dispenser. Then I found my lip gloss, which is usually inside my desk, lying behind my computer.  I threw it away immediately, but maybe I should have dusted it for prints. It’s like a little crime scene, only it smells nice and there is no blood. Yet.

Because my poor, cracking dry hands? They are drier now than ever, the driest hands there ever were, and all because someone–can I type this with a straight face?–crept into the school library on a holiday weekend, went through my desk in search of cosmetic products, ignored food and money (not to mention thousands of dollars in electronics and computers! Hello! It’s not called the MEDIA CENTER for nothing!), and stole my lotion.

I read somewhere recently that some well-known blogger, I don’t remember which one, walks around all the time in constant “write post” mode, always thinking of how this event or that moment would play out in a blog entry. Do you do that, too? I do. Which might surprise you, since I seem to write so infrequently these days, and not even very well when I do. When I peruse entries from a year or two ago I am often surprised by my own wit. So it is in my head, my virtual unwritten brain blog, which is running almost constantly. I actually get excited about how some description or narrative is shaping up on my mental screen, and I can hardly wait to sit down and put it into print. And then I don’t. Or worse, I do, and it sucks, or, and this is what usually happens, I can’t remember half the turns of phrase I so painstakingly worked out in my head: And then I flicked the mouse turd from my desk. No, I flicked the mouse turd from my desk with a post-it. Wait. The mouse turd rolled from my desk with the flick of a post-it.

Mostly I sit around during every free moment I have during the work day reading other people’s brilliant words and vacillating between these two convictions: 1) It sucks that I am actually sitting here flicking mouse turds off my desk with post-its, instead of honing my craft and freelance writing for hip, literate magazines, and 2) What am I thinking? I could never write like these people. These people are brilliant crafters of language, and I am a certified mouse-pooper-scooper. Okay, not really, but you know what I mean. As much as I believe in education, and as much as I like kids, and as much as I enjoy my new job and all its potential, there is always a little voice, a little miniature me in my head asking me when I am going to get on with my writing dreams. And right next to her is my miniature me’s twin, shaking her head and saying, “Look, you don’t actually write about things. You write about nothing. Why would someone want to read about nothing? You’re wasting your time with these–what did you call them?–dreams. Psh.”

This argument goes on in my head almost constantly, but more so when I’m doing a lot of reading–specifically, reading of good quality writing. Reading makes me feel simultaneously like a brilliant writer and someone who attempts to describe magnificent events with words like “nice” and “um, nicer.” It um, sucks, because it makes me tiredl, keeps me from writing, even about the insignificant stuff. I should be making small steps in the direction of this dream thing; instead I am stepping over and over and over myself, whining and writhing in a heap on the dream path all ”I can’t write like those people, those writer people, they are writers, and I am naaaaaahhhhtt.” I’ve come to a conclusion about this whole ugly cycle: I need to kill the heckler, or at least put her in a nice self-esteem-building class where other imaginary voices tell her how pretty she is.

Actually, that is not the conclusion I’ve come to at all. What I need to do is write, and also to say, “Oh, me? I am a writer. A librarian and a writer. A writer-librarian.” You know, talk the talk or whatever. I don’t have to be any particular kind of writer just yet, but I need to do the writing. I’ve pretend-studied under Natalie Goldberg, and she says writing practice is a must. It has to happen every day. Every. Day. And so I’m going to write every day do the best I can. I’m going to turn up the writer in my head and try to remember what she says, and I’m going to try to write it all down. Here. Even if it’s about nothing. Even if it’s about that time earlier this week when I moved my keyboard a little to the right and found a tiny, plump mouse turd; and after I did a quick mental calculation of all the times I’ve eaten things I’ve dropped on that very desk, I scraped the mouse turd into a post-it note with another post-it note, flicked it into the trash can, and sat down at the computer to tell all of you. Because that’s what writers do, right?

The books arrived. It’s safe to say we’ve all been in bookstores and libraries where there are lots of books. Thousands of them. Way more than 3593. But until you have 1) seen that many books come out of boxes, and 2) put that many books onto shelves, you have no idea just how many books 3593 really is. If you are interested in the official technical library definition of how many books we are talking, here it is: a damn freaking lot. By the time we had most of the fiction and the biographies in place and I had moved on to the 000-399 area of the room, I was over the “Oooohhhh, cooooool, new books” attitude and had moved on to something along the lines of, “Great, another 304.2. How many damn 304.2s do we really need? I mean, what the fuck were we thinking?” It was around that time that MJ discovered a whole box of 000-071s that hadn’t been placed, so I had to rearrange a number of shelves to accommodate them. Frankly, I am sick of books. How ironic is it that when I arrived home at half past the dark of night, an Amazon order I placed a few days* ago was waiting in the mailbox. Joy! Four new books! I am thinking of using them to build a fire.

But not really. See, this order was sort of a turning point for me. One of my biggest reasons for going into school media has to do with librarian-teacher collaboration. I discovered it as a teacher and loved the process; I have dabbled in some collaborative efforts with a few teachers, but our diminished collection has made it hard to do anything extensive. But as of today our collection is no longer diminished, and for the past several days I’ve been entertaining thoughts of pitching mini-project ideas and lesson plans to teachers using these literally thousands of books as ammunition.

In fact, I was having an informal meeting with Principal New and Improved, telling him enthusiastically about our plans to host little “meet the new books” receptions for each department, when he dropped this bomb on my little shiny village of hope: I might have to teach a 9th grade English class next semester. I have struggled with the change in routine, and with the challenge of getting teachers to make time in their busy schedules for the library, and with the frustration of dealing with kvetchy co-workers, and with the feeling of incompetence that accompanies being new at a job, but I can honestly say I was on the cusp of finding my groove. And now I am filled with dread. 

Those of you who have been along for the ride from the beginning recall how ready I was to walk last year at this time, and the year before that. And I could have. I had other options. But I chose to return to this place, a school to which I have devoted over a decade–literally my whole career–because I believe in its potential. Because I’d get to work with a longtime friend and learn from her experience. Because it felt like the right thing to do. Thing is, I chose to return as a librarian, not as an English teacher, and now I’m feeling cheated. Yes, he said “might,” and yes, nothing is set in stone yet, but I can’t shake the dread. The mere potential of this nightmare becoming a reality makes me want to walk again. Away from a school community that is like a family, away from the new books and the new building, away from my friends. And of course, just like all those times I wanted to walk before, now I have nowhere to go. I’m really ready to get this work thing right for once. Mainly I’m ready to stop using up all my energy trying to get this work thing right. Sigh.

*I initially typed “an Amazon order I placed a few years ago.” Paging Dr. Freud. Is this really only Wednesday?

In keeping with my temporary time warp, I’d like to announce that this is [my post for] Friday, November 2. Got it? Good.

It has been a long, long week. We were out of town last weekend, and a certain baby I know, who usually goes to sleep by 10:30 and sleeps for 12 hours, was awake until 1 a.m. last Saturday night and up by 8:30 Sunday morning. Add several wrong number calls during the night and a really noisy heat/AC unit, and you have one really groggy Mommy. I am only now starting to recover. Needless to say, I am really glad it’s Friday. (See there, how I can just pretend with such ease that it’s a full 24 hours ago?)

It has been a tense few weeks here at Pod HS*. Last week we had a fire in one of our buildings. It was set intentionally, discovered and contained quickly, and arrests have been made, but it caused a great deal of chaos and anxiety considering its proximity to the anniversary of that other fire. We’ve come a long way in a year. Every morning I watch the large expanse of earth where the school used to stand look more and more like the foundation of something permanent. A year ago today I sat in shocked silence and watched the footage of the inferno on television. Today I watched our students on the news at 6 a.m. where they did the electric slide and cheered on our football team at a pep rally hosted by a local news station. A year ago I dreaded going to work because of Principal. New-and-Improved Principal is a welcome change. I won’t lie to you: we still have our problems. Those kids I bitched about all last year? They are still with us, and our administration, while much improved, is still often at a loss where flogging and torturebehavioral prevention and maintenance are concerned. At least Principal is elsewhere, bringing down the status quo of some other high school, spreading her own brand of crazy over some other area of the state.

As for me, I try keeping my eyes focused on the bright side. Being in the library has been, and continues to be, an adjustment for me, but I am grateful for the change (read: glad I don’t have to spend all day with 14-year-olds). I have made some new friends at work, something I find very hard to do (Look! It’s 7th grade!). The new school that’s currently a flat piece of red dirt is going to be a beautiful, state-of-the-art structure, and maybe they won’t cut my position so I can work there when it’s finished.

But enough about work.

I have been searching the internet and reading all the books I own about The Baby and How it Works, but I have some unanswered questions about food (or should I say, questions I can’t seem to get a straight answer to), and I’d like some input from you Mommy people.

1. About eggs. According to my ped, “they” are moving the egg green light to 18-24 months. I get that: no straight up eggs for the kid. But what about things cooked with eggs? Does this mean no taste of my nonfat muffin from the coffee shop? Does this mean no pancakes? Does this mean any product that contains eggs PERIOD is off limits?
2. When did you give your kid fish? Not shellfish, just regular, run-of-the mill white fish? There is much conflicting information on this topic.
3. For those of you who eat tofu, can you give me some recipes? I want to try it, but I don’t know what to do with it.
4. I feel like Mia’s menu is a bit of a bore. I know, I know, she’s only 10 months old, but really, how many servings of pears, bananas, carrots, and sweet potatoes can one girl eat? What did your 10-month-old like to eat?

Fire away, girls.

*I have no idea if I’ve described our temporary school here or not. It’s made up of 10 modular buildings called “pods,” which are way nicer than they sound, and the source of myriad jokes about the “pod people” who inhabit them.

On Monday my fellow media specialist* (henceforth known as MJ) and I were given the green light to order a third of the library collection planned for our new library. You know, the one at the new school, which is still a flat expanse of red mud? The one that probably won’t be ready for student occupation until, oh, I don’t know, 2020? Our accreditation organization recommends that we have a minimum of 10 books per student and we currently have about 2.5. Pre-fire we had around 11 per student, so we have a lot of catching up to do, and we convinced the People With Money that we needed to start catching up now. And that is why both MJ and I spent every minute of the last 4 days of work–approximately 32 hours–in front of the computer ordering 4000 books. Four. Thousand. You librarians out there–you will understand this: we started with great enthusiasm, but by the end of the day today we were both all “We’ve covered the gays, the anorexics, the African Americans, the scientists, the dead famous people, the athletes. Who have we left out? The golfers? The race car drivers? Sure, order golf books. NASCAR books are good.” In the end we only managed to come up with 3700 because, seriously, 4000 books is a lot of damn books.

It was quite a learning experience, my first book order. For instance, did you know there are 8 billion different Chicken Soup for the Soul books? There is chicken soup for every kind of soul you can imagine. Jack Canfield, if you are reading this, you need to publish Chicken Soup for the Poor Public School Servant’s Soul, and the pages need to be made out of 100 dollar bills. That would warm my soul right up.

Unfortunately, what I didn’t learn during the book order was how to catalogue. Incidentally, that’s what I’m supposed to be learning right now, in my cataloguing class. That’s right, folks, I am blogging in a master’s level class I paid almost a grand to take. In my defense, if I sat here and tried to focus on what’s happening (or not happening**, in this case) at the front of the room, I would stab myself or one of my classmates, or probably my professor, and the subsequent results (bail, lawyer fees, etc.) would cost way more than a thousand dollars, so this is really the safer and cheaper option for me. So if you are a librarian and cataloguing wizard, please share your secrets with me, and if you are a librarian and not a cataloguing wizard but made it through cataloguing with flying colors, or any colors at all, please tell me what I need to know to survive.

For now, I will amuse myself by imagining your brilliant responses to this request: who else needs chicken soup? In the comments, or on your own blog, suggest more titles for Mr. Canfield’s consideration (and if you’re feeling really creative, write a nice entry that might appear in your version, because that would make me really happy).

*fancy public school name for librarian

**teaching, in case you hadn’t already figured it out

To clarify: I am taking cataloguing because my program requires it, not because it will EVER be a useful skill in school media. We use one of the jobbers Jen mentions in the comments, and they do all the hard work for us. As they should. Book-buying is expensive. Also,when the new school opens, the school system will order the “stock collection” for us (also mentioned by Jen); what we ordered this week was mainly everything we needed to support the specific curricular studies (and recreational reading needs) of our current students.

But more importantly, WHERE ARE YOUR CHICKEN SOUP TITLES? C’mon, AdProb, I know you’re holding out on me!

So today is my birthday. I was all excited that it fell on a Friday this year, but thus far it’s been uneventful, and parts of it have downright sucked. Consider the following:

• My skin is breaking out. Yes, with zits. I have not had a breakout since I got pregnant and now, today, on my birthday, I have two zits on my chin. What the hell? I have always said if you are old enough to have gray hair, age spots on your hands (yes, I do, thanks; they’re hereditary), and crow’s feet, you should not have to suffer acne. Am I right ladies?
• Gayle’s mom is sick. She’s 87. Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Some other stuff. Hospitalized, maybe dying. Probably. Gayle was keeping Mia today; she called me 15 minutes before the final bell of the school day and told me to come home ASAP because it wasn’t looking good for her mom. Send good thoughts her way. It’s been a long week.
• Just before I received that phone call our assistant principal announced over the intercom that our county was under a tornado warning. Warning means a tornado has been spotted, which means we have to take the kids into the hallways and have them sit against the walls. Have I mentioned to you people that my school is a collection of “pods”? Pods are really big trailers. Our school is an academic trailer park, if you will. My first thought is safety, and you’d think that would also be the first thought of children who lived through a school fire, but no, they are far more concerned that their clothes might get dirty. Have I mentioned to you people that they are building the new school just feet from our “pod village” and it has not rained in so long that on Monday we actually had a dust storm? We are dirty ALL. THE. DAMN. TIME. There is dust in our books and on our computers. There is dust on our refrigerator and coffee maker, which are in a room with no windows. We are like a big school of Joads, and today I almost shoved my grapes of wrath up a kid’s ass. Here’s what happened:

There are two classrooms in the library building; a hallway connects them to us, and it was in that hallway that the students in our building were supposed to be sitting, ON THE FLOOR, after the tornado announcment was made. Several students refused, most of them jackasses I had to deal with in classes last year (see: every single post under Work is Hell), and I wanted the pleasure of making them sit on their Sean Johns and shut the hell up. So while I’m explaining that “this is not a drill” for the 7 millionth time to a kid who said he would sit down if all the teachers sat down, the girl behind me says, loudly, “Why she got her ass all up in my face?” I turned around so fast I suspect I might have resembled that guy who played Professor Quirrell in the first Harry Potter movie when he removed his turban. Or something like that, because she looked kind of shocked. I don’t think I was supposed to hear her. She recovered quickly, though, and did that little teenage girl head shake-eye roll-lip snarl and said, “Why you looking at me?” It’s a good thing for her that my phone rang.

• The weather is freaky. Tornadoes scare me to death. If I didn’t have Mia I would go sit in my closet with the light on and read. I am so not kidding. But she doesn’t deal well with confinement, so I am listening to the weather and pretending everything is cool, but I can’t ignore the fact that the expired tornado warning has been reinstated. It’s dark outside (at 4:46) and the rain is deafening. I wanted rain for my birthday; now I see I should have been more specific: NO TORNADOS.
• I miss my grandma. I will write about her death in time, but unfortunately, thanks to the scum-sucking ass-munch bastard son-of-a-bitch she was married to (NOT my grandfather, who died 18 years ago), we can’t just mourn her and try to move on. As you can imagine, it’s a long, long story. And no, I don’t really want to talk about it right now.
• I am out of beer. Really, what kind of solo birthday celebration can I have with no beer? So far the score is 33: 1, me: 0.

~~~

Ah, but I can’t ignore the big picture. I am healthy, I have a wonderful family and really great friends. I have a house and food and clothes. I have a beautiful daughter, also healthy. She has lots of clothes, too, which reminds me….

Did one of you fabulous blog people send my baby a package? Because she is now the proud owner of two really awesome t-shirts, both from The Onion’s online store, and they arrived with no sender information. Either someone who knows me pretty well sent them, or Mia knows how to order things from the internet.

Anyway, life really is good, and I will celebrate my birthday week starting today, and come to think of if, I DO have some vodka. Who needs beer? 33 can kiss my butt.

You get sore shoulders, arms, thighs, knees, calves, and ankles, that’s what.

I went back to work today. I was overheard during our initial staff meeting, which of course focuses mainly on the teaching staff, making the following announcements to anyone in my general vicinity who would listen:

“I’m so glad I don’t have a classroom.”
“I’m so glad I don’t have textbooks.”
“I’m so glad I don’t have to turn in lesson plans.”
“I’m so glad I don’t have a grade disk.”
“I’m so glad I don’t have student desks.”
“I’m so glad I don’t have my own students.”
And repeatedly, “God, I miss my baby.”

Other than the fact that I couldn’t fall asleep until after 1:30 last night, and that after waking to pee at 2:30 I never really went back to sleep, it was not a bad day. We are back on our campus in an Educational Village (read: large trailers), right next to the flat expanse of red earth that will someday be our new school. The “pods” are brand new and much more spacious than our destroyed building, but we have inherited mainly hand-me-down furniture (read: shit people should have thrown away), so there is lots of rearranging, repairing, and rejecting going on in the media center. MJ and I were Amazon Warriors, though, and after several hours of hard work, we have something that resembles a library. I wish I had a BEFORE picture; tomorrow I will take an amended BEFORE, and then I’ll update as we continue to make progress so you can be as impressed with us as we are with ourselves.

Now I am going to play with my cranky baby and eat ibuprofen for dinner and try really, really hard not to fall asleep with my shoes on.

It’s that day. The last day. I don’t have to go back, ever, never, not once. I have never been so happy to see a school year end. And I have never been so tired. In. My. Life.

After a really horrible Sunday–maybe the worst day I’ve had since Mia was born–I am starting to feel like myself again. Seriously, Sunday? Have you ever felt invisible and then had your invisibility confirmed? I went out thinking being in public would energize me, and because we were out of diapers, and while I was in the grocery store the SAME WOMAN ran into me or walked right in front of me at least four times and she DIDN’T SAY EXCUSE ME. I swear to you, she was in every aisle I was in, and it was like she couldn’t detect my presence at all. It was strange. And also annoying. I wanted to bump her with my cart but I was afraid it would just pass right through her as things do when they are just essences or illusions, which is precisely how I felt.

But I digress. Today is better. I am at work and I just typed that sentence, so you know I am either intoxicated, high, hallucinating, or dreaming. Or, you know, it’s true. It really is true, actually. It’s testing time, and because of a new state law we are not allowed to administer our own state tests. I have been pissed about this for weeks because not only is it annoying to be displaced, it is also insulting to me to be told that I cannot even test my own students. What, do they think we’re going to cheat? But as it turns out, my irritation was a waste of energy, as irritation often is. I am testing a Civics and Economics class filled with many students I taught last year. I liked them, and they liked me, and when I walked in a few of them actually said to each other (so I cannot accuse them of ass-kissing), “Yay! Ms. D is here!.” When you ask me in a few minutes, after you’ve read the next paragraph, “What the hell are you thinking?” you can re-read this: there are some really sweet, smart, funny, wonderful children here, and they remind me that this is a place full of immense potential.

So remember a few weeks ago when I mentioned my potential new job? I got that job–finally, after last year’s annoying “you have a job, no you don’t, yes you do, nope, sorry,” I am going to put my nearly completed library science degree to work. I am going to be one of two school librarians. Here. At this school. The one I complain about all the time.

Except, and humor me here, I really haven’t complained so much about The School. I complain about my currentstudents, They Who Have Been Allowed To Get Away With Everything Since the Fire, and I complained about Principal. But I don’t have to teach those students anymore after this week, and I won’t have to be in charge of my own classes for 180 days a year, and Principal is gone, and our current administrative team is devoted to getting this place back on track next year. And then there are those kids I taught last year and the year before–they are, for the most part, good kids, and they remind me why I chose to do this job in the first place. So yeah, I’m staying. It’s a good thing, and I will be working closely with a good friend, and we will build a new library, and I will not let the flotsam and jetsam Principal left in her wake drive me away.

That is, unless, by some hellish unforeseen circumstance, the second librarian position gets yanked, in which case I will be Starbucks’ newest barista. And you knowI’m not even kidding.

I am already flinching at my own anticipated disorganization of thoughts to follow in this post,  but when there is too much to say and not enough time to say it, disorganization is to be expected. To soothe my type A anxiety I will use bullets, which will perhaps lend the appearance of organization. Humor me.

• Mia and I went to West Virginia for my mom’s family reunion on Saturday, where Mia finally met her numerous great-great aunts and uncles and her equally numerous cousins, most of whom are boys. She was the most interested in her cousin Micah, age 8 months, who was also quite smitten with her. There are pictures, but they are still trapped in my camera. Hopefully I’ll get to them later this evening.
• Remember our visit to Georgia Easter weekend? We went mainly to visit my grandmother, my dad’s mother, because my dad wanted her to see Mia. The Monday after Easter she fell in her yard and broke her femur. Major surgery followed; rehab and physical therapy followed the surgery. Mother’s Day weekend she went to stay with my Aunt Mary until she could get around on her own (she is fiercely independent and wanted to be back in her own house). This past Friday Mary took her to the ER on suspicion of a blood clot in her lung, a common problem with elderly people who’ve recently had surgery, and on Saturday the doctor said she would be fine,  that the blood clot had resolved. She died Sunday morning. The funeral will be in WV where she lived most of her life, so the kid and I will be heading back to Dad’s on Thursday.
• Technically I have 8 days left of work, but I will only be working 6 of them because of the funeral. I am still trying to plan my “things to look forward to,” but it’s getting increasingly more complicated. For instance, on Friday I did J’s suggestion (Sin Night), but it was on the calendar for THIS Friday. Also, my sister couldn’t come with my mom to keep Mia today, so we will not be playing Scrabble. What I am most looking forward to right now is next Sunday, when I will be at home and the funeral will be over, and the family drama that is a whole other story I won’t delve into here will be behind me. If you are the praying/light-sending/good vibes wishing type, please know that I am at peace with my grandmother’s death and use your prayers/light/good vibes in an attempt to keep my aunt and uncle from having a fight in the middle of the funeral mass.
• My daughter has started eating solid foods. Her first experience with the fruit/vegetable food group was apples; she gagged, spat, and made horrible sounds upon her first bite of apples, and while she is tolerating them just fine, she doesn’t lap them up like she does the cereal. Given the fact that the apples taste good to ME, I was really concerned about her reaction to carrots. My. God. She sucked down carrots like she’s been waiting her whole life for them.
• Mia turned 5 months old on Saturday. As usual, I will be posting her monthly letter late.
• My students are the spawn of the devil. Have I mentioned that lately? Have I mentioned that I am busting my ass to prepare them for a state end-of-course test that will literally determine whether or not they have to repeat my class, and I have to fight with them daily in order to get them to complete the reviews? Have I mentioned that I will be happier to be rid of them in 8 days than I would be if I won the freaking LOTTERY?

The title speaks such volumes about the approaching end of the school year that I am not sure what else needs to be said.

I made pineapple salsa last night. It was quite tasty, and I will post the recipe that I loosely followed. I never really follow recipes–I am told it is because I have a problem with reading and following instructions, but I think it stems from my intense depth of creativity.* Whatever the reason, my culinary creations always turn out okay, or much better than okay; such is the case with the pineapple salsa. The recipe called for chopped green chiles, but I only had chopped jalapenos, so my salsa was horrendously hot. I don’t really do hot, but the salsa was so good I kept eating it. Apparently what they say about hot foods suppressing the appetite is true: I pretty much had salsa for dinner, and I haven’t been very hungry at all today. I’m also happy to report that my sinuses, which have been stuffy and irritated for weeks, are now clear as a bell. Note to self: eat more salsa–it’s cheaper than that Zyrtec prescription.

I spent some time on the screened porch listening to night approach, but sadly, I didn’t make it to Earth Fare for my chocolate fix. Mia fell asleep on me, and it was either cuddle or risk waking her by putting her in the car seat. I chose to cuddle. I’ve planned a rendezvous with those cookies for later this evening, though, which will coincide nicely with J’s suggestion of Sin Day. Gayle and Mia and I are having dinner at Fuddruckers (where I spent a great deal of time during the 2nd and 3rd trimesters–Mia should feel right at home) and I can hardly wait to down an ice cold beer.

Thanks to the Memorial Day holiday there’s no school on Monday. Mia and I are heading to Papa’s house and Nonna’s family reunion Saturday and Sunday. My mother’s mother has 5 sisters and 4 living brothers (and 3 deceased), so we have a huge family. They’ll be meeting Mia for the first time, and I’m excited–they were such a huge part of my childhood and I want her to know them. I plan to take lots of pictures. Of course, I haven’t packed the first item, and I’m not looking forward to that process. My goal is to abide by the rule I always made my students follow when we traveled abroad: don’t pack more than you can carry in one load. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I don’t think I can express in words how happy it makes me that we are down to 10. Ten days. A mere two work weeks. If this were a video blog I would share with you an interpretive dance that conveys my true feelings about this milestone. But it is not a video blog, and you should be grateful for that. I am so happy about hitting the 10-day mark that even though I am yet again covering a class during my planning period, I am not tense or stressed or irritated. Something about the proximity of 10 to 9, which is a single digit number, is freeing, exhilarating. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. My mind is starting to clear. It is becoming possible to think of things not related to work, important things, like the war between Rosie and Elisabeth, and why nothing will grow in that one spot in my flower garden (cat pee, I’m guessing).

I continue to enjoy my “things go look forward to” list. It is a testament to the bonds created by blogging that one can make a request and receive so many creative, sincere responses. In the great scheme of things, my annoying students are no match for many of the things people are going through in the blog world these days, but you rose to the occasion anyway, and I am grateful.

Having said all of that, I did not complete last night’s suggestion–Trista’s suggestion–to make a cool recipe and eat it on my screened porch. Truth be told, I was experiencing horrible PMS and could not bear to think of actually making something, and something healthy at that (I was planning to make pineapple salsa). So I ate half a frozen pizza and a handful of chocolate covered espresso beans, drank half a bottle of diet Coke, and called it a night. Mia and I played on my bed for a while, and then on the living room floor, and after I put her to bed I took a LONG HOT SHOWER, compliments of my now depleted savings account. I popped a handful of Aleve for cramps and fell fast asleep and had really weird dreams all night long, and this morning I woke feeling drugged and listless. And crampy, of course, having taken the last of the Aleve before bed. Oh, the joys of being a girl.

Fortunately, that funk only lasts about 18 hours, and I am closing in on hour 18, so I can begin to think about the joyous things I have to look forward to today. First of all, I am taking Jen’s suggestion to eat lots of chocolate to Earth Fare, wherein resides my new favorite cookie, the wheat and gluten free double chocolate fudge chunk cookie. I am not allergic to wheat or gluten, but damn, those are the best cookies I’ve ever eaten. Also on my list of good things today is my haircut, which is scheduled for 4:oo. Thank. God. I haven’t had long hair since 4th grade, and I don’t actually have long hair now, but pieces of it are long enough to somehow make their way into my mouth while I’m eating or brushing my teeth, and that is just gross. So I’m very happy about that impending event. And because I skipped out on yesterday’s moment of joy, I’m going to make the salsa this evening. And then I’m probably going to need to run around the block a few times to rid myself of all those cookie calories.

I’ve always been a lover of irony. Today is just full of it, though, and I’m starting to rethink my love. For one thing, today’s message from the Universe–on spot, no? Especially that part about the challenges. Yeah. I assumed The Almighty was talking about the challenges I already knew about–the 14-year-old ones who occupy my days and suck out my patience like so many multi-colored Pixie Sticks. Remember those? You think you have so much, and yet, when you turn up the paper tube there’s hardly anything in there at all. Much like my patience level these days. But I digress. I spent the morning scoffing at my lack of patience, ignoring my students’ antics, smiling serenely, knowing that in a few short hours I’d get to go home and spend the afternoon with my daughter. Home. Yes. Home, where, within 30 minutes of my arrival, water started pouring from an as yet undetermined source in the vicinity of my hot water heater. I am waiting for the plumber, and I have turned off my water at its main source, and I am all the hell out of Pixie Sticks. I mean patience. I took the Universe’s reference to challenges to mean the ordinary ones. The Universe said nothing about plumbing. And all that talk about spending the afternoon at the park? Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it? No more half days for me.

Also ironic about the Universe’s message: that part about getting plenty of sleep. My child, my sleeps-all-night-and-has-since-9-weeks child, has taken to waking up anywhere between 3 and 5 a.m. She doesn’t cry, she just makes noise. Loud noise. Sometimes she fusses, sometimes she just talks to herself. It lasts around 30 minutes and then she goes back to sleep. But. I. Don’t.

There is good news, however. Last night I created these:

I know they sort of look like giant coconut macaroons, but they are, indeed, bagels. I almost didn’t make them because of the whole boiling thing, which sort of freaked me out, but it was SO easy and now I am fascinated by the whole process. The best part of all–and if you are stressed out, take note–was the kneading of the dough. I kicked that dough’s ASS. I am talking slamming, punching, squeezing–it was so satisfying. I could have just thrown the whole thing away and had a beer at that point, but I like to see things through. I made 8 bagels–2 plain and 6 garlic and onion. I even mixed some chopped green olives into my cream cheese. I had one for dinner and it was okay, but this morning they tasted even better, more bagel-like. Hot out of the oven they had a strange taste. I’ll remember that next time. I also won’t make them on a “school night” again, because there at the end I was running from the kitchen to wherever Mia happened to be at the moment (swing, bouncer, floor, high chair) and when it was all over she was hungry, and by the time I finally sat down to eat a bagel I was exhausted.

So thanks, Cali, for the excellent suggestion–I highly recommend it!

Tomorrow I’m making pineapple salsa. I can’t wait!

I should really be putting the finishing touches on a poetry test and making sure I know what the hell I’m teaching in less than an hour, but I promised a report on Friday’s “good thing,” and besides, I’d rather talk to the internet than work anyway.

On Friday after dinner I filled up the bathtub, poured some of Mia’s lavender nighttime bath into the water, and tossed in the waterproof books and rubber fish. Mia has always liked the water, but I was not prepared for how much she liked being in deep water. We’re talking ecstatic–arms waving, legs kicking every which way, face simply glowing with excitement. It was not the most relaxing bath I’ve ever taken, but it was possibly the most entertaining. We’ll definitely be taking more “big baths.” 

Today I’m going to attempt to make my own bagels. I’m nervously excited. Bagels have to be boiled. Did you know? I’ll let you know how it goes.

By the way, thanks for the continued great suggestions (new ones are in red, edits are in blue). I’m going to gain back some of these pounds I’ve been trying to get rid of, but it’s SO going to be worth it.

Monday, May 21: Calliope suggested making my own bagels, so I found a recipe and plan to buy the ingredients and try it out on Monday night.

Tuesday, May 22: EDITED: I am taking Tuesday afternoon off, so I get to look forward to having a whole afternoon with Mia. I am thinking we might go to the park and then have dinner at P@nera with the giftcard I got for Mother’s Day. Or we might just hang out at home and play, which is something I look forward to every day.

Wednesday, May 23: Trista suggested making a cool recipe and eating it on my screened porch with a friend. I’m going to make pineapple salsa, and I will eat it with Hint o’Lime chips on my screened porch. I will think about sharing it with someone.

Thursday, May 24: Jen suggested chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate. On Thursday I’ll go somewhere and buy something really sinfully chocolate and eat it all by myself.

Friday, May 25: Laguilia suggested lots of great things, so on Friday morning I’m going to stop at Panera for breakfast on the way to work, and then, weather permitting, plan a Friday afternoon visit to one of my city’s cool parks. EDITED: I just found out that our newest park, which is downtown–very cool, lots of fountains and benches and free Wi-Fi–has free music on Friday evenings!

Tuesday, May 29: EDITED: Rescheduled Scrabble and beer with my sister.

Wednesday, May 30: My college friendRosemary (Hey, Bud!) suggested I have London Night. We spent a semester there sophomore year, and it was one of the very best times of my life. We used to buy these huge chocolate gateau cakes and sit around the table eating the cake right out of the box.* Good times. So on Wednesday I’m going to buy the closest thing to that cake I can find and eat it while flipping through my London scrapbook.

Thursday, May 31: Lo suggested watching movies, and on Thursday evening I’ll watch whatever is in from Netflix. I’ve been keeping light, humorous titles at the top of my queue, so I’ll pop some popcorn and be entertained.

Friday, June 1: J suggested an Evening of Sin. Excellent! I usually eat out with Gayle on Friday nights, so I’m going to suggest Red Robin for burgers and fries and one of my few vices, a fountain Diet Coke. Then, once at home (if I can still swallow food), I’ll have a cocktail (hey J, can I get that recipe?) and one of those Betty Crocker mini chocolate cakes (YUM!).

Monday, June 4

Tuesday, June 5

Wednesday, June 6

Thursday, June

Friday, June 8

*Lest you think Rosemary and I ate the cake alone, there were four, sometimes five, occasionally six people gathered around with spoons in hand. Just so you know.

Yesterday I looked forward to spending the evening with my friends Joy and Charlie. It was a splendid ending to a Sucks Average* day. Today’s pleasant goals included dinner at Tripp’s with Gayle and Mia, and a warm lavender bath (perhaps with the kid in tow) as suggested by twonymoms. My shoulders are crawling quite a bit today, and also hurting–today has been Sucks Worse Than Average (see below) day– so the bath is definitely something I’m looking forward to.

When I started this post it was 2:30 in the afternoon. It is now 8:52 p.m. Dinner was great, and I’m still looking forward to that bath.

So far I’ve received several additional suggestions and have assigned them a date.  I’m not entirely sure, but I think Bri suggested that I hit my students with a cane. This was the best I received overall, and plan to spend my whole lunch every day fantasizing about it. There are still several open days if you’d like to suggest something else. 

Monday, May 21: Calliope suggested making my own bagels, so I found a recipe and plan to buy the ingredients and try it out on Monday night.

Tuesday, May 22: SCRABBLE with my sister, my 19-year-old sister who also suggested we drink alcoholic beverages!**

Wednesday, May 23: Trista suggested making a cool recipe and eating it on my screened porch with a friend. I’m going to make pineapple salsa, and I will eat it with Hint o’Lime chips on my screened porch. I will think about sharing it with someone.

Thursday, May 24: Jen suggested chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate. On Thursday I’ll go somewhere and buy something really sinfully chocolate and eat it all by myself.

Friday, May 25: Laguilia suggested lots of great things, so on Friday morning I’m going to stop at Panera for breakfast on the way to work, and then, weather permitting, plan a Friday afternoon visit to one of my city’s cool parks.

Tuesday, May 29

Wednesday, May 30

Thursday, May 31

Friday, June 1

Monday, June 4

Tuesday, June 5

Wednesday, June 6

Thursday, June 7

Friday, June 8

*I judge work on a Sucks More or Less basis. If a day is really horrible, it Sucks More than Average. If it’s a decent day, it Sucks Less Than Average. A typical day Sucks Average.

**Maybe I’ll let her use Mia’s fake ID.

Not counting today there are 15 school days remaining on my work calendar. I tried to post a nifty little ticker to commemorate the countdown, but it didn’t go over so well. So I thought I’d try something a little different.

My mantra has always been a combination of “I can do anything for a limited amount of time” and “Someday I’ll be looking BACK at this instead of staring it in the face.” And to help myself cope I’ve always operated on the “Something To Look Forward To” theory. I often plan things–happy, fun, relaxing things–in advance during difficult times so that I can look at my calendar and think, “Sure, this sucks, but in 9 days I’m getting a pedicure,” or, “I may not be enjoying myself now, but I will certainly enjoy spending the weekend in the mountains next month.” It isn’t exactly the same as wishing my life away…more like working toward a pleasant goal. And right now my “pleasant goal” is getting rid of these cretins seeing these children off for the summer.

I know I often talk about how intensely this time of year sucks in the schools. The kids think we should stop doing work, and their behavior is at an all time low. It is actually an expenditure of energy for me not to curse at them. I fantasize about hitting them. I look at my countdown on the board–”T-minus 15 days until the last day of school”–and it feels like 15 years. The end result, that shining last day marked with a huge star on the calendar, just isn’t quite enough. I need some mini-goals–a small shining star for each of the next 15 days.

Here’s where you come in. In the comments, please suggest something I could do in the evenings that I can look forward to while I am at work. Please do not suggest that I go out to a local bar and get drunk; Mia’s fake ID hasn’t come in yet, and even though she has more hair than I do, I don’t think I can pass her off as an unusually short 21-year-old just yet. However, suggesting that I stay home and get drunk is perfectly acceptable.

Kidding. I kid (although new cocktail recipes are always welcome). But seriously. Please share some glimmers of happiness with me. I will do what you suggest each day, and sometime the next morning I’ll blog about how wonderful your suggestion was and how it helped me survive one. more. day. 

Teacher: We need bees to pollinate flowers–if not for the bees we’d have a shortage of plant life.  

Student: Why do we need flowers anyway? We don’t eat them.

Teacher: Most fruits and vegetables start out as flowers. If there were no flowers we’d have no fruit.

Student: I don’t eat fruit. I eat meat.

Teacher: What about grass? The cows need grass.

Student: Man, there ain’t no flowers on grass. You crazy.

Teacher [trying to change the subject]: Trust me. We need the bees. Now, moving on…

Student [muttering]: I wish we ain’t had no grass. More room to build things on, yo.

And also….

Teacher: Pollen spreads many different ways. For example, water can move pollen.

Same student: So if you swimming in water that has pollen in it, you swimming in sperm, right?

In response to my request for blogging material, Lo suggested more battle stories like the one about the girl plucking her facial hair and the kids playing poker in the class I had to cover on Monday. Unfortunately, there are so many such stories in a day that I try to deprogram my brain on the way home every afternoon so that I don’t wake up screaming in the middle of the night and, in a feverish dream state, email the superintendent my curse-filled letter of resignation. However, it’s only 2:00, so here’s today’s list for your consideration:

1. Every morning I make a pot of coffee in my classroom and then I mainline it drink it while I’m working at my desk during my planning period. It is the only thing I look forward to about coming to work in the morning, and if I had a coffee pot at home I would probably quit my job and just drink coffee in my living room. I make the coffee at work on purpose: once I have poured that first cup I can almost feel positive about the rest of the day, and that is a big deal. This morning I filled the reservoir with water and then carried the filter basket over to the fridge where I keep the coffee and filters. I spooned the coffee into the filter, opened the fridge to put away the coffee, and knocked the filter basket into the sink. The filter basket containing the filter. And the coffee. The finely ground coffee. Praise be to Juan Valdez that it wasn’t the last of the coffee, but damn, what a sad sight it was to see that precious substance scattered, unusable, in my grungy classroom sink.
2. Later in my planning period I went to the faculty restroom–my one pee break of the day, which comes, of course, at a time when I really don’t have to pee. I know this is probably horrible, but I never paper the seat at work–not in the staff restroom, anyway. I know these people; I wouldn’t paper the seat at their places of residence. Besides, those bathrooms get cleaned every night. But this morning. This morning I sat right down on the seat. A wet seat. I was so horrified that I jumped right up, grabbed a paper towel, shoved it under the faucet and turned to wash the seat, er, my seat–and dripped water all over myself. Specifically, I dripped water down my pants.  A lot of water. I am still completely grossed out by the whole experience. And now I really have to pee.
3. My classes have been learning about I have been attempting to teach literary devices (irony, foreshadowing, characterization, conflict, etc.) as they apply to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet for the past month. We have discussed these terms ad nauseum, especially foreshadowing and the three types of irony, as Will relies heavily on those to build suspense in the annoying story of two sex-crazed teenagers who make impulsive decisions that eventually kill them tragedy. We finished reading the play on Friday, and today’s final test marks the end of the unit. I have lost count of the students who have raised their hands to ask me the meanings of the words “ironic” and “foreshadowed.” For instance, “What do you mean by ‘foreshadowed’–is that like foreshadowing?” Even now, hours later, I am too incredulous to comment.
4. The biology class that meets in my room 1st period is studying diseases, and today they entered the ugly world of HIV. The teacher is young but knowledgeable and competent; the students are among the most disrespectful and obnoxious I’ve seen in 11 years on the job. She started the AIDS lesson by showing the class a brief video that goes with her textbook. Every time the narrator said the words “sex,” “homosexual,” ”intercourse,” etc. the students laughed hysterically. They laughed hysterically when the narrator explained that a pregnant woman with AIDS had to deliver her baby via C-section in an effort to protect the baby from transmission through vaginal fluid (I’m guessing it was the word “vaginal”?). Their reaction to a woman who contracted AIDS from a transfusion saying that when she found out she had the disease, she bought a house so she’d have a place to die: hysterical laughter. And more hysterical laughter ensued when they followed up the video and some notes and class discussion with a lab that illustrates how quickly one person can transmit the disease through contact with multiple partners. Every time they “exchanged fluids” (flour), some of which were laced with “AIDS” (baking soda), they screamed with laughter and loudly exclaimed, “I just had sex with you!” Upon having the “HIV test” (vinegar) applied to their sample, they were so obnoxious that they missed the entire point of the lab, spilled flour all over my desks, and disturbed the teacher next door enough to warrant a personal visit requesting them to settle down so his students could finish a test. The students in this class are more than likely more sexually active than most adults you know; they talk about sex like my friends and I used to talk about playing softball or shopping. Their nonchalance puts them at risk, and I’m not sure they even know. Even worse, I don’t think they even care.
5. And then there was that boy in my honors class who a) farted out loud; b) got mad when the girl who sits in front of him protested; c) announced loudly that “it didn’t even stink;” and then d) tried to deny that he farted.

If you’re counting with me, there are 20 days remaining in this school year.

If you go back and read my May entries from 2005 and 2006 you’ll notice a pattern. It’s quite similar to the one that is developing for May 2007. I don’t blog much in May. Not only is it a–how shall I say nicely?–trying time in the public schools, but it’s also the time of year when my graduate classes are ending and I’m scrambling to get my final assignments turned in. I’m happy to report that I did indeed submit my final assignment yesterday, but not so happy to report that I am covering yet another class during my planning period. The teacher left plans that required me to instruct the students–in Spanish! In 11 years of teaching I have never left sub plans that asked a substitute teacher to actually teach my classes, and as a sub-for-the-morning, I’m refusing to teach this class. It’s a small class–10 kids in all–and as long as they are not fighting or having sex my job here is done. Most of them are working on other assignments, but one girl is plucking her facial hair with amazing speed, and some of them are playing poker. Perhaps I should join them. That’s the only way I would get paid for my time in this classroom.

Believe it or not, I didn’t intend to bitch about work today. It just happens. My intention was to explain my absence, an explanation I have offered twice before. Please don’t go away, and in fact, if you’d like to help me out, please suggest post topics as it is much easier for me to work from an assignment than to be insightful and creative all on my own.

1. Today a kid asked, out loud, during class time, “Why do we have so many principals around here?” I started to tell him (one, because one of our assistants spends half the day here and half the day at our other sites, and two, the new principal for next year is going to be with us for the rest of the year), and he looked at me and said, “I wasn’t talking to you.” Asshole.

2. We are reading Romeo and Juliet, and I have a few kids in one class who refuse to even TRY to follow along with the tapes (I let them listen to the Kenneth Branaugh stage production on audio tape and we follow along in the book) because it’s “too confusin’, yo.” I know it’s hard to understand at first, so I also show them, one act at a time, the 1968 Zefferelli film because it’s a good rendition of the original. The kids who complain are either a) talking or b) sleeping. And I am expected to prepare these children for the state end-of-course test.

 3. At least once a week, in at least one of my classes, someone will fart, make a big scene about the smell, and blame it on someone else. On the rare occasion, a kid will actually raise his hand during a class discussion or while we are reading and ask to go outside to pass gas. Hilarity ensues.

 4. All of my classes are required to read a novel of their choice by May 10. I am taking them to the library tomorrow, and today we discussed the assignment that will accompany the reading. I met with cooperation and agreement in both of my standard classes, but in my honors classes I was asked or told the following:

• “I only read on a 4th grade level. Can I read Green Eggs and Ham?”
• “Can I read a Captain Underpants book?”
• “What? We only have 2 weeks to read a whole book?”
• “Can I do mine on Sports Illustrated, yo? I don’t read books.”

4. In that same class I took away two iPods during the viewing of Romeo and Juliet. They were listening to Ron White (They Call me Tater Salad). I like Ron White, and I like the Tater Salad story, but in this situation it reminds me of an old saying: you can’t make chicken salad out of chicken shit. Too bad, because boy, do I have a roomful of it.

 I am stabbing myself in the eye right now.

…to be continued.

I’ve been taking a young adult literature class for my master’s degree. We’ve read a little of everything–problem novels, poetry, historical fiction, mystery and horror, romance, adventure. My current required reading list includes a graphic novel of my choice. I don’t like graphic novels. They are too busy for me, too much on the page, and it’s sometimes hard to tell if you’re supposed to read across the page or down. That being said, I’ve enjoyed many of the titles I’ve read for the class, but It’s been a long time since I was so captivated by a book that I wanted to miss work to read it. Until now. And that book, the one I wanted to spend my day with, is a graphic novel. If you are a fan of graphic novels (this one is actually an autobiography), or if you love Alison Bechdel, do not delay–go now and find a copy of Fun Home.

 ~~~

I watched Charlotte’s Weblast weekend, and while it was as wonderful as I’d expected it to be, the spider scared the bejesus out of me. It’s just a computer-generated graphic, I know, but it LOOKS. SO. REAL. After a few minutes I got past my revulsion, but the movie made me think of something most unpleasant. Spiders like dark, cool corners where they can be creepy and eat bugs in peace. My desk, which is in a building which happens to be in the woods, is just such a place. Because it is hotter than the earth’s core in my classroom, the outside door is open most of the day. Things can crawl in if they wish to do so. Now I am freaked out about sitting at my desk. Even now, just thinking about that vast expanse of spider-friendly darkness where my legs are makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. To make matters worse, I am wearing a pair of capri pants with ties at the calf, and they keep brushing against my ankles, and if I get through the day without cracking a kneecap on the desk or falling down, it will be a freakin’ miracle.

 ~~~

I might have a new job, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’m experiencing a heightened state of superstition. A red superstition alert, you might say. Just keep your fingers crossed.

 ~~~

Speaking of work, the man who is to be our New Principal next year has joined our staff for the remainder of the year. He and Acting Principal are wonderful, and you can almost imagine that, given some time, this place might someday be good again, the way it used to be when I started working here. The really weird thing is that no one talks about Old Principal anymore. It is as if she never existed. It’s strange.

 ~~~

And also speaking of work, the School Formerly Known as My Workplace has been leveled, and preparations are being made for the temporary buildings that will serve as a school for the next 3-4 years. On Saturday we had the opportunity to go collect whatever was recovered from the building before they destroyed it. I actually had 6 boxes of stuff, most of which I will toss in the trash due to mold, or because it’s useless (the stuff I used was out in the open, so I’m sure it was destroyed by smoke and water). But one of the boxes contained a hanging folder full of notes and pictures students had given me over a 10 year period, and another contained a ceramic coffee mug I bought at Eddie Bauer my first year of teaching. It is wide at the base, very sturdy with rubber on the bottom, and on the side it says “Never confuse having a career with having a life.” I once unknowingly drove all the way to work with it on top of my car, full of coffee, and when I got there it was still sitting there, not a drop of the still-hot coffee spilled. It is not even dusty after its time in the destroyed building. I am certain that mug could survive nuclear halocaust. I am glad to have it back.

I drove by the site of my former workplace yesterday. It’s REALLY gone now. Nothing there but a concrete foundation and a flagpole. If I hadn’t known were I was, I wouldn’t have known where I was. It was eerie, but completely unemotional. I think knowing that my stuff is no longer accessible is actually a relief. Nothing like demolition to bring about closure.

~

My spring break starts on Tuesday afternoon. For everyone else in my school system, break started Friday, but thanks to the fire, Friday and Monday are fire make-up days. I think this is grossly unfair. Our state has a make-up exemption policy for schools with extenuating circumstances. A few years ago a hurricane–Charley? Floyd? Ophelia?–damaged several schools on the North Carolina coast, and students missed several days, maybe even weeks, of school. The state excused many, if not most, of the days, but only because the LEA (Local Education Agency) superintendent petitioned the state legislative bodies. I’m guessing that since our days weren’t excused, Principal didn’t petition our super, and the super didn’t petition the state, so we are losing yet another two days (we lost a day of Thanksgiving break and two days of Christmas break, not to mention all but one spring semester workday). All of this means I will probably have lots of absentees Monday, and those who do come to school (including me) will be bitterly annoyed about being there.

~

What I really meant to say before I went on a tirade about make-up days was that I’m really looking forward to a few days off. Sheesh.

~

Finally, I missed my 2nd anniversary. My blog anniversary, that is. It was March 15th. Wow. Two years of blogging. I went back and read some of my early entries, and rather than being annoyed by myself or critical of my own writing, which is usually the case, I was pleased and quite glad I decided to start a blog. Blogging has been good for me in so many ways. Here’s to another year.

Can anyone tell me the part of speech of the word “yo”? As in, “Get up off my ass, yo!” or “Yo, what is this shit?” Because the next time I hear it, I’m thinking of making the offending speaker define it, provide its etymology, write and diagram 10 sentences containing it, and then swear on pain of death NEVER TO USE IT AGAIN.

Good Lord, my job is thrilling.

I wonder if this is what Pompeii was like
in the weeks and months after Vesuvius blew,
ash and broken furniture littering the rooms
where children played, friends laughed, where music
and literature, science and mathematics drifted
like smoke through the open doors and windows.
There are no stone encrusted bodies here, clinging
for dear life, no vacant-eyed dogs begging–only
ghostly cats nesting in the wreckage, peering out
from behind an upturned desk, a charred bookcase,
the art studio floor, no longer on the second story–
but there are voices in these eerie halls,
like those I heard in the stone streets that long ago summer,
voices of teachers and books and bells rising
into the air, mingling with the black dust and the sounds
of bulldozers and backhoes come to bury the past.

Note: They finally leveled the building last week. My friend Elaine took these pictures a few days before the bulldozers arrived. Since I was never allowed near the building, I never got to see my room again after the day of the evacuation, so I am strangely glad to have these. There are several more here, with notes and some descriptions.

I am almost afraid to announce that I actually had an entire planning period all to myself today. I got to make seating charts! I got to grade papers! I got to make copies! Oh, will the joy never cease? The good news is that I shouldn’t have to cover any more classes this week after Friday’s incident involving our new (to me, as she came while I was on leave) assistant principal and our blubbering secretary, She Who Cries Over Everything. You see, when SWCOE asked me to cover my 2nd class of the week on Thursday, I’m afraid I wasn’t nice about it. I’m afraid I might have had a…strong…reaction. So on Friday morning when my classroom phone rang before class and I saw it was New Assistant (that’s right, kids–caller ID in the classroom!), I knew what she was going to say before I said “hello.” I was right.

It seems SWCOE needed someone to cover a class, and since I am one of three people with 1st period planning, I was up yet again. I should note here that our county has a sophisticated automated substitute calling system that, in theory, is wonderful and easy to use. In reality, however, it is very ineffective because it’s very easy to hang up on an automated voice, and not at all rude. But hanging up on a real person is frowned upon, so when no subs pick up the jobs it falls to SWCOE to secure class coverage from teachers on the day of the absence, and what are we supposed to say to her? I’m telling you, she cries. Often. And a lot. When asked recently why she didn’t spend her time calling SUBS instead of teachers, she replied, just before she burst into tears, “It’s not my responsibility to find a sub. The teacher is supposed to do that.” Indeed. So that’s why she spends every morning asking teachers to be subs. Rocket science, I tell you!

Anyway, after my response the day before, SWCOE apparently didn’t want to do the asking, so I suppose she told on me, because I received a cheery call from New Assistant explaining that my services were needed, and that they wouldn’t call on me the following week, and that they would give me trade time in exchange for covering the classes, to be used on the upcoming April 3 teacher workday. Here’s a newsflash for you idiots: what with all the planning time I’m losing thanks to my unexpected new job as an unpaid sub, and since the last 11 years of my professional life are mildewing into oblivion in the School Formerly Known as _____, I HAVE TO COME TO WORK ON THE WORKDAY ANYWAY!

But that’s not what I meant to talk about here. I meant to talk about how I haven’t been posting much lately because my left shoulder feels like a nest of tiny black ants has built its kingdom inside the muscle at the base of my neck and are traveling with some frequency down to the tips of my fingers to search for food. Seriously, I think there is something bad wrong with my shoulder, people. I would love to blame work, but it was acting up some before last week. Work just made it worse. What made it in the first place, I’m sorry to say, was Mia. I hold, feed, carry, and otherwise support her with my left arm and shoulder, and before some brilliant person suggests I switch sides, really, don’t you think I’ve thought of that? Yes, and I’ve tried it, and it doesn’t work. I’m right-handed, so if I’m holding her in my right arm and balancing the bottle with my chin, my left hand simply isn’t dexterous enough to simultaneously flip channels, pop the Natty Light caps,* keep my Camels lit AND work my Fantasy Nascar pool on the internet.

Sadly, someone will read that last sentence and exclaim, “OH MY GOD, SHE’S BOTTLE FEEDING THAT POOR BABY!” and to those people I say, “Let’s focus on what’s important here! There are insects inside my shoulder!” I could almost deal with pain. Pain I understand. This is not pain. This is…I don’t know what this is. Tension? Tightness? Gradual destruction of my nerve endings? Please, somebody suggest a remedy–I have tried everything. Ibuprofen. Ben-gay. Alcohol. Crack. Even my beloved yoga doesn’t work–stretching just makes the ants angry, and holding a pose is impossible, what with the CONSTANT CRAWLING FEELING, MY GOD THE CRAWLING.

I almost didn’t mention this here, lest you all think I have completely lost my mind, but then I remembered that between the lot of us we’ve pretty much seen it all, and someone will pipe up and exclaim, “Ohhhhh, yeeeaahhh, the ANTS. Here’s what you do.” Yeah. You. I’m waiting.

Meanwhile, I’ve made an appointment to have a nice long massage. On that April 3rd teacher workday. Because God forbid I actually get any work done AT WORK. I guess I’ll have to call in sick to accomplish that feat. Gee, I hope I can get a sub.

*Megan, I threw that one in JUST for you. And in case the rest of you were wondering, I don’t really do crack, smoke Camels, or play Fantasy Nascar. But the baby bottles? Those are real, and if you want to give me shit for that, may a million ants take up residence in YOUR shoulder. 

Guess what I just finished doing DURING MY PLANNING PERIOD FOR THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK!!

Meet Crystal.

I have been back to work for three full days and part of one class period. I have first period planning. Of four first periods, I’ve been called to cover classes twice. For the ENTIRE. 90MINUTE. BLOCK. I teach for the rest of the day, minus a 27 minute lunch. My students have to eat in my room because the cafeteria will only hold 60 kids. The only thing I was looking forward to about work today was pulling a desk onto the landing outside my classroom during planning and plugging the new Indigo Girls CD into my earphones while I worked on grades. Now I will not be alone for the rest of the day unless I manage to run to the bathroom during lunch for 2 minutes.

So, yeah, in case you were wondering, it sucks.