Fuck my life...

I love my job.  I love my job. I love my job.

Fuck my life.

If I didn't love my job, then fuck my life.

It's a good thing that I love my job and give a fuck about what the hell I do, because otherwise I would just say fuck this shit.

Instead, I'll just go with fuck my life.

My mother read my blog today, while we were in the doctor's office and she just said...

Michelle, you seem a little bit frustrated with your job.

Ain't that the truth?

I got an end of day message from my principal that I was going into my observation window..... TOMORROW!!!

WTF???  Panic mode!

1. Tawanda is a mess.  She is spitting on other kids and out of control.  I can't take my eyes off of her for a second and I think that I am about to lose my mind.

2.  My other kids are a mess.  Tawanda is spitting on the them... seriously?  Can you blame them?

3.  I'm a mess.  I'm disorganized and confused.  One kid has me in a freaking tizzy.  I'm throwing interventions at her left and right, but nothing is working.  I'm staying after school to write soliloquies to her therapist, but to no avail.

I know that I'm doing a good job, but I sure as hell don't want my observation right now.  I've got to act and act fast.  I talk with the structured learning teacher, who is a badass.  She runs down the lists of interventions.  Did you try...

defining the space?
recess detention?
lunch detention?
positive reinforcement?
theft deterrent structures?
positive thinking reinforcements?
cleaning up the mess?
writing an apology letter?
saying sorry?
counseling referral?
behavior documentation?
parent communication?

YEEESSSSSS!!!!!

I rattle off a bunch of other stuff that we do in the classroom.  And then she says those magic words that hadn't occurred to me yet....

You know that you have the right of refusal....

Huh?  Yeah.... but won't that make admin mad at me.

No... in fact, if you just make the case that your kids aren't able to learn, which, obviously, they aren't, and you can show that you have taken the steps to provide appropriate interventions, then you have the right to refuse any student that is preventing instruction and learning from occurring in your classroom.

SWEEEEEEEEETTTTT!!!!!

So, I have to call my mom to get her to take my daughter to the doctor for me so that I can exercise my right of refusal before tomorrow by meeting with someone on admin.   Which brings me to the point where I am saying to my mother how frustrated I am once I finally do make it to the doctor's office.

Because even after I get the sweet respite that I won't have Tawanda in my class tomorrow, I still find out that my kid is sick and running a fever and have to plan with my folks how to stay home with her and wake up early tomorrow so I can go in early and get things ready just in case I get observed, so I won't be panicky.

Keep your fingers crossed for me.  And Tawanda... she's gonna need it.  She's going to be in the structured classroom for a while it seems.

Yeah, well....

So much for leaving on time today.  Arrived 7:10 am.  Left 6:00 pm.  It's my own damn fault for not having my plans done, for having to have tutoring on Mondays, and for being absolutely unable to walk out the door when I know my principal is looking for something from me.  It's the I cannot fail disease.  When you are the only income, I guess that is a good disease to have.  Even if you want to have the I don't give a fucking fuck disease, in my case it's probably better to come down with a bad case of cannot-fail.

Gonna go get baby girl out of the crib and snuggle her tonight.  Hopefully, she won't crawl out of my bed.  Matt and my mom tell me that if they aren't falling off of the bed then you aren't doing something right.  I think that's what they tell me.  Maybe it's just... if she falls off of the the bed, you aren't the absolute worst mother in the world.  Eh, I'll take either one.

Maybe I can vaccinate myself with some, totally organized, completely efficient, always focused and clear headed disease so that I can actually just take a breath and work like a normal person for once.

FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK my life (sometimes.... not all the time... just till I get my shit in gear.)

The Principal's Office

My permanent record is pretty much golden.  Not one trip to the principal's office.  Never.  Not ever.  Not even after I toilet papered the principal's house with my best friend and then ran over his water mainline when he blocked us in the driveway.  I probably would have been expelled, but I didn't get caught.  No one made a peep even after I wrote a personal narrative about my little adventure for Junior year English.  

I had another close call in first grade.  My mother loves to retell this story.  

Michelle came home from school and said she got her name on the board for helping Tony take his boots off.  So, I went up to that school and I asked the teacher what she had done that was just so terrible.  And the teacher said ever so sweetly, "But you see, Tony didn't WANT his boots off!"

My mom just cracks up at that part.  I'm not sure if it's because I was so unhelpfully helpful or because at the tender age of seven, I was already manhandling the would-be-men in my class.  Either way, I missed my ticket to the principal's office due to my teacher's good nature.  In the class of another, I might not have fared so well.

It's a good thing that those permanent record things, aren't that permanent or my adult self would be in a heap of trouble for marring that pristine document.  Today, I got called into the principal's office.  It wasn't pretty.  It certainly wasn't my first time since I started getting called into the principal's office, which was sometime back in 2009(-ish).  (Holla-attcha, Mrs. Trout, and, by the way, FUCK YOU!!!)  

On the bright side, my current principal is NOTHING like Mrs. Trout.  That is because my current principal is a good and decent and rational person with a good heart that cares about children AND her teachers AND staff.  She is the opposite of a two-faced cold-hearted amoral self-serving jackass with whom I am familiar.  My current principal is practically an angel by comparison.  

Angel or not,  new principal knows how to smack down.  She is succinct, to the point, and cuts to the chase.  She mixes in a little Encyclopedia Brown style questioning/concern.... How are you doing?  What's going on with you?  (You know, she's making sure that nobody in family has died and that I'm not recently diagnosed with something awful.  I can respect that... nice move.)  Then, boom, so I notice that you've come to school late the past two mornings. (I've gotten there at 7:18 and 7:19.  The bell rings at 7:20 and that's when we pick up the kids.  We are supposed to be at school by 7:10.)  You know, Michelle, it's very important that you are here on time.  

Blah, blah, blah... some other stuff.....  I won't bore you to death with it all.  Suffice to say, I better not show up late one more day and I better have the kids all set and ready to stick with our plans.  No more cleaning out desks during intervention time.  (I did have to tell her that we were cleaning out desks, because last semester one of the kids had a roach crawl out of their desk and I thought it was necessary to clean them all out, even if it took a little extra time.)  

The good news is that my principal was well within her bounds of reasonableness to talk with me about being late and even to check on whether I was going to be doing intervention.  I think it gave me a moment to let her know that I was recalibrating for the year at the start of the new semester and to hear what was important to her... i.e. timeliness in general and working in small groups for interventions.  This was a good thing for me to focus on for my future.  

As they say, every cloud has a silver lining.  If I have learned anything, that is the God's honest truth.  If you can't see the good out of the bad, then you aren't looking hard enough, and you aren't getting the message.  For all of the dislike that I have for Mrs. Trout (Fuck you, again, you fired up my engines all over again with your latest bullshit stunt - sorry - I have Tourrette's, when I think about that woman sometimes and I just start typing crazy shit) um, back to... for all of the dislike that I have for Mrs. Trout, I credit a lot of my current happiness to her.  

I learned a lot from her. I learned a lot about curriculum and rigor.  I learned about what a good teacher that I am and that I can be better and better all of the time.  I learned that I can learn so much from my peers and specialists. I learned that it is important to always to talk about your strengths and to not be defensive about your weaknesses.  I learned that when it comes to your boss just apologize, agree, change it, and move on.  I learned that there are some people that lie.  I learned that there are some people that cheat.  I learned that there are some people that manipulate and bully.  I learned that I am not one of those people.  Above all, I learned that if you do the right thing, good things will happen for you.  Always.  Every time.  Without fail.  I learned that integrity is the permanent record that only you can see and its the only one that matters.

Merry Effin' Christmas!

When I was a kid, my elementary school had a little "Elf Store" where the students could go and shop for gifts for their parents.  I remember that I bought my parents an enormous clay ash tray.  There's a pretty good chance that they still have it around just for when "smoking" guests come to the house.  It was a thoughtful gesture to say the least.

I have a Rudolph plaque on my living room wall that my entire 4th grade class signed the year that I moved over the holidays.  My tree has a play dough ornament lovingly sculpted and gingerly painted by yours truly with my name puffily written on the back every year from 1983 to 1988.  

I love them.  I used to take them for granted, but now, I know.  Unless, you go to a private Christian school, Christmas is a thing of the past or whatever you make of it at home.  It's practically a dirty word at school.  My poor principal.  She is a good woman.  You can just tell.  She wants to do a good job.  The pressure is on her, just like it is everyone else. 

It's funny what issues bring to light that your boss is in the same boat as everyone else: "the don't let me lose my job over something stupid boat."  Our principal is FREAKED OUT over Christmas.  We can't say, "Merry Christmas" unless a kid or parent says it first.  No Santa, no Rudolph, no Christmas trees, and no red and green anything together.  

Also, no candy, and especially no candy canes.  So, lots of no, no, no, no, no!  I'm wondering what horror story she heard that made her paranoid enough to ban Santa.  I think it's sad that we can't dive into the holiday spirit the way of yesteryear.  I don't need to go out and baptize the kids, but it would be cool to read "The Night Before Christmas" or "The Grinch."  

I know that she is just looking out for all of us.  I know that there probably is some parent lurking around our campus just dying to pounce on some poor unsuspecting teacher.  It makes me breathe a sigh of relief that I held back the other day when counseling a student that I really wanted to witness to. And I'm not an evangelical. 

I believe in God and Jesus and the resurrection, but I don't really get all in your business about it.  I mean, I barely get myself to church a few times a year, so I'm not one to talk.  But on occasion, I do feel compelled to tell a kid that God loves them and will always be there for them.   I've managed to say this metaphorically and never directly thus far.

This year I am particularly glad that I've never crossed that fine line between "positive emotional influence" and "spiritual/religious guidance."  It's just too scary when you have a little baby who is counting on you to take care of her to risk it.  But it feels like a betrayal of my beliefs somehow and I kind of hate myself for that.  How do I love the separation of church and state and despise it all at once?  

Maybe three or four seasons ago, my sister and I went and did some gift shopping at the mall together just a week or two before Christmas.  We had the most difficult time finding a place to park, when finally we spotted a car backing out right in front of us.  We put our blinker on "left."  The car backed out towards us and another car zipped into our spot.  We looked at each other... a mixture of shock, horror, and distain on our faces.  We were caught in a mix of traffic standstill and watched as some class A asshole took our spot and began to walk inside the mall.

My sister reached over me and honked the horn.  She rolled down the window and climbed halfway out stretching over my body with her arm extended and her middle finger shooting straight up in the air, the rest perfectly coiled at attention. 

"Merry Fuckin' Christmas!!!" 

The parking offender barely turned his head sideways, but I think he did flinch.  

"Yeah!" I said.  "Merry Fuckin' Christmas!!!"

Just then, my sis pointed to a spot that was open.  A car had just backed out and we had just a split second to pull in before some sucker who was patiently waiting with his blinker on... I looked at my sister.  She looked at me.  

We parked and giggled the whole way into the mall hoping that nobody keyed our car.  I don't think we got the bird, but I didn't look back.  I suppose I shouldn't look back now, either.  Christmas just ain't what it used to be...

Thanks for the Break

I'm back... Sorta... Thanksgiving break was a godsend.  I got to see my baby and hang out with my man.  I saw my family.  I ate.  I drank.  I had a good time.  I brought home a big bag of papers to grade and books to read and record.  I didn't touch any of it.  Not once.

Well, maybe, once.   The night before school started and then I had a glass of wine instead and stayed up until 1:30 in the morning worrying about everything that I had to do to get ready for school.  I do that kind of stuff sometimes.  I still haven't caught up.

I'm writing this blog, because I can't stand the thought of grading papers.  I hate grading papers.  It's not even like they are hard to grade.  They are even pretty cute once I get them all sorted out.  I guess everybody has something that they hate about their job.

Let's see, I also gave up cussing over the break.  It's going okay.  Matt doesn't like it when I cuss.  He says it makes me "sound like a dude."  That super queases me out, so I had to quit.  I am going go ahead and put in a clause though... writing doesn't count.  My writing persona gets to say whatever the fuck she wants to say.  Sorry, baby, I've got to have one holdout.

That had to go in there, because a lot of fucked up shit has happened since the last time I wrote... hopefully, I can fill you in... one post at a time.

Oh poop.

All of my friends know... I don't talk about poop or anything relating to poop.  It's a no-no.  I swear like a sailor and could probably make a foul-mouthed pirate blush, but poop talk is not in my comfort zone.  For the sake of the blog, I have taken the bull by the horns approach, but in my everyday life it's just another story.  Who I am as the writer in my mind and who I am as a person in real life are two totally separate things.

In my class, we use the American Sign Language sign for the letter R as a way of asking permission for the restroom.  The middle finger laces over the pointer finger and I know that someone has to go.  There's no talking about it, because the bathroom is private.  I don't let kids use the bathroom during a lesson, unless it's a total emergency and then I tell them not to even ask.  Just get up and go.  An emergency means that you are going to wet your pants and since A) I don't want to scar any kids for life with utter humiliation and B) I hate a smelly mess, I allow for the "emergency clause."  

Surprisingly, there has been very little abuse of the emergency clause.  I think this is also in part to our regularly scheduled bathroom break before lunch.  Yea!  Happy day... see how I don't have to talk about the bathroom, even though I'm surrounded by 8 year olds all day, every day, five days a week?!?!

That is, until today, when Lukas decided to get out of his seat and whisper in my ear.

I have to poop.

Huh?

I have to poop.

Okay.  Go.

I don't have to pee.  I have to poop.

Ummm, are you okay, Lukas?  

Yeah.  I just have to poop.

(Oh. My. God.  Please don't say it again. Please don't say it again. Brain, be still, stop panicking.  It's just a word.  Smile gently.)  Okay, so go use the restroom now.

I did not get it.  Why did this kid have to tell me that he was going to poop?  First of all, let me just say that I didn't know if Lukas could speak English for the first 4 weeks of school.  And mostly, that was just because he barely spoke at all.  When he finally did start talking, it was about rocks, then about legos, then about his parents divorce, and now, poop.  

Kids will never cease to amaze me.  I know that there is something up with that, but I just can't figure out what it is.  Does he not go away from home?  Was that like a big deal or something?  Was he confiding a secret to me?  Was he just trying to freak me out?  

What the fucking shit is that damn poop talk about?  It's freakin' me out...

Dressing the Part...

Tomorrow is Halloween.  One of the greatest day's of the school year.  It is also a day that has been fucked up by religious zealots that don't know how to have a good time.  Oh my gosh, did I just say that? I hope I didn't offend anyone.  Seriously, I hope I didn't, because if there are any religious zealots reading my blog I'm fucked.  Well, they're probably already offended by my excessive use of the word fuck and me being a teacher and all so I'm probably good.

We aren't allowed to freaking say the word "God," but we're expected to instill moral character.  And the zealots think that the first thing the teachers are gonna do on Halloween is dress their kid up like devils and sign them all up for our coven, since we're all practicing Wicca on the side.

I just wanna play dress up and eat candy for no good a reason.  I just want the kids to have fun at school.  I like it when they want to be here.  It makes it better for all of us.  The kids learn more when their play is full and rich and deeply rooted in imagination.   And that is what Halloween is all about, not Satanic ritual.  Well, it's about creative play and large scale commercialization of a national holiday.  Come on people!  Get behind the freakin' economy... buy a costume, eat some candy, and get this recession moving!

Anyhow, principals have found a whole route around the zealots.  They are a pretty imaginative lot themselves.  They call it "The Great Day of Reading" or something similar.  The teachers are allowed to dress up as "storybook characters" and then they read the story that their character is related to to their class.  Some schools make the whole day into a day of reading and have all of the teachers rotate around to different classes and some schools keep it more low key.

My current school is of the low key variety.  No scary costumes allowed for teachers and the kids can only wear cheerful style Halloween shirts with jeans.  I've decided that I am going to be Viola Swamp, the meanest substitute in the whole world!  She is the antagonist in "Miss Nelson is Missing."  I can't wait!!!

It calls to mind a few years ago at Bowie, when Mrs. Trout had a mandatory costume day for all of the teachers.  It was on Halloween.  She sent out an email that said that you had to come to school in costume.  One of the teachers was a religious zealot named Mr. Crouton.  Mr. Crouton had been a 5th grade teacher with me the year before and was new to the profession.  He had a lot of enthusiasm, but he was terrible.  The kids got him down and he kind of gave up.

Not that I blame him.  He was used to a lot of success in his previous occupation and Mrs. Trout was not one for slow learners.  She gave him a lot of credit the prior year that he didn't deserve and it came back to bite him in the ass, when there were more eyes on him and mounting pressure to deliver results that he couldn't possibly produce.  So when he explained to Mrs. Trout that he didn't dress up for Halloween for religious reasons and she retorted that he better get a costume or get a new job in front of other staff members, Mr. Crouton was primed to call the teacher's Union.

And that is just what he did.  He spent the better part of the Great Day of Reading in a Great Day of Covering His Ass.  My hat is off to him, because that Mrs. Trout would have handed his ass to him on a platter if she could have and instead he served her up a shit sandwich.  Mr. Crouton had his duties slowly taken from him piece by piece.  Throughout the year, specialist came to his class to take over and teach his class.  He got paid to virtually do nothing.  Eventually, he got another job in another district for the next year.  I don't know how he faired over there.

Mrs. Trout has the Great Day of Reading a few days before Halloween now.  It avoids a bunch of pitfalls.  I guess, Halloween is a scary day at school after all.

Dumpster Diving with Ms. Milky

I've seen some seriously messed up shit at school. On my second day on the job, one kid busted another kid's two front teeth out. Another kid had a bowel issue where he was completely unaware that he had crapped his pants. One of my favorite students was a kleptomaniac. He couldn't NOT steal. Also, he had a thing for Sharpies.

I've seen my fair share of straight up hungry-ass kids. The kind who have some pretty empty kitchens at home. This can require some tricky maneuvering depending on the intensity of the situation. Sometimes, it's just a couple of snacks in drawer and other times it becomes more invasive.

Right now, I am providing my entire class with snack everyday. If I don't, it gets too hairy and we don't learn anything, because Tawanda gets too consumed with stealing other people's food. So, instead of fending off Tawanda everyday, I just pass out snack and they all get the same thing and she is de-incentived to take from other people, thusly turning my classroom into a giant squabble-fest each day.

What I haven't seen though is the mind blowing "holy-shit-did-you-really-just-do-that???" mess that Tawanda pulled today.

The girl ate out of the trash.

She ate out of the trash IN FRONT of the other students!

She grabbed the remnants of an already day-old cupcake that had been sitting at the bottom of the trashcan all day underneath snotty tissues and glued-on paper scraps and bits of thrown out nerds. Then she shoved it into her mouth. I could see the green frosting all around her little lips. She tried to scrub the evidence off with hand sanitizer, but they were still sweet smelling and sticky.

I won't go into the other weird things that she did today. It's too much. I don't even know if I can emotionally handle the mess that this poor kid is going through, so I don't know how she is handling it. It's so clear to me that someone is hurting her and/or neglecting her. Someone who should be taking care of her.

Don't worry. I've called about it. A few other people and I have a direct number to one of the supervisors at cps. But here is what I want to know? When is somebody going to actually protect this child? Maybe I'm just a know-it-all teacher that wants to point my finger at the parent before I suggest helping the parent or maybe everything inside my body says that this kid is being abused and trying to "help" her abuser/gatekeeper/neglector is fucking ridiculous.

Let's help the abuser once he/she is in prison. For fuck's sake. FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!

Like I said, I've seen a lot of messed up shit. I know that there is horrible stuff that happens to kids that I will never know about, even kids that are in my class. But this is a case, where I know that a kid is being abused and neglected. She is eating out of the trash. She is doing things that I won't write about on an anonymous blog. Something is terribly wrong with the way that our government goes about "protecting" children from their own "caregivers."