Field Trippin'

I counted to 14 over a billion times today.  We went to the zoo for our class field trip and about every 2 minutes or so, I compulsively took a head count.  Tawanda didn't get permission to come, so we were short one... so only 14.  If the three parents hadn't come, I might have lost my damn mind.

Luckily, they did come and it was a super fun day.  The part that made it fun was the kids saying over and over again how much fun they were having and wanting to take pictures together and their utter disappointment when the day was over.

Success.

Dear God,

Please let a normal principal with a modicrum a reason decide that he/she wants me to work at their school with students' that can ALREADY read (for the most part.)  Then I can spend more time with my girl next year, see my man and be in a good mood, and be pleasant in my personal life.  I promise, God, that I will still work super hard and teach my little heart out everyday.  Moreover, with the sanity that I have in tact, I will extend and motivate my little brianiacs.  I will even be nice and sweet with their overzealous, if not well-intentioned parents, as usual.  Duh, but I'm just saying.  Please, please, please.  Amen and I pledge allegiance.

Panic Attack

My principal is retiring.

FUCK!!!!

This is the equivalent of a company being sold.  New owners.

I really like my principal.  She rocks.  She made it worth it to work extra hard.  When I have a reasonable boss, I am sooo willing to do a lot to get the job done.

The problem with getting a new principal at my current school is that I just have no idea who it could be and I work at a very demanding school.  Even with a small class size, it takes total engagement every second of the day with total structure in order to have a calm and conductive learning environment.  It would be miserable to get a mean principal on top of what can be a stressful environment just on a normal day.

I got in touch with my principal from last year right away.  I really liked her, but I'm a bit unsure of how well she liked me.  It's something that I think I could overcome, because I think it was probably a matter of circumstance more than anything.  I was a middle of the year hire and the parents were already pretty disgruntled.  Things were a little hairy with a few of them at first, but by the end of the year things had really turned around so I'm hopeful that she would remember that over those starting out hiccups.

It would be great to go back to my last campus.  It had a good vibe and I liked the people.  The parents can be a little more involved, but on the other hand... the parents are more involved.  It's a double edged sword, I guess you can't have your cake and eat it, too.

Lots of staffing decisions in the coming months, so keep your fingers crossed for me.  I need it!!

Blake Linton - 3 Year Old Beaten to Death

So I'm watching Nancy Grace and I can barely stand it.  This 3-year-old little boy, Blake Linton, was beaten to death in the bathtub by his mother's boyfriend.  His liver and brain were lacerated in the beating.    The boyfriend texted the mother that he "lost it this time."  The mother met with the boyfriend and checked her son's pulse, which she said she faintly felt, and yelled his name.  Then the boyfriend took the child and laid him by the side of the road to stage a hit and run car accident.

The elder daughter has had two previous broken arms and the biological father had asked for the children to be removed from the mother's care.  The preacher from her church described her as fun-loving.  The psych-in-a-box says that the mother had an attachment-disorder.

Um... duh.

This story just kills me.

Kills me.

It makes me so mad.  So many kids are put through hell and back by their own parents and it seems like nothing gets done.  It's so hard to see the signs sometimes.  We have to look closely.  We have to be so diligent.  We have to tend our relationships with our students.  We have to build trust.  When we do intervene, we have to call and call and call and call and call.  Be persistent.  Be patient.  Take notes.  Don't give up.  Ask questions.  Pay attention.

Sometimes it takes a long time for a case to be investigated and sometimes it happens so fast.

There's my kids like T.  and then there's the kids like S.  S was wetting her pants almost daily in my reading group.   It smelled like fish.  She wouldn't run around at recess and she would waddle into reading group.  The kids would say... What's that smell?  It took me a while to clue in what was going on.  S. was in another teacher's class.   We talked it over at lunch and recess and one day her teacher encouraged S. to talk with the family specialist about what was going on at home.  Apparently, grandma's boyfriend was beating up S.'s little 2-year-old brother for dropping his bottle.

WHAT THE FUCK?????

S. moved in with her other grandma last week and then they moved to a new house in a new district a few days later.  Her mom has to take classes about abuse before she can see her children again.

In the meantime, T.'s struggle goes on and on and on.  I wonder what the hell happens in her home.  I can't figure out what is the truth and what is a lie.  I don't trust anything about her mother and I just wish I knew that she was safe.

Poor Blake Linton didn't make it elementary school, so that a teacher could ever worry about him.  People have great capacities.... they can be tremendously good and tremendously evil.  I've worn rose-colored glasses for most of my life, but this profession has taught me one sad truth... real evil is out there and it walks among us, looking just the same as anyone else you know.  Always be aware.  Always be alert.  Always do the right thing.

It helps.   Especially when you are watching Nancy Grace just a little too late at night.

The Girl Who Cried Wolf

Good news!

I am a dumb ass.

Well, I'm not actually a dumb ass.  It was just my mistake and my fucking kid cried wolf one too many times, so I assumed that it was her.

She did steal gummy bears from the science lab, though.

I left my keys in the work room.  I've never been so happy to be wrong.

That's all I've got on that at the moment.

Wish my kid didn't try to jack Isaiah's Oreos at the end of the day after all of that.

I wonder if she will ever learn.

Bitch Stole My Ride...

Yes.

I am talking about an 8 year old.

One of my ga-dang kids put their grubby hands in my purse and snatched some old gummy bears and my keys.  It didn't click until the end of the day when I was crouched down next to my car digging through my purse looking for my keys at 5 pm on Friday evening.

Yes.  Friday.  Evening.

Still in my observation window.

Not that I don't usually stay and get ready late one or two nights a week, but point made.

It's Friday and I was ready to go and I'm fishing for my keys and my hand hits the old gummy bears in my purse and then I remember.

We were in the science lab in the morning and a few of the kids tell me that Tawanda is eating gummy bears.  I shrug it off, because she is always eating something and can we please just compare the salt water to the fresh water for Pete's sake???

And now, I'm kicking myself.  She got the effing gummy bears out of my purse.  I had hung it up way out of reach.  I have been locking away all of their stuff and just hanging up my stuff thinking that was enough of a deterrent.  I guess that was wrong.

It had been a hell of a day.  Started out kind of rough.  Tawanda told me that she was getting beat up at her apartment.  Geneva confirmed it.  There was a fire drill.  The sub didn't come for Ms. Jetson, so we had to split her class and we had 4 kids join us.  We went to the science lab.  At recess, a police helicopter landed on the school gym and the principal announced a soft lockdown due to an armed robbery at the gas station a few blocks away.

Three kids cried.  I don't blame them.  The helicopter thing was scary.  Tawanda told me that she was mad at me and wanted me to give her something.  I explained that I am not a money tree.

Ahhhh!  Fuck. Fuck.  Fuck.  Long ass day.  I think she was so pissed that she took my keys and by the end of the day had a change of heart or was scared that she would get caught with them and pitched them before she got on the bus.

This is not good.  It sucks for me that some of Tawanda's acting out is directed towards me.  I don't know how to help her sometimes.

I'm not perfect.  I forget things.  Like reminding her to do x or y or z.  Or I forget to pick my purse up off the floor when we have a schedule change.  Or I get distracted sometimes.  I'm just human and I don't respond perfectly in every situation.  I'm not a robot.  I wish I was...  Sometimes, I really wish I was.

And in the Course of Writing This.... I Had an Epiphany.......Or Two.........A Blog Formerly Titled "Their Way... Or the Highway"

The thing that sucks about being a teacher is that you are just that...

just the teacher.

Sometimes it's just not up to you.  Plus, you have to do everything their way.  The administration's way.  And even when you like your administration, you forget what the heck their way is.  This is a double edged sword, because the odds are is that your admin is doing it someone else's way, too.  They have to follow some set of rules out there that is set by a person or group of people that they may or may not agree with and that is a whole other slew of problems.  And you may or may not know about any of that.

This is my current problem.  That and all of the cosmic stars are aligning, so that I look like a real jackass.

The truth is that I have made excellent notes about the Tawanda situation, but my paper trail with actual behavior referrals sucks.  I should have done a way better job and I focused far to much on my relationships with my administration and behavior specialists to handle things.  I've done a terrible job with documenting her on an hourly basis.  (Jeezzz.... I'm a teacher, not a psych warden, ya know?)

It's just so dang overwhelming with all of the other crap.  I'm super pissed at myself for not keeping up on these referrals.  I'm kicking myself over it.  It's way different in this district than it was in my last district, so I have avoided it.  Not because I didn't understand it, but because I didn't really remember to go to it as an option.  I used to write referrals all the time back at Bowie, but the process is just different here and even though I think it's a better process, it's not one that I ever really got effective at using.  Honestly,  I ought to use the referral process for my other kids, too.

When Tawanda was better on the medication, there wasn't much to do and I took it for granted.  I shouldn't have.  When she kicks it into gear, the kid kicks it into gear.  Then I tossed out the idea of "right of refusal", back tracked on it, and thought I was going to get a couple of days of her in behavior intervention for her, eh, crimes.

Instead, she just got put back in my class with a stern warning and I've been given a lot of instructions about documentation.  If she goes back onto meds, it shouldn't be a huge deal.  She is supposed to go back on them on Tuesday morning.  In my heart, I have a gut feeling that if she shows up without them that she's gonna get pulled and that is why admin put her in my class again.

Wow.

That actually just hit me.

Part of me thought it was because I was unexpectedly absent yesterday, since my daughter was sick and I was in my observation window and that seems like a jackass move on my part to be out during my window.  (Note: I couldn't help it.  Nobody could help me and she still needed another day away from daycare.)  I guess that is just lingering feelings of paranoia from being at Bowie, where Mrs. Trout just always thought the worst of everyone and Mr. Daniels would try to burn you like you were an ant and he was a magnifying glass, if he thought you were trying to wiggle out of something.

My admin now isn't like that.

Seriously, I over-think things sometimes.  You know what they say, your biggest strength is always your greatest weakness.  Sometimes, I need to go the simple route.  Nice people do nice things.  People that have integrity do the right thing when nobody is looking, so just trust that its the right thing even if you don't like it.

Hmmmmm.  Back to my epiphany.

I think there is a sizable chance that Friday could be the last day for Tawanda to be in my class.  I don't want to baby her.  I've thought that before and I did baby her that day.... a little.  I don't think it was good for the other kids and perhaps it hurt her somehow.  But if I can figure some things out to help her have a great day, then it would be worth the energy.

Just in case.

I know that I complain a lot about my job on this blog.  But I love the kids in my class.  I love inspiring them to learn and dream about their future and instilling a little bit of hope in their hearts.  I lose a grip on what matters from time to time.  I have to catch my own heart and put it on a positivity de-fib.

I make choices between what is right for someone else's child and my own and sometimes I feel guilty that I put my kid second.  I have to constantly work harder, smarter, faster, and better, so that I can make that choice less and less.  I want to serve this community without shorting my own family.

It's tough, but I think I'm getting closer to being able to do it.  I think that is why I write this blog.  For those days when I do forget, so I can find a little morsel about teaching that reminds why I do it.

Just in case.

It's never THAT easy....

So come to find out, I can't just exercise my "right of refusal."

Well, I could.   There would be a shitload of paperwork and Tawanda would get pushed into someone else's classroom on my team.  I wouldn't be allowed to talk to her and she wouldn't be allowed to come back to my class.

So that's not an option.

I don't want to refuse her if that is the case.

1. I am not evil.

2. I love little fucked up Tawanda and it won't be good for her to go to someone else's class that she doesn't know and be a throw away kid.

(Sidenote: I thought that if I "refused" her, that she would go the the "structured" classroom where she knows and loves the structure teacher and teaching aide.   Plus, I thought that she could come back to me, when she started her medication.)

3.  I am not evil.  Oh, did I already say that?  I meant it.  I wouldn't do that to a co-worker.

4.  Plus, that's like saying that you can't handle it.  And that is not what I'm saying.  I'm really saying: Hey, if my student is spitting on people, would you, please, do something about it???? For example, how would you respond if she spat on you?  Or your child?  What if she stole out of your purse?

So I'm a little bit stuck for the time being.  I have a few days respite and hopefully, she will be back on her meds after Monday.  I don't know.  I have my fingers crossed on this one.

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.

Karma is a...

Total mother fuckin' bitch, especially if your name rhymes with ditch!

Shout out to my former AP at Bowie Elementary, Mr. Daniels, who is being sued by not one, but TWO, current staff members!!

Wow!  That's an accomplishment!

As I have noted in the past, none of the names on the blog are real.  Not even the names of the school are real, but I didn't stumble upon "Mr. Daniels" by accident.

Think for a moment.  (Also known as wait time in teacher land.)

You got it!

My old AP had a thing for Jack Daniels, so the psuedonym just seemed like a natural fit.

I'm not one to hoorah the misfortunes of others. I never enjoy watching other people suffer. If I am flawed when it comes to people it's because I do conjure up wild theories about their motives and reasonings. 

Once I actually thought that a co-worker might have hung a homeless man in his hotel room to masquerade his homosexual tendancies. I let go of my theory even though my gut still tells me that there was more to it than a story of well intentioned charity gone awry. 

Back to other people's misfortunes though. I do have a healthy respect for natural and logical consequences.  In my heart of hearts, I don't believe that I am mean spirited.  So, you will just have to trust me, when I say that this guy, Mr. Daniels, is getting a taste of what he is due. 

I could care less if he is a drunk, as long as he is a drunk at home and not driving.  To my knowledge, he didn't drink around the kids, so this is not where my prejudice lies.  Mr. Daniels is a dishonest person that intentionally tries to hurt people that he doesn't like for his own amusement. 

Finally, someone is holding him accountable for his actions.  It is so awesome.  Crooked administrators being held accountable by their very own teachers?  Imagine that? 

This begs a new question... is karma a bitch or, in this case, is it just plain bitchin'? ; )

Two words...

Edible underwear. 

Let's just say I'm glad they weren't mine. 

It's been a rough few weeks.  My fingers are crossed that things will begin to settle.  I've been down in the trenches for what seems like ages, but we're not even through January yet.

On the bright side, things are sorted out with my principal now and I'm caught up on lesson plans and grading.  When I spoke with her about the "panty situation," she simply smiled and said...

It's not the first time.  Not even the second...

Really?

Always seems to happen right around Valentine's day.

Parents of the world.... note that.

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.)

Lesson Plans Part 2

Let me say one more time... Writing rigorous lesson plans for 5 subjects for 5 days plus intervention plans in Math and Reading is TOO MUCH FUCKING WORK FOR ONE PERSON!!!!  It is the second week back and I am already behind.  I'm behind in grading, in plans, and in sleep.  My room is a mess.  I feel discombobulated.  I'm not ready for work.  It's too much.  It's too much.  It's too much.  I leave my kid at daycare at 6:30, so I can get to work at 7:10.  Even if I leave at 3:10 and get her at 3:30, my 1 year old has been in daycare for NINE hours and that NEVER happens.  I usually get there at 4:00 at the earliest.  So, ya know, screw it.  I've mostly done my plans.  I know what I'm doing tomorrow.  I need to go to bed.  When I get a freaking second tomorrow, I will finish my plans and send them off and I am going to make a concerted effort to get it in gear at school and get caught up.  And I am going to walk out of that door at 3:10 every damn day so I can be with my babydoll.  I'm done being a slave to work.  I'm gonna get it done at work.  I will.  But I'm not staying up all fucking night and all damn weekend to NOT GET PAID.  I'm gonna get my bedtime in check.  I'm gonna get these grades posted.  I'm gonna automate these fucking plans.  But I'm not working at home.  If I have to occasionally work an extra hour so be it, but NOT EVERY DAY.  My baby shouldn't have to be in daycare for 45 hours a week.  That's insane.  I don't have a choice about it, but I'm not going to make her day any longer than it has to be.  And that is that.  This is reasonable, right?

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.

Pajamas ARE Professional Attire

Despite the fact that I harped on and nagged fifteen 8 year olds all damn day long, it was a pretty pleasant and relaxing day.  You see, it was "Pajama Day."  I've heard about Pajama Day, but I've never actually been a party to it.  I thought it was like "Color War Day" or "Dodgeball,"  things you've done when you were a kid or maybe saw on a movie once or talked about at a training that some other district in some other state did once, but like you never actually had it happen at YOUR OWN SCHOOL.

Pajama day actually happened today.  Almost every single kid in the entire school and almost every single teacher wore pajamas.  And on top of that, I don't think there were any issues with "appropriateness."  Imagine that?  Basically, you could have walked a pink elephant through the school and had similar odds of nothing going wrong or being particularly out of the ordinary, so I think that is a huge deal that all of the kids were so chill and easy going, especially when they adhere to a very strict uniform code every other day of the year.

To top it off, in the afternoon we had a reading event where the kids traveled around and listened to different stories in select teacher's rooms.  The upper grade kids mentored the lower grade kids.  700 little bodies roaming around the school every 15 minutes, selecting a room, settling down, paying attention, and starting all over again.  And they did great.  Personally, I was impressed.  That's a lot of responsibility and adjusting for that many kids.

I ended up working after school to get my grade book in order.  Most of the other teachers are done with all of the that mess and it makes me realize that I need to be more diligent about putting in grades each week.  After the winter break, I'm going to plan that shit and try to be more efficient with my grading.  I've got my planning stuff down almost to a science, so if I can get that in gear I will be unstoppable.  I say this thing about the grading almost every 9 weeks, though, so I don't know... I can hope that something about New Year's resolutions will amp me up.

Anyhow, since tomorrow is our class party, I had to stop at the store.  It was really late, because first I had to swing by daycare.  Then, as luck would have it, the power went off.... the whole place went pitch black... freaky!  All of the registers had to be rebooted and the lines backed up.  I got stuck for 40 minutes with a baby on my hip wondering if I had it in me to just leave my cart full of party goodies and head for home so I could put the baby to bed.

To top it off, I was in my pajamas still.  I hadn't bothered to go home and change, so people were staring at me and giving me the most horrendous looks.  It was as if they were thinking... "You lazy piece of shit, you can't even put on real clothes.  You're poor daughter has to grow up with a wacko mother like you."

In my mind, I'm thinking, "THIS IS MOTHER-FUCKING PROFESSIONAL ATTIRE BITCHES!!  HOW FAR DO YOU GO TO MAKE YOUR EFFING CUSTOMERS HAPPY?  CAN YOU  PULL THIS SHIT OFF AT WORK AND STILL MAINTAIN ORDER?  WE ARE LEARNING TO READ!!!!!!"  Instead of actually saying that I just talked to the baby and let people think I was fucking nuts.  Some days are just like that.  Next year though, I'm packing a change of clothes.

Life Lessons with Career Day and Santa

We had Career Day last week.  That is a story unto itself, but one moment comes to mind today.  An owner of a hair salon was speaking to my class about her job.  She was stylish and smartly dressed.  She told the kids that she felt like she never had to work, because she loved what she did so much.

So, did they have any questions?

(Of course, they did.)

Geneva: How much money do you make?

Me:  Whoa!!! Whoa!!!

Nice lady: I make enough money to make me happy.

(Wow! Nicely handled... are you sure you aren't a teacher?) Me: Okay, class, life lessons time.  Turn your body towards me.  Listen up.  Nobody did anything wrong, because I didn't explain this earlier, but you need to understand that it is very impolite to ask someone how much money they make.  The same way it's inappropriate to call someone "poor" or say someone else is "rich."  Okay?

Class:  murmurs... mumbles... okay... (whispers of how much does she make? followed by my death glare)... more mumbling...

Nice lady:  nods along and smiles

Me (sensing generalized confusion): Guys, impolite means that it's rude.  You know how our class has rules?  Well, there are some rules in life, too, and one of the rules is that we don't talk about how much money people have unless we are family or very close friends.

Class: (light bulb!)

Geneva (raises her hand and the Nice Lady calls on her): So, where did you get your earrings?

Fast forward to dismissal a few days later.  A heated debate breaks out in my classroom about whether or not Santa is a real person.  The kids are packing up and stacking chairs and in a hurry to get out and go home.  They are also in an emotional tizzy, because a few of them have not contemplated that Santa might be fictitious.  Compounded with the pressure to make a hard nosed point and resolve this critical issue, voices are rising and the argument is reaching critical mass.

I start to worry that they are going to ask me what I think.  We have been instructed to change the subject if asked about the plausibility of Santa.  Since teachers are authority figures, it's illegal for us to share our opinion on the matter.  (I start going through my head of possible answers to the question and settle on: The school district has contacted Santa, I'm not sure if it was a real or fake Santa, but he was asked not to come to school.  He's too big of a distraction from learning.  [big cheesy smile])  Luckily it didn't come to that, because the kids were taking matters into their own hands.

Santa Claus is NOT REAL!  (Geneva is emphatic.)  He is just a rich man that passes out gifts to everyone!

A hush falls over the room.  For a moment I am stunned.  What just happened?

RoseMary looks at me with wide eyes.  I notice that most of the kids are looking at me with similar expressions.

You can't say that word.  She almost inaudibly whispers to Geneva.

What word?

(I admonish myself silently.  I don't remember having the Santa talk with them.  In fact, I thought it was just me that couldn't say Santa.  Dang, this whole Christmas thing has gone too far...  now even the kids are paranoid.... no wonder my principal is in knots about this stuff.)

Rich.  You can't say rich.

Yeah!  You can't say that, Geneva!  That's impolite!  It's not nice to talk about how much money Santa has!  (Several kids hop on this band wagon and start pointing.)

Ever the diplomat, Geneva knows that she has lost this battle.

Okay, okay!  You know what I mean... He's just got a lot of stuff....

I have to turn and face the window.

Life lesson: Don't laugh at children that are trying hard to be respectful good people, even when they are FUCKING HYSTERICAL!!!!

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...

Mean people suck

Of course, I got the early morning duty the week after Thanksgiving break.  I have a tough time getting to work by the first bell anyways, but this one is killer.  It's only 10 minutes earlier, but with a one year old and a stop at daycare and my sweet little stint of insomnia that just hit.... I am dying!

I've skirted in a couple minutes past almost everyday this week and yesterday I was almost 7 minutes over my duty time.  Not good.  I was still one of the first teachers to take the kids outside though.  Today I walked into the cafeteria, 4 minutes late.

I have only worked at my school since August.  I don't know most of the staff by name, but I am friendly with everyone.  People probably think I'm a little goofy or aloof, but I just am caught up in my head most of the day and too busy trying to raise a toddler by myself to reach out to anyone just yet to make friends.

Mrs. Cookie is a para that I mostly see in the cafeteria.  She is stern and rarely smiles.  Until this afternoon, I thought her name was Mrs. Crookie.  Apparently, Mrs. Cookie is also extremely serious about morning duty and keeping all of us teachers in line.  When I walked into the cafeteria this morning (slightly out of breath from running across the field so I could get there faster) she greeted me with, "Ms. Milky! These kids are waiting for their recess!  Come on... that is sad."  She gave me a look of disdain.

I was taken aback.  Really?  Bitch?  Did you just talk to me like that?  I think you've said like two things to me.  Ever.

I smiled and said absolutely nothing.  I just walked the kids outside.  Something went off inside of me, though.  Once all of the kids were on the blacktop playing, her words kind of hit me.  It was sad.  I wish I had been there on time.  Paperwork and promptness.  My two greatest crosses in life.  (Okay, maybe not crosses, but papercuts?)  I know this, though.  I just don't like it when other people have to magnify them to me in such an ugly way.

I found myself crying.  Not the kind where you are crying like a baby.  Just where tears are falling and you have to wipe them off so that people won't see.  I couldn't stop.  I felt insanely sorry for myself.  Suddenly, I missed my friends from Bowie.  I wanted to walk into one of their rooms and go bitch about that bitch.  I don't have one of those people at my new school.  It's just not that kind of place.  Matt says that work is for work, but school has always been where I've made my closest friendships.  I felt awash in loneliness.

I did go and talk about it with my two friends in redirect down the hall.  I felt a little better, but it's they kind of thing where I can sit on top of the desk and we can all just laugh about it for or go drive around at lunch for a smoke.  One, I don't smoke anymore.  Two, I don't get to work early enough to sit around for ten minutes.  Three, I don't know them like that.  More tears.

It stayed with me for most of the day, but after I talked with Matt on my way to a training I felt a little better.  Another chat with my sister shored me up by the evening.  Still, I wonder about people who just have a mean attitude.  I know I can't go around feeling beat up about it and that I'm probably just "sensitive" today for other reasons.

You suck mean people.  Even if I am in the wrong, you suck for being mean about it.  

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...