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...

Ms. Milky is M & M

At the initial parent meeting, I warned them all about my propensity to rap.  

I kind of think that I'm Eminem.

There were a lot of smiles and a few chuckles when I confessed this, but it turned into full blown laughter and I knew that I had the parents hooked after my demonstration.  I broke out into a little bit of my self-penned "Dime Rhyme" and the "Rollin' Multiples" song that I borrowed from KIPP.  

Done... I made them believers.  Just.  Like.  That.  

The kiddos eyes got really big.  Is this really gonna be my teacher?  

That was when I knew that this year was going to be different.  That I was finally going to get to do what I do.  That I could finally be the teacher that I have always wanted to be.  

Until this year, I lived in a lot of fear that I wasn't a very good teacher.  That I sucked actually.  That didn't have control of my class and that I didn't know what I was doing with curriculum.  

In actuality, I have been a good to an excellent teacher.  A new teacher who was unsure of herself at times, a teacher who wasn't supported at others, and even a teacher who was bullied, picked on, and harassed.  In those latter times, I was filled with self-doubt and worry.  I let my lack of confidence undermine my abilities and esteem.  

I decided that this year I would take risks.  That I would allow myself to fail and try again.  That I would try something new.  That if something made sense that I would give it a go.  That I would do the things that I was passionate about and that I would have fun doing them.  

I love to rhyme.  I love to rap.  So I decided I would rap and rhyme in class a lot.  I know that kids learn to read by being read to, so I decided to 1) buy a whole lot of on-level books for my classroom 2) read them onto cds 3) create a system for my students to listen to the books on cd and read the books at the same time.  I developed an organizational template for writing and a pre-writing system that accompanies it along with a system for developing voice so that my students can begin to write in ways that make sense right away.  

And it's working!  I kind of can't believe it.  I'm not exactly sure why, but the things that we are doing are helping them to think on their own.  

They are reading.  They are thinking.  They are beginning to write.  

I am not afraid that I am a terrible teacher anymore.  I am exhausted.  I am having fun.  I feel more light of heart.  I am not looking over my shoulder waiting for an administrator to tell me that it's not enough.  Maybe that will happen later.  I don't know.  But so far, so good, and that's good enough for me right now.

Here's an example of one of my classroom raps for your entertainment:

The Dime Rhyme

I got my mind on my money 

And my money on my dime!

Penny, nickel, quarter, dime!

It's small, ridged, and flat 

So we put it in the back!

1, 5, 25, that's fine!

10s the magic number when we're talkin' 'bout dimes!

A nickel is fatter and wider than a dime

Cause size don't matter this time!

I got my mind on my money 

And my money on my dime!

I gotta double up my nickels 

To make one dime!

I got my mind on my money

And my money on my dime!