Shadows

I'm at a point where I'm internalizing so much stress that I'm no longer trusting my reactions or judgment. I feel like a volcano bulging with pent-up magma, ready to explode at the slightest fracture. My neck and shoulders are bunched up, my throat aches, my head throbs, and acid burns down my esophagus. It would only take one wrong word for me to erupt in rage, tears, or both.

It's no one thing. It's everything. It's the buildup of all sorts of stress and fears and worries and hopes and aggravations. It's the fatigue of the year drawing to a close. It's the frustration of senioritis. It's the lack of sleep, the lingering effects of whatever respiratory plague attacked me last week, the sense of dread as wave after wave of bad news and potentially disastrous now-we-wait-and-see news rolls in about loved ones and politics and money and everything else in this seriously fucked-up world.

I don't always deal well with stress. Okay, fine, I rarely deal well with stress.

MTL thinks I need to take a mental health day. I hate to do that. I have few enough sick days left, and I tend to hoard those for truly necessary sick leave (mine or, more likely, kidlets'), as I know all too well the financial impact of unpaid sick leave when those days run out. I do have a couple of personal business days I haven't used that will vanish if they aren't used, but I have to request those at least three days in advance, and anything further out than Thursday just isn't possible. I have senior project presentations, junior speeches, senior exams, and then the rest of final exams filling every available slot.

I'm just so TIRED. Not just physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. I can't even focus much on the wedding, because everything else takes up my attention. I can't look forward too much to the honeymoon, because a part of me dreads the possibility of having to cancel due to financial or other reasons. I don't want to have my heart too set on that in case it's pulled out of reach.

It's as if there's a threatening cloud looming over everything. I'm struggling to find the light through the shadows.

Ugly

It's one of those days--a day when I wake up in a ragingly foul mood and little can shift it during the course of the day. Thankfully, they aren't too frequent, but when they do happen, the best thing I can do is shut myself away from the world so that I don't turn into the Queen of Hearts and stomp around calling for mass decapitations.

I could not get restful sleep last night. I had odd dreams that I cannot recall but that nevertheless disturbed what little sleep I did get. I woke every hour or two, unable to get comfortable. MTL was also restless, and at times I couldn't tell whether he had woken me or I him. DramaBoy came knocking on the door at Dark Ay Em to report that The Widget was crying in pain with his ongoing bout of Unmentionable Difficulties. I soothed and medicated the poor boy, then crawled moaning back into bed.

By the time MTL and I dragged ourselves out of bed this morning, bickering over who should get up first to get breakfast going before the childrens filled themselves up with cereal, my temper was at DefCon 4.

Coffee (brewed by me) and a scrumptious breakfast (cooked by MTL) eased me temporarily. So did an indulgent session with my latest obsession, creating treasury lists on Etsy.com. But then I had to oversee the boylets in taking an overdue shower, an experience that never fails to frustrate me. And then there were the dishes to wash and the kitchen to clean. I bit my tongue the entire time, knowing full well that if I opened my mouth, whoever was nearest would suffer its lash regardless of cause. MTL finally paused in his own cleaning to ask what was wrong, and I nearly burst into tears. Scratch that: tears there were, though muffled and suppressed.

He, lovely man that he is, hugged me, reminded me that he loves me and that everyone else in the house loves me too (though sometimes I wonder), and suggested that perhaps I needed to hole up in the bedroom and rest.

So here I am. The door is firmly closed. My Emptyself station is playing on Pandora.com, I created another treasury list on Etsy, I chatted briefly with DraftQueen before she abandoned me for a trip to the fabric store, and now I'm pouring myself out here for what few readers I still have in these days of infrequent posts.

MTL is right--it's better that I shut myself away for a while, because the alternative could be ugly. It doesn't matter, though: I'm still fighting with the guilt. I can't help but think of all the things I probably should be doing right now. I can't help but be angry with myself for being in such a horrible mood in the first place. It's not like I even have a decent reason for it, other than a bit of sleep deprivation.

Argh and Grr. I need a real vacation.

Don't Feel Too Pressured. It's Just A Test Of Your Love.

I am blocked. I have started and stopped, both mentally and typically (I don't think that word means what you think it means! says my inner Inigo Montoya, and he's sort of right--get a sense of vocabulary humor, Inigo!) a half dozen posts and then I look at them (mentally or, well, on the screen) and they fall flatter than a prematurely de-ovenated souffle.

I complained to my friend Rob, and he suggested that I write about playing DnD

(no, not Diapers and Dragons--DUNGEONS and Dragons! Though the confusion is completely logical)

(and yes, I know that my geek quotient just went through the atmosphere with some of you, while others are completely unsurprised--This is the girl who wanted an Elf Ranger outfit for Christmas, you say, and now you know exactly what character I play: her name is Tahlia--pronounced Tuh-LEE-uh--and she's the only Fey in a group of humans, and she kicks ass, of course)

except that I think most of you have already glazed over just at the thought of it and the rest of you, with maybe a couple of exceptions, would join the others if I actually launched into a description of our sessions. Which, really, tend to be pretty raucous and full of hilarious geek culture references, but also involve things like complicated dice and little pewter miniatures and stats sheets and people debating over whether or not a particular attack is likely to have much effect on the target and whether Dexterity or Strength is the base stat for...

And there you go. Come back! I'll stop!

Anyhow.

I'm stumped and feeling a little desperate because I WANT TO BLOG and yet nothing is coming to me on its own. So here's my request: would you? could you? PLEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASE help me out?

If you're willing to play along, comment on this post with something you'd like to know or always wondered about me or my blog or my life or whatever, or a topic upon which you'd like me to expound, and I will go with it to the best of my ability.

And if you don't comment, I'll know who loves me and who doesn't.

I KID! I KID!!!

(Sort of.)

So....Ready? Set? GO!

Sinking

Today I'm discouraged. Deeply, deeply discouraged. As much as I try to focus on the positives of my career, as much as I try to focus on the great kids and the joy of those wonderful discussions and discoveries and moments in teaching that make my day, as much as I try to listen to the messages I get from former students saying I made a difference in their lives: today I just want to quit.

I just want to be done. Walk away, leave behind all the crap, all the heartache, all the apathy. I just want to leave behind the parents who don't understand the importance of their children's educations and who think that teachers are the Enemy rather than their allies. I just want to leave behind the political red tape and bullshit. I just want to leave behind the pervasive attitude that somehow my education and professionalism and experience mean nothing, just like that of all my many, many, many dedicated and amazing colleagues. I even want to walk away from all the students, former and current, who Need so much from me, above and beyond the parameters of academic education.

I definitely want to walk away from the pile of papers to grade and the overwhelming list of things I have to do, which grows every day.

I feel drained. It's as though I've been plugged in, but in reverse, so all the energy is being drained away from me rather than into me. I'm tired. Deeply bone-tired. I could barely move this weekend to do the bare minimum of what the weekend required, much less do much of anything productive or useful. And of course that means I have even more to do this week because I've procrastinated.

I just want to crawl into bed and sleep for twelve hours, then get up and read or work on my cross stitch project or actually exercise for once or do one of the many other things that are infinitely more attractive to me than what I actually have to do. Preferably in the company of MTL.

But I can't. I have to finish grading all these papers and quizzes and tests, and make tests, and prepare for the onslaught of project presentations, and finish grades, and somewhere in there I should probably work on cleaning a house that became absolutely trashed over Halloween weekend.

I feel like crying.

An Unexpected Post : Now With Lava. And SHARKS.

So a dear fellow teacher and friend of mine posted this link on her Facebook page with a statement about how all the cruelty in the world saddens her, and I read it while I was wasting time procrastinating taking a break during my prep hour and then commented that people like this should be exiled to an island where we wouldn't have to share the same air. And she commented back about how they don't deserve the beauty of an island, and I responded that it could be one of the ones devastated by nuclear testing and we can surround it with electric fencing and SHARKS, and she said they'd still get to enjoy the sunsets and that just doesn't seem right.

So we came up with a new idea. We think that all the evil douchebags of the world (including but not limited to cyber AND non-cyber bullies as well as massive numbers of politicians, Wall Street brokers, megacorporation CEOs, and of course idiot drivers who think the road belongs to them and their massive SUVs) should be air-dropped into the center of the very very deep caldera of a dormant volcano with impossible-to-climb sides. The top of the caldera should be rimmed with electric fencing, just in case.

We are also debating the possibility of genetically engineering lava sharks, because there need to be sharks. Obviously. We think one of our science teacher friends may be able to help us.

And just think of the excitement the evil douchebags will get to experience on a daily basis, what with all that wondering whether the volcano will decide to end its dormancy!

Talk about fire and brimstone. We have all those ultra Baptist preachers beat by a mile.

Because we're talking LAVA SHARKS, people!!!!

Like this. Only a lot scarier and more shark-like, because honestly this doesn't exactly make me shake in my shoes. Don't blame me. Blame mishaelley.

I fully expect a Nobel prize or two when we've accomplished all this. You're welcome.

Who else should we include in our group of future charcoal briquettes exiles? We're open to the possibility of employing multiple volcanoes, if need be.

Dear So and So: An Emotional Rant (Or Four)

Pants With Names posts every now and then with her very amusing versions of her friend Kat's postcard posts. You know, the "Dear So and So" type of thing. Today, I think I need to do it too. Because I am in a MOOD. One that even Ghirardelli dark chocolate with raspberry filling cannot fix.

I KNOW.

**************************************

Dear Electronic Grading System,

WTF do you mean, it's Progress Report time??? I'm not ready! I'm not prepared! I'm still scrambling to get everything done AND figure out how to balance Work and Home Life right now, and it's still in the early stages. Plus I had to take that day off to stay home with The Widget, and it's taking me twice as long to catch up as it would have to just be here.

Your little asterisks of Grades Have Not Been Entered mock me!

Yours in frantic desperation,
Ms. Buried-Up-To-My-Neck-In-Paperwork TeacherMommy

**************************************

Dear Current Students,

No, M&Ms are not suitable replacements for Godiva. Also, it's Cherry COKE. Cherry Pepsi is an abomination.

Grumpily,
Your Favorite English Teacher

**************************************

Dear You Know Who,

I know. It's AMAZING that moving to that town didn't fix all your problems. Such a shock! I never would have guessed.

I really need to work on my bitterness.

Trying To Forgive,
One of the People You Left Behind

**************************************

Dear Media, World, and People I Love,

I know there are problems with the system. I'm not saying it can't improve. And I love that there are options for people, like private schools and charters and homeschooling. But here's the reality check: they're not all perfect either. Or even always better. And every time you lump all of us educators together under the category of "lazy" or "useless" or "outdated" or "unnecessary", you injure a group of people who, in a far greater majority than you give them credit for, have chosen a career that is full of stress and challenge and (increasingly) very little thanks--and do a damn good job.

You want to measure my efficacy? You want some stats? Today alone I actively taught five classes (three different courses), graded eight sets of quizzes, rewrote two quizzes, prepped questions and activities for a novel, answered over twenty emails, entered grades into the grading system, wrote a wiki rubric for the district benchmark "test", checked in three classes' worth of vocabulary assignments, and helped several individual students who had issues or questions outside of class.

That was in five hours. And I'm still behind.

That doesn't even include the unmeasurable aspects: getting students excited about literature, making them laugh, working with other teachers to develop ideas and activities and curriculum. How are you going to gather statistics on the number of students I impact in the ways that don't show up on standardized tests?

And I'm not even the best or hardest working teacher I know, not by a long shot. AND THEY'RE EVERYWHERE.

And here's the other thing: we take everyone. That's EVERYONE. Regardless of ethnicity or religion or gender or financial status or, especially, disability. We don't get to pick and choose like almost every private and charter school does. We take everyone, and we care about them, and we do our damnedest under increasingly difficult circumstances.

And then we get shit on from every direction. Including our own administration, our politicians, the media, and (God help me) even our own friends and family.

I told my students' parents on Sneak Peek night that I teach because I love doing it and I love working with these kids. It's true. But for the first time in my entire career, even when I was so close to burn-out that I could taste it (twice), I realized this week that if I miraculously won the lottery with that ticket I never buy, I wouldn't keep teaching.

Stop saying "Oh, but I didn't mean YOU." Yes, you did. Because I'm in this along with all the others.

It's been a hard week.

Sincerely,
Your Emotionally Raw TeacherMommy

Me, My Elf, And I

So it turns out that if you wear a pair of realistic elf ears into a Meijer at around eight o'clock on a Sunday night, just long enough to grab a jar of maraschino cherries*, you won't get that much attention. Well, other than from the old man waiting for his wife to finish checking out the fab Meijer clothing. He will look quite surprised and a touch alarmed.

However, if you wear that pair of realistic elf ears into an El Patio Mexican restaurant so that you can nom some nomilicious chili rellenos and tacos, well, you will get some attention. Hilariously, it will come in the form of sidelong stares and en espagnol asides and surreptitious giggles from the (all male) staff. And possibly the customers, according to MTL, though I couldn't see them. NO ONE WILL SAY ANYTHING.

I love society.

Also, MTL now realizes to what an extent his social anxiety has faded over the years, because he was amused rather than bothered in the least by sitting next to an elf-in-human's-clothing in a public area. You know, other than the Renaissance Festival, where such things are blase and normal.

The attention being the potential issue, not the ears. He LOVES the ears. Trust me. *ahem*

Yes, peoples, I am a geek.

You want to know just how much of a geek I really am? The ears (purchased and custom skin-tone blended at the aforementioned Renaissance Festival, where I could easily spend thousands and thousands of dollars if I had them) (the dollars, not the ears) are my first step towards assembling a kickass Elf Ranger costume.

Oh yes. THAT MUCH OF A GEEK.

Next thing you know, I'll be LARPing.

Because, peoples, Geeks are Teh Awesome. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Or I'll nail 'em in the ass with an arrow.**

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*This purchase is less odd than it may appear. But that's not the point of the story, so I'll leave it to your imagination.
**Well, I will once I have some. And a bow. And a quiver. Anyone have a few hundred dollars to spare?

Guilt (Mine) and Consequences (DramaBoy's)

Apparently the most votes are for details on DramaBoy's Full Day Time Out, and really I will write about that, but first I want to note that today I am in enforced idleness. No, really. I had planned to head back to the house while The Ex was at work and do what packing I can do until we have our Official Negotiations over items like CDs and DVDs and dishes and pots and pans and children's clothing and toys. Also, I was going to watch the recorded sessions of "So You Think You Can Dance" from the last couple of weeks.

Instead, I am sitting on the couch contemplating how I can make this day Useful and Productive in other ways, because this morning I received a text from The Ex requesting that I not go to the house today. I don't know why. Perhaps he's working from home today; perhaps his girlfriend will be there; perhaps it's trashed and he doesn't want me there until he cleans (though that's unlikely). It doesn't really matter. The end result is the same.

I find that, as lazy as I am and can be, I don't deal well with Doing Nothing, at least by myself. Apparently I can spend hours and days and weeks Doing Nothing (well, nothing Productive, at any rate) in company with MTL and be as content as a cat on a sunny windowsill. Find myself alone with nothing much to do for a day and the Guilt begins. I mean really, God forbid I spend a day doing nothing but relaxing.

So far I plan to fold that load of laundry that is still in the dryer, mail MTL's Jury Summons Questionnaire (he's SO EXCITED), pick up Change of Address cards, go to a couple of banks, and call my former student C. who needs a responsible adult *giggle* to chaperone her in some driving practice so she can get her license. Don't worry, you legally-minded people: she graduated, so I'm no longer in that teacher/academic legal position.

Oh, and I may also go shopping for my cousin's wedding present and perhaps even some things for my sister's baby shower.

I'm living on the edge, Peoples.

*********************************

So you want to know how this whole Full Day Time Out thing happened with DramaBoy, huh? Okay, here goes.

I mentioned a while back that DramaBoy is a mini-me in more than looks: he's also all-too-frequently full of defiance and disobedience. Don't get me wrong. He's a good kid at heart. Well, let me rephrase that. He's not a bad kid. I'm not worrying about him ending up in Juvie. Yet.

He is, however, a handful and a half. Lately MTL and I (and apparently also The Ex, when we discussed it) have been noticing a disturbing trend. DramaBoy has developed an attitude that, frankly, pisses us off. And I helped create it. You see, I've always insisted that when DramaBoy and The Widget do something wrong, they have to apologize for it. Over time, that became part of the end point of punishment. Somehow, in DramaBoy's mind, this came to mean that if he apologizes for something, then everything is over--and he started acting like that should be enough. He apparently thinks that if he says sorry, he shouldn't get punished.

Ha.

On top of that, his apologies have stopped meaning anything. They have become flippant, something that he seems to see as a joke. He's become cocky and arrogant, or as much so as a four-year-old can be. And he's stopped paying attention much to what Adults In Charge are saying.

(MTL and I spotted a t-shirt the other day that, if it had come in DB's size, I might have bought for him. It read It's Cute How You Think I'm Listening To You. We agreed that might as well be DB's motto. Enough said.)

The first day up north at Nana and Papa's (MTL's parents) place was like a dream. DB behaved perfectly. He was outside all day playing, having fun, staying out of trouble, being a wonderful big brother to The Widget and "almost brother"/playmate with KlutzGirl. He was cheerful and polite and helpful. MTL and I both praised him for it, wanting to give some positive reinforcement for such behavior.

Sunday morning went well too. Then in the afternoon things took a turn for the worse. DB started playing around the outdoor air conditioning unit, putting things like leaves and wood chips through the wire mesh. Nana told him to stop, that what he was doing was dangerous. He ignored her. Then when she called him over and lectured him about listening and obeying, out came that attitude. So off he went to Time Out in a lawn chair--and the attitude kept coming. That earned him a Gibbs. He ended up falling asleep in the chair, and we hoped that a nap would help. After he woke up, he apologized to Nana, and we let him run off and play again.

So we figured he could go along when we all went off to Dairy Queen that night. Except when we arrived (we had to take two cars), MTL came over to my car to talk to DB: The Padawan had informed him during the drive that DB had been throwing sticks at MTL's car as well as climbing on my car and had been rude and disobedient when told to stop. MTL asked DB if he had done this.

And DB said Yep. With a look on his face like So what? What you going to do? And then he said, Sorry! Again with a look like I don't give a damn, but I'll toss you an apology to keep you happy.

And the attitude kept coming, even after punishment, even after being denied ice cream, even after the long wait and then the long ride home. I told him to say sorry for real to MTL, and he said the words--but the look on his face and the tone of his voice said that it was all a joke to him. MTL refused to accept his apology. And I was fed up.

Tomorrow, I told him, you are grounded. You'll be in Time Out all day. No playing, no toys, no TV, no fun. 

But I said sorry! he protested.

It's not enough to say sorry, I replied. You have to mean it. And if you were really sorry, you wouldn't keep doing these things. You would listen. You wouldn't do what you know is wrong. And you wouldn't have this attitude. You're not getting grounded because you threw sticks. You're getting grounded because you don't care that you did something wrong and you won't listen to the Adults In Charge.

So that was that. The next day, from the time he woke up until the time he went to bed, he had to either sit in a chair next to me or, when it started raining and we went inside where there was the TV, lie on Nana and Papa's bed in the back room. With no toys, no books, nothing.

MTL and I both talked to him about the situation throughout the day, emphasizing that the problem lay with his attitude. DramaBoy protested a few times in the morning, and once again tried "apologizing" in the hopes of getting out of the punishment, but we stuck to our guns. By afternoon he was resigned to his lot and remarkably cooperative. He fell asleep for a while, and then came out to eat pizza while The Widget was put back in Nana and Papa's room for a nap. Once DB was done eating, he went back to lie down on the bed again--without even being told. He didn't try to sneak toys in, he didn't complain, nothing. He only got out of bed to go to the bathroom and then to tell me that The Widget was awake and crying for me.

We were all rather impressed, truthfully.

The next day the grounding was lifted, just in time to climb into the car and head home. And lo and behold, DB lied to MTL about something as we were getting ready to go, and then at a pit stop disobeyed me about something else--and the attitude flooded back.

So MTL slung the boy over his shoulder, dumped him back into the car, and traded keys with me so that I could drive his car while MTL drove mine--with The Widget and a screaming DramaBoy inside.

There are many reasons I love that man.

Apparently DB was quiet and obedient for the remainder of the ride. Meanwhile, I easily quelled a few incipient quarrels between KlutzGirl and The Dark One while The Padawan slept, and I drove in relative peace for the second half of the drive.

So. Did the grounding work? I think it did. I'm not naive enough to have expected it to fix the problem in one Swell Foop, but it did lay some solid groundwork. I talked with The Ex about it, and we're all going to be tackling that attitude problem.

I think DramaBoy's about to find out that he's messing with the wrong adults. He may be stubborn, but so are we. And we outnumber him.

Thank God.

Any advice from all of you Peoples? What have you done with your Strong Willed Children?

I've Got Them Under My Skin. Kind of Like Chiggers.

So Wanderlust tagged me for a meme about Seven Things That Get Under My Skin (but not in the Frank Sinatra sort of way) and it's honestly more about narrowing down the list than coming up with ideas. Especially today because OMG I was hanging on to my temper with a death grip at one point this afternoon, I kid you not. It was one of those moments where I had to shut my mouth and just breathe, then decide NOT to address the issue that was standing there in the room like the biggest frickin' pachyderm ever described by Rudyard Kipling (Oh Best Beloveds) and instead move on while talking in a very very very calm and soft voice. This served to send every student in the room into a stock-still nervous hush because they could tell the slightest slip might send me over the edge and they apparently wanted to survive the day.

Smartest thing they did all hour.

Anywho, here are my grumpy seven things that are currently getting under my skin (and I'm keeping a smallish scope here, people, because it could get ugly otherwise.)

--1--

Politicians. Pretty much all the time and everywhere, but especially (right now) the Michigan ones who have apparently decided that their budget woes can be solved by screwing all the public servants and state employees, especially the teachers, police officers, and firefighters. BECAUSE THEY CAN.

--2--

Lazy students. Like mine today. The ones who've had a week to work on a project WITH class time to do so and chose today--the Due Day--to come up and tell me they weren't done and needed more time. Or the ones who had a presentation but had obviously invested as little effort as possible. It's a good thing this year is almost over, both for my blood pressure and their continued existence.

--3--

The smokers whining about the changed law here in Michigan. Especially the ones who believe that second-hand smoke is a myth. I KID YOU NOT. Makes me want to grab their little cancer sticks and shove them in a different orifice so they can enjoy a special kind of smoking experience.

--4--

The legal system. Especially the way it's been designed to make it as difficult as possible, if not practically impossible, to do anything without resorting to lawyers. It's a self-propagating, parasitic process that sucks us "regular" people dry. As Arby commented to me last week, judges are just lawyers in a referee outfit. And as Shakespeare wisely humorously wrote in Henry VI: The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.*

--5--

Bureaucratic nonsense--especially bureaucratic nonsense that costs money. The district hired a firm to run an audit of all the dependents carried on health insurance by district employees. You know, to make sure we're not lying bastards or whatever it is they think we are. I never received my audit in the mail, or it got misplaced (you know, what with the whole weird living situation thing), so here I get an email today about it, and I have to come up with all this paperwork proving the existence of my dependents. It needs to be postmarked by May 31st. WHICH IS MEMORIAL DAY. /headdesk

So I'm scrambling to get that together and mailed by Friday at the latest.

And how is this audit being funded? Oh, don't worry. It's not being paid for up front by the district. No, it will be paid out of the premium savings made through the audit.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

--6--

Telling a certain someone that he needs to get a certain task accomplished for OVER A MONTH only to discover, yet again, that it was not accomplished. And knowing full well, all the time, that eventually I will have to give in and just do it my own damn self, give him the receipt, and have him pay for it this time because I paid for it last time. Just like almost every one of these kinds of tasks we share. Passive aggressive, much? Also see: insanity.

--7--

KIDS WHO WILL NOT GO TO SLEEP even though it's getting insanely late and they'll be super grouchy in the morning when I have to get them up to go to school. I mean, at least they're being quiet. But the morning's gonna be a bitch.


There you go. I think I may have used up my grump allotment for the day. But WHOO does it feel good to get it out!

I'm now tagging:

DraftQueen at The Drafts Folder
Beth at BurkinaMom in France
Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka
MaryMac at Pajamas and Coffee
Nicola at Some Mothers Do Ave Em
Melissa at Rock and Drool

And since the whining gets to even me, let's relax a bit and listen to something much nicer.

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*For the sake of legal protection, I state for the record that I am not, in fact, promoting or condoning violence toward anyone, no matter how scum-sucking or sharklike he or she may be. Ahem.

O Man! Who Knows Thee Well Must Quit Thee With Disgust*

--1--

Yesterday when I picked the kidlets up from school, DramaBoy discovered a fuzzy little caterpillar on the sidewalk. He pounced on it immediately like it was his long lost best friend and let it run all over his hands.

It took all my motherly fortitude to respond to his delight with a Oh wow! That's so very cool! rather than squealing like the girly girl I can occasionally be. I then informed him that he could NOT take it into the car as a pet and that it would be happier in the bushes.

Apparently he now plans to check on his little buddy every time we enter and exit the building.

If he becomes an entomologist, I'm going to have to make him bathe in sanitizer before he ever steps foot in my house.

--2--

This morning I was checking in homework with my first hour junior class. One student checked his in. About five minutes later another student walked up with a paper to check in. I looked at it and immediately recognized it as the identical paper (not even a copy--THE SAME PAPER) that the first student had shown me, just with the second student's name on it. They both received zeros--the second student for trying to pass it off as his work, the first for collaborating in the attempted deception.

What pisses me off the most? They thought I'm stupid enough not to notice. Now that's just insulting.

--3--

Today is the unofficial Senior Skip Day.

It makes me angry every year.

Seniors get out two weeks earlier than everyone else. They have final exams next week. Final projects are coming due as we speak. What on earth makes anyone think it's okay to simply not attend school at this point in the year?

What makes it worse is the parents who readily excuse the absence.

When I tell my students that my own children will not be allowed to do this, nor be allowed to run off to Mexico or Florida or other such hedonistic destinations for Spring Break during high school, I'm treated as though I am violating an essential human right.

Today during my Myth class, which has a heavy contingent of seniors, students will be doing a participation-based activity. Those without hospital notes or court papers will receive a zero. Want to challenge that? Check the attendance policy.

Being a Righteous Bitch Teacher: I'm doin' it right.

--4--

MTL and I keep overhearing people who are upset about the recently enacted law here in Michigan that bans smoking in most public places. These people keep complaining about how the state is violating their personal rights and that the government has no right to try to make them quit smoking.

They don't get it. The government isn't trying to get them to quit. Cigarettes are still legal. They can still smoke. Just not where MY personal rights (and lungs) will be violated by their cigarette smoke.

They keep saying it will hurt the economy, too.

Oddly enough, the neighborhood bar where I had pizza last night was just as full of people as it usually is on a Thursday night.

Go figure.

--5--

Fifteen years ago as a high school senior I dated a junior boy very casually for a couple of weeks. Then we broke up, but stayed friends. I received a letter from him a few months after I started college. It was six pages of explicit horror, describing things I'd never even imagined, much less (in my naivete of the time) heard of before. He ended up getting in big trouble with the school administration because of it. It took me three years to stop shaking when I talked about the incident.

Two years ago when I began using Facebook, he tried to friend me. I ignored him. This morning I found an email in my inbox notifying me that he had friend requested me again.

What on God's green earth makes him think I want to have anything to do with him? I don't care whether we have 92 Facebook friends in common or not!

Guess who's getting blocked on Facebook today?

--6--

I should be legally divorced by now. I should have been divorced as of ten o'clock yesterday. The idiotic judge decided to make us jump through one more (unnecessary and ridiculous) legal hoop and therefore adjourned the trial date to June 8th. If I wanted to jump through hoops, I'd take a gymnastics class.

On the silvery side of things, The Ex and I haven't been this united in a very long time. Both of us just want to be DONE already. We were positively friendly in the wake of our joint disgust over the situation.

--7--

My tenth graders are reading Elie Wiesel's Night right now. It's an amazing book, well worth the prizes it has earned, but it's very difficult to read. Not in language, but in detail.

I struggle with stories of the Holocaust. Whether in movies or books, there is something about that horror of human history that stabs me to the core. I've been struggling not to weep during our discussions.

This morning we talked about what happened to the children. The infants flung into the air as target practice for Nazi guns. The babies ripped from their mothers' arms and bashed against walls, then discarded like broken dolls. The tiny bodies tossed into the furnaces of Bergen-Belsen, Auschwitz, Birkenau like so much cord wood.

My body revolts against the images in my mind. My lungs strain for air. My eyes well with tears. My voice hitches, halts, stumbles on.

My students are still, visages stone as they struggle to comprehend the inhumanity of Man.

My sorrows run pale and shallow in the face of the words I read.

---------------------
*Lord Byron, from "Inscription"

I Think It Should Be More Than One Week A Year, But At Least There's SOMETHING!

Photo courtesy of www.worldbuzznow.com

(See? I CITED MY SOURCE!)

Have you thanked a teacher today?

I mean, you don't necessarily have to walk up to some random teachers and thank them, because while they may be somewhat pleased, they'll also be very confused. This is because they'll be sure you must have been their student/parent of a student at some point and they've forgotten your face and name and holy crap what do they do now?!?!?!

So be nice. Thank a teacher you know. Or, more to the point, knows you.

As for me, my not-so-little brats are driving me crazy today because they apparently did NOT get the memo. I'm trying very hard to not commit a felony stay professional.

WARNING: RANT POST MAY BE FORTHCOMING unless those kids who didn't show up for the presentation THEY SIGNED UP FOR were in the hospital and have the doctor's note to prove it, because they are DEAD MEAT otherwise, let me tell you grumblemumblegrumblegrrrrrrrrr......

Cheers!!!

If They Thought I Was Tough Before, They're Realizing Their Error Now

It's that time of year again.

They're scowling at me. They're whispering that maybe they should have switched out to another English teacher's class at the semester break. You know, three months ago.

Of course, it doesn't help that I practically brought some of them to tears today when I ranted gave them a lecture about the sloppy job most of them did on the small research papers they turned in just before Spring Break. The ones I spent several hours grading last week. The ones I was tempted to rip into shreds and use as kitty litter since that was obviously the value their authors had placed on the assignment.

It's not like I hadn't been clear about my expectations, or given them insufficient time to do the work, or neglected to provide them with the resources they needed. No, apparently a large percentage of my students decided my rules and guidelines and such didn't really apply to them.

I informed them they weren't that special. I mean, there are times when they get to be unique little snowflakes. This was not one of those times.

They were lucky I was relatively merciful. But that was then. This is now.

Not only am I creating a nice little assignment that will drill the rules they so carelessly disregarded into their heads, I've made it abundantly clear that I will NOT be remotely merciful when it comes time for them to turn in the final drafts of their Great Big Papers.

Ms. "Nice" TeacherMommy is gone now. This marking period I will be The Bitch, The Hardass, The Nasty Teacher Who Makes Us Do Crazy Work. And you know why?

It's summed up by a poster that hangs on my wall:

You Won't Be Rewarded For Having Brains, But For USING Them.

Gear up, kiddos. It's going to be a wild ride.

To Whom It May Concern: Social Paradigm Shift Edition

Dear Should-Be-Creepy-Man-Who-Smokes-His-Pipe-Next-to-the-Apartment-Entrance,

There's something about you that says you should be creepy. Your subtly twisted and malformed face; your shifty eyes that never quite meet my gaze; the fact that you always seem to be hovering around the entrance to the apartment building when I get there in the afternoon. And yet...you're not. You open the door so I didn't have to fumble with my bags. You always nod a silent hello. Your pipe smoke is aromatic and comforting.

You seem nice.

I'll go with my intuition on this one. Smoke on, dude, smoke on.

The Half-time Occupant from B-1

**************************************

Dear Formerly-Jackass-Students-from-First-Hour,

I wasn't sure whether it was going to happen, and boy did it take it's sweet time. But that shift from OMG you are so frickin' annoying (me) and OMG she's such a bitch (you) to us suddenly joking around and you visiting my room during other hours...Yeah. You two are suddenly part of that group that stretches back over nearly a decade of teaching. You have become My Boys.

Congratulations. Now get out of my room and get back to class!

Ms. TeacherMommy-and-No-I-Will-Not-Be-Your-Boi!!!!

**************************************

Darling Friend-of-the-Heart and Sole Soul Sister,

When did we switch roles? How is it that I'm the one kicking your ass about relationship woes instead of you kicking mine?

I almost feel Grown Up. And I love you. Don't make me come over there and do it for real.

Your Forever Friend

[im]patience

patience is a virtue
true
but i'm not that virtuous
and instead sit gritting teeth
clenching fists
eying the heavens to ask
when?
it doesn't seem much to ask
just a deadline
not even an hour
just a date
june 21st
for example
and then i can exhale and say
all right
i can hold out until then

i'm sure this is all very
character building
this uncertainty and fear
lessons i sorely need
in patience and reliance on others
and yes
i know i need to
let go let God
release it all and
take it day by day
all those old cliches
and aphorisms
and maxims
that are rooted in truth

but knowledge
and application
are two different things
i think i may be lacking the gene for patience
so i asked a friend to pull in her contacts
and see if they could splice me one
you see?
i'm already asking for help
and that's better than i used to be
when i thought i had to do everything on my own

maybe they'll earn a nobel prize
for genetics
by decoding a patience gene
and helping me out

until then
i sit here on the couch
remind myself to breathe
think a bit
pray a bit
and quell the urge to catch time by the throat
and throttle some certainty out of it

Seriously, When I Hear It "Take Off" I Want to Take Off Too

Why, I ask, are so many children's toys so damn ANNOYING?

They beep, they boop, they screech and ding and howl and flash lights and generally drive any reasonable adult within a twenty-foot radius absolutely insane. They also seem to involve a hundred little pieces that will get misplaced and be found by someone's unsuspecting foot--most often the innocent parent. Oh, and they all require a half-dozen batteries that die within a few hours' use. In order to remove and replace the batteries, one must first locate one of those tiny little screwdrivers that constantly vanish (much in the same way as the Second Sock Phenomenon) in order to unscrew the twenty tiny screws that keep our little darlings from accessing the batteries and nomming all that lovely battery acid.

I'd just let the batteries die, shrug, and say Oh, it's so sad! It must be broken. Might as well get rid of it, okay? if it weren't for the equally annoying (and noisy) wailing and gnashing of teeth that would ensue. I'm not sure which is worse, really.

And of course we all know who gives those gifts most often. That's right. People who are NOT the parents of the children. Because they don't have to deal with the horror. This last Christmas was particularly bad for my boys in this regard. The house is now filled to the brim with countless toys that are endangering my precarious sanity.

So those of you who do this? (You so know who you are.) I have a suggestion. Instead of spending vast amounts of money on noisy, annoying, expensive toys that will drive parents insane and be forgotten in a corner after a few months, get something simple. Avoid noises and flashing lights and tons of pieces and battery-requirements. Oh, and you really don't have to put the toy stores back in the black single-handedly. I guarantee that if you start doing this when they're young, they'll never miss the excess. I didn't.

And if you still feel like you need to spend more money? Get something useful. Like clothes they'll actually wear. Or a college fund. Or pay some of their daycare tuition.

Chances are the parents will appreciate that much more than some footlong space shuttle with realistic light and sound effects.

Not that I would know anything about a toy like that. Or desire to smash it into a hundred pieces.

Ahem.

Not That I'm Desperate For Topics or Anything *Ahem*

Okay. I mentioned before that it gets tricky these days to come up with topics for this blog, because of the whole minefield of my personal life and whatnot. I mean, posts about the Great Toilet Paper Hanging Debate are fabulous in their own right (and yes, Lauren, I absolutely came up with that one while sitting on the pot after a friendly debate over that very topic with someone), but I can't write about that every day.

(Though seriously, take the little poll over in the upper right-hand corner, because that's blog fodder for next week. You have until 9 a.m. next Wednesday, January 13th, to vote.)

So I'm going to take a page from a few other bloggers' books sites, so to speak, and ask you, my beloved readers, to help me out. In the comments on this post, please ask me questions, humorous or serious, that you would like me to answer. I don't promise to answer them all (especially if doing so would set off one of those mines), but I'll do my best!

And if you have a brilliant topic in general that you think I would write about well, please feel free to send that my way as well.

Please don't let me down! I don't care if you're a longtime reader or a recent visitor, a family member or someone I've never met: JUST LEAVE A COMMENT! (Well, you know, with a question or topic suggestion.)

You can DO it!

I Was Trying For Something Humorous And Then Found Myself Getting All Nasty. Must Have Been The Subject Matter.

We never talk trash, our rhymes are clean
Our rhymes are never vague and we say nothing obscene
So any sucker mcs who wanna battle us
Can you go at least 20 lines without a cuss?
Cause once we start to jam, you'll be in a state of shock
Clear the way party people, we're the new kids on the block

Ah, memories. Back in 1990, when I was a gangly, gawky, flat-as-a-stick seventh grader with bad skin and worse hair, someone brought a CD back from the United States that sent waves of (delayed) pop culture through our little boarding school. This was the Next Big Thing, what Regular Americans were listening to, and if we were going to be Cool, we had to be in love with

The New Kids On The Block

God help us all.

Boy bands had been around for a while, apparently (Menudo, anyone?), but NKOTB made them American as apple pie and pickup trucks with shotgun racks. The boys were so Cute. They were so Upbeat and Perky. More to the point for us, they were ICA*-approved, which meant that their lyrics would not offend the Powers That Be Were. That meant we were allowed to listen to the caterwauling music and dance er, bob our heads in appropriate restraint.

I didn't really get the music. But Everyone Loved NKotB, so therefore I loved NKOTB. And when the other girls asked me breathlessly which one was my favorite New Kid, I went with the most popular answer and said Joey...or was that Jordan? Crap, I don't remember any more. Because it was such an IMPORTANT decision, you know. The New Kid you liked best apparently said huge amounts about you.

I think some people may have gotten into fights over it, but mostly I just tried not to look too confused.

When NKOTB went out of style (thankfully quickly), I had hope that the days of boy band craze were of Yore. I should have known better.

In college, along came

The Backstreet Boys

who were then challenged by

'N Sync

and I believe people still debate who won that fight.

I am TOTALLY an 'N Sync girl, let me tell you. I mean, really. How could there be any competition there? Justin T., y'all!!!

Excuse me while I run to the restroom.

Whew. Sorry about that.

And if that weren't enough, along came the MMMMbopping Hansons

Aren't they nauseating adorable?

And lest we think that only the male half of the species offended, there were

The Spice Girls

I wish I could say that was all. But it wasn't.

What do I have against the Boy (and occasionally Girl) Bands?

Well. Where do I begin?

If you like meaningless and cheezy lyrics, derivative melodies, overchoreographed dance moves, an almost complete inability to write or actually PLAY music (and let's not even talk about originality here), and an overwhelming emphasis on merchandising and faux celebrity "news", then go for it. Boy Band it up. More power to ya.

Personally, I want to hurl.

And yet...there is something hypnotic about that pop-bubblegum, faux badass, overproduced stuff. It's kind of like Taco Bell or Cheetos. You know it's just so very bad for you, but once you start eating...you can't put it down.

Because while I may not have ever owned an album by one of these bands...

I did catch myself singing along to their songs.

And I kind of liked that one 'N Sync music video where they were marionettes.

And I did watch the Spice Girls movie.

 I may be going to Music Hell.

Um, so DraftQueen? Once you decide to forgive me for my musical sins, you want to send me some more mp3s? I'll be washing my brain out so it's clean enough to receive those luscious songs.

Oh, and you can thank Jason Mayo of Out-Numbered for the post topic. He apparently is a Backstreet Boys fanatic (seriously, all I can do is giggle) and has threatened to play Boy Band music through my window at night so it haunts my nightmares dreams.

I'd be a lot more scared if he knew where I live.

I'll never tell. I value my sanity too much.

----------------------------------------------
*International Christian Academy, the now-defunct boarding school where I went for 7-9 and 11-12th grades. They were quite conservative there. Quite.

Scrooge Had a Point

OK, America.

I'm putting you on notice.

For the next week and a half, every time I walk into a store and hear Christmas carols, I will turn around and Walk Out That Door. Even if all I need is a half gallon of milk.

For the next week and a half, every time I walk into a store and see Christmas displays, I will avoid that aisle and/or area like the plague. Even if it contains exactly what I need.

For the next week and a half, every time I'm scanning through the radio stations and hear Christmas carols, I will delete that station from my memory list. If it's not on my memory list, I will temporarily put it on my memory list and then delete it, just on principle.

For the next week and a half, every time I'm flipping through the TV channels and see a commercial/movie/show that deals with Christmas or holiday themes, I will continue on my way and Will Not Return to that channel until after Thanksgiving. I'll write the channel number down as a reminder if I have to.

For the next week and a half, every time I see, hear, or feel the slightest bit of Christmas and/or holiday cheer ANYWHERE, I will be Elsewhere.

Thanksgiving isn't even over, people!

Besides, Christmas is a scary Unknown Entity this year, and I'd rather not think about it if I don't have to, thankyouverymuch. I'll be hiding Over There.

Sometimes Honesty is Not the Best Policy

So here I was, wondering what post I could write today that wouldn't be all depressing and mopey and all caught up in the drama of this stupid frickin' month, and lo! the lovely and marvelous Fraught Mummy of Brits in Bosnia posted a highly amusing bit about the difference between what you say and what you mean. I was inspired. So here goes my own "Lost in Translation" piece de resistance:

To my children as they crawl into my bed ten minutes before the alarm goes off: Good morning, babies. I have to get up soon, okay? = You couldn't have waited ten more minutes? I mean, I love your cuddles and all, but I could really have used that addition to what little sleep I get these days. Ack! Get your cold little feet out of my lady bits!

To the secretaries: Good morning! = Crap, another morning. And even though I got a little more sleep last night because I popped some Nyquil tablets, I still feel like something the cat dragged in and every time I talk for more than three minutes I start coughing and my head starts aching because apparently some Throat Troll decided to drag its nasty little claws all over my throat last week and leave me in this condition for what looks like the entire next month. I like you ladies, but I really would rather be looking at the undersides of my eyelids right now.

To the student who just shaved his head: Wow! You shaved your head. = You look like a misshaped cueball. I hope you did that for charitable reasons.

To the student eating some yoghurt: What are you eating? = You better have brought something for me to stuff into my mouth too, girl. 

To the student who always asks when her grades will be turned in: They will make it onto the marking period. = Seriously, stop asking me every other second. I know you have OCD and anxiety issues, but you're making my anxiety shoot through the roof. I have all but two of your grades in at this point and girl, I do have a life and girl, I do have my own share of stress and if you keep looking at me with that half-crazed thisclosetoapanicattack look on your face I will simply throw. them. away. THEN you'll have something to panic about.

To the same student: I'll tell you about the homework when I tell everyone else. = Holy crap. Seriously, it's not enough that you have to panic about your grades (which at least has some little measure of justification), you also have to come in every morning and ask about the homework ahead of time so you can get ahead even more and then screw me up because I get confused and tell you the wrong information? Which then further aggravates your anxiety and gives me a massive load of guilt? Also, we'll actually be doing something in class today so it's kind of pointless to go over this with you when you might as well just wait until I go over it with everyone. Again, I know you have OCD and anxiety issues, and I really want to like you and admire your work ethic, but you are Driving. Me. Insane.

To my students: It would be wise to take notes. = Staring off into space will NOT be condusive to a good grade on, oh, say the QUIZ you have to take the next time I see you. Not to mention actually KNOWING anything in this life. Do you really think I'm talking just to hear myself? Do you really think I'm risking a Coughing Fit from Hell to fill your ears with meaningless noise? I'm trying to cram some INFORMATION into your ungrateful, atrophied, empty little brains here! Get a frickin' CLUE!

To my students: There are still quizzes out. = Shut your mouths, you noisy little buggers. Seriously, all I ask is that you actually remain silent until every quiz is turned in. It's a simple thing. Really. You want to see what happens if you keep this up?

To my students, again: Remain SILENT. There are still quizzes out. = Holy crap! Are you frickin' KIDDING me with this? You see this pen? You see your papers? Do you want to see the points vanish?!?!? And then would you like to see where your crispy remains will be stored when the Flaming Glare of Death is turned upon your whispering, giggling, noise-making, rude-as-all-get-out bodies?!?!?! Don't think I'm not capable! I'll show you capable!!!!!!!

To my students, finally: Have a great weekend! = Thank the little gods and graces that you're getting out of my sight, because I was thisclose to grabbing those stupid earbuds you wear around your necks like some sort of futuristic necktie and stuffing them down your throats so they will get tangled in your tonsils. Two days without seeing your rolling eyes and hearing your smart mouths MIGHT just make it possible for me to avoid Going Educational (TM) on your asses.

Maybe it's a good thing I have a filter between my brain and my mouth. Although it's getting awfully clogged these days...

Look, Ma! No Heels!

Today has been Crazy and I'm not going to go into all the reasons why because it mainly involves Other People doing and not doing things they shouldn't or should, as the case may be, and I don't feel like outing them here because they're not my students (who are almost always fair game) and at least one of them is no longer mentioned on this blog and the other would get hurt feelings and I'm trying not to be bitchy.

With only a small measure of success, but hey! You take your victories where you can get them.

With luck, I will be able to somehow both completely rearrange my plans for the day and still fit in what I need to do, including go to the doctor and get the boys' hair cut.  We'll see. I can hold off on the hair until tomorrow if I really must.

So in the spirit of Focusing on the Positive, here are my gorgeous new boots with the (faux) fur:

You're welcome. You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives. I'll be over here trying not to resent you for it.