The Exasperating Case of the Insomniac in the Night Time

I am crawling through my day on approximately zero-point-four hours of sleep last night which, last time I checked, doesn't come even close to the amount of sleep I need to babble even semi-coherently at the Raving Rabble that still insists on inhabiting my classroom periodically throughout my day. I mean, the seniors are gone--other than the occasional ones who pop in unexpectedly to bring me senior pictures and tell me that I am awesome and they will miss me horribly and YAY! I CAN ADD YOU ON FACEBOOK NOW! and all that, which, hey, practically makes me miss the Mangy Maggots--

(can maggots get mange? somehow I doubt this, but I rather like the nastiness of the alliteration and will leave it be.)

(hey, it's my blog and I can even stop using capital letters OR WRITE ALL IN CAPS if I want to--so there)

(I really need some sleep)

(Where was I? Oh yes.) --but the juniors and sophomores persist. On top of expecting me to rehash every piece of text they've SparkNoted read all semester, little glints of hope sparkling in their eyes that I will give up and just tell them the answers for the test, they expect me to actually read and comment on and grade the massive term papers that I sado-masochistically assign every year. WHY DO I DO THIS???? I ask myself every single f***ing year at this time as I gaze in doomy gloom--or gloomy doom, whichever is dominant at the time--at the massive pile of seven-to-ten- (sophomores) and ten-to-twelve- (juniors) page papers that threaten to smother me in a paperlanche. Of course, this year I had them all submit their papers electronically to the wonderful electronic plagiarism catcher slash online grading service we use, so it's all threatening me VIRTUALLY, which is interesting. At least this way there's less chance of Death By Papercut.

On top of that, I have gradually gained a sense that I am Not At All Well over the course of the day, including feeling rather feverish, developing a sore throat, and (since that wasn't enough) becoming increasingly nauseated.

(NOT NAUSEOUS, which is the error everybody makes these days that drives me absolutely batshit insane, because being NAUSEOUS means that it/one/you CAUSE[S] NAUSEA, not that you HAVE it. People feel NAUSEATED, dammit, and while some people may in fact be nauseous, like the nasty-piece-of-work senior who burned his last bridge with me two weeks ago and will NOT be getting friended on Facebook thankyouverymuch, that is not what most people are attempting to indicate. THAT WORD DOES NOT MEAN WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS.)

Ahem.

To add just a little more spice to our day, we went into a level one lockdown a short time ago, which means they aren't allowing people in or out of the building because there's a perceived threat somewhere in the area. It's the lowest level lockdown, but I have no idea why it's happening or when it will end. Because, you know, today wasn't enough of a Mondayish sort of Monday already.

The silver lining in it all is that my fourth hour sophomores cheered me up with their depictions of starfish of varying ethnicity and religion on the dry erase board, something that originated with a perky Jewish Starfish in a markered mural that gradually developed over the course of last week. The mural started with a cartoon turtle (a rather adorable one, much like the turtle on our class t-shirt with the joke word "intelligous" we had made last semester) with a speech bubble declaring I'm a turtle!, and it developed from there. The Jewish Starfish (a six-pointed starfish, naturally) showed up toward the end, along with a School of Attici--the plural form of "Atticus" (from To Kill a Mockingbird), obviously.

It's an....interesting class.

Okay, fine, maybe I'll miss those pesky students a little bit after all.

But right now? Right now I just want some french bread, a snuggle with MTL, and my bed. Preferably in that order.

Crumbs are so uncomfortable when they get in the sheets.

Thankful

One of my friends and coworkers, the one who met me last night out on the practice field along with a couple of hundred other people for Nate's candlelight vigil, said on her Facebook that students don't realize that impact is not just one way. It's not just us, as teachers, impacting our students' lives. They impact ours as well. Every day we come into contact with dozens of students, and they affect us just as we affect them. She's right. I am not the person I would have been without working with the hundreds of students I have seen in my eleven years of teaching, both as an intern and a certified teacher.

My students know that I struggle with names. My brain has a disconnect between name and face, so very often. There are some that are seared into memory, for good or evil, true, but even if I know a student very well, I often freeze up and completely forget his or her name. They're generally kind about my forgetfulness. In turn, I reassure them that it is nothing personal, and that I do know who they are.

I never forgot Nate's name. I don't know if I ever would have.

Last night I had the opportunity to speak briefly at the vigil, after we had lit our wind-threatened candles and people were able to share stories and memories about this boy who had touched all our lives. I said that his father had asked me which year Nate had been in my class, and I struggled to remember--not because I didn't remember him, but because it felt as though I had known him for much longer. Then some former students reminded me that I had him during his junior year, and it all came back to me.

The year I had Nate in class was most definitely not the easiest year of my life, I said, and laughter broke out around the huge circle from all the other former students who remembered. It hadn't been. That was the year my life had fallen apart, the facade of strength and happiness and a decent marriage crumbling as that marriage imploded and I literally disappeared from work for three weeks. I managed to hold things together once I got back to work, but barely.

Nate was one of the few people who could get me to smile, even on my worst days. He was no Pollyanna--he had a snarkiness and sarcasm that worked better anyway--but his smile lit up the room. He would bring me chocolate and food, because he knew that's what works with Ross. Just a few months ago he came in with a couple other former students to bring me lunch, because he knew I always forget my lunch. 

He was one of those people who make others feel better about themselves. He was one of the people who make the world a better place by being in it. I would have always remembered him, even without this tragedy. I will always remember him.

I'm glad I had the chance to share that with his parents, his friends, his Color Guard family.

Today has been a rough day, for various reasons. I'm here at work, and I'm getting things done, and I'm working with the students. But I'm not smiling. And in return, my students are being solicitous and cooperative. Several have checked to make sure I'm okay and not in the throes of deep depression--and I'm not, but I understand why they're wondering. A student who missed class because he slept in brought me donuts and a mocha and a tray of baklava as an apology (they know my weaknesses, these kids). One of the girls who always eats lunch in my room asked if I'd like her to bring in a slice of homemade chocolate cake tomorrow.

They're gentle.

They care.

As I sit here, not eating lunch because I have no appetite, but sipping on a cafe mocha from Tim Hortons, I feel a wave of thankfulness washing over me, pricking my eyes with tears.

They're my kids. They're the reason I stick with this job despite all the thanklessness and political bullshit.

And I hope that they will leave this school with memories of a teacher who made a difference in their lives, just as they made a difference in mine.

Well Played, Mr. Kindergarten Teacher. Well Played.

A few days ago I posted the following on Facebook:

OK. I seriously do NOT enjoy helping with kindergarten homework. I'm probably going to some parenting hell, but omg.

There were various snarky responses, including MTL's about those darn pesky teachers and their assignments, and Heidi's about it being a Judgment From On High. We all had a hearty laugh, DramaBoy's homework finally got done, and I moved on.

Today, when I retrieved the mail, there was an envelope from DramaBoy's school waiting for me. I opened it with some trepidation, as recent contact from his school has been along the lines of Your son is hitting other children and not listening and you must be a horrible parent with no control over him. Okay, fine, I added the last bit, but you get the point.

Imagine my shock when instead I found a Valentine letter from my five-year-old son, obviously composed (and spelled) all by his own self:

Der Mom

I hop you hav a grat day thak you for all the presis You r the best mom and you r the best mom in th hol intuir wrld

love [DramaBoy]

Dang it. Just when you're ready to toss in the towel, they go and do something cuter than hell.

Guess this means I better keep helping him with that homework.

Especially the spelling.

(Anyone else have a guess on what "presis" means? Presents perhaps??? Because I'm pretty sure he's not thanking me for a misspelled summary of an argument. Even if we've had a few recently.)

Grace Notes

This has been a hard week. You'd think that having two snow days to start out the week would make it Teh Awesome, and it kinda sorta did, but driving on the Worst Ever In People's Memory roads wasn't a great joy, and the last couple of weeks have tended to be full of Stress! Stress! Drama! while quite short on Sleep! Blessed Sleep! Also, imagine the fun of trying to cram five days' worth of work into three before the students flee for a two-week break. Fun Times.

So stomachs have been clenched, muscles have been knotted, and teeth have been gritted. Needless to say, tempers have also been short.

Yesterday, in fact, MTL arrived home in a horrible mood--the worst, he confessed, since we've been together. My mood wasn't sunshine and daisies either. At one point, while trying to convince the %&#()@ cabinet drawer to get back on its runner and slide back in dammit, I slid back against the opposing cabinet, lowered my head to my knees, and let the tears just flow for a little while. It's all just the buildup of everything that has been going on, especially with The Dark One, and work stress, and extended family stress, and reaching a point of Deep Core Stuff in therapy, and....yeah.

Fortunately for those around us, MTL and I are self-aware enough to clamp down on our tongues and do our damnedest to Think before we React when we're highly stressed. I won't say we didn't trip up a bit last night, but there weren't the rages or tempestuous fights or OMG EVERYONE JUST GO AWAY moments that could very well happen at times like that.

Thank God. Which I mean literally, because I believe He helped, even if it was just having our guardian angels lay a finger on our lips from time to time so they didn't open until we'd had a moment to think first. And I'm also thankful that He gave us each other, because being able to debrief with and vent to and comfort each other goes a long way toward making it all survivable.

Today...well, today is a new day. MTL didn't get much sleep again last night, but I did, so at least one of us has some renewed energy to deal with Stuff. And it's the last day of school before Winter Break. And my students are being very sweet.

You know, it tends to be elementary teachers who get the cache of holiday gifts (which reminds me--OOPS) more so than secondary, but sometimes we still get a little something here and there from kids who want to suck up love us. My kids know my weakness. Oh yes, they do. A dear former student who was very sad to discover she would  not have me for honors English 11 this year showed up a couple of days ago with an adorable frosted sugar cookie man. Today another student handed me a heavy gift bag that contains a massive box of fancy European cookies. Yet another gave me a box of six Godiva Truffle Bars and a $10 Godiva gift card. (The girl is GOOD.) And knowing my tenth graders, I'll most likely have another few gifts as the day goes on.

But you know what my favorite gift was today? The handwritten note that accompanied the Godiva. Inside, it reads:

Dear Ms. [TeacherMommy],
So I swear to god, I'm not just kissing ass when I say this, but, thanks for being the first teacher in 5 years to make me love English again.
It used to be my favorite subject and I'm not sure what happened, but I'm actually starting to enjoy it finally.
So thanks.

I really need to start scrapbooking all those kinds of notes and cards and emails and whatnot. That's the sort of thing to pull out on the rough days.

Life is messy and difficult and sometimes overwhelming, but it's the little things that matter. The notes of appreciation from students, the kisses and cuddles and You're so pretty, Mommy! from my kidlets, the teasing from my stepson that says he is comfortable and affectionate with me in his own way, the I love you! on the phone from my younger stepdaughter, walking out to a car scraped off and warming up each morning thanks to MTL, the look in his eyes when he sees me, the words of appreciation and love that he gives me for the things I do to keep this crazy family up and running, laughter around the table while we eat or play UNO...

And above all, the sense that as crazy as life can be, I am Home.

Updates: Because I Know You Were Wondering

1. Why yes, I am feeling better! And here's the absolutely AMAZING thing: all it took was for me to STOP TAKING THE MEDICINE. Oh yes. You have that right. After multiple trips to the doctor and an ultrasound for my bladder and kidneys, all I really had to do was stop taking the damn Macrobid, keep drinking lots of water, and do my back stretches just a little more thoroughly. And HEY PRESTO! I don't feel like I'm dragging my body across a desert wasteland, my back feels mostly okay (considering it's my back), and my nether regions feel a little less like they've been channeling a little piece of the netherworld.

I'm still going to the urologist next week, though. I'm also still chugging water (and running for the bathroom) on a regular basis. Lesson: learned (hopefully).

2. In case you were wondering, I DID in fact get both a hug (more than one, actually) and a Date Night with MTL last week. Although we may have been so tired that we settled for a visit to our favorite Mexican restaurant and then snuggling on the couch to watch a movie. WITH NO ONE ELSE AROUND. Just maybe. And really? That was good. Very good.

3. On Saturday we drove down to Detroit and hauled my brother and his things back up to my house. He's been having a bit of a rough time living down there lately, what with the loneliness and the lack of available jobs and transportation issues and whatnot, and when he crashed my parents' car...well, he need some TLC. So we brought him up to our place for not quite two weeks, and it worked very well and he fit in perfectly and when he left--well, we kind of wanted him back. So we invited him to come live with us at least until my parents come back in March, and he said yes, and now we are Eight. Since the Dark One has stayed only one night at our place since she left in September (because God forbid she be away from her troll boyfriend for any length of time), we moved my brother into that room instead.

For the sake of this blog, he shall henceforth be known as "DMB", which is short for "DorkMaster B". Trust me, it fits. And he approves.

4. Thursday is DramaBoy's fifth birthday. FIFTH. This is bizarre. It's also Thanksgiving, here in these American parts, so we're sort of combining them but also tentatively planning a separate party in a couple of weeks and once again I am reminded that holiday birthdays are kind of annoying. Even though they are easier to remember. Considering that seven out of the eight of us (I'm including DMB here) have birthdays either on or right around holidays, it's a family Thing now.

Me: Christmas Day
MTL: Valentine's Day
DMB: Just before Halloween
The Dark One: American Independence Day
KlutzGirl: Often around Easter (this year, it's on Good Friday)
DramaBoy: Right around (or, this year, on) American Thanksgiving
The Widget: Often around Easter (a little earlier than KlutzGirl)

So the only one who isn't is The Padawan. Poor boy. Or lucky one, considering he gets his very own day without a holiday mucking up the process.

5. On the side of Evil triumphing over Good, two very evil things have occurred this week: first, someone(s) broke into my parents' house on Monday (fortunately while the renter was out), smashing a window and breaking down some interior doors. My brother's things were gone, of course, and my parents' were packed away, so only the poor renter suffered loss. His laptop and some other things were stolen. It all makes me very angry: most likely someone saw us moving my brother out and figured there would be less monitoring of the house. At least the (very active) house alarm limited the time and damage. And yet: SIGH.

The second and more evil of the events is that one of my stepson's teachers was arrested on suspicion of child molestation--not at school and not one of the students, but OMG ANYWAYS. This sort of thing makes me so very angry on so many levels: that the evil of molestation happens, that child molesters exist at all, that it was one of my stepson's teachers (!!!!), and that once again it is one of these cases where the evil individual will cast a shadow over the entire educational system. I know it's all alleged right now, and that guilt and innocence must wait for the trial and all that....but still.

This week has not been strong for the side of Good.

6. Except for the case of my school's annual Canned Food Drive. We nearly missed our goal, but a flurry of last-minute cash donations edged us over, and as of this morning we have collected the equivalent of over 60,000 cans in food and cash donations for a local food bank. It's one of the reasons I love this school: the staff and students here regularly reach astonishing levels of generosity for a wide variety of charitable causes. The Food Drive is one; next week the annual Gift Drive for an impoverished elementary school in Detroit takes place; other drives occur frequently to help charities and individual students and families stricken by illness and accident. Last year alone my school raised over $84,000 in charitable donations. That's not the district; that's not the county; that was ONE SCHOOL ALONE. In one year. And while we do have wealthy students and families here, we also have the very, very poor. It's a very diverse school both ethnically and socio-economically.

So that? That makes me proud. And it gives me hope, a little light in the darkness, that sometimes, just perhaps, Good can in fact overcome the many forces of Evil.

I Didn't Anticipate This When I Chose My Nom de Plume

7 Quick Takes Friday

--1--

Today did not start well. The boylets have gotten into the habit of staying up far too late regardless of when I put them to bed, and last night was no exception. I sleep downstairs on the couch, too far away to monitor all that happens up there after lights out, and I discovered this morning that The Widget had committed the No-No (NO NO NO!!!!) of playing with my makeup. An eyeshadow container displayed mini-finger-sized gouges, which also explained the interesting brown war-paint that decorated his sleeping face. I suppose I should be happy it was makeup and not, well, Other Brown Stuff.

So we began the day with whining and complaining and Consequences. I was all set for the day to be a Horrible, Terrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

Then I got my Good Morning text from MTL.

The Widget wore Big Boy Underwear to school today, because he has finally turned the corner with potty training.

The boylets stopped whining and gave me kisses instead.

The Color Guard Booster Parents coffee stand had cherry-flavored coffee this morning.

And I started counting my blessings.

--2--

One of my students who had Messed Up begged me for mercy over email the other day. He showed up with donuts and coffee for me this morning. My students seem to have figured out my weaknesses. They are:

• Bavarian Creme or Boston Creme donuts
• Brownies, especially thick gooey fudgy ones like another contrite student brought me yesterday which were the Best Brownies Ever. I had to scoop them into my mouth WITH A SPOON. And with every bite, I giggled. No, really. And then I took the rest to MTL and he nearly wept with every bite. That student gets an A+, he informed me. For everything. Especially if he makes them again.
• Godiva dark chocolate bars with raspberry filling
• Dark chocolate anything, really
• Especially paired with raspberry, for that matter
• Food, now that I think about it

--3--

My waistline is becoming an issue, what with all the Tribute and Mercy Offerings and the lack of exercise due to OMG MY BACK AND HIPS OMG.

My physical therapist said yesterday would be our last session until fall, when hopefully some of my OMG STRESS OMG will fade and he can focus more on my neck and upper back issues. In the meantime, I am carrying on with the alignment exercises and strengthening exercises and the strange things I do with a long white noodle and a small yellow ball. Don't ask.

I asked what kind of exercise I am allowed to do that would address my waistline and brownie muffin-tops. He said nothing weight-bearing or high-impact (so no Zumba, *sob*). Ideally, I should do twenty minutes on a stationary bicycle three times a week, achieving an aerobic heart rate level of 120-130 bpm.

This would be lovely, except I do not have a stationary bike and am a bit hesitant to fork over cash for membership at a fitness center, what with OMG NO MONEY OMG and only using one machine for an hour a week. I suppose I could exercise here at school, but that would involve finding space and time in the weight room, as well as puffing and swearing sweating away in front of students. Oy. Must think on this.

But at least I have options and my hips and back are so very much better and I cannot recommend my physical therapist highly enough because he is a miracle worker.

--4--

Not all students clog cheer up my heart with chocolate alone. Yesterday a young lady came in the room with her mother.  I had her two years ago as a sophomore, and she has visited me frequently since then. She came yesterday, however, to say Goodbye. For various personal reasons, she had decided to withdraw from school, get her GED instead, and pursue college after that. But she came to find me first.

I wanted to tell you, she said, that I'll miss you and you were the most influential teacher I've ever had.

Later one of the co-principals told me she had mentioned my name in her exit interview and said I was one of the only people who had made her academic experience a positive one.

I can't win every student's heart, and that's not the reason I'm here, but hearing these things from time to time is what makes this career worth all the stress and exasperation and downright pain.

--5-- 

My classroom has scattered memorabilia from current and former students all over the walls and boards. Bizarre cartoons, surrealistic sketches and paintings and drawings, amusing or stunning posters and projects, senior pictures, little notes of affection and/or snark. This morning a student whose schedule change required her to switch to a different English teacher at the semester break came to visit before her next class. She left behind a markered note on my board: Kaylee <3s you!

I like Ms. P, she said, but I miss your class so much. I wish I hadn't had to switch out!

She had nearly failed my class first semester. Oddly enough, quite frequently it's the students who fail or came very close to it who come back and say they miss me the most. I was always an academic high achiever: I cannot help but wonder why I connect so strongly with students who struggle in the classroom setting.

It certainly isn't because I coddle them. I'm more likely to give them a verbal kick in the ass for not living up to their potential. I believe in Tough Love. Success only matters if you earn it.

--6--

I've never considered myself a maternal sort of teacher. At least, not in the gentle, cuddly, sweet sort of way. Not that I'm a soulless sort. I'm fairly decent at adjusting my approach to individual students as appropriate, and I've had my share of sessions comforting a distraught student in the hall. Nevertheless, I'm more likely to kick them in the ass (metaphorically speaking) than not.

So I was caught off guard this year when a close-to-my-heart former student told me he sees me as his mom, certainly more so than his biological mother (let's just say they have a difficult relationship). And then when I had a good half-dozen or so current students tell me I sound like their mothers. And then I realized that a good number of the comments I leave on former (as in graduated) students' Facebook Walls have a rather mothering tone to them.

In a snarky, raised-eyebrow, slap-upside-the-head sort of way.

I mean, I'm barely old enough to be the biological mother to my (younger) current students, and even then I would have had to be a teen mother! Somehow, without meaning to, I've crossed some invisible border into Mom territory. Although definitely more on the Roseanne (but with WAY more class) (I hope) (please God) side of the mothering spectrum than the June Cleaver one.

I'm not sure what to think about that. I'm still figuring out how to be Mom to my biological kids without adding a few hundred more to the list.

--7--

Those kids and those relationships, however, are the real reason I do what I do. It's the main reason I've stayed in the high school arena rather than moving up to the college level, as was my original plan when I started this career. I would miss the kind of interaction I can have with high school students.

There are perks to maintaining those connections, too. Tonight I will attend a play at Wayne State University in which a former student is performing, and I'm going for free. She gave me a comp ticket out of gratitude for a small favor I did for her. MTL is going along, and we'll go out for coffee with my gorgeous, talented former student afterward. And who will be watching my kidlets while I do this, you ask? Yet another former student. One of the four or five former students who babysit for me. At a marvelously reduced rate, I should note, and occasionally with my offer of payment refused.

Because they love me.

I may never have a building named after me or a statue erected in my honor or be a household name. But when I look at my life and what I do and why I do it...

I have not wasted my time.

Today is a good day.

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As a two-for-one, today is also Flog Yo Blog Friday over on MummyTime. Join in the awesome!

No Escape From Reality

Single mommyhood. Rollercoaster rides. They have much in common, only single mommyhood has more screaming.

Last night was a Toggle Day, and I arrived at the boylets' school to be greeted by the news that The Widget had officially completed his transition from Early Learners (30-36 mos) to Skill Builders (3-4 years), better known as *sob* Preschool. It's official. My not-so-babyish baby is a preschooler. He proudly showed me his new cubby and the pretty picture he had drawn for me and announced, I went potty in the TOILET!!!

Imagine this said in an adorably squeaky little Widget voice and your heart will melt much as mine did.

Then we went outside to collect DramaBoy off the playground, where he bounced over to me with a treasure clutched in his fist. His fingers uncurled to present me with....

A WORM.

I heroically fought down my shudders, exclaimed appropriately over its Awesome Worminess, and suggested that perhaps he needed to put it back in the dirt where it lives. Thank the dear Lord above he didn't try to bring it home as a pet. I draw the line at...well, at pretty much anything nonmammalian, and most mammals too. I'd rather not even have the frickin' dog, but that's a story for another day.

(Dog lovers, please don't hate me. If you knew the story, you'd understand. Some of my readers already do. Trust me on this.)

So, happy and wormless, we headed home; the Widget playing happily with a Viewmaster and DramaBoy spelling words on his little toy computer, myself singing (and dancing, because that's how I roll) along with the radio.

This was the Fun Part.

Once we got home, the ride took a sinister turn. I committed the great sin of lifting The Widget out of the car rather than letting him get out by himself, and the resulting tantrum wended its way from the garage floor to the hallway floor to his bed, where I informed him he could stay until he got himself under control.

DramaBoy made snarky comments from the sidelines. Which made things SO MUCH EASIER.

And it went downhill from there. I found myself dealing with a temporarily bipolar Widget, a DramaBoy who kept changing his mind which game he wanted me to watch him play and losing his patience with my inability to focus on any of them, a phone call from a bill collector for a credit card I'd forgotten about, a dear friend who needed to vent on Facebook, and a dog demanding to be fed. I was also trying to make dinner, change out of my work clothes, counsel MTL over the phone about his daughter's school issue, and not scream at anyone.

Finally I had enough. I shut down everything. I let the oven keep heating without putting in the biscuits, put the phone on silent, and sat down (in pajama pants and my work shirt) with a kidlet on either side.

We watched this



and then this



and then this



and then I let the now happy and giggling boylets sit on the couch by themselves and watch this



while I changed my shirt, popped the cheesy biscuits in the oven, heated the soup, finished my conversation with MTL, and got dinner on the table.

Then I sat down with my boylets, put on Barenaked Ladies' Snacktime CD (my favorite children's album, because with song lyrics like these, how could I not love???) and we ate our meal while singing and dancing along.

There was a brief hiccup in the bliss when DramaBoy temporarily objected to the soup selection before he'd even taken a bite.

What kind of soup is this? he asked. I don't like green soup.

It's broccoli soup, I answered. You love broccoli.

I like BROCCOLI, he responded, but I don't like broccoli SOUP.

I'll confess right here that I lied to him. Without even a twinge of conscience.

Of course you do! I said. You liked it the last time you had it!

Oh, okay! he said, and that was that.

Keep in mind that yes, DramaBoy does love broccoli, but he has never had it in soup form before. I FEEL NO SHAME. Sometimes you just do what you have to do to survive.

After all, you never know what's coming once you crest that next hill. That drop might be a bitch.

I'll admit, they're awfully cute. I guess I'll keep them. For now.

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

Love Lessons

I'm learning. It's slow, it's gradual, but it's becoming more and more real and natural as each day goes on. I'll never be June Cleaver, but it's possible, just possible, that I might become a Good Mommy.

Not just a Good Mother, you see. I am that. When it comes to taking care of the necessities, making sure my children are well fed and dressed, clean and healthy, cared for in the ways that make them strong and beautiful and brilliant, I can do that. I've been doing that for years.

I'm talking about the Good Mommy aspect: not trying to just keep out of the dark, not hoping that I'm doing just enough to get by as a parent. I mean enjoying my children. I mean having far more patience with their annoying and aggravating aspects, even finding humor in the crazy moments. I mean noticing, even while getting frustrated with my DramaBoy because he's fooling around instead of getting dressed when I've asked him to do so umpteen times, that he just executed a perfect somersault. And then praising him and encouraging him to show it off a few more times, even though it means a couple minutes' delay. I mean deciding to just laugh to myself about the endless stream of poop jokes coming from the backseat rather than getting irritated and grossed out. I mean taking the time to sit with my son and watch the game he's playing on his Leapster, encouraging and praising him, rather than dismissing his request with a list of No, honey, I have to...s.

I mean perhaps, just possibly, being willing to take the risk of loving my children completely.

And that is a lesson worth learning.

Odd How My Bank Account Gets Smaller the Bigger They Get

These little people called kidlets (you may have heard of them before) have this bizarre habit of growing up. And changing. Oh, and costing money. Strange how those go together. I'm not sure if my boylets are in some sort of conspiracy, but this week has been one to make my head reel.

First there's all the talking from the Widget and that crazy writing thing that DramaBoy is doing these days, and now they're daring to grow physically at the most inconvenient times. You'd think they could hold off a week or two so that Christmas gifts could fulfill some needs, but no....So out comes the debit card and a couple of pesky emergency purchases are made.

The first emergency has been, in reality, creeping up for a couple of weeks, but I was in denial. You see, neither of the boys could fit comfortably into one of the car seats in my car. Not just any car seat, but the very first car seat we ever had. The car seat in which we brought home the teensy tiny DramaBoy, who was so very small that I had to wedge him about with rolled-up receiving blankets so that his wee head wouldn't bobble out of control. The car seat which then held the almost as teensy tiny Widget when he came along less than a year-and-a-half later, also wedged with rolled-up blankets.

Tangent: What would we do without those things? The blankets, I mean. I had about thirty of them and never seemed to have enough. Note to new mothers: you can NEVER have too many receiving blankets!!!

Anyhow, DramaBoy could no longer be forced into the seatbelt in that thing at all, and The Widget was having to hold his breath most each trip we took. Too tight! he would say, patting his chest with a look of mild desperation. Too tight, Mama!

It was time and more than time. Yesterday I headed off to Target to grab one of their Cosco brand transition seats--you know, car seat one way and booster chair another? As I pulled its simple plastic-wrapped bulk off the shelf, I couldn't help but chuckle over how we had researched car seats for months and purchased the (quite pricey) deluxe suede-and-faux-leather car seat (HA! What were we thinking? Ever tried to clean baby vomit out of suede?!?) all those many years ago, whereas here I was snagging the very basic store brand seat that cost perhaps one-sixth as much, if that.

Ah, parenting. How time changes one's perspective.

The old seat cradled the new one on the way back to the house:

I hope its feelings weren't hurt too much.

Farewell, thou old friend. You have been through the wars. May you rest in pieces peace.

What you can't see in this picture: the cuts, the stains, and who knows what else...

Both my boys are now safely strapped in and (bonus!) able to breathe. All good, right?

HA. Today as I was putting on DramaBoy's shoes at the mall play area, I realized there was a gaping hole in the toe:

Finger shown for display purposes. This would have been his toe, without a sock.

So we had no choice but to head off to Target yet again (Who would have thought five years ago it would have become my go-to store? Ah, the realities of parenting...) to search for shoes. The Widget's were looking a little worn and tight as well, not to mention that buying new shoes for one boy and not the other would NOT go over well.

Sometimes they're as bad as twins.

Ah, but we couldn't just get any old shoes. DramaBoy made it clear he wanted Spiderman shoes or, at the very least, some sort of superhero. The Widget chimed in with his parrot act agreement. And lo, Target had Spiderman shoes, in both "good" and "bad" versions. And lo, there was a pair in The Widget's size! And...oh crap. None in DramaBoy's. We searched high and low. Nothing. No other shoes were deemed suitable for replacement, either.

Finally, in desperation, I called another Target and sent the poor customer service lady in search of Spiderman shoes (either moral compass acceptable from my point of view, though DramaBoy insisted he really wanted the "bad" Spiderman) in the right size. She was quite confused at first, but finally found one pair ("good" Spiderman) in size 9. SCORE!!! I informed DramaBoy that if he didn't want the "good" Spiderman, he could settle for a pair of the "bored" shoes. All or nothing, buster.

We bought The Widget's pair and then travelled the twenty minutes to the other store, where the shoes were waiting at the Guest Services desk. They fit, DramaBoy decided (after a look at my face) that the "good" Spiderman was just fine (Now The Widget and I have the same kind! he declared with a fixed smile), and he wore them out of the store so that his poor tootsies would no longer be wet and frozen.

The heels flash when they walk. 

This way I can find the boys when they try to hide from me. 

Mwahahahaha!

Call me a sucker for giving in to my child's demand for brand name merchandising, but whatever. The price was right, my boylets are happy, and I no longer look like a mother who can't keep her children's toes covered.

It's all Win.

Boylets, Brothers, and Bragging

Yesterday I got to see my two boylets for the first time in six days. The Widget was still asleep in his little daycare cot when I arrived, and I kissed his soft cheek until he awoke, realized it was me, and flung himself into my arms for a snuggly cuddle. Then we went off to find DramaBoy, who raced across the room with a joyous MAMA! and flung himself in turn into my arms, only to then begin whining and snarking about this and that for the next several hours. It's his way of letting me know I'm being punished for my absence. I may be used to it, but it doesn't make me any happier.

I also discovered, because I'm so on top of things, that last night was the official Holiday Celebration at daycare, and DramaBoy's class was scheduled to perform for parents. So we went back to the house and bumbled around for a couple of hours, but returned by six for the performance.

It was my first ever official holiday performance to attend as a parent!!!!

Holy crap, my kidlets are growing up.

It seems that every time I turn around (especially these days when I go for some time without seeing my boys) they're maturing and changing in leaps and bounds. The Widget's speech is expanding extraordinarily. No longer is everything in shorthand. Instead of simply demanding Water!, he now says Mama, I want water. Instead of simply observing Tree! when he sees a Christmas tree, he now says Look at Christmas tree! It is Christmas time! Instead of simply reporting [DramaBoy]! Hurt! Ow!, he now says Mama! [DramaBoy] hit me! He hurt me! (Ah, the joys of brotherhood.) He asks full questions. He plays little jokes. He carries on conversations instead of merely listening.

As for DramaBoy...Oh my. A week and a half ago he moved up from the Preschool class to the Pre-Kindergarten class. He is now the youngest in the class at just-barely-four. And last night when I was wandering around his classroom, I saw this:

He can write. He can write whole words, with readily identifiable letters, including both capital and lowercase, and they're more than just his name.

I had a mini-heart attack when I saw it, then promptly took a picture and texted it to half a dozen people.

Not to brag (okay, who am I kidding, I'm totally bragging), but his teacher told me that he is better at letter recognition and writing than quite a few of the kids who have been in that class for a year.

I'm so proud I can hardly stand it.

Then we went into another room where all the parents perched precariously on tiny chairs and about a dozen tiny people filed into the room and sang "Jingle Bell Rock" for us. DramaBoy knew every word and even did those fist/arm pump thingie motions when they sang the word "rock." So. Dang. Cute.

Then we ate lots of yummy food and the children played and I caught up with a good friend whose daughter is DramaBoy's best friend.

When we went back to the house, they ate some yoghurt and got into their superhero jammies and went to bed and had way too much fun talking and playing with each other until well after nine o'clock.

And my heart was full.

To Whom It May Concern: Sucking Rocks Edition

Dear October 2009:

I'm starting to think you're seriously messing with my mind. Parts of you are rocking, and other parts are SERIOUSLY SUCKING. I keep getting jerked around from one extreme to the other, sometimes within the space of an hour.

Would you please make up your mind? And maybe be nicer to the people I love? Because it hurts to see them hurting.

Begging for Mercy,
An Avid Autumn Fan

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Dear Mystery Coworker Who Placed a Platter of Dark Chocolate Cupcakes/Muffins with Chocolate Chips and Vanilla Custard Swirls on the Lunch Table:

You rock. You rock hardcore. How did you know I needed chocolate today? And that the cupcake/muffin maneuvre would be exactly right? If I knew who you were, I would contemplate kissing your feet. Or grading some papers for you. Or at least giving you a Really Big Hug.

Slavishly Yours,
A Chocoholic Coworker

P.S. I may or may not have eaten more than my fair share of the treats. Please don't count the wrappers in my trash can.

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Dear Windows XP and Windows Explorer:

You suck. Hardcore. For the last three days I have been fighting you tooth and nail to let me do the stuff I need to do without you crawling along like a snail with serious ADD. Or crashing and closing me out of all my web-based applications, which just makes my day full of sunshine and champagne, let me tell you. You just told me that you needed to run updates, so I spent ten minutes staring at the screen as you crawled along in updating whatever it is you needed to update. Hell if I know, since you didn't inform me.

If this doesn't help, I may start looking at the Macs in the Apple store with a little more lust and less disdain.

Considering Throwing Rocks,
An (Almost) Formerly Faithful and Fantastically Frustrated End-User

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Dear Arby:

So you want to challenge us to a contest, do you? One that requires us to be On Top of Things and read your blog as soon as you post and spot the wreathe in the pictures and be the first/second/third to email you so we can win the absolutely rockin' jewelry The Boss crafted?

I'm divided on whether you rock or suck. On the one hand, you're providing some entertainment and spicing up our lives. And the prize is actually awesome. So you rock. On the other hand, those of us who can't spend every hour of the day hovering over the computer or may be stuck in some location without Internet access at all are Screwed. So you suck.

We'll see what I think at the end of this competition. It totally depends on how I do, just so you know.

Yours in both Anticipation and Apprehension,
TeacherMommy

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Dear Best Friend's Former Employer:

You suck. You suck so hard that I think your brain (could a corporation have one) would ooze out of your hypothetical nose from the vacuum pressure.

Don't you know that she poured herself into that job? Don't you remember all the accolades and praise you heaped onto her? Don't you know how much she genuinely CARED about what she did for you?

Don't you know she needs that salary and that insurance? Don't you know she has a three-year-old child, for pity's sake?

Don't you realize that when you suddenly fire someone, you should at least pay that person the courtesy of explaining WHY, even if you do have that stupid "At Will" policy allowing you to weasel out of doing so?

I hope you realize that you are the ones who are losing in the long run. She was one of the best and hardest workers you had in your arsenal, and you're tossing her away.

You suck. I hope it hurts.

With Disdain and Raw Anger,
A Seriously Pissed-Off Friend

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Dear Former Student Who Drove Me Batty When You Were Here:

You rock. At least, you do now. You're living proof that my policy of kicking asses and taking names with punks and weasels is the right one. I gave you a hard time while you were here, in all three classes when I had you. I called you out on all your smooth-talking and privilege-abuse. I wouldn't cut you slack for not doing your work and living up to your potential.

And yesterday you walked into my classroom, visiting from college where you're pulling As and Bs, and told me you want to be a writer and it's all thanks to me.

Do you know how much it means to be told I inspired you to be more than you were, to write, to explore possibilities outside football alone?

Thank you for making my day that much brighter. I needed that.

With Pride in Who You Are Becoming,
Your English Teacher

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Dear People in Tennessee or Wherever Who Control Our Building Temperature From Afar:

You suck. I know it's probably a balmy 70 or 80 degrees down where you are, but Autumn is heading treacherously into Winter up here, and it's all of 42 degrees outside. That's Fahrenheit, in case you're a Canadien or European transplant and are confused.

This means that your current idea that we need Air Conditioning instead of Heat is turning our classrooms into giant refrigerators. Here's a clue: when the tips of my fingers and nose are turning blue and numb, YOU NEED TO TURN UP THE HEAT.

If I die of hypothermia, I am so haunting you from beyond the grave. Let's see how you like it when I use my ectoplasmic being to suck all your heat energy from your environment.

In Need of an Electric Blanket,
An Irritated Building Inhabitant

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Dear Silver Heels:

You rock.

That is all.

With Adoration,
The Person Who Wears You With Pride

I Don't Know Why This Keeps Happening to Me. He's the Third One. And Those Health and Biology Teachers Need to Step It Up a Notch.

11th Grade Male Student: Ms. TeacherMommy, you are my BOI!

Ms. TeacherMommy: Sorry. I am not your BOI. I am nobody's BOI. I don't want to be a BOI.

Student: But you have to be my BOI!

Ms. TM: I am not a BOI. I don't have the plumbing for it. I'm also not your GURL, so don't even go there.

Student: Well then...you can be my COOL PERSON.

Ms. TM: That doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, does it? "Yo, you're my COOL PERSON!"

Student: Okay, well then, you're my ZEUS.

Ms. TM: Nope. Zeus is male. Remember? I'm not male. No desire to be male.

Student: Well then, you're my FEMALE ZEUS!

Ms. TM: Um. No. Pick an actual goddess if you're going to go that route.

Student: Fine. You're my MEDUSA!

Ms. TM: Seriously? She's not even a goddess! She's a monster! You're saying I'm a monster? With hair made of snakes and the face that turns people into stone?

Another 11th Grade Male Student: Her hair is definitely not made out of snakes.

Student #1: But she does have that death stare.

Student #2: True.

Ms. TM: True. I do have that stare. I suppose that's okay.

Student #1: Ms. TeacherMommy, you're my MEDUSA!

Hey, at least he's learning his mythology and basic biology.

It May Be Raining Outside But There's Sunshine In My Heart (Yeah, I Know It's Cheesy, But Y'all Will Just Have To Grin And Bear It)

So how is the start of your summer?, you ask, because of course you have all been on tenterhooks wondering if I managed to survive those last 58 minutes without Going Educational TM. The answer is yes, yes I did. And I even managed to say a pleasant Have a great summer! to the last kid out the door before breaking into a wild Irish jig.

Well, mentally at least, because I've never actually learned how to do a jig.

A former student of mine who adores me still and keeps coming back wanting to do favors for me because I apparently made an impact in his life just in one semester of Creative Writing (I'm telling you, you never know--some of the kids you think you helped transform never appear again and then others for whom you just did what you normally do stick around for years)--um, lost my train of thought. Student, favors--ah yes! Anyway, the wonderful Jason (who reads this blog so Hey! You're awesome!) was waiting in the wings to swoop in and help me finish up getting Out Of There, which he did by carting pounds and pounds of paper to the recycling bin and tossing out the broken chair that students mutilated this year and stuffing the rest of my desk things in a cabinet and carting my take-home things down to my car. Not to mention keeping me company as I finished up the last bits of grading and whatnot.

Sweet boy. He is also threatening me with Dire Consequences if I don't call him this summer and let him take care of my kids so I can get Time To Myself.

I should mention this is also the saintly boy who, two years ago, cared for The Widget from age six weeks to eight weeks so I could go back to work for the last two weeks of the year without having to put him (The Widget) in daycare. For a very piddly amount of money that I practically had to force on him (Jason). I know, right?

And to think that lately I've been feeling all sulky and resentful that God hasn't just cleaned up my mess and made my life all perfect. He's been filling my life with people like Jason for years. I kinda had to apologize to Him yesterday...

Anyhow, I've been busy in a good way since then. Yesterday morning another amazing young man, my 22-year-old brother, insisted on being up with the kidlets in the morning while they ate their cereal and watched cartoons and made messes so that I could sleep in. (What is with these young men these days? All unselfish and generous and caring and stuff!) And then after I dropped the kids at daycare, I leisurely checked out at work, chatted with folks, and then went to lunch with a few coworkers. After doing some banking business, I went to my chiropractor and had an adjustment and an hour-long massage with my marvelous massage therapist Sherri.

Hard times, I'm telling you.

Then I went to a park and had some quiet time with God, which is when I apologized for being a sulky brat and finally said out loud that I forgive two individuals who have hurt me, and walked away with a lightened heart.

And then I went to Target and got a few (hopefully last) pieces of summer clothing to round out my wardrobe.

Finally it was time for the main event of the day, which was my Menting Meeting with the two young teachers who are my official mentees. Chip and Shanell are both awesome and Chip in particular practically saved me time and again this year, not to mention bought me A DESK CHAIR OF MY VERY OWN. I loves them. So it was off to Shanell's condo for some pre-beverages (she got me some Smirnoff pomegranate martini, which is so yummy) and then to Andiamo/Second City in Novi where they were having a special Educators' End Of Year event. An hour or so later, after delicious appetizers and another drink or two, we went into the comedy theater and saw the absolutely hilarious presentation of Kwame a River. Very raunchy (come on, it's Kwame Kilpatrick--how could it be anything else?) but so very ROFL.

It has a touch of "A Christmas Carol" to it, since the basic premise is that the Spirit of Detroit (who is apparently female, appearances to the contrary) appears to Kwame on the night he leaves office and takes him through the past as well as giving him visions of the future, all in an effort to get him to Face the Truth of his Many Malfeasances and Confess. There were all sorts of insider jokes, things that only Detroiters would get, and my stomach hurt from all the giggles. One part that brought the entire audience to tears (the actors had to wait a while to continue) was a depiction of the Sam Bernstein family. It was So Wrong, but So Funny. Why is that so often true?

(For those of you not aware, this is a family of lawyers in the Metro Detroit area that specializes in injury lawsuits, and their ads are Everywhere. The patriarch, Sam, is normal enough if somewhat dumpy, but somehow every one of his children has some physical abnormality, such as crossed eyes, that just cannot be ignored. As you can imagine, the depiction was a little wicked.)

If laughter is the best medicine, a lot of hurt was healed last night.

Today I slept in, since the kidlets are with their father, and I will meet my own mentor for lunch, and I will take my beloved bro to see Up, and then we'll pick up the kidlets from school and bring them home.

Life is good. Sometimes it just takes a little time, a little breathing space, a little perspective to realize that.

If We Talked Like Our Students, or, Why I Will Always Have A Job

Hey girl! Wassup? Did you hear what went down yesterday?

So, like I was talking to Shanell* and she was all, We totally need to get a wedding gift for Casey*, and I was all, Totally, right? And then Jim* butted in and he was all, I think weddings are gay! She's gonna end up divorced in five years anyway.

I mean, what a loser!

So Shanell was all Keep your mouth shut, dude! And I was like, Seriously! And then Jim was like, J/K! Gotcha, losers!

Whatev.

Are you going to chaperone Prom? Yeah, me either. It's so lame. It's not like we get to dance or anything. It's all keeping the stupid kids from, like, humping each other on the frickin' dance floor!

What are you doing for the Learning Fair? Yeah, I know--totally gay, right? It's not like anyone actually DOES anything for that thing. Chip* was all, Let's make a chart about our vocab quiz grades, and I was, like, Whatev, dude. OMG, that guy can be such a kissass!

Where you going this weekend? Partying anywhere? That's straight. Me? IDK. This town is so totally lame. I can hardly wait for summer!

I gotta go teach now, girl. I know, right?

Peace! Catcha later!

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*Names have NOT been changed to protect anyone. Other than me. However, they aren't really like this. At least not out loud. And I loves them. Otherwise I wouldn't involve them in this parody.

Blog Beautification: No Thanks To Me!

Eric may officially be my favorite student.

At least until those two students in my fourth hour deliver some more double chocolate macademia nut cookies into my hands again.

Mmm, chocolate...

At any rate, for the moment, Eric is riding at the top because he REDESIGNED MY BLOG in the blink of an eye. I didn't have to do anything other than whine, and he secretly worked the html magic and produced the wonder that you see before you.

And he says he'll help me when that OTHER favorite student produces original art with which to grace my page.

It should be noted that Eric is one of the few students who actually knows how to find my blog, as he scammed his way here and only behaves due to threats of grade demolition.

Here's hoping he continues to behave when he graduates. Of course, he's going to be off at boot camp getting his ass kicked by sergeants, so maybe he'll disappear off the grid for a while.

Thank you, Eric! I'll even overlook the fact that you were programming during Creative Writing instead of working on your novella...

So, dear reader, what do you think? Did he do a good job? Or should I fail him?

(Or both, since I'm just that mean? Mwahahahahaha!)