Oh, I Have a Blog? Righto, Maybe I Should Post Something Then.

How's the school year starting off, TM? you ask. Since it's been a week now and nary a peep about that from me.

I know, I know. I make this big declaration about taking my blog back and then silence. Blame bad habits. Blame exhaustion. Blame the start of the year and the fact that I'm actually getting off my ass and being a much more active and interactive teacher.

I came into this new school year with some higher expectations for myself. The last two school years have been full of chaos and distraction for me: first with all the depression and wading my way out of despair, then with all the divorce and whatnot. Even last year, when I was in a much better place emotionally, I was so distracted by the divorce proceedings and mediation meetings and finances and then the world of dating and then, lo and behold, falling in love...Yeah. The academic side of things kind of went to the wayside a bit.

Not that I was an abysmal teacher. Just not as good as I know I can be.

I did connect to my students much better during those years, though. I think it's because I became much more Real in the classroom as well as in my personal life. I stopped hiding behind my wall of reserve and started connecting with my students in a down-to-earth way, flaws and all. I have always had students with whom I have connected strongly, but never so many and so wide-spread as in the last two years. As a result, my students tend to be more interested and alert in class, and they've also increasingly seen me as a safe harbor, counselor, and mentor rather than "just" an English teacher.

It's time to put both pieces together: the academic and the personal. So I have high expectations for myself this year, and I'm spending far less time sitting at the computer.

So how's it going so far? It isn't so much the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly as it is the Exciting, the Frustrating, and the Infuriating.

My students are awesome. I truly enjoy the mix I have this year, and I'm Excited to meet and interact with them each day. I am teaching the new twelfth grade curriculum, which I helped design, and it is NOT tied to the ACT/MME (Michigan Merit Exam) or other conventional standardized tests, and I'm ever so Excited to work with such a different class. The literature is pretty damn awesome, too.

However, the same curriculum presents some challenges, since we have limited funds available to do things like, oh, buy more books. So we each have a class set--or rather, are supposed to, since I currently have only twenty-three copies--of the textbook. The students can't take it home. There are only class sets of a number of other books for the class as well. There's a large technology component to the course, but with the budget cuts we have extremely limited access to either computers or the Media Center. I'm also the only teacher in the building who is familiar with the course curriculum AND the literature. Therefore, I am the woman to whom all the other twelfth grade teachers come with their questions and freak-outs. This is all very Frustrating.

And then there are the couple of people with whom I must work in this new course who, well, are very negative. One in particular is a teacher whom I struggle to respect. She seems to have an excuse for every bit of real work she has to do, not to mention complaints about everything that is new. Which is basically the whole damn course. Most Infuriating of all, she uses her mommyhood as her default excuse. She "can't" handle all this new stuff because she has "mommy brain." She isn't familiar with any contemporary (or ancient, apparently) world lit because all she reads these days is baby books and child-rearing books and, apparently, the Shopaholic chick lit books.

It's a bullshit excuse. There are exactly two people in our rather large department who don't have children. Most of us have YOUNG children. Our department head has one toddler and is due with her second in December. DramaBoy is all of one year younger than this teacher's oldest child. Yeah, she has three young children. She also works part-time and has for years. If she really wanted to play Let's Compare Lives, I'd trump her. I have two young biological children, three stepchildren (one of whom lives at home with us full-time, so there's three in the home), I work full time as does MTL, and I also have the stress of constant negotiation (peaceful, but still) with an Ex. Also, I am the only English teacher in this building with three different preps instead of two. The two she teaches in her part-time day? I teach both of them. PLUS another.

Does that mean I win? No. It just means that like every other person here, my life is busy and complicated and stressful. I just want to yell at her to Suck It Up, just like everyone else.

But I can't. I need to be able to work with her and the other teachers and keep things calm and moving in the right direction.

I've been biting my tongue a lot. As of yesterday's lunch, literally. Ow.

Life's a bit crazy.

In other words, business as usual.

I should go eat my lunch now, in the few minutes remaining. It's been lovely to chat. I promise, I'll be back soon.

Maybe, if certain people keep pissing me off, sooner than you think. Just sayin'.

With Three Toilets And Four Males In The House, I Should Be Better At Clearing Clogs By Now

You know what's been bothering me? he asked, and I waited expectantly, because he is wise in many things, my love is.

You have this blog, and it's basically an online journal for you, and it's an outlet that you need. And here you don't even feel like you can be yourself there anymore, and so you're missing that outlet! I mean, I get it. I understand why you're hesitant these days. But it's not right. I think you should do something about it. Either start a whole new blog or stop the email thing. Think about it.

He knows it's part of why I've been agitated lately. Just a part, but it's there.

And, you know, he's right. This blog has gotten me through many a day, helped me process, helped me work through thoughts and feelings and bad times and good times and has been ME. Especially for the last year and a half. But you see, like many semi- or non-anonymous blogs, there's the little catch: you know some of the people reading it.

Lately, this hasn't necessarily been all that good a thing. For various and complicated and valid and sometimes only semi-valid reasons, I have been censoring myself here, frequently to the point of silence. I can't or won't lie. I won't be someone I'm not on this blog. Instead, I've stopped blogging much at all.

But I need it. I don't journal privately well: I am the sort who will write a page or two, an entry or three, and then forget. I do need that sense of audience. So as I've been dealing with a whole new phase of my life lately, one that unfortunately has elements that cause tension and controversy with a few people, one that makes me very happy but is also full of stress because IT'S LIFE, people, and....I can't tell you how many blog posts I've composed in my head that have never even made it as far as the keyboard. I feel constrained and silenced. My choice, I know, but also, well, because I don't like conflict and don't like making people uncomfortable.

Well. Here's the thing. Ages and ages ago certain much-loved people asked me if I could have my blog posts emailed to them. For varying reasons, it's much easier for them that way. Blogger has a little formatting doohickey that will automatically email posts to indicated addresses once I publish them. It's marvelous....Unless. You see, too often the idea that people will automatically receive those posts, rather than coming to my blog to read them, makes me hesitant. I hold back. I overthink the potential effects my words might have. And my anxiety over this has become such that I would rather just not post.

And my outlet becomes closed to me.

Maybe it doesn't make any sense, but if I'm just posting here and people are choosing to come read a post, I don't feel that same sense of silencing.

So. Given the choice between shutting down this blog and starting a new and actually anonymous one, or simply disabling that email feature....I'm choosing the latter.

This is the last post that will automatically be emailed to anyone. Please...if you are one of those people, this doesn't mean I'm effectively banning you from my blog. That is not my intent. I just need to unclog the flow. I need to be able to be myself here again. It may very well be, with some of you, that what I write makes you uncomfortable. I suppose I'm sorry in advance, but I can't keep on like this. I need this.

It comes down, I suppose, to why I blog at all. It's not so that friends and family can keep up with my life, although I know it serves that purpose for some. It's not so that I can connect with people online, though I cherish and value the connections I do make (and hey, I'm still a comment whore! Some things never change.) Ultimately, this is my voice. I have other outlets, other venues, other ways in which to connect and vent and process and be heard, but I need this one too.

So I'm taking my blog back. I may not be changing diapers any longer, but there's still plenty of crap in my life. And I may be facing different dragons, but they lurk in their lairs, waiting for battle, nonetheless.

It wouldn't be life, otherwise.

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!!!

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!

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.

Living Words

Such is the discombobulation factor of Spring Break that I realized today that yesterday was not Friday. Last night when I Flogged My Blog via MummyTime, it was, in fact, Friday over in Australia, which is where she lives. But not here. And so I flogged yesterday's post, which is probably better anyway because today's is more likely to be much in line with the posts of Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday which were less than thrilling.

Yesterday at least I had a poem. Which made some people happy and others probably not so much, since some of my lovely followers get the happies when I post poetry and others groan and sink their heads into their hands, wondering why I persist in putting my nonprosical, uncapitalized, unpunctuated whatnots up on this blog.

Oooh, you should see all the red squiggly underlining Blogger is throwing at me. THOSE ARE NOT REAL WORDS! it says, huffing about and glaring at me through all its little 1s and 0s*. It doesn't understand the concept of linguistic creativity, of creating nonwords from words and suffixes and prefixes, of conveying meaning in ways not contained by Standard English.

I am a teacher of English, yes. I instruct my students in the use of Standard English for formal and academic use. However, in my own nonformal, nonacademic writing, I find myself quasi-following the footsteps of e. e. cummings and Lewis Carroll. I love doing this. I love the playfulness of language, how meaning can be conveyed through context and the bits and pieces of recognizable vocabulary, how it changes and evolves and lives. Language is a living entity, affected by and affecting its users, its speakers and writers and creators and creations. For we are as created by the language we speak as we are its creators: our identities are shaped by the words we use to describe ourselves and others, by the words we choose in our different contexts, by the dialects and codes that mark us as members of this and that community.

My students mock me gently (and sometimes not so gently) for the use of words/phrases like y'all and all y'all. I smile and tell them it marks my history as the classmate of Texans in the long ago of my youth, a trace that lives to this day. I listen to the verbs used by my friends and family: the dialect transformation of wash to warsh by my grandmother, a friend's modification of I saw to I seen. I listen to The Widget's experimentation with syntax: his declaration that I want all by myself walk!

Look at the transformation of language by the wave of Internet communication today. Our language is changing at a speed and in ways that we've never seen before in the history of the English language. Just look at my own blog: I use webspeak like cuz and lol and Intarwebz and blogosphere....the list goes on, and I only touch the tip of what is used these days. Consider the new verb google. Just like Kleenex and Xerox back in the day, Google is now something one does. I google information all the time. Don't you?

Not all of this is marvelous. I cannot express my disgust when papers are turned in using webspeak. I cross such words out with massive, heavy marks of the pen and let my students know just how unacceptable this is. How long will this last, however? Already words that were the unacceptable slang of the Long Ago are acceptable now: cool, gay, yeah, slick...Check out the complete Webster's Dictionary--the latest edition, because they add new words every year. Oh yes. That copy that's been sitting in the bookshelf for a few decades is outdated. Chances are you'll find words in there that are no longer in regular use, and it will be missing countless words that have crept into the center of our language since.

We (technically) still speak Modern English, just as Shakespeare did. Oh yes. Didn't you know that? From the point of view of the linguistic eras, the language we speak today is the same as his. Tell my students that, however, and I receive disbelieving stares. It is true that, with some concentration, one can read Shakespeare and discern the meaning. Most of the words are still in the dictionary. For that matter, Shakespeare coined many a word and phrase for the English language.

But no, we do not speak, from a realistic and practical point of view, the identical language as Shakespeare or Benjamin Franklin or Lewis Carroll or Edgar Allan Poe. We have a different body of words, and even old words have often shifted meaning. The skeletal structure remains, but the flesh has changed.

How dull if language remained static. Life is not static. Life changes and grows and morphs and diverges. How lovely that language does as well.

And what do you know: I had something to say today after all!

-------------------------------------------------
*This is a reference to binary code for the uninitiated into the confusing world of computer code. Keep in mind, I'm clueless about how this all works, but have been around so many computer geeks for so very many years that I can't help but pick up a few things here and there.

Beware the Teachermommy, My Readers! The Eyes that Glare! The Brows that Rise!

I am a dork. I am a geek. I am even, upon occasion, a raging nerd.

Monday night I saw the new Tim Burton Alice movie, the one with Johnny Depp...

--Side note and SPOILER ALERT (kind of): this is the second Alice-based movie I've seen this year (the other being the two-part mini-series the syfy channel did this fall, which was also quite excellent) in which the Mad Hatter was selected as the love interest for Alice. Hmmm. What do you think? Make sense? Discuss!--

...and was struck very quickly by its inspiration from the marvelous Lewis Carroll poem "Jabberwocky". I do so love that poem. In fact, it is displayed in poster form on my classroom wall. I mean, how can you not adore something like this:

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Not only is it just plain FUN, the grammar geek in me LOVES that the poem is grammatically correct despite containing numerous nonsense words. I have used the poem in the past as a grammar exercise for identifying parts of speech.

And here's where I am proven a true nerd: just for fun, and because I'm a freak this way, I am in the slow and laborious process of diagramming the poem.

Oh yes. Cuz that's how I roll, peoples.

(And holy cow, it's been a while since I've diagrammed. And of course I'm doing it with something as complicated as this. THIS IS NOT EASY. I mean, there are elliptical phrases all over the place, not to mention complex sentence structure. Oy. And how crazy am I that I'm getting really excited about this? My students are mocking me. So are other teachers. And friends. IT'S OKAY. I EMBRACE MY INNER FREAK.)

Just for you, and because I love you, and because I am, after all, a teacher, I have underlined and numbered the nonsense words in the poem. My challenge to you: correctly identify the basic parts of speech used (select from noun, verb, adjective, adverb, or interjection). You get bonus points for correctly identifying additional roles in the sentences (select from subject, action verb, predicate adjective, direct object, object of the preposition)! I may even come up with some Actual Prize (TBD) for the winner.

`Twas brillig(1), and the slithy(2) toves(3)
Did gyre(4) and gimble(5) in the wabe(6):
All mimsy(7) were the borogoves(8),
And the mome(9) raths(10) outgrabe(11).

"Beware the Jabberwock(12), my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub(13) bird, and shun
The frumious(14) Bandersnatch(15)!"

He took his vorpal(16) sword in hand:
Long time the manxome(17) foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum(18) tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish(19) thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling(20) through the tulgey(21) wood,
And burbled(22) as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack(23)!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing(24) back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish(25) boy!
O frabjous(26) day! Callooh(27)! Callay(28)!'
He chortled(29)* in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

GO ON. I DARE YOU.

Oh, and darling Heidi (who is also a language nerd and therefore chomping at the bit) says there should be a deadline. She's right. So let's say...submit your work before midnight on Friday (this Friday, the 2nd). And it occurs to me that you should probably NOT do so in the comments, because there may be some DIRTY DIRTY DIRTY CHEATERS out there. So EMAIL them to me: teachermommyblog [at] gmail [dot] com (or click the "Email Me!" button over on the left there), then leave a comment letting me know you entered and, well, commenting. Or you can just comment if you don't want to enter and instead want to praise and/or mock me.
--------------------------------------
*Yes, I know we now use the word "chortle" for realsies. Here's the thing: this was the first place that word existed! It's a real-life demonstration of how literature directly affects language. Carroll created this word. Almost a century-and-a-half later, it is a legitimate part of our language. I LOVE THIS STUFF.

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

Excuses, Excuses

Student Version: Why I Didn't Do The Homework 
(from this site)

1. I didn’t do my history homework because I don’t believe in dwelling on the past.
2. I didn’t want the other kids in the class to look bad.
3. A sudden gust of wind blew my homework out of my hand and I never saw it again.
4. Another pupil fell in a lake and I jumped in to rescue him.  Unfortunately, my homework drowned.
5. Our furnace broke and we had to burn my homework to keep ourselves from freezing.
6. I’m not at liberty to say why.
7. I wanted to frame the detention letter you’re about to give me.
8. It was destroyed in a freak accident involving a hippo, a toaster, and a bag of frozen peas.  You don’t want to know the details.
9. I have a solar-powered calculator, and it was cloudy.
10. I made a paper plane out of it and it got hijacked.
11. My mom used it as a dryer sheet.
12. My agent won’t allow me to publish my homework until my movie deal is finalized.
13. It’s against my religion to do any homework.
14. I was abducted by green-skinned, three-eyed, pig-snouted space aliens, and they incinerated my homework with their death rays.
15. I felt it wasn’t challenging enough.
16. My parents were sick and unable to do my homework last night.  Don’t worry, they have been suitably punished.
17. We had homework?!
18. I see your lips moving, but all I’m hearing is “blah, blah, blah.”
19. I didn’t want to add to your already heavy workload.
20. I spent the night at a rally supporting higher pay for our hard-working teachers.

Teacher Version: Why I Didn't Grade The Homework
(by TeacherMommy)

1. A draft circulated through my room from the vents, and the friction caused by all those papers rubbing together resulted in spontaneous combustion isolated to my desk.
2. I had to go to the ER to treat the blood loss sustained from all my paper cuts.
3. I started reading the essays and suffered a brain aneurism.
4. I fell asleep on the papers due to exhaustion and got ink poisoning.
5. My children mistook the tests for scrap paper and used them for their latest art projects.
6. My cat mistook the tests for kitty litter and...well, littered on them.
7. The military has been taking up all my time having me train their best interrogators in the proper use of The Look. Soon they will be ready to add The Eyebrow.
8. I strained my back carrying my laptop and bag of papers and had to go to the chiropractor.
9. Oh, they're graded, but the computer hates me and won't let me enter the grades.
10. It was the craziest thing. I left my room for five minutes to use the copier, and a miniature wormhole opened up over my desk and transported all the papers to the Gamma Quadrant.
11. My nemesis in A pod papernapped all the essays. I'm negotiating for their release.
12. I'm trying to get my Procrastination Badge. I've been working on it for years, but the organization keeps putting off the final test.
13. I looked at the essays and decided I can't cure stupid.
14. Next week is Spirit Week and I'm too busy trying to decide what to wear on the theme days.
15. Did you know that Gmail chat suddenly works in the building?
16. I'm very busy practicing my blogging writing skills.
17. Since our salaries and benefits are likely to get slaughtered in the next contract negotiation, I've decided to start charging per paper. I'm waiting for my students to cough up the moolah.
18. I'm staging a protest against the needless slaughter of squids by refusing to use ink.
19. Sometimes it's just better not to know what is and isn't in those kids' heads.
20. I have a life.

It's the Holiday for the Rest of Us

In case you didn't know, I am NOT an elementary teacher. Not by a long shot. I deeply respect elementary teachers for being able to keep their sanity teach a bunch of little snot-nosed buggers kidlets. If I were to teach elementary school, I'd end up in a straight jacket and the children would end up on a therapist's couch. Well, sooner than they would otherwise, at least.

No, I teach high school. And this means that I am not the grateful recipient of two dozen little holiday gifts this time of year from my adoring students. I may have five times as many students, but the vast majority of them view giving gifts to teachers as a form of major sucking-upage. Much to my dismay, far too few of them want to be known as sucking-uppers.

(Yeah, yeah, I know I'm making up words here. My plan is to make it into the Urban Dictionary someday. Bear with me.)

It probably doesn't help that I'm not exactly a warm-fuzzy, maternal, "nice" teacher. I have a reputation for being tough and a little bit of a bitch, a title I claim proudly. I'll meet you halfway and help you out if you need it (the quality of mercy is not entirely strained in me), but by old Willie Shakespeare, I'll make you WORK for your grade!

Case in point: today is the last day before our Winter Break. None of my classes are having holiday parties. They don't get to goof off all hour.

Oh no.

My sophomore and junior classes have not one but TWO quizzes to take today (one vocab, one literature), and my Mythology class has to finish reading their Norse myths packet and show me their notes by the end of the hour.

My gift to them? I'm not giving them any work over the break. AND THEY SHOULD BE GRATEFUL.

So my students aren't exactly falling all over themselves to express their undying love and gratitude to me.*

However, some years I do pretty well around the holidays. This week has been good. Yesterday I received gifts throughout the day from a few students, my department Secret Santa, and one of the young teachers I mentor. For some reason coffee and chocolate have been a consistent theme. Wonder why. Maybe they're under the impression that caffeine and endorphins might inject a little holiday spirit into me and make me grade their papers a little more leniently.

Of course, they might get a little unlucky and end up with some Festivus spirit.

Maybe I should save that batch of persuasive essays for the 23rd and find a red pen to replace my usual purple.

You know, for that special holiday effect.

I'm just awesome that way.

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*At least, not right now. I do get students who come back a year, two years, five years later and thank me for being such a hardass. At some point some kids do realize I'm doing them a favor.

We're Staring at the Headlights and There's No Hero Riding Into Sight

Oy.

Okay. There's another reason I haven't wanted to write much prose lately.

It's called Stress. Over my everlovin' fund-cuttin' teacher-bashin' student-screwin' state legislature's decisions to cut education funding again and again and again. Halfway through the school year, as is the idiotic illogical normal way things are done around here.

My district, a large district, will lose an estimated $14.5 million as of December 20, 2009.

My building alone will lose almost $600,000.

This is not projected money, money that would be spent Down The Road that simply cannot be spent now. This is money that (because of the way things are done in this state) was already figured into the budget for the year before the state said Oh, sorry, did we say you could have that? Never mind.

This is money that pays for the programs that educate our youth, for the teachers and support staff who make the programs happen, and the facilities in which the programs are run. This is money that is spent to cover costs in a district that has already been paring away at spending and programs and jobs in an effort to absorb all the budget cuts made over the last several years.

So we are in Crisis. Crisis-mode decisions have been made, and the devastating results are already in play.

Last Thursday, after we wasted our time sat through a professional development presentation, four close English teacher friends of mine and I headed to a nearby Coney to eat lunch. I snapped a picture of them, these four young 20-somethings who have become my colleagues, my buddies, my mentees, my confidantes, and sent the picture to Joe via text labelled My peeps. He texted back Hi peeps! And then he and one of my peeps teased each other through me.

The next day three of them were told they will be laid off as of January 25th.

The fourth one is the next on the chopping block. Reality says she will not have a job next year.

The reason? One of the many cuts being made at the semester's end is the position of high school media center specialist (i.e. librarian.) Our libraries media centers used to have one full time MC specialist, one full-time MC paraprofessional, and one full-time MC secretary. And they were Busy. Over the last several years, the media centers first lost the secretaries, then dropped the para-pros to half-time, then lost the para-pros entirely. Our beloved MC specialist is quite possibly the hardest working and most overworked woman in the building, and she saves our asses on a regular basis. I put her on a pedestal along with our IT woman and the administrative secretaries.

Now all four high school MC specialists have lost their positions. Each school will have one para-pro working in the MC half the day.

This will work well.*

As a result, those MC specialists (all of whom were once teachers and are certified) are being moved back into the classroom. Even the one who only taught for a couple of years and hasn't been in a classroom for twenty-five. They have the seniority, they have the certification, so they will go into the classroom and the low people on the totem pole are gone.

Thus, my peeps.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want the specialists to lose their jobs either and I believe (knowing the kind of people they are) that they will work their butts off to do well as teachers. That's not the issue.

What is an issue, besides my friends losing their jobs, is that all these cuts (and there are more than these, believe you me) will Not Be Enough. More are coming our way--if not during this year, certainly within the next couple. Our in-school custodians are losing their jobs as the district switches to a cheaper (and much less effective) outsourced company. Some secretarial positions are being cut, others put to half-time. Bussing may have to be cut. Elective and Fine Arts programs may disappear. Sports programs may even be cut--freshman and junior varsity teams are already on the list of possibilities.

Class sizes will very likely rise (we're already at 35). The middle school program may be changed drastically, leaving about fifty teachers either laid off or transferred to high school, which means lay-offs there. Our contract is up for negotiation this summer, and I have every expectation that we will be forced to take dramatic salary cuts and benefit changes/losses. More people will lose jobs. MAYBE even some administrators (and believe me, that's a true sign of a crisis).

I understand, to a certain extent, why this is happening. Michigan is in crisis too. The state does not have money and is cutting all sorts of programs. Education is not alone. Police and fire departments are being drastically slashed. Other programs are being cut entirely or severely underfunded.

And I know that not just state employees are suffering. Almost all of Michigan is suffering. I know many people who have been laid off and cannot find jobs. Believe me, I'm grateful that I have one.

In fact, yesterday I found myself counting up the number of English teachers in the district who stand between me and a layoff. It may be human nature, but I recoiled at my cold-blooded approach to reality: how many bodies (so to speak) must fall before I do? And how bad would things be that I, who have approximately 14 people buffering me from unemployment, would be on the chopping block?

The reality is grim. It has been for some time, but now I'm catching a glimpse of the Reaper in my peripheral vision.

However, I have to wonder: at what long-term price are we making these short-term decisions? How will overcrowded classrooms, lack of bussing, lack of enrichment and Fine Arts and sports programs, and (yes, I'm going there) underpaid and overstressed teachers create an educational environment that will draw crucial people and funds to this state? What are we sacrificing for the present crisis that will contribute to the long-term one? The experts waffle on when we will start emerging from this recession, but I can say this: unless positive decisions are made rather than negative ones, that journey will be a very long one. And at this rate, I believe we may drop down into a full depression rather than the "milder" recession sooner rather than later.

In the meantime, I'm glad the legislators are able to sleep at night.* Apparently they're so relaxed about the oncoming train of the December budget cuts that today they declared a hiatus from sessions and decided to take a two-week vacation.

Unfortunately, they left a lot of people stranded on the tracks.


*In case you can't tell, this is being said with Deep Deep Sarcasm.

Just Do What I Say, Not What I Do

They're just awful.

The presentation is going on and they just sit there chatting to each other, doing other work, reading books, rolling their eyes, texting friends.

They're given an assignment and they doodle on the pages instead of following instructions.

They're instructed to discuss the topic at hand and they talk about their plans for the afternoon and what is happening this weekend and Oh my gawd did you hear what Julie said the other day?!?

They're told to send group representatives to mark their discussion results on the activity board and the few who were actually paying attention jump up to the front while the rest chatter away, oblivious.

They're given a short break and they continue to chatter to each other when the lights are flickered once, twice, three times to bring them back to attention. And again. And again.

They're finally released and they walk away muttering about how much that woman is getting paid for teaching them about something they already know and why can't they just leave us alone?

I don't know why anyone bothers with them, really.

Honestly.

Educators.

They're absolutely impossible to teach.

(I was the one sitting in the next-to-the-back row making snarky comments to my counselor friend beside me, laughing with the Psychology teacher behind me, and re-reading The Trojan War.

If I was my student I'd kick my ass.)

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...

You'd Think I Actually Expect Them to LEARN Something, for Pete's Sake

I am, apparently, a Very Mean and Unreasonable teacher.

You see, I am showing my sophomore honors classes the film Good Night and Good Luck in an effort to connect the Salem witch trials as portrayed through Arthur Miller's The Crucible to the Red Scare and McCarthyism of the fifties.

Oh, you're showing them a movie, you say, surprised that I'm being so wimpy. And how does this make you a Mean Teacher in any way, shape, or form?

Ah, but there's a catch. You see, I am MAKING THEM TAKE NOTES. And THE MOVIE IS IN BLACK AND WHITE. WITH NO CAR CHASES OR HAND-TO-HAND BATTLES. Or sex scenes, even.

I know. The horror.

I also keep pausing the film to ask questions and add commentary. Did you notice what they called the law enacted during that time? I ask them. That's right, the Internal Security Act. A law that was supposed to protect us from communist infiltration and just happened to stomp all over civil liberties while doing so. Does that remind you of anything? No? Really? Thank you! Yes, the Patriot Act. And do you notice the use of euphemisms there? "Internal Security." "Patriot." So what does that mean if you happen to disagree with any elements of the Patriot Act? Right. You must not be a patriot. Isn't that great?

I'm very subtle with my opinions.

Anyhow, you should have heard the groans when I told them the kind of movie they would be viewing, not to mention what they would be doing while watching it. You would have thought I was threatening them with waterboarding or something.

Hey, maybe that's what our government should do. Instead of torturing employing "enhanced coercive interrogation techniques" on all those suspected terrorists, they should just sit the suspects in front of non-stop black and white movies composed mainly of dialogue and character development and FORCE THEM TO TAKE NOTES.

I'm very much looking forward to hearing my students' reactions when I tell them about the paper they're going to be writing.

Next thing you know, I'll be brought up on charges of violating the Geneva Convention.

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

To keep my darling friend Lauren happy (which apparently involves hating me for my fabulous foot fashion), I'm gracing you with a gratuitous shot of my footwear today.

You're welcome.

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.

I Can See Clearly Now, The Kids Are Gone (Almost)

September is a lovely month, filled with the sweet hopefulness of school beginning once again. I feel my creative juices stirring; I look forward to the faces of new as well as familiar faces in class again; I enjoy the thrill of those "ah ha" moments that come along when students get an important point. By the time the end of the summer comes along, I'm itching to get back into the classroom where all things are New for another year.

But it's not September.

Oh no, it's June. And right now I Hate My Students.

I cannot wait to kick them out of class today. My last class of brats is sitting filling in scantrons, struggling to find answers in the mishmash of what used to be their brains. It's one hour and twenty minutes (as I write these sentence) before I am free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, free at last! Except for the student who has to come in and finish her exam because she had an allergy attack last night and took Benedryl and overslept and was only in class for twenty minutes for an essay exam that took most students at least an hour to complete. She's lucky I'm semi-fond of her, even now, because it would be awfully tempting to say Tough luck, girly, you shoulda gotten here on time! The quality of mercy is most definitely strained by the end of the school year, gotta say.

It doesn't help that my honors tenth grade students turned in a batch of final research/analysis papers that were, overall, so sloppy and poorly formatted and poorly written that I was taking a savage joy in (for once) using a harsh red pen rather than my usual purple to scrawl nasty comments all over the pages. Cite! Cite! I wrote again and again in fury. You'd think they'd never written a paper before. You'd think I hadn't spent days going over the details, that there was no such thing as the Student Writing Handbook, that they didn't have resource after resource at their fingertips.

A college professor friend of mine commiserated with me this weekend (we were chatting privately in World of Warcraft--doesn't matter we've never met in person, she totally counts as a friend) about the increasing sloppiness of student work and the increasing tendency of parents to want to bail them out. I can't grade effort, she wrote. I can only grade the final product. I asked her what she would do if given a paper with sloppy formatting--sloppy, mind you, I'm not even talking about missing citations, which I already know means a big fat ZERO, thank you very much (that's plagiarism, folks, doesn't matter if it's intentional or not). I'd give it an F, she responded. Sloppy formatting means sloppy note taking, sloppy writing, sloppy thinking in general.

And there you have it. I'm done with the sloppiness this year. I'm done with the snarkiness of students who think they're entitled to getting As because I turned it in! I did it! regardless of the quality of work. I'm done with kids disregarding rules about wearing hats and texting and listening to I-pods during class and cheating and wandering about the school when they were just supposed to go to the bathroom. I'm done with kids not bothering to show up with basic supplies, much less their books or, dear sweet sanity preserve me, their homework completed. I'm done with kids being mysteriously ill for Every Single Quiz and then expecting to be able to make them all up the day before grades are due.

I'm done with Brandon C.: if I hear that name even once during the summer, you'll find me in the corner banging my head into the wall. One hour and six minutes before he exits my life for a few months--at least until Mythology next year. I might be able to put up with him by then, at least enough to avoid reaching for the stapler every two minutes. Though I think his parents might thank me if I sealed his mouth for at least a little while. I know my other students would.

It's a Good Thing that we have summer. It takes that long for teachers to recover from the trauma of dealing with Real Live Students the rest of the year. I think if we ever switch to year-long school, there might be an increase in crime. That whole "Going Postal" saying might have to switch to "Going Educational."

Just sayin'.

I have exactly twelve weeks from today to purge myself of this end-of-year hatred, twelve weeks to find some sort of positive emotion towards teaching teens again.

It happens every year. But every June, it seems like an impossibility.

Only 58 minutes left. Not that I'm counting.

Because We're Ready For Summer Too

I wish I could take full credit for this email that was sent out today by a few of us English teachers who are "blessed" to be "teacher leaders" this year. But I can't. The main genius was S---. But I helped. Especially with the snarky bits.

Hello, hello.

Product of teacher leader meeting, courtesy of C---, M--- [a.k.a. TeacherMommy], and S---.

EVERYBODY: Meet at N--------- in the afternoon, room A205. Bring your grade specific unit planner binder thingy--you choose your grade. Ninth and tenth will review what we've done so far with the binders, eleventh will look ahead and become familiar with the new binder.

9th grade teachers: We are reviewing the binder, cutting it down to four units, and being happy, fun-loving teachers of intro to lit. Just bring your binder. Or else. We will meet in A113 after our whole group meeting in A205. No threats for you because S--- is nice.

10th: We are reviewing the binder and organizing grammar into units we can all get along with. By all, I mean district wide, so try to behave yourselves and get along. Bring your binders and your grammmmmmaaaaaaar books. Meeting in B205 after whole group A205. Or else M--- will cut you with a grapefruit spoon. They're sharp.

11th: We are looking ahead at the bee-you-tee-ful new binders, which you don't have yet, but will, thanks to K--- L---, since he is the LORD and MASTER [quoth M---]. Eleventh grade may break up into separate rooms because, well, that's how we roll. Rooms will be announced by said L&M.

J--- bring your binder and the new eleventh grade textbook.

M---, even though you're dictating this email to me, do the same. Or else C--- will run you over with a zamboni.

There will be a Brit Lit Invitational on August 11. Special people only. By invitation. No gifts necessary, unless it involves beverages for M---. You know, Cherry Coke.

There will also be a Teacher Leader Party, by invitation only, on September 1. You all are probably not invited/cursed. We just wanted to throw that out there.

If there is anything else, we will send another slap-happy email at a later date.

See you all Wednesday, if not before.

-CMS (Not Cosmo-Makers Symposium, but we wish)

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.

This One Time, At English Class...

So today my 11th grade (male) student J.A. walked into my 4th hour and said Ms. TeacherMommy, I need you to help me with my pants!

Hmm. I was a little taken aback. I mean, that's the sort of thing that lands educators in the newspapers, if you know what I mean. The other students in the classroom goggled and giggled. Great, now I had witnesses.

Um, WHAT? I said.

I need you to fix my pants! he said, with an earnestness I don't normally hear in his voice.

I might need to stop and explain that this particular student is one half of one of the many couples I have in this particular hour. It's a bit bizarre, really. They're all attached at the hip and nearly the lip, and I even posted a poem over at Secret Spineless Whine yesterday about this particular couple. J.A. isn't normally the type to ask me for any help, if you get my meaning.

Anyhow, he advanced toward me, clutching his huge black jeans (seriously, this baggy jean thing is getting awfully old) in a rather odd way.

These broke! he said, demonstrating two belt loops dangling mournfully from the top of the waistband, And I can't keep my pants up. Can you fix it?

I looked at him, nonplussed. Um, what do you want me to do? I asked, eying him askance. I mean, that's not exactly a place I normally touch students.

Can you sew them? he said, glancing at my cross stitch where it lay upon my desk.

This needle is an embroidery needle. It isn't sharp--it wouldn't do anything, I replied.

After a fruitless search for safety pins or a sewing kit or anything else along these lines, I was at a loss. I started wondering where I could get a hold of some duct tape so we could wrap him up like a broken pipe.

Finally another student came to his rescue, offering some safety pins she keeps around for making friendship bracelets.

I think you should probably have your girlfriend put those in, I remarked, unwilling to put my hands anywhere on his person.

Next thing I knew, he was standing in the back of the room with his girlfriend kneeling before him. Needless to say, the room started erupting in giggles and ribald remarks.

I can't look! I said, shielding my eyes. This just isn't something I'm used to seeing in my classroom, much less contributing to!

I'm just fixing his pants! C.C., his girlfriend, protested.

Is that what they're calling it these days? said another girl dryly.

AHHHH! J.A. yelped suddenly, leaping back a few feet. SHE POKED ME!

The classroom lost it. So did I.

Finally, when I could catch my breath, I suggested he go to the boys restroom (I'm afraid your girlfriend is not going to be able to help you this time, I said), remove the pants, fix the remaining belt loop, and return to the classroom.

We managed to calm down and get back to business (a.k.a. Macbeth) by the time he returned.

Sometimes it's just hard to stay in a bad mood around here.

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!)