crash

pickled heart-----kind of bitter, green and frightfully cold but worth eating anyway
toes shivering in front of the pom-poms
half a weekend, mine not his
and I decide:
why work now when I know I have many hours to do it
and
should I make a pig costume, you know, all pink with a twirly tail and a really great snout? maybe not

but
maybe

and
have you ever stopped and tried to find that place where you know you are brilliant- or watched yourself and then realized that the most amazing part of you sits on the 76second wrung of a banana peal ladder, which makes sense, as it is a place that you are only likely to find once- purely by accident-just after you slip and flail and right before the moment of clarity when it suddenly dawns on you that your are going to land on your ass-on top of all the discarded bananas?
yeah, me too.

the stubble raising cold shiver is running up my legs, toes are still cold, but
the pickle is starting to warm up...finally.

and unless I put an end to this mindless torture of my fellow procrastinators I will drone on through the ages
well... the hours, naw- seconds

drool
head loll
very slow blinking one eye at a time

!pickle salt on my popcorn! yay

ta

cthecrapyagetwhenimunderpressure

people/things I would most like to slap with a northern pike: tom cruise, that guy (either you know or you don't), Wendy's 'open great even late', 'cept they don't have the southwest chicken ceasar anymore- so why would I even go there? my neck (nothing beats the soothing coolness of a raw northern pike on an inflamed mystery rash.

fleorblecoj

my throat is collapsing, a sympathy strike for the brain which has been manic all week...the highs are amazing, blue-sky and stars during the same breath but ultimately-tiring.
6:15~5:15: the first 11 hours of my day devoted to the torture of learning how to master a job I am not convinced I really want. It seems that all is tilted in this world that dictates how each of us spends our waking hours, or rather the people who dictate that they shall not walk {always} in their right direction and I am left to wonder where I will land and with whom I will dream.

I find my alter ego reaching for places it is not brave enough to explore and yet I encourage it, with soft murmurings, the 'little blonde that could', and I continue to drift, imagining myself lost in a sand-storm, chains flashing and dancing around my goggle covered head, and I am sure, this is where I want to find myself[find myself]. The reasons are my own even if they fit into the palm of someone else's hand. eyes are closed while wishes are made and I will slide a little to the left and wait for the verdict.

How amazing though
top off hair down poi swimming sky gone colour muted on the outside and brilliant on the inside...remind me to tell you the story in September.

and I find a fever caressing my head from the inside, while teasing slivers torture my back, my neck, my chest; cheeks are too pink and my eyes are soft

the rambling wonderings inspired by the men who celebrate creativity in the mundane

valentine

after a wonderful week at school I find myself miserable and unusually unenthusiastic about the weekend.

valentine spirits swept through our school in the most intense and wonderful way. it is truly amazing the extent to which 8th grade boys will go to woo the girl of their dreams. 2 boys arrived late to homeroom and stashed 2 large bags behind my desk. the contents were later revealed to be a gift bag with a cushy teddy-bear and one long stemmed rose.

the impending afternoon dance distracted everyone all morning, the excitement and volume levels gradually increased until 12:45 rolled around and we were ushered into the transformed multi-purpose room. love was in the air. this was the first opportunity I had to see my students interact with their friends/boyfriends and girlfriends outside of the classroom.

i felt myself blushing as i watched way-too-young girls gyrate & i grinned when i saw hands holding and arms draped, soft mushy glances and dreamy eyes. my first thought was that the children were all very cute, and then i was taken back 15 or so years. i am thankful that I can still remember my first love-for real,
all consuming, ever-innocent, and life altering-very far from cute. i am thrilled that i know these things and i can appreciate how young hearts wrap themselves around each other. I wish them hugs and walks and glances and the strength to survive it all.

all in all, it was a good day and while i am pouty and a little weepy, there is a small smile teasing my lips as well.

i guess... i remember valentine's days and yup- i miss them

*squeezes* to everyone who gets to squeeze their own someone tomorrow and even more to all of those who don't.

smellaaiii

i am wondering: how long will a person will drive their car thinking that is the car in front of them that smells like burning before they realize that it is actually their own car that stinks?
hmmm

*squeezes* to the doc who gave me more oxygen, mmm oxygen!, james for keeping me cozy last night, and jessa, for her speedy recovery of the altered hoo-hoo!
sunshiney ramblings and smiles for all!

Sorry for the wait but

Sorry for the wait but the pictures are still entertaining & kind of disturbing...

now I am all better, although as far as appearances go, the new nose- not that exciting BUT as far as sleeping next to me- oh so sweet and quiet

The bad day: a reflection

For those who are not educationally inclined this may be an extremely boring post but feel free to torture yourselves. The plan- to explore my broken ego, fond out what went wrong and develop the ideal solution.

Since the first week in January I have basked in the renewed sense of direction and purpose I was feeling. Again, I was excited about the prospect of becoming a teacher. The students still seemed to think that I was cool and the positive vibes were everywhere.
Until…
Away for 7 teaching days.
I returned to the classrooms on Monday last and appeared to be at the top of my game (so to speak). I felt confident that the lessons I prepared to teach my grade sevens about Ancient Egypt was virtually perfect. I always anticipate the need to modify and adapt what I prepare for each class but I was certain that I was ready to go.

Wednesday: quiet, studious beings-the envy of the South pod. I was calm, serene, and very proud of how the lesson progressed.

Thursday: eager to participate, following along, starting to get excited about Friday’s mummified ‘Cornish game hen’ activity. Again, I was feeling very good about the way the students were responding and learning.

Friday: all hell breaks loose. Let’s be clear, Friday was my 3rd official day of teaching a 50% course load which = about 3 lessons.

First period: I arrive out of breath to the grade 8 classroom; the sponsor teacher is no-where to be found. I grab the nearest teacher to watch over my class as I “NO RUNNING IN THE HALLS” make a beeline for the mailboxes in order to retrieve the morning’s attendance sheet. Back to class, some wondering murmurs regarding the missing homeroom teacher. But, we are okay, Miss Wilson to the rescue. One more day to work on our novel studies- should require about 45 minutes….

Second period: French- yeah right. Still no sponsor teacher or substitute, ‘how long can I drag this out’ I wonder. Students begin to get restless, they are finished their novel studies, 12 of them need to use the bathroom, 4 more need their books out of their lockers, felt, duct-tape, steak tar-tar, you name it and they had to go get it. I stretch ‘Your sociograms, finish your sociograms” ‘Our what!!!’….’I’m finished my sociogram, my group sucks, this is stupid, where is Mrs. P, what do you mean you don’t know what to do with them?!’ the red stain of shame begins creeping into my cheeks.

Recess: the door closes and I lock it behind me, Mrs. B notices the anguish on my face and quickly swoops in with encouragement, smiles, and the kind of smart ass comments that only another student teacher could come up with. Hug, big breaths…

Third period: still no sponsor teacher but this time it is okay, I had prepared for this class in advance. Into a horseshoe, some notes on the bored (Freudian slip?!), some fairly smooth discussion, ‘back to your seats and write something interesting for my weekend reading’. Some minor groaning and confusion, ‘The substitute arrives- amazingly enough the room become quiet, pens can be heard dancing across loose-leaf…’

Forth period: she’s holding it together fairly well…until- the volume rises, bodies start moving so fast that I barely notice when they take off jogging down the hall ‘our teacher is lame and can’t control us and we love it!!!!yay!! Miss Wilson- yeah she sux, look at us go!!!!!!!!!!!’ Before I know it the second substitute shows up, all raring to go, but wait- he knows even less that the two other teachers do regarding the schedule and tasks for the day. On the upside, thanks to his arrival I now have time to bounce into the room directly across the hall and begin setting up for the mummy activity that I have been so stoked about.

2wenty minutes and counting 3 seconds at a time…

Fifth period:
How it should have happened…
-7 workstations made up of two desks placed together. On top of each station would be a black plastic bag covered with sheets of paper.
-materials on each desk= 1 pen capable of writing on plastic, one large zip-lock bag, I Cornish game hen in it’s plastic wrapper, one box of salt, and 4 pairs of plastic gloves.
-students would begin class by being seated AWAY from the workstations.

1. review the steps listed in our Egypt Unit books
2. groups of no more than four select a work station
3. each group member puts on a pair of plastic gloves
4. groups decide on the name of their mummy and write this name along the white strip on the zip-lock bag, pen is now put away.
5. with the help of 1 or more adult assistants, cut the tope of the hen wrapper so that the hen may be removed
6. one person from each group makes their way to the sink at the back of the room to wash the hen, they will then dry the hen with a piece of pre-cut paper towel that will get tossed immediately into the garbage can.
7. the hen will be returned to the table and placed into the plastic bag
8. each group will then measure (oh let’s say 2 cups of) salt and sprinkle it over then hen in the bag
9. seal the bag and place it on the top of the activity cart, which has been conveniently placed near the centre of the room.
10. the plastic bag covering the workstations should be folded up so that all of the soiled towels and garbage is inside and then throw it in the garbage.
11. remove gloves and put them in the garbage.
12. talk about the next steps: checking our mummies, adding salt to our mummies, what we thought about the activity so far etc…

How it did happen…
-seven workstations made up of four desks with all of the same materials as listed above EXCEPT no pen for recording the mummies name, and (this is a huge one) the plastic bag only covered half of the workstation AND it was not covered with paper towel for absorbing chicken juice.
-students began the activity by being very hyper (one would assume they were like 12 years old or something!)

1. I forgot to tell them to write the name of their mummy on the zip-lock: mistake being that when I reminded them to do it at the end, everything was contaminated in raw poultry sauce, including the pens that they used because they were too impatient for me to get to them to write it myself.
2. Second error: I was the only one with a knife to open the hens, that dragged it out
Oh did I mention I also didn’t go over each step-slowly and carefully before I had them open their hens? Oh, yeah big oops there. Anyway…
3. no paper on the table to absorb the juice that was in the wrapping, oh and no specific instructions about what to do with the wrap so it ended up on the clean uncovered areas of the workstation- yeah contamination begins
4. My voice is getting louder and louder, the speaker system I use is not working.
5. oh crap, hens in the bag, I didn’t just say “shake n’ bake” did I?????
…head would be buried in hands except for the chicken juice covering them
6. now, the salt, cover them with salt, not too much, not too little, nothing specific just don’t do it
7. seal the zip-lock bag
8. name of your mummy
9. wash your hands: yes that’s right all 26 of you at the same time~ but quietly okay.
Sometime prior to this I ran to my T.A. “I’m losing it (not my mind but complete control of the class and the pre-teens filling it”. My rescuer, she sets off in search of my sponsor.
10. We need to sanitize everything, the kids, the tables, the pens, everything
11. Miss M to the rescue
Within 10 minutes order had been restored, the tables were washed and returned to their proper places. The mummies were resting on the activity cart; the garbage cans were overflowing with paper towels.

The looks on their faces confirmed that they were well aware of the reality that many things had gone dreadfully wrong with the activity.
I listened from the sidelines as Miss M debriefed “what went right?” “what went wrong?” Before vaulting out the door I stood before my students, fighting to keep my voice from cracking…now that I think about it, I don’t even remember what I said to them. And then I left.

I have some pretty solid ideas about what I would need to do with this activity in the future. Unfortunately I am more inclined to avoid it altogether. My confidence has been extremely shaken. Sunday night I sit here dreading going back in there on Monday. I know that I have to stand up and start defining who I am as a teacher; by this I mean that the grade 8’s will not be roaming the halls with my confused permission, they will not waste our time, and they will speak to me with respect. The grade sevens I am not so worried about-I might be crazy but I am pretty sure that they felt some remorse; at the very least that is a small comfort.

In the eyes of peers I am humbled and stupefied, at least in my own mind. Under pressure I crack, there is no other word for it. But then I have to wonder, should I feel like shit for failing to be entirely competent on my third official day as a teacher? Why did I allow others to make me doubt myself when I couldn’t successfully teach 2 classes where I was not even supposed to be? And now, how am I going to get past all of that and get back to the place where I love teaching? I dread the idea that it could be all downhill from here.