Nerves

This week I start teaching the 8th graders every day and the 7th graders three days a week (Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, to be exact).  Did I mention that I hate these kids?  Oh yes, I did.

Monday, the plan is to have a "Come to Jesus" meeting with my 8th graders.  I'm hoping beyond hope that I can get them to name their own expectations, consequences, and rewards.  I also want them to tell me why Spanish is important and why they suck.  I also decided to give them standing extra credit until I quit teaching in May.  The extra credit is designed to help them realize how often Spanish is in their everyday lives and, hence, how important it is to learn.  The half sheets I designed look like this:

My kids will get one point for every one they fill out and three points if they "present" it to the class. Three points is roughly one percent of their grade.

I hope it works.

If you have an idea, please please don't hesitate.  These eighth graders are a tough crowd.  Even when their regular Spanish teacher is talking to them she can't hear the student three feet away from her.  The noise level is never low.

This class is my karma.  I should have been a nicer student.  I thrived on making my teachers cry.  Once, our class got one fired mid-year.  If you have ever seen a teacher contract you know how difficult that is.  I deserve this class- and I'll take it- but my karma better not be still to come.

On another note, I taught my third graders an adorable farm song in Spanish, complete with animal noises.  (You can read the lyrics and listen to it here- just know the music in my version from ¡A Bailar! is much better.)  I was more into it than they were, but fun was still had by all.  I love the little kids.  So easy to please and wanting to please you at the same time.

I hate that my life is turning into one that revolves entirely around work/children but I just can't help it...

This is Why We Rent.

One fantastic benefit of "working" at a PreK-8 school is that I get to sleep pretty late.  My alarm goes off for the first time at 6:30am, and I hit snooze until I finally crawl out of bed a few minutes after seven.  I then get some coffee, which is preprogrammed to begin brewing at seven.  I hop in the shower and finally step out of the house about 8:15.  I realize how lucky I am to work in a school that doesn't begin until 9:30, and I'm thankful every morning that- even though I slept eight hours and am somehow still tired- I got to sleep in much later than most people I know.

Tuesday morning followed the norm.  I stepped out of bed and headed to the kitchen.   When I got there, even with all of the lights out, I could see that something was very wrong.  The kitchen floor was covered in stuff.  A huge MOUND of soup cans and wood and stuff.  I looked up at the wall and saw this:

See that WHITE area there, that doesn't exactly match the surrounding beige?  Yeah, that's where our kitchen CABINET used to be.  Hung to the wall.

And now?

Now our cabinet- and ALL of our food- was on the kitchen floor...
but it was too early in the morning to be astonished.

I went to the bedroom, and slowly woke Mr. Peaches.  He went to bed later than I did Monday night (and packed my lunch again) so I thought it appropriate to ask, "Um...Mr. Peaches.  Good morning!  Did you know that our wall cabinet, the one full of all our food, is now on the floor?  Did I mention Good Morning?  Happy 7:15!"

And here is what Mr. Peaches and I saw in our kitchen- BEFORE OUR FIRST CUP OF COFFEE, MIND YOU- when we turned on the lights:

Before our first cup of coffee, Dear Reader!

Thankfully, somehow all of the pasta sauce- in glass jars- made it through the war.

And actually, what worries me the most is that neither one of us woke up when 100lbs of food and wood hit the ground from 6 feet up.

It was an appropriate way to start the day, considering what ended up lying ahead...

First First First

Yesterday was a day of firsts...

My first Monday.

My first observation of the semester, watching a gifted kid give an amazing 30-minute presentation on martial arts.  He is 11 and he made eye contact while reading his notecards.  Then he did a PowerPoint, a Q&A, and a demonstration.  To think I failed a 5-minute presentation on "How to Play the Trombone" at that age.  (Thanks, JT...)

While I was standing near the door in the dark, watching fifth graders give a powerpoint presentation on México, a girl who had been at the nurse's office came in and grabbed her jacket and book bag.  She left the room, but then hurried back, sat on the floor one foot away from me and grabbed the trash can.  Wondering why the girl fell so hurriedly to the floor, I watched as she clutched the trash can like it was New Years Day and hurled.  My first student vom.  Milestone.


My first hug.  <3

Side note: Today was the MOST ridiculous day ever, and I can't wait to write about it.
Stay tuned, Dear Reader, stay TUNED!

Oh.So.Tired.

Day Two was fun.  I got a phone call at 720 in the morning- shortly after I took a shower and started my coffee, of course- from my mentor teacher who told me that she couldn't go in to work that day and believed that I shouldn't either.  I didn't fight.  Instead, I stayed in my pajamas, cleaned the house, and went to the gym.

So, Monday was MLK Jr. Day.
Wednesday I didn't go.

This means I "worked" three days this week.
(I write "worked" because I only taught 1 and 1/2 days.  The rest of the time was spent observing.)

SO WHY AM I SO EXHAUSTED??

Last night I couldn't even make my own lunch or start the coffee.  I passed out on the couch just after 8 and Mr. Peaches took charge of all of the mundane morning preparatory activities while I dreamed dreams of being an experienced teacher who doesn't need to plan out every second of her day.

Right now, I can barely keep my eyes open and I haven't even begun to look at what I might need to do for the seven other credits I am taking.

Whine whine whine whine whine.
I know.

But I'm tired and right now fifteen weeks sounds like for-freaking-ever.

But I was asked if I was from Puerto Rico today.  So that kinda makes it all worthwhile.

The First Day

Yesterday was THE first day and I'm still alive to tell about it.

The short of it:
I forgot my lunch.
I hate the seventh and eighth graders.
The eighth graders never shut up (of course I have them first period every day) and I was shocked at the immaturity of the gifted seventh graders.

I freaking love the third and fourth graders.


The long of it:
I taught the whole day.  This is not at all normal, and all week I thought it was a big ask, but once I arrived at the school I was excited about it.  Each class period went like this: I wrote my name on the board and was introduced.  (I had the little kids repeat my name a few times, getting louder each time.)  I invited them to ask me questions about myself, with the warning that it was the only day they would have the freedom to do so.  In the eighth grade I was asked both my height and my weight, but I was expecting much worse, so I was happy.  Afterwards, the students saw a one-slide powerpoint of pictures of my family and were invited to ask any additional follow-up questions.

I then did a 10-minute lesson on Venn Diagrams and was surprised to learn that even the third graders were very familiar with them.  Then I put them in pairs and they did Venn Diagrams of themselves, which I thought was a very cool activity if I do say so myself.  They learned things about one another they didn't know and I got to associate interesting things with the students and their names.

The fun of it:
After class, one eighth grader ran after me and the following is our conversation.

"Miss Peaches, are you and your boyfriend getting engaged soon?"

uh hem.  "What?"

"Are you and your boyfriend getting engaged soon?!"

A sign of my maturity is that the response that flashed through my mind was, "WHAT DO YOU KNOW, WOMAN?! TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!"  What I actually said was, "Hmm, I don't know- why do you ask?"

"Because it would be romantic."

This word, romantic, was said in the swooniest voice I have ever heard.  It was adorable.  Maybe I liked some of the eighth graders.

----------------------------------------------------

My next class was awesome, a mixed third and fourth grade gifted class that- very unfortunately- I only have once a week.  When asked where I go to school, I always followed it up with "Who has ever heard of My University?  Raise your hand if you have ever been there!"  Then I would ask each child why s/he went there.  One third grade girl responded, "My mom had a drug delivery."  Maybe she's a pharmacist?

My favorite comment of the day came from another third grade girl.  During the Q&A, one child asked this question: "Are you Hispanic?"

Dear Reader, if we have never met, you cannot possibly understand how funny this is.  I am The Whitest Girl Alive. I've won awards for being So White.  So white that when I was in England I kept joking that I felt "home."  So white that the color of my CoverGirl foundation is called "Translucent," and it ain't clear, folks.  I looked at my mentor teacher, The Whitest Girl Alive Runner Up, with a huge smile and said, "Believe it or not, I am not Hispanic."

It was at this moment a very angry, very tiny hispanic girl with long, curly hair jumped out of her seat and ran toward the board.
"Ex-cuse me! But this name is hispanic!" She yelled at me.


I slowly turned toward the board confused about what this poor, confused child was seeing.  I glanced at my own name, written as soon as I walked in.

Señorita MostEnglishLastNameEver

I managed to mutter, "Um....well...that name is English...it's from- it's from England," unsure whether or not the kids even understood that was a place.

"No, THIS name!"

My eyebrows furrowed as I turned around again.

She was pointing to "Señorita"

I like the third graders.

Freaking Out

My first day of student teaching is tomorrow and I am having serious flashbacks from my own K-12 days:

What will I wear?

Will I know what to say?

Will the other kids (teachers) like me?

I even got some new school clothes (actually, my mother bought them for me- just like old times!) and am planning on trying on my outfit tonight just to make sure everything goes smoothly tomorrow.

My mentor teacher has ruled requested that I play ice breaker games tomorrow with each class.  I don't think I've written about this, but she has FIFTEEN different levels of Spanish, grades 3-8, each week so I had to get the weekly calendar out to see exactly what ages I should target.

I spent the last hour and a half planning for the fifth, sixth, and eighth graders I will have on Mondays...until I realized that tomorrow is Tuesday.  On Tuesdays I have third and fourth graders.  *Gulp*

Back to the drawing board.
Wish me luck.

Maybe Google is the Enemy.

That last post was pretty intense for me because it's something I have been struggling with daily, but I don't know how to resolve.  I need to make peace with the idea that for now, I can't resolve it.  For now, I am going to teach and I'm going to give it 110% because right now this career is the one that I need to pay my bills and help support the household while the Mister is attending law school.  When he's finished, and we are both working, I will have the luxury of time and space to figure out my life.  I can be as flaky as I want while I rely on him to pay the bills and I can try on different careers a la Say Yes to the Dress (yes, I just did that).  All of the careers I am interested in have common threads, I just don't know what they are yet.  Maybe this blog will be a place I can explore them and you (all?) can help me out.

Why is that Cottonelle puppy so darn cute?

Also, you should know that while googling that picture I learned that Kimberly-Clark (the company that makes Kleenex and Cottonelle- and a whole host of other products) logged in ancient forests to make their products.

Is nothing sacred?  



School starts on Tuesday and I'm completely freaking out.  My schedule isn't solidified, but I am so concerned that I will be overwhelmed every week.  This is something you will be hearing from me a lot because my new mantra is a countdown, beginning with: Fifteen Weeks.  It's only fifteen weeks.  When I understand my semester as weeks, it feels less overwhelming.

This year is going to be so crazy- there are some seriously big changes coming down the pike.  It's making me all itchy and panicked already.

I Can't Handle the Truth

When I was in the fifth grade, the time finally came to join band at my elementary school.  I had long been anticipating this event and after little deliberation I chose to play the trombone.  I chose low brass specifically because there were too many boys and not enough girls playing in the back of the room.

Five years later, I began writing a story about a businesswoman who lived in New York City and worked in a male-dominated profession (advertising?).  She often presented her ideas in front of a group of powerful men, her bosses, whom she referred to privately as “The Assholes.”

The next year, I became a volunteer firefighter.  During one training session at the age of eighteen, I sat on the roof of a house wielding a chainsaw and, with the help of the trainer, cut a (what seemed to me) huge ventilation hole in the roof.  I was the only woman to do it and I was beaming with pride in that moment, even though I couldn’t start the chainsaw by myself.

After that, I went off to college- in New York City with an International Business major and Japanese minor (which only lasted nine months)- and volunteered with a great organization called LIFEbeat that distributes condoms at various music venues throughout Manhattan.

As I aged, I dreamed of being a powerful attorney and have four years worth of booklets and prospectuses from various law schools across the country, and even visited one in 2006, before I graduated from college.

Whether I was conscious of it or not, I have worked my entire life to break out of the role that was given to me by society because I have a vagina.  When I wrote that story, I was simply putting a dream on paper, with a few embellishments that would allow me to call it fiction and consciously separate it from my real life.  I no longer want to be a lawyer (though I still wrestle with law school) or feel the internal pressure to work in a high-rise.  I probably wouldn’t even call a group of my bosses “The Assholes” (at least not because they were men).

But the underlying sentiment is still there.  I feel drawn to knock down walls.  It feels necessary to fight power.  I do not want to work within my “role.”  Don't get me wrong- I'm no martyr.  I'm not trying to bust through glass ceilings to free the oppressed women who come after me (though some will argue that's the only responsible thing to do)- I just don't feel comfortable following the grain.

.........................................................................

I guess that is why I am struggling so much with becoming a foreign language teacher and the reason the pangs of domesticity are so very painful.

A Long Time Coming

Mr. Peaches and I have had quite an exciting week.

The most exciting part took place on Wednesday night when Mr. Peaches, who has been moderately sick, came into the living room where I was sitting from the dining room where his computer lives.  I had been using his computer earlier in the evening to quickly check my email and obligatory social networking sites and knowing this, he said to me, "Could you come here for a second, I think you left something open on my computer."

Now, Mr. Peaches and I are pretty open with one another.  I know nearly all of his internet passwords and vice versa, just from living together with only one laptop (which is almost always in the living room with us) for over a year and being lazy.  Things like, "Could you check my email, I'm waiting on ....."  are always said in our house.  Because I hadn't been doing anything illicit on his computer (that day- I do all of my illegal/immoral activities from his computer- you know, since I'm going to be a teacher and all I can't have that stuff traced back to me), I knew something was up.

I figured one of his friends wrote something dumb, or he found a strange picture he thought I might enjoy.  This hunch was confirmed because as I probed him with a stern, "What are you up to?" Mr. Peaches turned away and as he did I saw a huge smile plaster across his face right as he turned out of view.

When I got to the computer, this is what I saw:

I'd like to especially emphasize the "Congratulations!  You have been admitted."

Congratulations!  You have been admitted.

(TO LAW SCHOOL!)

While Mr. Peaches had remained so composed, when I saw the screen there was immediate screaming and jumping (this scenario is so indicative to who we are as individuals it's not even funny).  And then suddenly we were both screaming and jumping, which gave way to dancing.  Which began the intense two-day self-familiarization with Georgia and the University of.  Like, for instance, where we live today the temperature "feels like" fourteen degrees and in Athens, Georgia the high this week is 55.  We took the Google Street Tour of our new, warm city.

This admit has been a long time coming and the road certainly has not always been one of confidence.  Mr. Peaches took the LSAT in September and scored quite high, in the 95th percentile (meaning that only five percent of test takers scored higher than he did), but he didn't apply to many safety schools- actually, just one, and only two target schools (from which, under the right circumstances, he could be rejected): University of Georgia and The Ohio State University, both ranked 35 in the US.  He applied to OSU on November 1st, along with several other schools (ten in all), and since then we have heard crickets.  Nothing, nada, zilch.

Now, while I remained confident that Mr. Peaches was going to go to law school somewhere his confidence was really beginning to wain.  It's been ten weeks! I would always need to remind him that Christmas and New Years weeks really.don't.count.  You have to be patient. Secretly the waiting was starting to get to me, too.

But now, Mr. Peaches is FOR SURE going to law school, somewhere, and it's somewhere warm, we are always reminding each other.  And it's a somewhere where he is guaranteed to get a good job.

Go Mr. Peaches.

Also, Georgia is The Peach State.  Coincidence?  I think not.

One in 175,711,536 Part 2

The day was so good, and things fell so unusually into place for me that Mr. Peaches and I decided it absolutely was my lucky day, if such a thing ever existed.  As we left The University I joking exclaimed with joy that I should play the lottery because the jackpot was up to 16 million dollars.  This offhand remark led to an entire evening of dreaming.  For the rest of the night, Mr. Peaches and I talked about what we would do with the lottery money.  What we would realistically do with our 16 million dollar lottery winnings.

Thanks to the documentary I watched the week prior about the terrible things that happened to lottery winners that left them penniless, in jail, and sometimes dead, I had some pretty good ideas about what not to do.  First, it was important to decide between the annual payouts or lump sum (the annual payouts equal so much more money, by the way).  For this, we went to the State Lottery website.  Then there were all kinds of questions:  How much would we donate to our family members?  For whom would we buy houses?  We'd have to hire a few advisors first, of course, to make sure the money lasted us the rest of our lives.  We would also have to- at least in the beginning- ignore any family members, long lost friends, or strangers who would flood our mailbox.  WE HAD A PLAN.


But we didn't have a ticket.


After hours of dreaming, Mr. Peaches and I decided to do it.  We were going to win play the lottery.  We don't live in the...uh...best neighborhood in our city, so within walking distance we have several run down, sometimes dangerous "marts" from which to choose.  We walked to our favorite one (ie the one that does not reek of corned beef or have dirty, off duty, uniformed cops as loiters) and when we got inside I motioned to the Mr. to go ahead and "play the lottery," whatever that means.  He responded, "No, no!  You're the lucky one today, it's got to be you!"  Now, I have played some scratch offs before, especially when I received them as a gift, but it was at this point that I realized neither one of us had ever played the state lottery and that this was going to be a learning experience.


I'm going to lay it out for you, Dear Reader- here's the thing about the State Lottery:  it's CONFUSING ELABORATE.  I am a college graduate and I could not understand how to play this f-ing game.  I mean, it probably would have helped if I had read the instructions, but no, I have a degree, did I mention?  It cost me $40K and I would like to pay it off with my new LOTTERY WINNINGS, thanks.  The clerk at the counter, who knows us from emergency eggs, ice cream, and the occasional pack of overpriced cigarettes, had to explain to us the correct way to choose numbers.  For each game, labeled ABCD or E, a player chooses five different numbers on the left and one number (the "powerball," I think?) on the right.  After fifteen minutes of pure embarrassment and confusion fun and excitement we walked away, confident with our numbers and a plan for our winnings.

After twenty-four hours of dreaming, we lost our $16M.  We lost our financial advisors, the mortgage payoff for my aunt and the house for his mom.  We lost the annual payments of $616K (after taxes) and the erasure of our student debt (which will exceed $200K in a few years)...


But it was still my lucky day because I'm starting Student Teaching on January 19th.  I even met my mentor teacher on Tuesday.  More to come about that...

One in 175,711,536 Part 1

Last Monday was a very good day for me, but it really didn't begin that way.

Sunday night Mr. Peaches and I made the 6 1/2 hour trek from my folks' house, where we spend Christmas, back home.  We set up the spanking new TV they bought us, which we really didn't need or deserve (but oh, how I love it now!), and made a list of errands to run on Monday.  There were miscellaneous things like returning the books on tape we used for the trip, heading off to the bank, and then running down to our University to run some all-important errands that could- and I'm not being dramatic here- radically change the course of my life.  Okay, maybe I am being a little dramatic...

Here's the story.  I'm was supposed to start student teaching on January 19th, but there were some issues that came up last minute that really might have sidetracked me completely, forcing me to miss student teaching (which is only offered once a year).  If I missed student teaching, I would have to give up on the whole teaching thing all together, since Mr. Peaches is starting law school in another city in August (where we do not yet know).  ARE YOU WITH ME, PEOPLE?

Before student teaching there were a few loose ends that had to be tied up that should have been dealt with awhile ago, but were not.  First, I had to get a background check, both state and FBI, which I read could take up to six weeks (read: not enough time).  I could not start teaching without those checks, which I think is a good sign for the city's school system.

Second, my university mandates students to "attempt" the Praxis before they begin student teaching.  The Praxis is basically an exit exam similar in style to the SAT.  I am sure I will write a diatribe on this later, as I have quite a few opinions on any kind of standardized testing.  Anyway, I had planned to do this- naturally at the very last minute- on January 9th.  Except as the deadline approached I realized I didn't have the $300 it takes to register for the test.  Co-nun-drum.
(Click here for the shirt.)


I, completely freaked out, was finally directed to the Assistant to the Dean of Education.  Practically in tears, I called to ask what to do on December 10.  She had to appeal to the Dean on my behalf, who eventually (like after a week, eventually) said that if I received an A grade in Practicum (the class before student teaching) I would be allowed to take the Praxis during student teaching instead of before.

So I waited for my grades, on edge.  Two days later, I learned that I got an A- in Practicum.  An A-.  I realize an A- isn't exactly an A, but it counts, right?  I sent Ms. Assistant an email- "It counts, RIGHT?" I feverishly typed.  It counts!



But I didn't hear anything.

I called just before I knew she left for Christmas, emphasizing the extra work I did to take full advantage of my practicum experience.  I waited.  Then I waited some more.  Maybe it isn't the same?

Finally, Monday came and I decided to go see her in person and I wore brand new clothes, and made sure my hair was prettified because you have to look nice when you're begging.

I took care of my background checks (to the tune of $75- thank you Christmas money), and it turns out all you need to do is submit to one and you can go ahead and student teach.  I guess that doesn't say much about the school system after all; but, okay, Crisis One averted.

Then I asked to see Ms. Assistant.  With trembling knees I took a seat in her office.  I looked at her with a fake smile.  She looked at me.  I could feel the I'm sorry coming out of her mouth.  What would be my next recourse?  Was the dean in today in case I had to storm her office?  What media could I contact?  A student with a 3.8 GPA barred from student teaching due to poverty would make a good story.  That's what I'll do, I'll run to the papers!  To the I-Team on Channel 5!

I was ready to run out of her office with a picket sign when she said the magic words, saving my world, and- let's get real, probably my ticker which just can't take sorta thing anymore.  I was free to go into the school.

After this, I learned that I will be placed in a brand new "Gifted" (whatever that means) K-8 school within the city's metropolitan school district.  I have no idea what grades I will be teaching though, because my mentor teacher is still on break.  The best part?  (Well, besides the excitement of being a teacher or students or whatever crap I'm supposed to say is the best part.)  School doesn't start until NINE FIFTEEN!  I can sleep!  ALL SEMESTER!  I love the prevailing incorrect view that young children need more sleep than high schoolers.

The entire trip to the University, the trip that could have forever changed my life took a whopping thirty minutes.  And then I knew I was on a lucky streak...