blog mojo gone wild.

as anyone still visiting this place can clearly see, i'm having posting issues. i've always had posting issues, but the posting issues i've had lately are above and beyond my usual posting issues. i have things to write about, but not necessarily the time to write them. and i'm having an extremely hard time finding time to visit and comment on my smallish circle of totally cool fellow blog citizens i've come to know and love.

in addition, i'm suffering some type of weird hormonal surges. i suspect these are related to the birth control system i've been put on, and if they aren't resolved in a few months i may have to re-visit my birth control choice(s).

some days (most days) i'm perfectly normal, fine, and happy. my usual, irreverently flippant, joke-y joke self. and then someone will say something, or something will happen and i will take it personally. to the point i willfully choose to become a hobbit and avoid the internet, email, and my cell phone all together for many days at a time (though people close to me will tell you this cell phone avoidance is a formal trait of my personality, not one that occurs due to irregular hormonal surges).

......i do hate drama. i cannot tell you, whoever you are still visiting this dusty, quiet acre of blogland, how deeply i hate drama, in all its forms. ....unless, of course, it's a piece of cinematic wonder starring gerard butler, and then drama is good. otherwise, drama leaves me feeling annoyed, depressed, questioning the motives of my fellow world citizens, and all around oogy generally speaking. some people take it all in stride and move on quickly, but not me. usually, i end up brooding about it for days or weeks, sometimes months, and feel odd and uncomfortable around those who created it and/or directed it my way.

my friend carol says this is all due to my pisces nature; we absorb energy and all kinds of chi. so only hang out with good chi and positive energy. which seems increasingly hard to do in the year of our lord 2009. did you know?

so i'm going to sit awhile and think about blogging. i am (painfully) aware i announce these hiatuses (hiati?) often, only to return 48 hours later all pithy, with vim and vigor once again, with promises i don't keep. but at the moment, the hormonal surge is quite deafening, and so i actually am going to sit and think awhile about blogging--how i want to handle it, whether i need a better schedule, how to do it while hormonally surging without alienating those who actually know me in real life (and those who don't), and generally where i'm going. in general.

i did find a cute bathing suit for the summer, though, if anyone's interested. it's black with white polka dots and a cute skirt part on the bottom that mostly hides all the hideous side effects that come with childbearing. you can find me in it at a pool somewhere, saying things like, "no, m'am! that sunhat stays on your head, fred. stop pulling it off!" and other silly things. i find i rhyme a lot now, as i speak: "come on, ron!" "let's go, flo" "sit down, brown." if my evil plot works out correctly, in another year or two, i should have a toddler who walks around rhyming whenever she speaks, annoying the holy beejebus out of everyone.

so yes: hormones, drama, and rhyming. not a good combination for blogging, everybody. but i hope each one of you has a fun, happy, fabulous summer.

catch up and k-y jelly.

I lost my blog mojo, everyone. I thought I'd found it, and I came back a few weeks ago with much gusto and an agenda. But then Life threw up in my face and I lost my blog mojo again. I had nothing to write about, except to stick up meme after meme, which I refuse to do. I mean, if I'm going to keep a public journal and air my dirty laundry for possible global consumption, I'm going to do it in 90% paragraph form. It's the only way.

That's all I can say. I'm playing catch up on your blogs, currently. I will leave comments when I feel sufficiently re-acclimated. If you're especially lucky, I may just leave one comment, by blogging in one of your comment sections, and leaving you the mother of all commentaries. I'm going to get pretty annoyed if someone doesn't nominate me for 20 different Pulitzers after that.

We have six more days of school left. Small school age children are crazed with the smells of spring, warm air and rain on their little upturned faces, the knowledge summer is near. We've had Field Day (after two rain cancellations), one crazy windstorm/3 hour electricity outage I was sure would send us home early (alas, I'm not in charge of Smart School Decisions), survived the end of year Big Test, registered several handfuls of 2009 Kindergarteners (using our very own shock and awe campaign techniques), and currently we're (translation: I'm) just taking it day by day until May 20. Breathing in deeply, breathing out slowly. Searching for my center of Zen, repeating affirmations such as: "Punk behavior says more about the punk than you" and "You are the adult, BE the adult."

Last Saturday, Melissa and I went to a local artist festival--festivals are one of my favorite things. I like the smells, looking at all the stuff for sale by people who are far craftier than I am. I usually buy some popcorn and find a nice spot for people watching, and if I'm really lucky I get to eavesdrop on the most interesting stories.

This year, I didn't hear any interesting stories. Just that the credit card machines weren't working and it was frustrating some artists. And the artists made me sad--not one made eye contact with me or returned my greeting when I visited their booth. Even with a cute baby in my stroller. You have to be pretty stoic not to smile at a cute, sleeping baby, I think. I decided (I think I decided this when I was at the empty wine bottle yard art that would totally make my 85 year old neighbor Ms. W's eyes pop out of her head and jowls start shaking in angry indignation while she placed indignant phone calls to the HOA board and the local county ordinance people about me putting my empty wine bottles in my front yard) to leave the Artist Area and head off into the downtown area shops to see what they suggested for Mother's Day.

And thank goodness I did: I found many unique shops and loaded up on Mother's Day gifts. Eye contact was made, friendly greetings exchanged. Melissa made new friends everywhere. And, even better? I discovered an innovative use for K-Y Jelly. Score!

A fine example of why you should help revitalize your local downtown area:

Cute Shop Owner No. 1: Aw! What a handsome little boy! What's his name?

Me: Thank you. It's Melissa.

Cute Shop Owner No. 1: Oh, goodness gracious! I'm so sorry! It's a girl?

Me: It's okay--it's hard to tell when they're this little.

Cute Shop Owner with the Thick Southern Paula Deen Accent: Well, Helen! Look at her pink socks! Why on earth would a mama put pink socks on a boy??

Cute Shop Owner No. 1: Well, I didn't know! I don't look at socks! You're the only one I know of who even notices other people's socks. Heaven's sake.

Cute Shop Owner with the Thick Southern Paula Deen Accent: (seizing business opportunity) Sweetpea, why don't y'all come on over here and take a look at this table. We've got all kinds of cute little shirts and onesies for little babies that'll fix that. How about this one? We can print "GIRL" on it. Ooh! Look at this one, with the teddy bear! That'd be real cute on her.

Cute Shop Owner No. 1: Debbie, pay attention! That teddy bear has a BLUE bow on him.

Cute Shop Owner with Short Hair: Y'all, it don't even matter. People just think whatever they want. (turning to me) Honey, when I was a baby I was bald like an eagle. Mama used to glue pink bows to my head with K-Y Jelly and that didn't make one dang bit of difference. People still called me a little boy. I'm surprised I don't have a complex. I've been divorced twice.

I didn't buy the teddy bear with a blue bow shirt, but Melissa and I did get a very cute magnetic picture frame for my mother that says I LOVE GRAMMY on it. And I found some Melissa Valerian herbal bath, for her Mother's Day relaxation. Plus an Italian restaurant, a charming cafe that offers wine tasting events each Wednesday, and another possible coffee shop hangout (should they ever offer free wifi).

Plus, I bet I can just make my own empty wine bottle art and not even have to pay $400 for it. I may do it as a summer side project in fact, just to eff with Ms. W. Who is simply begging to be effed with. Whether she realizes it or not.

5 pieces of nonsense.

1. Twitter: I refuse to do it. I can’t decide if it’s because the people using Twitter are called “tweeters,” or if it’s because you have to keep your updates to 50 words or less. I do know there’s this whole “Cult of Twitter,” in which you can become a micro-celebrity if you get enough followers who care what you have to say (in 50 words or less) ten or more times a day.

I’m sure there are many sad psychological observations to make about this, along with much Freudian snark. But I won’t attempt any of it, because I’m here. Writing. And there’s this whole “Cult of Blog,” in which you are called a “blogger” and can become a micro-celebrity. If you get enough followers who care what you have to say 1 or more times a day and/or week. Or, in my case, you can develop enough followers who care enough to read what you write sporadically about what you’re doing or thinking. Sporadically being once a week which sometimes stretches to once a month…depending on how healthy I am, whether I’ve gotten enough sleep that week, if my roots are sufficiently highlighted, if I feel pithy enough to write, or if it’s sunny enough because I don’t write if it looks like rain.

So I really think it’s the term “tweeter.” Tweet, tweeting, and tweeter. No, thanks.

2. Yet I’m perfectly okay with yelp. Being a yelper. Do you know about yelp? It's fabulous. I'm totally addicted to yelping.
   

Which I know means I’m weird, with a dash of moron. But then, so are tweeters.

3. We have a new assistant principal coming next year. The entire school is buzzing with excitement: our first man administrator! And even more exciting, he reminds us all of a young Denzel Washington, with a smidgeon of Taye Diggs. This is a GOOD thing…for the teachers. But for our 5^th grade “O.G. Club?” Probably not. Have I written about the 5^th grade “O.G. Club” before? I’m only aware of it because my friends Ms. C and Ms. W had to work with them this year in the After School program, and the OG-ers were a piece of work. One hot mess, times ten. One afternoon, one of them let Ms. C and Ms. W in on their group’s major secret: they formed an exclusive club, but you can only be in it if you’re an OG. When Ms. C asked them what an OG was, not one of them could really define it, but they’re pretty sure 50 Cent and Li’l Wayne are OGs.

Um, no, silly ten year olds with unrealistic life aspirations. 50 Cent is not an OG. Neither is Li’l Wayne. Sydney Poitier? OG. Barack Obama? OG. Bill Cosby? OG. Richard Pryor, Denzel Washington, Martin Luther King, Jr., even Al Sharpton…all OGs. But 50 Cent and Li’l Wayne? Wannabe OGs. Just like a good handful of our 5^th graders.

What the heck’s an “OG,” you ask? It’s an “Original Gangsta.” And by Original Gangsta, I mean someone who: refuses to wear their jeans hanging down to their calves, thinks bling is a watch and a wedding ring, is respectful to teachers and other adults, and they know how to dance. To real music that actually gets sung, not rapped with hateful thoughts towards women and swear words all over it. I watched the OG Clubbers dance last month at the Spring Dance…I’m not sure what that was, but Gregory Hines (OG) wouldn’t have done it.

Man. It’s a sad, sad day for little wannabe OG-ers from the Georgia suburbs when a 37 year old white girl from Hickville, KY knows what an OG is and they don’t. In fact, I think that should be the O.G. Club’s new rule for next year—you can only be in the OG Club if you’re a 37 year old white girl from Hickville, KY with a big appreciation for classic Poitier movies. And you have to be able to recite lines from the movie TO SIR, WITH LOVE. And say it like you mean it.

4. There are exactly 4 weeks (and 2 days) left of teaching children. Of those 4 weeks (and 2 days), 5 of my days will be spent administering (and bubbling in codes) a most ridiculous test to children who still struggle to tie shoes (Velcro, I curse you) and remember that Georgia is the name of the state (not the country, not the planet) we live in.

The other day, I had a conversation about this test with a little girl in one of my morning groups. She’s a cute, super smart, sweet little Indian girl and I have no idea why she’s still in ESOL. I’ll be shocked if she didn’t ESOL test herself out of the program for next year. Anyway, to give you an idea of what it’s like to be a small, school-age child in the United States of America today, here’s how our conversation went:

Little Girl: Did YOU have to take the CRCT when you were a first grader, Ms. S?

Ms. S: Nope.

Little Girl: What was the name of the test you had to take?

Ms. S: They didn’t make us take big end of the year tests, C.

Little Girl: Why didn’t they make you take big tests when you were in first grade?

Ms. S: Um, you know what? I don’t know.

Little Girl: But then why do they make us take so many big tests now?

Ms. S: Because they want to make sure you’re learning what you’re supposed to learn.

Little Girl: But then, how did they know if YOU learned what you were supposed to when you were in first grade?

Ms. S: I think they just trusted the teachers to teach us what they were supposed to.

Little Girl: Did your teachers teach you?

Ms. S: Yup.

Little Girl: Did you learn good?

Ms. S: Yup.

Little Girl: But you and Ms. T teach us and I learn good from you. Why don’t they trust you like they trusted the teachers when you were in first grade?

Ms. S: That’s a good question, C. I don’t really know why. I think the people who make our country’s laws think that if they make us give kids a lot of tests they’ll feel better about paying teachers. Or something like that. It’s really confusing, even to teachers.

Little Girl: Why do they do so many confusing things, though?

Ms. S: C, have you thought about learning to be a philosopher when you go to college?

Little Girl: What does a philosopher do?

Ms. S: Think up questions to ask.

Little Girl: Do they get famous?

Ms. S: Sometimes.

Little Girl: I want to be famous when I grow up.

Ms. S: Well, how about politics? Politicians can get really famous. Have you thought about running for the U.S. Senate when you grow up?

Little Girl: What’s “the U.S. Senate”? What do they do?

Ms. S: They’re the ones who make the testing first grader laws and give speeches to people.

Little Girl: Oh, no! I don’t want to do THAT. That’s sounds boring and too hard. And people who make up tests are mean to us. I want to be a dancer.

Ms. S: I’m with you—I think dancing is a much better job.

Little Girl: So I will do good on the CRCT?

Ms. S: You’re very smart. You’ll probably get Super Excellent on all the tests.

Little Girl: Cool! And then on Saturday I will dance at my auntie’s party!

5. Some days I miss being a little kid. Except for the testing part. I’m pretty sure all the big end-of-year tests would make me want to be a dancer at auntie parties, too.

presidential help for your mega cold.

Oh dear. I have not posted in far, far too long. I've checked my stat counter sporadically and can see my visitors have dwindled to, like, 2 per day. And those are usually via Google searches for odd things like "little mermaid immigrant stories" or classy hits like "flung a thong."

This mass visitation by the world wide web's stranger elements is also likely because I have not been leaving comments on other people's blogs.

It's work, people. And childcare. I had no idea how draining it would all be. Thank god for summer vacations; people not in the teaching biz simply don't understand we EARN that time off, yo.

And I've had to help with a friend's wedding--bridal shower, bachelorette party, and wedding. And I've somehow managed to catch a mega-cold. MEGA. As in: the type of cold dinosaurs used to get. Before there was medication to relieve colds. And so now, billions of years later, this dinosaur mega cold has begun hitting humans. And there are no cold medications that can relieve it. This most likely explains the extinction of all the dinosaurs: they got a nasty, nasty cold, and there were no medicines to relieve it. And so they all died.

I do have some cute kid stories, I will share one now:

My Mega-cold was simmering for many, many days, leaving me lethargic and unwilling to do anything online beyond silly facebook quizzes (except for the one day I got into a discussion on a mommy board about who elected Barack Obama--why do people not see how racist and ignorant they look when they say things like: "The only reason Obama was elected was because poor people and minorities with the attitude I'm gonna get me some money! voted for him." And then they get upset when they are told they are being racist and ignorant. Except I get the sad feeling they're much more upset about being called ignorant than racist.)

Anyway. The day my Mega-cold REALLY hit, I had no voice--just a weird growl-like whisper-squeak. And so little (we'll call him) Pepe, upon hearing my scary non-voice, said "Hey look." (Because this is how Pepe starts all of his sentences when addressing adults).

"I know how you can make your neck better. You can go to Goger and buy something for your neck. I forget what they call them, but Goger has stuff for necks. It makes your neck better. If you go to Goger and get some, I bet your neck will be better tomorrow."

And so I thanked Pepe for his Goger recommendation, and he very seriously said: "You're welcome."

That was Friday.

On Monday, my voice was semi-back but now I had a hacking cough. Every 6 seconds. And my sinuses were/are clogged like a backed up sewer, and not in a good way. And I have very little control over the firing of my brain synapses and neurons, or whatever the brain scientists call them. But my voice was almost back, and this was all Pepe needed:

"Hey look. Did you go to Goger? 'Cause it sounds like your neck is better."

"Yes," I said, "I DID go and get some neck medicine. Thank you SO much for helping me, Pepe."

And Pepe popped out his chest and goes, "No problem. I can help you again if you need me."

Did I mention that, this past February, Pepe was his classroom's Student of the Month? Except when Pepe proudly announced this to me it was "Hey look. Did you see me on the news this morning? I won. I got President. I'm president of the school. For like a whole month."

Pepe makes an awesome president. And an awesome doctor.

The End.

So. I'm going to go get over this mega cold. And also, go have Spring Break. And then towards the end of April I'll be back on your blogs, blogging in your comment sections. And I'll try to find something amusing to throw up here.

Until then I'll be in Goger a lot, looking for Mega Dinosaur cold cures. With President Pepe's prescription in my hand.

teacher tips.

Teacher Tip #358.5: When buying cute holiday stickers from non-school specific craft stores, always (always) carefully preview them to make sure there is nothing questionable amongst cute holiday stickers.

Apparently, somebody in Stickerland Corp. thinks beer is pretty dang cute, and that it should not only be green, but sparkly. This will attract small children to it better. The following is a true conversation that illustrates fairly well the importance of previewing cute stickers from unknown sources:

Student M: Hey Ms. S, is this root beer?

Me: Huh? Oh my! Uh, yes M. That IS root beer!

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

Student M (3 minutes later): Do leprechauns love root beer?

Me: Oh yes, M. Leprechauns DO love root beer.

Student M: Cool! I love root beer too! I drink it all the time.

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

Student M (on his way out the door): Do people from Ireland love root beer?

Me: M, people from Ireland SO love root beer. In fact, I think root beer is pretty much all that people from Ireland like to drink. If you ever visit Ireland, that’s the first thing you’ll need to do: go find a place that sells some really great Irish root beer. Ask around. The Irish people will tell you where to go.

Student M: I can’t WAIT to visit Ireland!

*******************
I have a feeling M will fit right in, if he ever makes it to Ireland. Erin go bragh. But with some root beer.

Teacher Tip #360: Don't be afraid to illustrate when necessary, and embrace your hypocrisy.

This year, they told us we're now required to teach Ben Franklin to first graders. Ben Franklin gets to be on our 100 dollar bills because he was a smart man and told George Washington and John Adams exactly what he thought. But he also had a wandering eye and a lusty attitude. Plus, he was the original Jackass/Do Not Try This At Home guy because he liked to fly kites into electrical storms to see what crazy things would happen.

But he said some profound things, things all children still learning English should know. I'm glad the state of Georgia picked up on that before it was too late. And so we examined Ben's thoughts earlier this year. And I illustrated, for deeper effect:

Benjamin Franklin: American Wiseguy

Below is a picture of Ben's most famous thought. Still true, 300 years later. Also, did you know that Ben was, like, the first health nut? Yes--he told all those crazy colonials to 1) go to bed on time, 2) walk more and get fresh air, and 3) lift weights.




Also, the doctor has shark teeth because this is basically how I feel about doctor visits. And so I thought: why not? And so I did.


The following picture is something all first graders need to think about. Some of the adults I work with should be exposed to this concept too.



This one sums up my approach to life. I live this, daily. I AM Grease Lightning shirt kid.



I also have Grease Lightning shirt kid's problem with managing cash, too. Ben Franklin would be very frown-y with me if he knew.



The picture below is also me. My students didn't know this, but that's ME in the bed a few Saturdays ago. And that disgusted cat complaining about how filthy her litter box is? That cat is my cat, who still needs her litter box cleaned and her food freshened up. From like, 2 weeks ago.



If this were my actual reality, I'd be the worm. FYI.



Also, I'm the little kid in this picture. Practice? What's that? And for 5,000 hours?? When I've got TV shows to watch?



And so, all in all, you can see I take a fairly hypocritical approach to teaching. I'm very Rush Limbaugh in that respect. But unlike Rush Limbaugh, I hide it better because I refuse to flaunt it. Unless I'm blogging, of course.


Teacher tip #576.3: Stay away from green beer. And stickers that look like green beer. And leprechauns pushing green beer and stickers.

But you don't have to stay away from this leprechaun. Because he's cute and also my favorite Irish man:




Happy St. Patrick's Day.