Very Proud...

Of my sophomores..Their final exam grade consisted of a project to create a WWII game. They had creative license but many fashioned their game after existing games (as I would have done as well). Anyway, I've included pictures of 4 of the more outstanding games that were turned in. Since they turned in their project during their exam time, I didn't get to see most of them to tell them how proud I am of their effort. So, here's my little shout out to them for their stellar efforts!

To Dream the Impossible Dream...

In an effort to leave less of a "clumsiness" footprint on this delicate earth, I've decided to keep track of my moments of awkward catastrophe. My thinking is that if I'm aware of the more common incidences, I might be able to avoid or possibly even prevent them...

In order to make this a fair fight, you know, give myself hope to continue getting out of bed in the morning, I'll have to allow clumsy moments to be offset by moments of grace and poise. Ultimately, the goal at the end of the day will be a
neutral score. If I fell down the stairs, that's a negative point. If I tripped up the stairs while carrying a McCafe and didn't spill a drop, that's a positive point (only if I already have negative points though...) Hum...perhaps I should go ahead and set point values for some of my more common mishaps...

spilling anything other than water: 1 pt
spilling anything other than water on furniture that doesn't belong to me: 2 pts
running into walls, door frames, coffee tables: 1 pt
causing others to run into walls, door frames, coffee tables: 2 pts
breaking dishes, glasses, cheap plastic jewelry: 1 pt
breaking antique furniture (regardless of ownership): 3 pts
breaking bones (my own): 4 pts
breaking bones (others; unwarranted & accidental): 6 pts
causing damage to a vehicle (minor; via runaway shopping cart, etc.): 3 pts
causing damage to MY new vehicle (ANY & ALL): 4 pts
ripping, puncturing, shredding, irreparably staining clothing (minor): 1 pt
ripping, puncturing, shredding, staining clothing (in an embarrassing region): 2 pts

Unfortunately, this isn't an exhaustive list, just all that I can bring myself to openly confess to the world. Perhaps more unfortunately, I can't really think of one thing I do on a daily basis that could be the first entry on the list of moments of grace & poise (worth positive points, of course).

I shan't be counting points from this holiday weekend. Were I to do so, the tally would be somewhere just north of -7...I'd like to start at 0. And since it's only 10:40 in the AM, I'm probably as close as I'll ever be...let the games begin!

Stink Eye...

One of my students (junior) told me the other day that her little sister (eighth grader) was afraid of me. If this had been the first time I'd heard such a statement perhaps I would have been...appalled/disturbed/hurt, etc. Alas, it is not. But, it was the first time I had heard such a statement in quite some time (multiple months) so I questioned why her sister felt that way. Little sister reported to big sister that I had given her the "stink eye"...What? What the heck is that, I asked? She replied it was a mean look. Ohhhh...I had never heard this lingo for mean looks. However, I was immediately taken with the description. How appropriate. Stink eye = yuck.

I certainly give yuck looks. Often, giving yuck looks is the only available recourse in my line o'work. When my kids are taking a test and one of them decides the atmosphere of silence and quite concentration is the best time to wrestle with a unopenable bag of Doritos, I don't want to further the commotion with a swift thump on their head so I resort to the death look...er, Stink Eye. Just today, I had to resort to said look. It's the last day of school and as much as I'd like to say my resistance is still strong (resistance to standard teacher weaknesses like giving up as the school year winds down) it isn't!!!! So, we played Scattergories. For Types of Dance that start with an "L", one lovely darling (boy, of course) said "Lap"...I gave a mean Stink Eye as the laughter started to erupt in order to nip that nonsense in the bud...

When I'm in mid-sentence about Vietnam and someone raises their hand to ask me if I like sushi: Stink Eye. When a student asks me if they can have extra credit for not asking if they can borrow a pencil (after having asked for 29 days in a row): Stink Eye. When a student asks me if I graduated during the year of my actual birth: STINKIEST EYE!

So the stink eye is often appropriate and effective. However, I can't imagine for the life of me why I would have given a innocent little eighth grader the stink eye, in passing nonetheless. I'm sure it was inadvertent. Check out these examples of the stink eye below. I'm pretty sure they weren't inadvertent at all!

Filly-tastic!

It's always fun to beat someone at their own game...

My Island....

Never give all the Heart...

Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

I've had an obsession with Ireland since...I don't know when. Maybe middle school? Whenever it started, I'm sure it was before it was "cool" to be Irish...

I'm Irish and I feel I embody all of the wonderful qualities of the natives and none of their less appealing characteristics. In reality though, it's probably the reverse. Anyway, the above poem is by W.B. Yeats, my favorite poet, who also happens to be Irish (totally coincidental). There's a movie coming out soon about his tragic love story. It's called Bright Star. Can't wait to see it. That's all. Happy day.

Love the One You're With...

Whatever, stupid cheesy 70s song I think. Actually, that's probably the wrong decade. Who knows. Anyway, I'm suddenly a little verklempt about losing my students as the school year peters out (slowly and tediously).

Maybe it's because I can't imagine having to build up my tolerance for a whole other group of hormonal teenagers. I kid, I kid. No, it must be because I'm not sure there's room in my heart to love a whole other group of hormonal teenagers. I kid, I kid.

I honestly think it's a little of both. Maybe a little dread at having to go through the awkward stage. Me: Are they really this immature/goofy/smart/happy/annoying/rude? (choose one). Them: Is she really this sarcastic/excited about history/mean/nice? (choose all). Once you're on the other side of this stage (and it varies with each student but in my experience, the dominoes all tend to fall at about the same time), it's glorious. Gone are the moments of sheer terror when I think a student might report me for telling them to sit their skinny butt down. We now bask in the glorious glow of comfort and familiarity.

Several little things have to happen on the road to conviviality but certainly my habit of spitting wantonly expedited the process. For some reason, I really think that my spitting when I talk endeared me to the students. I think they saw it as making me more like them: "Ewww...she does gross things. On accident. I do too! I can dig it...Can you dig it?" Or some variation of that...When I was in middle school, I (falsely) told my friends that made fun of me for spitting that I had extra saliva glands. They bought it. I lived with this lie for a long time. But, lies don't make teachers...especially good ones. :)

Then there's the whole problem of loving more of them. Will they accept my spitting? Will they tolerate my sarcasm and give it back to me in spades? Will they trust that I have their best interests in mind when I assign...homework? Probably not for awhile. I'll have to love them in spite of it. And I will. They'll be a 2009-2010 version of the kid that always smirks at just the right time. They'll be another version of the one that always says "Bless You" when I sneeze, one that always says "Yes!!!!" when I say, "You know, like that time on Family Guy..." and the one that always says "No, we were only in 2nd grade!" when I ask them to recollect details about 9/11.

In the meantime, I gotta love the ones I'm with. Shouldn't be too difficult, now that I finally have it down pat. Took me long enough. There are 7 days of school left...

Dumpster Diving

I recently came home to a disgusting mess. Scout had poked his cute little nose into the trash can to retrieve, amongst other things, the styrofoam bottom of a package of chicken, a used coffee filter and used splenda packets. There were other things I can't remember at this point. Probably the winning Publisher's Clearinghouse envelope. Sigh.

This is not his first visit to the trash. For such a well-loved and cared for thing, he acts like he was raised with the Tramp (of the Lady & Tramp variety). He doesn't dig through the trash because he's hungry. He does it because he likes the taste of raw chicken, styrofoam, coffee grounds, etc. There for awhile, Tie and I would buy a cooked rotisserie chicken from the store about once a week. We'd eat the meat and then throw the rest away. Several times, we came home and Scout had eaten every last bit of the carcass, bones and all. Then there was the easter candy. A couple of years ago, I left a Target bag with an UNOPENED bag of Reese's Peanut-Butter chocolate eggs on the ground. He ate the entire bag of candy. Foil candy wrappers to boot. I thought he might die. Tie wasn't home so I was googling every possible scenario. He lived on. He had more important trash to conquer.

Such as ham sandwiches. About 6 months ago I had make 14 sack lunches for something for our church. The ham sandwiches are in plastic sandwich bags that are in brown paper sacks that are in reusable grocery bags on the floor by the back door. I ran up the street to the post office (gone 20 minutes total). I come home and Scout had eaten 7 of the sandwiches. Even more exciting than his consumption of the sandwiches was his disposal of them once he'd enjoyed the yummy flavors. He threw them all up! It was like he chewed them a minimal amount, swallowed them and said, "That was nice, need to make room for more: YAKKKK!". So, cleaned all those up. Accounted for 6. Had given up on the 7th, assuming he managed to keep it down. I sat down on the couch and found the 7th wonder of Scout the Dumpster Diving wonder. He had somehow managed to throw up one of the sandwiches between the couch cushions. At that point, I actually laughed. It was pretty stinkin' ridiculous.

So, when I walk in the other day and see the trail of debris leading from the kitchen into the living room, I'm ready to send Scout to the dark bathroom (he hates it). But, before I can say anything to him, he's totally hunched over and cowering under the coffee table. He knew he had done something wrong. So, why in the world did he do it in the first place? Which brings me to the actual point of this post...

For some reason, about 10 minutes after this latest fiasco, I thought about how many times I consciously do stupid or wrong (or both) things, knowing they're stupid and wrong. Calling someone a name while I'm driving. Being overly sarcastic to a student (some sarcasm is acceptable and often necessary). Being intolerant of those I love and care about. Pretending to have consulted God about a decision when I haven't. Etc. God could soooo blog about all the stupid things I've done and been sorry for and continue to do. It wouldn't be funny either.

So, whether it will last or not, several times this week, I've thought about that disgusting styrofoam just when I was about to do something I know I shouldn't do. Maybe next week I'll think about the regurgitated ham sandwiches. I guess Scout's dumpster diving is good for something...