When You Give a Mouse a Cookie...

My students are 12 - 13 years old. They're on the threshold - you know, still watching iCarly, playing make believe and sleeping with cartoon themed sheets and pillow cases - but toeing the line. They're starting to wear make up and curling their hair, experiencing life at such a heightened state that everything is something that could possibly end their very existence.

It's cute.

I like that they are on the threshold. They aren't afraid to be good at school. It's not too cool to be smart, yet. They don't ignore you if they see you on the street, and they openly admit their need for help, love and affirmation.

And, like 70% of the time, they have such innocent senses of humor.

Recently, I expressed my undying love for Thor to the class. This week, I received several valentines from Thor...notes were taped to my computer that expressed my love for Thor, my smart board was tagged with Thor's name and hearts...

It makes me happy to know that this really trivial piece of information brings them so much joy.

I better come up with another one, fast. Next week, poor Thor will be old news.

----

Things I heard this week that made me happy:

- Ms. Hansen, can I schedule lunch with you next week? I really need to talk through some things, and you're the only adult in the building I trust.

- Thanks for making my first year at a new school so easy. I was really nervous, and your support and encouragement has been really helpful.

- It'd be really cool if you came on this summer trip with the organization I volunteer with. I wouldn't even get tired of having my teacher on my summer break because you're pretty cool.

- Can I hang out in your room? I'm having a really hard day. 

Word of the Day: Languid

If you would have walked by my window at around 6 pm yesterday evening, you would have found me cross-legged on the floor, sobbing over a stubbed toe.

But the tears weren't really about the stubbed toe at all. I was crying because it was - as they say - the straw that broke the camel's back.

I'd had a rough day. Week...2 weeks. I've been having a rough few weeks. Your first year of teaching is no joke...

Anyway, yesterday I had a substitute teacher. The whole English department did! We were on a "data retreat" where we spent the whole day in a long meeting about MYP, IEP's, GTT, IB, FI...WTF? IDK.

In the afternoon, there was some planning time. So that was nice.

As I was saying, it was a long day. I walked away from it feeling this much more inadequate and that much more like I'm breaking all my students, and ever so slightly irked that my life has seemingly disappeared. School, home + chores, grading, sleep, school!

And then I stubbed my toe. I'd had enough! So I cried for an hour without being able to articulate why. In fact, I couldn't articulate anything at all.

So as you can imagine, I got ready for work this morning in a languid fashion. I was unsure of how I would reign in my already rambunctious kids after a day-long-party with a sub. But when I walked into my room, I was greeted with a blackboard filled with drawings like this:

(this one is actually a few days old, but I forgot to take pictures of the ones today).

They said things like, "We miss you Ms. Hansen - period 1" and "Tristen loves Ms. Hansen" and "we love you!" and "Ms. Hansen is the most awesome teacher ever."

When they actually arrived in classes I found out that the sub:
1.) called a student in first hour (my perfect class) a slut. uhm...what?
2.) made her own rules despite me leaving her our class norms.
3.) referred to herself as the rockstar sub.
4.) allowed students in 6th hour to get into a physical altercation that left other students feeling unsafe.

Needless to say, the students were happier than ever to see me. There were many requests that I "never, ever leave again."

Of course, they felt differently at the end of the hour. But that doesn't stop them from drawing hearts for me. <3 p="p">

To Teach

To remind myself why I'm doing this:

I bet you didn't know.

I bet you'd never guess that I, some alien behind a Macbook, am a writer. Even more surprisingly, a painter, a singer, a flute and piano player and one helluva cook.

I am sitting here, next to an empty plate. I made the perfect pavlova earlier. The larger part of it looks slightly sad now, sitting cut in half on a cookie sheet.... but it won't have to worry much longer. Soon, it will be gone... joyfully eaten by all who pass by.

Poor poor pavlova.

Pavlova makes me think of my friend. Take away the "a" at the end, and you've got him. He's an interesting fella. I dunno if he'd actually consider me a friend... but my guess is... well, yeah, probably. I don't usually tell people all my secrets the first time I hang out with him - but that's what I did. He knows me better than a lot of people. I wonder if he can remember all the things I said. It's probably better for him to forget. You're probably confused, but that's okay - it's not for you to know.

School is starting up again. Back to school.... back to school :/ ... yuck. To be honest, school and I have never been great friends. I hate it, it hates me. I have no real motivation to impress teachers, and frankly, they don't really want to be impressed. If I write a sucky paper it doesn't mean they aren't getting paid. They don't care. Why should I? Oh ... because it's my future? Hmm. Well, I could always drop out 3/4 of the way through and go to Le Cordon Bleu. I'd love to cook for a living. People don't sigh or moan when you hand them the perfect piece of pineapple upside down cake or serve them a homemade chicken pot pie.
People DO moan and sigh when you say, even with enthusiam, "today we are going to diagram sentences" or when you hand them Lord of the Flies. I am going to be the enemy... and at the end of the day people will find refuge with their hot meals and tasty desserts and curse my name.

I think my younger brother is trying to imitate an elephant seal.
I better go watch.

They see a threat because I am original.

Nikki scratched at her notebook with her pen.
"J. Alfred Prufrock"
She stared at her writing, something was definitely missing.
After a little pondering she scratched again,
"J. Alfred Prufrock...is a waste of time."

The sentence gleamed at her as though she had uncovered some treasure of truth from underneath the dirt-pile of hodgepodge and nonsense that her professor was burying her in.

...."many speculate that he might have been gay" continued the professor. More dirt.

Nikki's mind wandered. Her foot tapped against the leg of her chair.
Her imagination let her lunge from her seat. Now she could jab the professor to a slow and painful death.

"Professor: Death by multiple pen jabs!" is what the headlines of the paper would read.

"I'm sorry I'm such a bad teacher" she'd say.
"You deserve an A!" She'd say!

Nikki blinked.
Reality.
No death-by-pen-jabbed professor.
Just the lonely love song of J. Alfred Prufrock and the reminder to not dare disturb the universe.