Miz S

Mmmmm. Daylilies.

I love how they look all spooky because of the camera flash. Vicious woodland ruminants!

Regular readers know that I live in a suburban area near Washington, D.C. Those of you who know the area can attest to the fact that we have a SHITload of deer around here (as do most suburban communities all over the US). The suburbs offer an ideal habitat for deer. Lots of parks and green space, tons of yummy gardens to nibble on, no hunting, and no real predators except for cars. It's like deer heaven!

My neighbor's backyard adjoins a small wooded area and is a favorite hangout for the local deer gangs. We see them at dusk or dawn, grazing peacefully in our neighbor's yard, then hopping the fence into our yard and munching on my garden. They are not particularly shy of humans. When we open the door and walk out into the yard, they stare at us and chew thoughtfully for a minute before effortlessly jumping the fence to melt away into the woods again.

I feel sorry for them when I see them dead by the side of the road, and I know they cause a lot of accidents, but I'm enough of a city girl to still be enthralled by the sight of woodland ruminants in my backyard.

But every year in July the deer love withers in my heart.  You see, I have these beautiful daylilies called Hyperion. I'm sure all you gardener types are familiar with them. I wait for them all year long.

The first bloom, a couple of days ago.

They are a beautiful pale yellow with a delicate scent that  reminds me of Lily of the Valley, except not so overpowering.  In my humble opinion, Hyperions are vastly superior to the ubiquitous Stella d'Oro daylilies, with which every gardener in town is enamored. The Stellas are a vulgar shade of bright yellow and they are RUFFLY. I don't like ruffles on my daylilies. (Ah...sorry if I have just insulted anyone. I'm sure your Stellas look lovely.)

I have explained to the deer over and over again that they are welcome to eat anything else in the yard. But not my Hyperion daylilies. Please?

 

I shrug my shoulders when they chow down on the hostas. I didn't like that hosta anyway.

Sure, it's unfortunate that they munch on the tomato plants that Josh so carefully tends, but we can always buy homegrown tomatoes at a farmstand. Ain't no thang.

But when they eat these...

 

...I almost cry. Their favorite trick, you see, is to wait until the plant is covered with buds (one plant alone has over 200 buds on it -- I counted!). That's when they delicately nibble off every single one. 

Each morning I go outside to check, and so far I have been lucky. It occurs to me that next year I should divide the daylilies and move some around to the front yard, because the deer don't go to the front. That way I will have consolation flowers in the front yard if they destroy the backyard plants.

Stupid deer. Can't they tell the difference between Hyperion and Stella d'Oro?

Vital Must-Know Info on My Divorce!

This va-va-va-VOOM lookin' lady with the beehive hairdo and the fake tan and the daring neckline sent me a message on Facebook:  

"are you the mary ellen silverman married to howard, if so i have some vital, must know info on your divorce"

First of all, my name is not "mary ellen silverman." Also, the sender's complete lack of adherence to proper capitalization and punctuation is like nails on the blackboard to me.

Still, I am ever so tempted to reply "yes" because I am DYING to get the "vital must know info" on the divorce. Maybe I divorced Howard because he wouldn't stop staring at her magnificent breasts!

She's probably just trying to help, right?

*     *     *     *

You know how cats rub against people's legs and furniture and stuff when they want to be fed or they want attention? Pushkin rubs on April all the time. He twines between her legs and under her stomach, back and forth, while April just stands there looking slightly confused.

I keep trying to get a good picture of this behavior but, as you can see, I have not been successful yet.

Now, I know the rubbing behavior doesn't necessarily indicate affection, that it has something to do with scenting and claiming possession, but I still think that Pushkin likes April. He seeks her out. They often sleep on the same couch together. Pushkin never rubs up against Rosie and in fact seems irritated by Rosie.

The other night there was yet another thunderstorm, and April got up on our bed and just stood there, trembling and panting and drooling with abject fear. Pushkin (who was already on the bed--you see why we had to get a king-sized mattress) stood up and walked over to April and started rubbing against her. I guess it calmed her, because she lay down and went to sleep. How weird is that?

Now, I told you that story as if I witnessed it but the fact is I slept through the entire thing and only heard about it from Josh the next morning. I sleep like the proverbial rock.

One more thing about April and thunderstorms: the last time I posted about that, several of you wanted to know if there was some kind of medication we could give her. The answer is yes, it's Acepromazine, and sometimes we give her half a pill when her symptoms start. It takes about 20 minutes to kick in, so we only use it if prolonged storms have been predicted. It helps a little.

*     *     *     *

Tomorrow feels like it will be my first day of real vacation, because I'm not getting ready for a graduation party and I'm not fighting rush hour traffic to get to a class. So I'm kind of excited. I have yard work plans and basement-organizing plans and bill-paying plans. 'Cause I know how to have fun!

A Teensy Bit of Complaining and a Shout Out to FC.

Oops! Evangeline just got home a few minutes ago. On her way back from a friend's house during rush hour she accidentally put the front of her car into the back of the car in front of her.

Friday. Thank God. You know, someone should create an end-of-week slogan that we could all overuse and turn into a cliche, perhaps an acronym like "TGFIFHAWCSETW" which would stand for "Thank God Friday is finally here and we can start enjoying the weekend."  No? Too cumbersome? Well, maybe someone will come up with something.

The class I was taking this week is over, thank Jebus. Allow me a little complaining, please? I will complain in bullet form:

• The class was supposed to be from 9 to 4. The teacher let us leave at 2pm every day. On the one hand, YAY! On the other hand, CHRIST! Aren't you being paid to teach a supposedly grad level course? How the hell are you getting away with shaving that much time off?
• We had to do presentations. The presentations were supposed to be 5 to 7 minutes long. Most of my fellow students droned on and on for WAY longer than that. I know 'cause I WAS TIMING THEM. AUGGH! People! There were 25 students in the class! Do the math! 
• For the love of God, don't do a Powerpoint presentation and then stand there and just READ IT TO YOUR AUDIENCE. 
• An old lady in the class kept trying to talk to me about shit. Like about "kids today blah blah blah no respect blah blah blah everything has been dumbed down blah blah blah." I HATE that shit. I really, really, REALLY hate it when people are stuck in the past and think that everything was better back in the day. 
• I just had a horrifying thought: Did she think I was her contemporary?
  

Alright, enough with the complaining.

Hey, you know who never complains? FC at Pure Florida. In fact, I have to say that Pure Florida is one of my all-time favorite blogs. FC teaches middle-school science and is a former National Park ranger so he's all about nature and animals and kids and you KNOW I like that. He is always finding snakes and alligators or building a pond or taking amazing pictures or documenting the decomposition of a dead deer or something. On top of all that, he is both humorous and gracious AND he posts almost every day. I mean, c'mon! He's an all-around good guy. 

Okay, I'm off to make dinner. Or possibly go out to dinner. After all, TGFIFHAWCSETW.

Bookish.

When I packed up my classroom last week, I brought home most of my classroom library. I have a huge reorganization project in mind. I don't really know what books I own, and I can't always lay my hands on a book when I want it. I want to do a real inventory, with tags, so that when I want to find a picture book about honesty or when I need a non-fiction book that lends itself to teaching about captions, I will know what my choices are. My plan is to enter them all into Library Thing, make sure they are all labeled with my name, and weed out the books that are too worn (I give them away to the kids). Then, I will sort the books into categories (for example, books by Mercer Mayer, books about baby animals, super-hero books, etc) put them into their baskets, and I'll be all organized for setting up my classroom in August.

Y'all didn't think I was capable of just sitting around and RELAXING, did you?

I am also taking a couple of classes this summer to try and rack up some grad credits. This week it's Children's Literature. (Which is lame as hell. The teacher spent a lot of time explaining to us that we could google an author's name to find information on that author. Maybe a website, even! AUGHH! KILL ME NOW!) 

But there's still plenty of time for relaxing. The evenings are beautiful: warm and dark and humid, just the way I like them. We eat dinner on the screen porch, and maybe later walk the dogs up to the park for a romp. Hell, maybe I'll make a berry pie or something one of these evenings. No, wait, then I'll just eat it. Scratch the pie plan.

God, I love summer SOOOOOOOO much. I want time to slow down for the next 8 weeks.

Oh, hey, speaking of books. I just finished In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, which is awesome. Now I am on to One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. It's nice to have time to read, you know?

*       *       *

I guess some of you all probably heard about the rush-hour crash on DC Metro's Red Line a couple of days ago. My sister-in-law called me, somewhat hysterical, saying, "DID YOU HEAR WHAT HAPPENED? HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEWS? DO YOU KNOW WHERE JOSH IS?"

I can hardly blame her for being hysterical since the Red Line is "our" line of the Metro and half the people we know ride it every day.  Josh, of course, was on his scooter, so no worries there. Very scary, the whole thing. 9 fatalaties and many serious injuries. And the lesson I learned: never ride in the first or last car of a subway 'cause you just never know.

Okay, I'm off to my class now. Talk to you later.

Aaaaaaand....exhale.

 

"What is that THING on your eye?"

Thursday and Friday were the first official days off for me, and I spent them scrambling to catch up on laundry, yard work, and general clean up. That makes it sound like I was SUPER BUSY, and I wasn't, really. Especially on the laundry day. I find it relaxing to fold laundry and watch TV and get things put away where they belong. It's soothing.

Mostly I just enjoyed not having to be anywhere but home.

Every now and then I would stop to apply warm compresses to my eye for 20 minutes, long enough to watch an episode of Arrested Development on Hulu. That show is hilarious and definitely worth checking out if you haven't seen it.

Why was I applying warm compresses to my eye? Because I am such a lucky girl! I have a stye! Yay! A stye, just in case you don't know, is basically an eyelid zit. It's gross! You have to apply warm compresses 4 times a day until it decides to go away. I get them occasionally, I guess because I have oily eyelids or something. Let's name this one! I shall call it "Mahmoud Ahmahdinejad" in honor of current events WHICH ARE RIVETING! Who the hell knew that Twitter would actually serve a useful purpose one day?

On Friday I pimped the hell out of the front yard with fresh mulch and ferns and begonias. I weeded and transplanted with ruthless determination (I was GOING to say "like a muthah-fuckah" but I'm TRYING to be less coarse) for five hours straight and then lolled about in my bed reading books, napping, and cat-cuddling. 

Saturday was Evangeline's graduation party. When it comes to big parties my rule of thumb is to spend a lot of time worrying and bemoaning my lack of hostessing skills, but I tried really hard not to do that this time. I yam what I yam. It all worked out okay.

In the end, what really mattered was that all of the grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins (most of them) were able to be there. Also our family friends who have known Evangeline since before she was born, and their children. And her friends, of course. There were some exciting tetherball games, and Josh was able to beat a lot of little kids so that was all good. Later, when most of the oldsters had left, a bunch of us sat out on the screen porch and watched the sky darken and the fireflies come out.

It was a lovely evening. 

Check out the cool matryoshka doll that our friend Jill MADE and PAINTED TO LOOK LIKE EVANGELINE. Take that, all you craft-y types! My friend Jill ROCKS! Inside the smallest doll was a tiny cardboard tube with a one hundred dollar bill all rolled up. How cool is that?

Adios, Amigos.

Aaaaaaaaand it's over. Just like that. They're gone. With their backpacks and their braids and their grubby little hands and their Spiderman tshirts. They took their math journals and their number scrolls and their First Grade Memory Book and their voices all talking on top of each other and their annoying habit of poking me and saying, "Miz S Miz S Miz S Miz S MIZ S I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!"

I will miss them a little bit. Which surprises me, because honestly, this class of first graders was challenging, as I believe I mentioned the other day.  Jose, with his oppositional behavior, Karina with her chronic bossiness, Emmy, Jeremiah, and Al with their mile-wide mean streaks, Kimbel and Ahmad with their brilliant minds and severe attentional issues, Marychrist with her constant manipulations, Mary with her neediness and her disturbing drive to please the boys (yes, it really can start this early). 

The group dynamics just sucked, honestly, and it was so hard to be patient.  And I wasn't patient, half the time. I had to be a super-strict hard-ass at every turn, or else all hell would break loose.

I guess what I meant when I said I would miss them is that I will miss the individual children. But I will not miss the class. That probably makes sense to any of you teachers out there.

I had a couple of secret favorites. One being this little boy named Fermin, who only came to my class 2 months ago.  If you are non-Spanish speaking (like me) you are probably pronouncing this name so that it rhymes with "vermin" when in fact it is pronounced "fer-MEEN" which is much prettier. I called him FER-min all one day until my Spanish-speaking para-educator corrected me.

Fermin has this funny conversational style where he always sounds either outraged or astounded no matter what he is communicating. He speaks accented English with slightly confused syntax VERY LOUDLY, and he also says my name "Mrs. Silver-MAN." The first week in my classroom he was completely blown away by the fact that his new school did the same things as his old school, but at different times.

"Mrs. SilverMAN, Mrs. SilverMAN, you don't know we go for lunch at 11:30!"

"Fermin, at this school we don't go to lunch until 12:00. We'll line up in about 30 minutes."

'BUT YOU DON'T KNOW WE GO FOR LUNCH AT 11:30!"

And later,

"Mrs. Silver-MAN, you don't know it's time for us to pack up!"

"Not for a little while, Fermin. We'll pack up at 3:00."

"BUT MRS. SILVERMAN, YOU DON'T KNOW AT MY OLD SCHOOL WE GO HOME AT 2:30!"

And he would wrinkle his face up to indicate his complete and utter confused vexation with the screwed up schedule at our school.

Fermin starts almost every sentence with "You don't know,"  which I think is his English language learner way of saying, "Did you know."

"Mrs. Silver-MAN, YOU DON'T KNOW MY TOOTH CAME OUT LAST NIGHT!" and he would slap his hand to his forehead and stagger backwards and look sideways at me to see if I shared his amazement at this news.

Oh my God, he is such a funny little character that he killed me every single day. 

Here is a picture of him. I probably won't leave it up for long because it's a full on face picture and I don't want anyone stumbling across it and getting me in trouble.

 

He kills me, really.

Okay, I'm on my way back into school shortly to finish cleaning and packing up my classroom. It's a damn mess, I'll tell you whut.

I Got Some 'Splainin To Do.

I lifted this meme dealio from Facebook. The rules are that you are ONLY allowed to answer Yes or No, and your are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages you or comments.

But, I'M A REBEL, MAN! Don't try and fence me in! I'll 'splain if I wants to!

Meme rules crack me up, anyway. I mean, come on, y'all.

Alright, here goes.

Kissed any one of your Facebook friends? Yes. My husband and my kids.

Been arrested? Yes.

Kissed someone you didn't like? Yes. His name was Joe Hinton. And my sister made up a rhyme about him: Joe Hinton, always hintin' for nookie nookie, when he should be reading a bookie bookie.

Slept in until 5 PM? No. But I've gone to bed for the evening at 6pm. You remember that I'm delicate?

Fallen asleep at work/school? No.

Held a snake? Yes! I love snakes!

Ran a red light? God, I hope not.

Been suspended from school? No.

Experienced love at first sight? No. But I've experienced being highly interested at first sight.

Totaled your car in an accident? No! Man, I hope this meme doesn't jinx me.

Been fired from a job? Nope.

Fired somebody? Yes. At Enterprise Answering Service. It took 3 of us to do it. We were a'skeered of her.

Sang karaoke? No.

Pointed a gun at someone? No! God!

Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? Yes. Usually involving a second piece of cake. Or third.

Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? Yes.

Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Yes.

Kissed in the rain? Probably. Maybe. I mean, I've done my share of kissing. But a specific instance of rainy kissing does not spring to mind.

Had a close brush with death (your own)? Nope.

Seen someone die? Christ! This meme is a downer! No, I have not seen anyone die, unless you count dogs/cats.

Sang in the shower? Yes. Happily. Loudly. Badly.

Smoked a cigarette? Yes. Whole packs, even. But not for many years.

Sat on a rooftop? Yes. And kicked off the moss. And a few of the verses, they got me quite cross.

Taken pictures of yourself naked? Oh come on. Who hasn't?

Smuggled something into another country? Yes. Cuban cigars. Over the Canadian-U.S. border. Josh encouraged me.

Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? No. That would piss me off.

Broken a bone? Yes. Collarbone in 3rd grade, wrist in 5th grade.

Sleepwalked? No.

Walked a moonlit beach? Yes. You gotta watch out for all those little ghost crabs. I'm petrified of stepping on them.

Rode a motorcycle? Yes. Scary!

Dumped someone? Yes.

Forgotten your anniversary? Never! I get to go out for sushi on my anniversary!

Lied to avoid a ticket? No.

Ridden on a helicopter? No. Helicopters are dangerous!

Shaved your head? No.

Blacked out from drinking? No.

Played a prank on someone? Yes.

Hit a home run? Hahahahahahaha. Excuse me while I wipe tears of mirth from my eyes. No.

Felt like killing someone? Only in a hyperbolic sense. Not in a "filled with murderous rage" sense.

Cross-dressed? No.

Been falling-down drunk? Yes. I don't recommend it.

Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? Yes. Aw. I still feel bad.

Eaten snake?  Ew. No.

Marched/Protested? Yes.

Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? What kind of a lame-ass question is that?

Puked on amusement ride? No, because I don't GO on amusement park rides because I might PUKE on amusement park rides.

Seriously & intentionally boycotted something? Yes, for maybe a week until I got distracted. So I guess that doesn't fall into the "seriously" category.

Been in a band? Negatori.

Knitted? Yes, but only easy stuff like scarves.

Been on TV? Nope.

Shot a gun? Yes. Target practice. But not for a long time.

Skinny-dipped? That's a big 10-4.

Gave someone stitches? No, but I am an avid fan of the Discovery Health channel and I am certain that I could stitch a wound, deliver a baby, and possibly do an emergency tracheotomy.(I just googled that last one to review the procedure and make sure that I am still "qualified.")

Had stitches yourself (not from surgery)? Yes. Nothing serious.

Eaten a whole habanero pepper? Nah.

Ridden a surfboard? No.

Drank straight from a liquor bottle? I think so. Back in the day.

Had surgery? Yes. Y'all remember the summer of 2007, don'tcha?

Streaked? ZOMG yes, on the grounds of the National Cathedral when I was 16 or 17.

Taken by ambulance to hospital? Nay.

Tripped on mushrooms? Alright, enough with the prying into my carefree youth.

Passed out when not drinking? Yes, from heat, on more than one occasion. How often do I have to explain that I am delicate and need to be pampered?

Peed on a bush? No, because my anatomy is not conducive to that sort of activity.

Donated Blood? Yup.

Grabbed electric fence? No. Do people DO that?

Eaten alligator meat? Ew. No.

Eaten cheesecake? Yeah, but I don't really like it that much.

Eaten your kids' Halloween candy? Hell, yes. Why else do we have kids?

Killed an animal when not hunting? Yes. Just this morning I ran over a chipmunk, the poor little thing.

Peed your pants in public? Yes. First grade. Sister Ronald Mary's class.

Snuck into a movie without paying? No. I am rather strait-laced in that regard.

Written graffiti? Yes.

Still love someone you shouldn't? What, you mean like a married man or something? Oh hell no.

Sleep on a certain side of the bed? Yes, but as far as a last question goes, this one seems sort of anti-climactic.

Special Dog Post For blackbird.

April is 14 years old. Doesn't she look noble? And furry?

We've been having daily thunderstorms, and poor April thinks she is in hell.

Do you remember the time she tried to dig her way through a door during a thunderstorm?

We had hoped that since her hearing is not what it used to be, this storm season wouldn't be too hard on her. But she can still hear that thunder just fine. She has spent the past many days and nights pacing and trembling, poor girl. She keeps trying to find a room in the house that doesn't have any thunder in it.

She has refused to sleep on her pallet in our bedroom for the last two nights because she is afraid the thunder is going to GIT HER in there.Instead, she is sleeping on the bare wooden floor in Evangeline's room.

Ha! She's dumb.

She also refuses to go outside if it is raining (which it is ALL THE TIME NOW, where the hell do I live? Seattle?), no matter how long it has been since she last peed. We actually argue with her about it. We open the door and say, excitedly, "Outside, April! C'mon girl! Outside! April! Here! Aaaaaaaa-pril [coaxingly], here! APRIL! {menacingly] I mean it! OUTSIDE!"

And the whole time she just stands there, staring at us meaningfully, then looking away as if we have offended her deeply.

I usually end up saying, "FINE! GOD! NEVER MIND!"  Josh then uses his command voice and advances upon her threateningly and she finally goes outside, but she gives him this sidelong look and you just know she is thinking "What an asshole!"

Christ. I am one of those middle-aged people who talks about their pets all the time because my kids are all grown-up and I don't have any cute stories about them anymore.

Random Random.

Yesterday afternoon the first grade team met with the principal and the second grade team to form the second grade classes for next year. It is a process called articulation, and I don't know how it is down at other schools. But the way we do it makes me want to poke myself in the head with a fork.

The goal is to end up with 6 classes that have been balanced for race, gender, academic ability, and behavior issues. We spread out all these pieces of paper and discuss each child and move the papers around while the principal sits in a chair and marks tallies under all the categories and yells at us. I understand her frustration because inevitably people end up talking to each other about the kids so you get a lot of sidebar conversations going and can't move forward.

So it sounds like this:

"Edwin can't be with Steven, so move Steven over to Group B."

"No, wait, now we have too many Hispanic boys in Group B! Put Steven in Group C"

"PEOPLE! I NEED YOUR ATTENTION!"

"Steven can't be in Group C because he won't have a reading cohort. How about Group D?"

"Yes! He'd be with David! David is such a good influence on him."

"PEOPLE! I NEED SOMEONE TO READ ME ALL THE NAMES IN GROUP A! WE HAVE TOO MANY AFRICAN-AMERICANS IN GROUP F AND WE NEED TO MAKE A TRADE. CAN WE TRADE A HIGH ASIAN FOR A HIGH AFRICAN-AMERICAN? AND I NEED A CAUCASIAN GIRL FOR GROUP E."

[long pause, more conversation]

"PEOPLE!  BLAH BLAH BLAH! And what about BLAH?

Etc.

It's super-annoying because there are just too many people in the room, too many opinions, and too many different agendas.

The meeting started at 3:15. and when I sneaked out at 5:15 it was still going strong. I felt guilty for leaving but dammit, I had a hair appointment! And it was an emergency!

So, drive drive drive through rush-hour traffic, annoying conversation with someone related to me who shall remain nameless, arrive at appointment 15 minutes late with no checkbook. 

It's all good, though, because long-time customers have some privileges and one of them is to come back and pay the next day.  And Josh took me out later for sushi and sake. And my hair looked okay.

The sake was delicious and comforting. For dessert I had a candy bar. Mmmmm.

Hey, do some of you guys remember last year when I had to Be Brave and confront a Bitch Teacher at my school? Well, that Bitch Teacher is on my team this year. Meaning, she is a fellow first grade classroom teacher as opposed to a teacher of the mathematically advanced kids. The fact that she is allowed anywhere near children is an absolute scandal and it kills me every single day. AND, I have to have a lot of contact with her in team meetings and such and she is a bitch to ME, too.

God, I wish I could be clever and give her a good verbal smack down when she says rude shit to me in meetings. Instead, I try to ignore her. When she leaves our meetings the rest of us roll our eyes and hiss at each other, "God! What a bitch!"

There is no particular point to that story. I just wanted to tell you.

Oh and how about that Holocaust Museum shooting? Demented old white supremacist. Christ. What the hell is wrong with people? Rhetorical question, obv.

6.5 more days.

We had Field Day this week. If my memory serves me correctly, I complain about the horror of Field Day every single year, except for one year when I was smart and got a sub. I feel quite guilty about this, because the kids LOVE field day so much they want to marry it. And it's good for them to be outside running around having fun and getting a break from routine. Right? RIGHT?

Except, it seems to me that the idea of Field Day is more fun than the reality. First graders are notoriously unable to handle competition, even "fun" competition. Inevitably, someone gets overwrought and it's not necessarily me. Although I will confess that at one point, during a water break, I texted my school-wife, Ellen, and said "Kill me now."  She replied with, "I'm already dead."

Ellen hates field day, too, which makes me feel a little less guilty.

I think Field Day at other schools might be more fun because maybe they have a more gung-ho PE teacher? And more PTA help? I don't know. Ours is Just. Not. That Fun.

Oh, here, this was awkward-slash-shameful:

My only parent volunteer was the mother of one of my "special friends."  I probably don't need to explain that that's teacher code talk for "pain in the ass kid."  Her kid, "Jeremiah," punched and kicked another child right in front of my eyes. Truthfully, he should have been taken right into the office and suspended, because he has a documented history of physical aggression at school. Instead, I put him in time out (LAME, I KNOW).

Honestly, I'm ashamed to even tell you all this. If his mom hadn't been there I would not have hesitated to march his bratty ass straight inside. It was really wrong of me to let him get off so easily. He's my only white kid, too, and the kid he was pounding on barely speaks English. And if that's not an example of white privilege at work, I don't know what is.

Typing that out was really hard for me.

Hey, you know what? As long as I am in the mood to moan, let's move on to my assessment of the 2008-2009 school year:

It was hard.

My class was difficult. Really difficult. If behavior is rated on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being behaviors that make teachers retire, I didn't have any 10's. But I had a class of mostly 6's. I really thought I could "fix" them. I thought that with time and firm parameters and love and lots of work on social skills, they would mature and learn some self-control. For the most part, they haven't.

The entire first grade has struggled with behavior all year. This is a cohort that has been together since Pre-K, and has had a reputation from the beginning. Unfortunately, when you have a sizable group of kids with behavior problems, they infect other kids.

I understand now why the Kindergarten team drank so much last year.

Oh, Fred. We hardly knew ye.

I have something embarrassing to report. I think I'm turning into one of those people who are really nutty about hermit crabs. You probably didn't even know those people existed, and neither did I until I started googling "hermit crab care" recently. I found hermit crab care blogs, hermit crab care videos, hermit crab forums, hermit crab conventions and associations, and tons of other stuff.

These people really, really love their hermit crabs. The way that I love April and Rosie and Pushkin.

I've had a big ol' hermit crab for 3 or 4 years that was given to me by a colleague who was retiring. She kept it in her classroom in one of those cages that you buy at the beach on the boardwalk. She would throw in a piece of cupcake or bagel now and then. She used chlorinated tap water in his water bowl. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NEVER GIVE CHLORINATED WATER TO A HERMIT CRAB. (I'm channeling my new hermit crab forum friends.)

So, I took this hermit crab, named him Fred, and gave him slightly less crappy care that the other teacher did, but really not much better. I bought official hermit crab food and dechlorinated his water, but that was the extent of my effort. He languished in my classroom for a couple of years, but he molted several times so I decided I must be doing something right.

This year I tried to pay more attention to Fred. I bought 3 more hermit crabs (they like to live in groups, doncha know?) and I let the students spray them with water almost every day (my new hermit crab FREAK friends do not approve of this practice), and sometimes we would take them out and let them crawl around on the rug in the classroom.

Anyway, last week Fred molted and something went terribly wrong. He wouldn't go back into his old shell, and he wouldn't go into a new, bigger shell. I moved him to an isolation cage so that the other crabs wouldn't bother him, but he just sort of lay there in the water bowl looking miserable and naked.

And then he died, poor little guy.

My students were quite fond of him. We buried him in the school's butterfly garden and each student wrote a little eulogy for him. 

You might enjoy this one:

 

 

This was written by Eli, and I ADORE his ironic use of quotes--it was his last "day."

Me, I am stricken with a guilty-ish conscience. I have spent the last 3 days reading everything I can find about hermit crabs and learning just how much I was neglecting Fred and his buddies. I put together a new tank this weekend with a thermometer and a hygrometer and a this and a that,  but I think it's still not quite right. Oh, and I joined a hermit crab forum.

I AM A FREAK.

 

I realize you can't really read the labels. But you didn't really want to, did you? Anyway, after further reflection I have decided this 10 gallon tank is too small. I will get a bigger tank, and I will use this for my isolation tank.

Wait. Are you laughing at me? STOP IT RIGHT NOW.

Graduation.

Where were we when last I posted? Ah yes, graduation. Little Evangeline--MY BABY, Y'ALL-- graduated from Grinnell College a couple of weeks ago. Josh, Sasha, and I flew out there on a Saturday, helped her pack up her stuff, froze our asses off watching her walk the stage, and did a bunch of other stuff that I can't remember now.  It was fun. 

 

Evangeline's boyfriend, Nathanial. I like how he's got that "striding off into the future" look.

 

I love graduations. All those proud, happy families with their bright-eyed 20-somethings, ready to save the world or go to grad school or flounder around finding their place in the world. It's such a poignant moment in time, isn't it?  On the parents' side, that upswelling of family love and pride, tinged with a little bit of worry while you contemplate the future. Will they find their way? Will they manage when they are really, truly on their own?  And on the kids' side, the feeling of relief that it's over, the feeling of change and possibility in the air. But also, those intense friendships. The circle of friends that will probably never be all together again in the same place.

Not that I know about any of this first hand. I dropped out of college not once but twice, and didn't graduate until I was FORTY. What a slacker I was. And continue to be.

That's okay. I just live vicariously through my daughters, yo. 

We went out to dinner that night with Nathanial (the Boyfriend) and his family. We ate at the fancy restaurant in town where Evangeline has been working as a waitress. The owner, Kamal, is an Egyptian who somehow ended up in Grinnell, Iowa. He was so sweet, and he loves Evangeline and calls her "Emma Lou" which is also one of my nicknames for her. You know how you love anyone who loves your kid? Well, I loved Kamal.

Anyway, Josh and I can cross "raise daughters and see them through college" off our list. Now we can move on to "put elderly parents into a home."  Ha. Kidding. A little bit.

I suppose what we really need to move on to is "put together graduation party for Evangeline." WAAAH! SOMEONE COME PAINT MY HOUSE, REFINISH MY FLOORS, AND LANDSCAPE MY YARD, PRONTO.

Everything is a mess around here, you feel me?

One more thing before I heave myself off my ass and get productive around here: thanks for all your scary ass stories about blood poisoning and cat scratch fever, but I'll have you know my fearsome wounds healed up amazingly fast with absolutely no infection, which I chalk up to my AWESOME immune system but Josh chalks up to his constant nagging about applying Neosporin every 30 seconds for the first couple of days. 

Tomorrow's post will include adorable first grade writing samples so STAY TUNED, ALL Y'ALL BITCHES, I'M BACK.

 

She's so damn cute I just want to hug her and squeeze her all the time, but she objects, so I try to be all cool and casual. 

Scroll Down For Gross Picture of My Cat Scratch Wounds!

So, here we are in Iowa (Josh, Sasha, me.) We have not seen Evangeline yet but we will be with her shortly. Our motel is a good 45 minutes away from her college due to the general lack of facilities in the area coupled with our stupid procrastination about making reservations.

The motel is a nondescript little place right off I-80, and I groaned when I saw it, expecting it to be run-down and unclean.  I was wrong! It's adorable! The proprieter is a darling man from Australia who lives there with his mom and his dogs and cats AND has a little shelter outside for the stray cats in the area which he stocks with fresh food and water and warm straw for sleeping. I LOVE this man!

Yesterday was an all-day traveling and eating day. You know how you eat a lot of crap when you travel? By 7pm, when I was finally in the motel room, I felt bloated and exhausted, so I got in bed and read my book (The Impressionist by Hari Kunzru SO GOOD) and Sasha and Josh went out to see a movie.

At the moment we are waiting for Sasha to finish her ablutions so that we can go get breakfast and then head to Grinnell to see Evangeline. Graduation is not until tomorrow.

Hey! Wanna see something gross? Of course you do! Let me preface this by saying that this past week was hell-ish at work and everywhere else, and I was anxious and weepy and just NOT my usual cheerful self. Then, on Thursday evening, Josh and I were watching an old episode of The Wire (Oh, The Wire! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways) and Pushkin was on our screen porch enjoying the night air. Suddenly, there was that horrible noise of cats fighting. Our neighbor's cat was on the other side of the screen trying to fight Pushkin. This cat comes over all the time and harasses Pushkin through the screen and it pisses me off. We usually let the dogs out to chase him, but it doesn't seem to scare him very much.

Anyway, Pushkin was really agitated and upset. I reached down to pick him up and bring him inside, but to my surprise he whipped around and swiped at my hand. (Pushkin is normally very gentle and NEVER bites or scratches.) 

The smart thing to do would have been to get the hose and spray the neighbor's cat to chase him away. Instead, I decided to use my foot to nudge Pushkin into the house. As soon as my foot touched him he whirled around and attacked my leg, scratching and biting like a wildcat. I think he thought he was fighting the other cat. Thankfully, I was wearing jeans, but he still did a lot of damage.He got me in 3 different places: my calf, my knee, and my thigh. He tore my jeans.

It hurt a lot. And, HE'S MY KITTY WHO LOVES ME! So it hurt my heart too. Josh went out and chased the other cat away while I sobbed and inspected the damage. Here is a picture of one of the areas that got scratched, and you can see 2 evenly spaced punctures that are tooth marks. This picture was taken 48 hours after the fact. It looked a lot worse at the time. Still, it's impressive. 

It was totally my fault for reaching into a cat fight. I KNOW better.

No time, gotta run.

I'm on my way to Iowa in a few minutes for Evangeline's college graduation. Seems like just the other day that I dropped her off. Actually, that's not true. It feels like a long time ago. Well, not a long time. More like 4 years. More later if I have time. Love you guys. Miss you.

Now she's gotta look for a job, poor thing.

Yesterday Morning.

I arrived at school at 6:45am. As I walked upstairs to my classroom, I saw...a bird. A common little house sparrow, flying around, looking desperate and panicky. He fluttered ahead of me down the hall, turned around and fluttered back, lit for a moment on a doorway, then disappeared down the stairwell.

Poor little thing. God knows how long he had been in there, probably since the evening before when it was hot and we had all the windows open. His sparrow wife must have been worried about him.

I know you birder-types disdain the ubiquitous house sparrow because you want to see Ivory-billed Woodpeckers or King Eiders or something, but I feel quite affectionate towards them. They are small and cheerful and content to nest in ridiculous places like gas station canopies. I love their busy squabbling at the bird feeder and the way they fluff themselves when it's cold. There's something to be said for being plain and sturdy and well-adapted.

But that's beside the point. There was a poor little bird trapped in my dark dungeon of a school, and it was up to ME to save him.

As you might imagine, I flapped my hands in despair. Then I calmed down and thought logically. I followed the bird around the school, down hallways and stairwells, shutting doors as I went. I finally got him sequestered in the main hallway. The building manager suggested that we get a trash can and try to trap him.

"That won't be necessary, dumbass," I said.

(Kidding. I SEE GOD IN EVERY ONE.)

I told him to open the outside door at one end of the hallway, while I opened the one at the opposite end. The little sparrow flew back and forth a few times, then suddenly figured it out and swooped out into the fresh air.

You can't imagine how elated I was.