Miz S

Nothing To Read Here. Move Along.

Oh the horror.

Field Day (or, The Fieldening as I like to call it) was canceled on Tuesday due to the threat of small children being struck down by lightning. So I was all "YAY!" But the PE teacher diabolically built a Rain Date into the schedule. Which is today. So now I am all "This SUCKS!"

I hate The Fieldening soooooo much. T-ball! Scarf Tag! Pirate Basketball! It all translates into hours on a FIELD in the HOT SUN getting SKIN CANCER.  Why can't we just stay inside with the lovely quiet books and the rustling paper and the freshly sharpened pencils? Why do the children need "fun" and "fresh air?" Why, I axe you?

And as long as I am moaning:  I was at work last night till almost 8:00 for a parent meeting that I volunteered to do. Because I am an ass. And because I like to choose stress so that I can complain about it later.

Although, to be perfectly honest, the parent meeting was sort of fun and in the end I was glad I did it.

I guess that's all I have for this morning. Boring much? Think of me today when you are in your nice, climate-controlled office or your cozy kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. I'll be out there on the FIELD slathering on the sun screen and playing some damn GAME.

Basking in the Done-ness.

I took this picture of Sasha and Evangeline in my backyard yesterday as the graduation party was winding down. It's a little unfocused, but I like the way they are laughing and goofing around.

I'm fond of these girls.

What I am not fond of is the stress of getting ready for big parties at my house. I don't get mean or nasty, but I definitely take on a busy, tense air and occasionally emit a low moaning noise.

If there is such as thing as the complete opposite of Martha Stewart, the anti-Martha so to speak, it would probably be me. I just don't GET how to do all that hostess-y stuff.

Something as simple as picking out the paper goods for the party made me flap my hands unhappily. I stopped at the party store on Saturday, figuring that I would just pop in, pick up the paper plates and napkins, and be on my merry way. Do you have any idea how many different kinds/colors of paper plates you can buy at the party store? My eyes glazed over and I wandered around miserably, trying to remember what color the tablecloth was, or even if I had a damn tablecloth. After I had wasted 15 precious minutes on this enterprise, I threw up my hands in despair and left the store.

Some of you guys actually like doing that stuff, don't you?

Despite my general inefficiency and lack of planning skills, not to mention lack of kitchen counter space and matching china, people seemed to have a good time. There was food and there was beer and wine and there was a HUGE cake. The cake did not get finished and now it resides in a large box in my living room. Every now and then I just walk over and dig out some icing with a spoon. Now that's good eatin'.

Anyway, I'm glad we had the party but I'm also really glad that it's over and I can just bask in the done-ness.

This week is going to be busy.

Tuesday: Field Day OH THE HORROR.

Wednesday: Parent Forum Night WHY DID I SAY I WOULD DO IT?

Thursday: can't think of anything

Friday: Sex and the City opening and I AM MEETING SOME BLOGGERS. I hope they won't be total weirdos like, for example, Susie Sunshine.

I should be getting ready for Sasha's graduation party right now.

Do you guys know Paula? Blackbird introduced me to her when Paula's son was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes whilst serving a tour of duty in Iraq. I immediately wrote to her and Dispensed Knowledge because I love being a damn diabetes know-it-all.

Paula lives in North Carolina with her completely adorable husband, Dale. He is adorable for several reasons, one being the fact that he obviously dotes on his wife of 30 years. He is also one of those guys who likes hanging out with women (Josh is the same way) and is really easy to talk to.

Anyways.

I waited for Paula and Dale outside of a restaurant in downtown DC. You know, I thought I looked kinda hot with my adorable purse and my wide-legged jeans and my cute shoes but not one of those gummint-job fuckers going in and out of the restaurant even gave me a second glance! THE HELL? Are they BLIND?

I tried not to look nervous and awkward as I awaited their arrival. Then became engrossed in my book (Katherine Mansfield, In a German Pension. Ja. PreTENTious), so they sneaked up on me and I was all flustered, fumbling with my glasses and trying to stuff the book into my purse.

Paula totally one-upped me by bringing a present. That she MADE.

DAMN HER TO HELL!

I mentally catalogued the contents of my purse to see if I could pull out a present for her but all I could come up with were magic markers, stickies, and maybe some Visine.

But how pretty is my new necklace? It's a robin's nest! Because I NURTURE YOUNG LIFE!

Paula is funny and pretty and super-nice.  We gossiped about other bloggers and traded kid stories. I could have hung out with her and her Dale all night, but eventually I tore myself away because, you know, stupid job, stupid early alarm clock, etc.

I took my leave with lots of hugs and kisses.  I love meeting bloggers/commenters! You guys should all come to DC and see me, okay? And bring presents!

Allow Me to Clarify.

A couple of people left comments yesterday wondering if an ass-whuppin' with a belt really warrants a call to Child Protective Services. Maybe I sounded overzealous, especially since I didn't go into a lot of detail. Allow me to clarify.

First of all, it does not particularly bother me when parents spank their kids. They do it because that's what their parents did, I suppose. Most parents who spank do it "appropriately" (open hand on top of clothed bottom in my opinion). I do not think that it is an effective disciplinary tool, and I think most parents do it when they are fed up and frustrated by the little monsters. I mean, come on, kids are a gigantic pain in the ass, I mean BLESSING. A GIGANTIC BLESSING. Sasha and Evangeline occasionally got a smack on the bottom, a fact that I am not proud of but a fact nonetheless.

There is no law against a parent giving their kid an ass-whupping with a belt (totally inappropriate in my opinion, but not necessarily evidence of a pattern of abuse). There is, however, a law against physical punishment that injures a child, i.e., leaves a mark. An ass-whupping that leaves bruises or broken skin might be evidence of abuse. When I talked to the child I asked her if the belt ever left a mark on her, and she said that sometimes it bleeds. I have no way of knowing whether or not that is true, or whether it is something that happened only one time, or something that happens frequently. The fact that the little girl volunteered the information that her 4-year-old sister also gets the belt worried me a little.

As Margaret pointed out in the comments, teachers are mandated by law to report any suspicion of abuse. The basic rule of thumb is: when in doubt, make the report. The report does not mean that there will be an investigation or even a visit. The report stays on file for only 4 months. If there is another report in that 4 month period, CPS may decide to investigate.

The social worker that I talked to on Friday asked me a lot of questions about the child and about the family's situation. The mother is a single mom whose husband was deported. She has her hands full, but luckily she lives with her sisters so she has some support. After making the phone call to CPS, I filled out paperwork to get her some help (financial assistance, parenting classes, and other resources for families).

We are not trying to punish this mother, or get her kids taken away from her. I am 90% positive that this child is not in danger.

But Christ, if you read the newspaper you know that children are injured and even killed by their parents or other adults in the home on a fairly regular basis.  You see, children are very SMALL.  And angry adults can hurt them more easily than they might think. That 10% of me that is uneasy means that I make that phone call.

Okay. Must be off to work now to interfere in more people's lives. Adios.

HATE!

I HATE the last month of school! HATE HATE HATE! It's too crazy busy, plus I am haunted by all the grand plans that never came to fruition. I will be doggedly teaching right up to the last minute. Makayla WILL learn to count a mixed set of coins even if I have to follow her home every afternoon chanting and counting by tens, fives, and ones, "...TWENTY-FIVE, THIRTY-FIVE, FORTY-FIVE, FIFTY, FIFTY-ONE, FIFTY-TWO, FIFTY-TWO CENTS!"  Erick WILL get to a text level 18 with at least 90% accuracy if it kills me, which it might. Julio WILL learn to enter and exit the cubby area without knocking smaller children out of the way while muttering "scuse me" under his breath. I swear it!

However, I am not going to work today. Evangeline has a diabetes check up today all the way in Annapolis in the pouring-down rain, and I have a dentist appointment in the afternoon. So I took the whole day off. Which meant that I was at work until after 7pm writing sub plans and straightening up my classroom. This sent me into full bitterness mode which could only be quelled once I got home after 2 glasses of wine and eleventy-hundred malted milk balls.  The only bright spot is that my sub for today is one of those super-strict retired teachers who will not let the kids pull any shit. They were HORRIBLE for that little old man who subbed for me last week when I picked Evangeline up at the airport.

And while we are on the subject of, well, ME and all things me-related, I had to call Child Protective Services on Friday about one of my students. She's a funny little girl, really bossy, really smart, and very sassy. A handful, but fun. I had a conference with her mother recently about the child's behavior and I put her on one of those stupid behavior contracts where she gets a smiley face for a good day and a frowny face for a bad day. Shortly after that I found out that her mother hits her with a belt on her ass when she gets in trouble. Mom uses the same form of punishment on the 4-year-old sister. Well, there goes my behavior contract. I will never send home anything but a smiley face now, and I will never be able to enlist Mom to enforce reasonable consequences when little J. sticks her tongue out at me and refuses to do her work. I hate parents, I swear.

In re-reading this post, I see that I am all about the NEGATIVITY. We'll see if I can be more my sweet self tomorrow, okay?

Nekkid as Jaybirds.

Look carefully. Do you see Paul?

Yes, you were correct. Sushi and sake. BUT. Evangeline fell asleep while we waited for Paul and never woke up again. So, we postponed the sushi date until tonight. It was the first time ever that everyone in the family could have a sake glass. We were worried that this would make future sushi dates very expensive, but thank you Jesus it turns out that Evangeline doesn't like the taste. Sasha, on the other hand, managed to choke down a couple of glasses.

So we ate our raw fish and conversed about this and that. Sasha and Evangeline discussed the Battle of Agincourt because they are pretentious like that. Evangeline waxed nostalgic about the Russian banya experience (first you steam in a sauna room while people beat your nekkid body with birch branches, then you roll in the snow or splash in cold water, then you steam again). And Evangeline claims that it is a good time.

Sasha topped this by sharing with us that she participated in the St.Mary's Nekked Bike Ride this year. She and about 75 others stripped bare, painted their bodies, and rode their bikes up and down Route 5. She painted tiger stripes on her ribs and arms. Boyfriend Paul and his friends wanted to go with a nautical theme and paint their penises to look like local lighthouses but they lacked the artistic talent so they just went  with plain blue.

WHAT? It's a college TRADITION! You can't argue with tradition. (I am either the coolest mother on the planet or so completely crushed by life that nothing they tell me gets more than a shrug and a raised eyebrow.)

In the interest of full disclosure I will confide in you, the grand Internet, that my misspent youth included 2 or 3 streaking adventures. Including once at the National Cathedral.

But I digress.

I have to go back in to work on Sunday and do NOT try and talk me out of it. I am desperate to crawl out from under the pile of papers that threatens to smother me.

Enjoy your weekend.

Let Me Hear Your Balalaikas Ringing Out.

I left work early today to pick up Evangeline at the airport. The guy who picked up the sub job was a small, older man WHO HAS NEVER SUBBED BEFORE. Sweet Jesus. Those first-graders of mine are going to eat him alive. I threatened them ahead of time with certain death if they misbehaved but their brains are like sieves and I'm sure they forgot within 3 minutes.

Evangeline is as lanky and adorable as ever. She has not slept in 36 hours. She spent her last evening in Russia with one of her friends and both of their host-babushka mothers, throwing back shots of vodka. I totally love it that these old women will sit around a kitchen table and drink vodka with their young American charges. 

Hey. Do you know what the life expectancy of a Russian man is? 57 years. No lie.

She brought us a bunch of presents. A dorky hat for Josh. An amber bracelet for Sasha. A religious icon for her confused and conflicted mother. She got a very cool present for her boyfriend Nate (who is in Japan until August CHRIST what is it with these kids?) but I am not allowed to say what it is because he lurks on this blog sometimes. Which is funny to me.

Evangeline is cat-napping right now while we wait for Paul (Sasha's boyfriend) to join us, then we will all go out for dinner. Guess what we are having for dinner? If you don't get it right, you have not been paying attention for the last couple of years.

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Hey, thanks for the mommy-blog suggestions the other day. I will pass them on to my friend who is about to ruin her life with a child. Kidding. Motherhood is beautiful and, ah, sacred. Yeah, that's it. Sacred! Blackbird was surprised to hear that I read mommy-blogs. I only read a couple, really, and the ones that I read are ones that I find entertaining because the writer has a voice. Swistle, for example, could write about the chemistry of cement and probably have people hanging on her every word. Tessie, also. What I like about both of them is that they don't ONLY write about their kids. I'm not even sure that those blogs are mommy-blogs. Oh, and I apologize in advance to both Swistle and Tessie if they find that label offensive.

Oh hell, I might as well admit that one reason I read mommy blogs is to remind myself what a PAIN IN THE ASS kids are and how HAPPY AND PRACTICALLY STRESS-FREE my life is now that my kids are not kids anymore and I can do whatever the hell I want most the time.

There. I said it. Are you happy now?

No Time For a Title. I'm Late.

Man! Talk about anti-climactic. Graduation evoked such misty, bittersweet emotions in me and now whump! It's all over. There is a 22-year-old with a bad cold hanging around the house, sniffling, sneezing, and hacking up her lungs.

She does make herself useful, though. The dogs and cats are thrilled to have her home all day and since our lives revolve around the pets' emotional well-being, we are all very happy with the arrangement. For the time being.

NO, she doesn't have a job yet. Christ! She just graduated 5 minutes ago. WITH A DEGREE IN RELIGIOUS STUDIES.  Howdy, pardner! Would you like fries with that?

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I am so crabby and unmotivated at work right now. The only way I can force myself to get out the door in the morning is to count the number of school days left in the year. (Twenty after today.) The wolf-children continue to devolve.  They'll be lucky to get any recess at all between now and June 12th.

Oh, ha-ha, this made me chortle: little Estefania, who is light-fingered as hell and regularly annoys me by STEALING MY SHIT, had a little pink and purple bracelet on the other day. Naturally, she couldn't leave it alone and she kept taking it off and waving it around and twirling it on her finger. And, naturally, I confiscated it. I put it on the shelf near the take-home folders so that I would remember to give it to her at the end of the day.  (I'm not completely heartless.)  Little Jennifer yoinked it when no one was looking, and at dismissal time couldn't resist waving it around and twirling it on her finger. I restored it to its rightful owner, warned Jennifer about the perils of a life of crime, and then hissed triumphantly to Estefania, "There. How do you like it when people take YOUR stuff, HMMM?" We teachers have to take our pleasure where we can find it.

My friend Ellen (xoxo) and I have big plans for the summer. We are going to:

• organize our teaching shit so that we never again wander around helplessly saying, "Where the hell did I put the [insert name of important teaching aid here]?
• plan all the poetry for the first quarter of the upcoming school year so that one of our teammates doesn't pick a stupid, wordy poem that our kids can't read.
• go through our curriculum guides and actually plan ahead. (I know! What a concept!)
• A bunch of other stuff

We were going to do this last summer, too. But this time we mean it!

In other real-life friend news, a certain someone whose name I will not reveal, someone who reads this blog, someone whom I adore, is going to start trying for a baby this summer. A baby! A little cuddly soft cooing baby!

I have counseled her repeatedly that cats are much easier than children but she seems intent on this project. I want to give her a good Mommy Blog to read. Do you have any suggestions? I'm thinking Swistle (on whom I am seriously crushing these days, she is SO adorable and wise). If you have a mommy blog that you enjoy, leave me a link.

Talk to you later.

Rock On, Sasha.

Yes, that's a Natty Bo in her hand.

Josh and I have a rule: if one of us does something really stupid, the other one is not allowed to howl or make derisive comments or castigate the miscreant. Because, you see, the person who did Something Stupid already feels stupid and it's just plain mean to make them feel worse.

It was very hard for me to adhere to this rule on Saturday when we arrived at Sasha's college for graduation and discovered that the camera battery, which Josh had carefully removed for recharging, had never been put back into my big, beautiful, digital Canon Rebel XT which takes exquisite, EXQUISITE I TELLS YA pictures.

I almost cried.

I even struck up a conversation with a random man who had a lovely big camera.

"Hey, that looks like a really good camera. I BET YOU HAVE A BATTERY IN IT, HUH?"

Josh had brought along, as back-up, the little digital camera which takes okay pictures, I guess. But my heart just wasn't in it. Fortunately, the college had a professional photographer there to get a picture of the actual moment where the students were handed their diploma, so we'll have that.

Whatever. I don't know why I even care. The lovely high school graduation portraits are still in the damned envelopes. Shut up, I haven't had time to find frames for them in the last 4 years.

The weather was uncooperative, to say the least. 54 degrees and a steady rain. We had grandparents and aunts and uncles and 3 cousins huddling under umbrellas. And afterwards we all went out for a big lunch with a waitress who called everyone "Darlin' " and wore bright blue eyeshadow.

I love graduations. I love the way the parents search the crowd, looking for their son or daughter. I love seeing the grandparents, who are always dressed to the nines. I love the way the kids look giddy and happy. I love the speeches and the shared sense of accomplishment and pride and promise. Afterwards I always want to join the Peace Corps.

I will miss that sweet little college on the river. And I will miss her friends. Choco and Boston and Little Eskimo and Ty-Guy and all the others. I'll miss the crab feasts and the music and the run-ins with the Public Safety officers.  Do you really know your kids' friends after high school and college? Do they really have those same intense relationships?

Josh and I didn't go to college right after high school. I didn't graduate until I was 40. I'm glad Sasha did it the way that she did it. I'm proud of her. I don't care what she does next, as long as she is happy and healthy and not entirely wrapped up in herself.

And congratulations to all the other graduates out there, too. Good luck and Godspeed to everyone.

Do NOT Judge Me. I Can't Help It.

I am feeling so stupid at work right now that it's ridiculous. I am drowning in paper and I seem to have just given up even trying to get organized. (Although I am going in super-early this morning so I guess I haven't given up completely.) Also, the students are acting like little wolf-children on crack. I find myself raising my voice and being VERY STERN about every 15 minutes. All the teachers are complaining about their students' behavior, so I suppose it is the time of year. But it's fucking annoying, I'll tell you whut. I have to remind myself that I am not allowed to swear at school.

I am feeling woefully disorganized here at home, too. I suspect that I have some sort of cognitive impairment when it comes to calendars. I write things down on little pieces of paper and lose them, or find them later and have no idea what they are referring to. I don't know what's wrong with me. I mean, yeah, ADD, but dammit why can't I just write shit down on a calendar like normal people?

I sat in a meeting yesterday and people were throwing dates around like rice at a wedding. Everyone else was pulling out their PDAs or their calendars. Me? Post-its. Fucking little yellow Post-its. I was so pissed at myself when I left work that I stopped by Staples and bought (yet another) At-A-Glance organizer. And it doesn't even fit in my purse. Doomed to failure already.

When I got home I sat down right away and conscientiously scoured my purse for all the little pieces of papers with important dates on them so that I could transfer them to the calendar. I found a piece of paper with a name, an address, a phone number, a date and a time. Obviously an important appointment, right? I had no idea what it was for. I finally screwed up my nerve and called the number and got the diabetes department at Children's Hospital in DC. So it was an appointment for Evangeline, right? Problem solved! Oh, except I scheduled her for the diabetes check-up at a satellite clinic in Annapolis on the same day and time that I scheduled her for her insulin pump evaluation at the main hospital in DC. This seems like it could be easily fixed with a phone call except that these appointments are scheduled months in advance and are hard to come by.

Every year I swear I am going to fix this shit and every year I fail miserably.

But this time will be different! I feel it in my bones!