Home Sweet Texas

We're back! We made our two trips across the southeastern US this week uneventfully. Our route was:
Dallas to Mt. Croghan, SC
Mt. Croghan to Myrtle Beach and back
Mt. Croghan to Greensboro
Greensboro to Asheboro and back
Greensboro to Charlotte
Charlotte to Seagrove
Seagrove to Greensboro
Greensboro to Dallas.
I'd say we broke Lucy in nicely. She is in severe need of a bath, as is Gus the Beagle. Gus the Beagle had several adventures as well. He had his first trip to the beach, where he chased seagulls and ate old cigarettes. He thoroughly explored the Mt. Croghan Property, diving into briar patches and pulling on his harness so hard he wore his fur off his belly. And then came his Great Escape, courtesy of Grandpa Ed. Grandpa Ed "just forgot" to close the gate [third year in a row now], and so Granddog Gus "just happened" to walk out and go exploring. This of course completely flipped Mike and I out and about 40 minutes of me roaming the neighborhood screaming Gus' name and shaking the puppy chow cup ensued. With my wet hair and no makeup, I spoke to neighbors I hadn't talked to since high school. I rang doorbells of high school buddies in hopes of enlisting help. I even warmed up to the lady whose husband tried to sue my dad for hitting him with his car. (Grandpa Ed has a weak track record all around.) In the end, Mike found Gus trotting nonchalantly up the street as if to say, "Were you looking for me?" and all ended well.
Christmas started out a little shaky as I opened up a magnet, some corn cob holders, a garlic press, and a stuffed bull all in a row, but picked up soon thereafter with a new tennis bag and a fancy lighted magnifying makeup mirror. (Imagine the plucking I can do now!) I enjoyed a trip to Seagrove where Mike's people know how to cook right and I loaded up on food I hadn't eaten in at least a year: fried okra, collards, butterbeans, pork vinegar bar-b-que, and sweet tea.
On the way home, we set a new record: 17 hours flat! We rolled into the overly-icicle-lighted-too many-illuminated-inflatable-Christmas-icons-overkill-of-yard-art-outlined-yards-that-look like-landing-strips-multi-colored-wonderland that is our neighborhood and we were home. We unpacked, rebelliously clicked on our tiny window candles that are too tame for this 'hood and went to bed.

We're Off!

Only 1200 miles and 18 hours in the car with Mike and Gus to go. Should be a breeze. Gifts? Check. Suitcases? Check. Bag 'o Snacks? Check. Dog sedative? Check. Talk to y'all when I get back! Merry Christmas!

I'm finished!!

I did it! I made it! It's break! I only had three disturbing things happen today (which is pretty good for a last day before Christmas.)
1. A little girl's fake hair fell off her ponytail. A boy thought is was a rat and screamed. I fell off my chair from laughing so hard and got mascara all over my face from crying.
2. I spaced out during the winter party and ran my pen absentmindedly back and forth over my jeans, then realized that the cap was off and I had drawn all over myself.
3. At the conclusion of the winter party, a boy walked up to me as though he was going to hug me goodbye, but instead jabbed a finger into my chin zit and announced, "You have a zit on your chin! You should pop it!" and walked away.
Merry Christmas! I'm going to have a beer and take a nap.

Gifting: A Comparison

COPs and CRIMNALS was a little compare/contrast item I wrote about teaching in the sketchy inner-ghetto versus teaching in the preppy suburbs. COPs are Children of Privilege and CRIMNALS are Children Raised In Minimal Need and Luxury Settings. For a Christmas treat, we will review the gifting comparision.

Gifting

The holidays are a special time when teachers are gifted by their students. It is always fun to test your acting skills when oohing and ahhing at dollar store finds, usually painted statuettes or dishes. Sometimes teachers get lucky with gift certificates, the guaranteed-to-please present of choice. Other times...there is the Special Gift. The gift that leaves you so unsure of what to say, that all you can muster is, "WOW. Thank you sweetie!"

The CRIMNAL

The day before Christmas break...high energy kids, low energy teachers. Children burst through the door with an array of bows and gift bags and smiles. Claude and Claudia (twins) struggle through the door bearing a massive, ungainly gift. Unwrapped and awkward, the gift was about half the size of a fourth grader. Claude and Claudia hefted it up to my desk and grinned around it. No...through it. From under the arms of a figure, in fact.
I gazed from top to bottom over a yard art statue of the Virgin Mary. Not Joseph, not Jesus, no wise men. Just Mary. Mary with...grass blades and dirt clinging to her feet. Grass and dirt! This was lifted from someone's nativity scene in their yard! I frantically tried to figure out where their bus stop was and my eyes darted out the window to see if anyone was watching me accept this hot gift.
Two gap-toothed grins peeked out from under her arms. The twins were slightly winded from their haul. How far had they carried this?
"WOW!" I said winningly. "Wow!" I chuckled a heh-heh-heh, not sure what to say. "Wow." I concluded and smiled brightly at my little kleptos. "You two sure are something!" I squeezed them tight, eyeing the window for cops.

The COP

Christmastime is much the same in the yuppie world, just shinier and more of a scene. Gifts must be opened in a ceremony-like fashion with much ooohing and ahhing over the jewelry (teacher bracelets), candles and lotions. A gift list is kept by a responsible student with good handwriting, just as a bridesmaid does at a bridal shower.
My final gift this year was a Beaut. Simple gift bag, beaming child, proud mother. She had asked me yesterday the colors of my bedroom and how to spell my first name. I should have been more prepared.
"Now remember Mrs. R., that I run an embroidery business!" she smiled eagerly, urging me to open my gift. I put my hand into the bag and felt...fur? I slowly pulled out... a garment? A bag? A pillowcase. A lime green satin number with a leopard print faux fur cuff. Emblazoned across the satin in script? Ginny in brown letters. In case I lost it, I suppose.
"Wow! Heh-heh-heh," I've got to work on this awkward giggle, I thought to myself. "How about that?" I rubbed the fur on my face. What was I doing? "Soft!" I stammered. "Very soft."
"It's one-of-a-kind!" she crowed.
"It is that!" I agreed, gently easing it back into the bag before someone could see.

Decisions

Smart people don't become administrators. Administrators are people who make decisions without thinking because they won't have to deal with the fallout. Administrators decide things like: on the last day before Christmas, there will be a one hour assembly which kids will have to endure by sitting still and listening. A lot.
They decide things like: on the Wednesday before Christmas we will give a bunch of ten year olds a 52 question district exam in math which will require them to take all day to finish it, most of them breaking into tears by the end because they are so tired and confused.
Administrators decide things like: there will be a choir field trip the day after the math exam which means that none of the kids who didn't finish will be able to do so unless the do it on the day of the party.
Administrators decide things like: Texas students will no longer be allowed to have anything in which the first ingredient is sugar or to have pizza parties. The administrators suggested pasta with marinara sauce as a healthy alternative for the winter [not Christmas] party: http://www.agr.state.tx.us/foodnutrition/ Obviously, these people have never seen children eat pasta over carpet.
Administrators decide things like: there will no longer be any grades for elementary school children. Which means they lose any accountability that they ever had and will go to middle school without even a concept of an average.
Administrators decide things like: all districts don't really need a spelling program. Kids will learn to spell naturally through osmosis and vast amounts of reading. Memorization doesn't meet the learning needs of all students. Some are auditory learners and requiring memorization wouldn't be fair to them. Some are kinesthetic learners and should be allowed to explore spelling through physical means. It wouldn't be fair to them either. We might damage their self-esteem! Horrors. Then they would grow up to become administrators who must have some control over other people due to their self-esteem problem. Vicious cycle, I tell you.

Yago

Today was a crazy morning and my teammate and I had just looked at the latest asinine assessment from our district. We were trying to calm ourselves and not freak out about how ridiculous the poorly-written, invalid, non-aligned assessment was by assuming meditation positions and humming softly with our eyes closed. You can imagine how much attention this would attract from 22 ten year olds unpacking their belongings. One little boy came rushing up to us and said, "Hey! My mom does that! Do you to yago too???"
Yago, yoga, bygones. Hee!

Today.

Um...not sure where to start here. Must. Share. Story.
Today we were giving our eighty millionth district mandated assessment, a quiet time at the zoo, when Freak!Child came up to me and motioned the need to whisper into my ear. I was somewhat bored, being the test giver and all, so I obliged, leaning forward to receive this [clearly] riveting news update. What I heard shocked me. And I'm hard to shock. The transcript of the earnest whispering is recorded below:

"Mrs. R., you know when you sometimes go to the bathroom and you sometimes don't wipe so good and-"

• Pause here. Why does she think I would be familiar with this situation? Should I tell her that I actually pride myself on being quite a gifted wiper? At times even being accused of wasting toilet paper by someone who shall not be named? (dad, 7th grade)

"then sometimes you know how you can get those bubbles? Well, when I got-"

• WHOA! Bubbles? I am not familiar with bubbles. I am however extremely troubled that this conversation has gone this far. Would you ever go to your teacher with this information? Seriously?

"back from the bathroom just now I realized that I had some of those bubbles and then I didn't really think about it until I sat down and then one of them popped, you know-"

• Heh. If you know me at all, you must realize that at this point it was all I could do not to just DIE laughing. I love bathroom humor dearly, but rarely does it get whispered directly into my ear. I maintained a somewhat bemused expression and focused on a spot on the floor.

"and so now....what should I do?"

• She leaned away from my ear and stared into my eyes. I stared back, just to make sure she was serious and then quietly suggested that perhaps she return to the restroom and take care of her situation. Then I laughed. Quietly. By myself.

Now, this is gross and troubling enough by itself, but what we teachers actually spent our entire 25 minute lunch period discussing was what the heck kind of bubbles was she talking about?

The Pee Plea

So, today I was calling kids up to check their homework to see how many pages each had read over the weekend. I called up my friend (Brandon) and he plead, "Can I go to the bathroom?" with a rather desperate look in his eyes. Being the sensitive, caring teacher that I am, I replied, "Tell me how many pages you read and you can go." Seems reasonable, no?
This (five second) delay was apparently the breaking point for this child. He put his HAND down his PANTS right in front of me and started scribbling into his reading log with the other hand. When his weaker hand could no longer contain the situation, he switched hands, plunging his right hand into his nether region and writing with his left! I stared at him with my mouth hanging open for several moments. I had no idea how to respond! Finally I uttered a, "(Brandon)! Just go!" followed by what I hope was a sound of disgust and disdain designed to echo behind him as he dashed out of the room and down the hall clutching...stuff. In public. I proceeded to exchange my "What a Freak Show" glance with several students who were seizing the opportunity to side with me and return the Headshake of Shame. Zwah? Huh? He's in fourth grade! He's ten years old! Do you not know by then to go PEE before it reaches that point? I mean...I don't know. Good grief.

It's All in a Name

I don't think a lot of people are aware of the genuine importance of a name. Careful planning and critical decision-making should transpire before just willy nilly selecting a name for anything. I personally took 3 weeks to get to know my new car before naming her. I wasn't even sure it was a girl for a week or so! (Her name is Lucy, by the way. We will address her by her proper name henceforth.) Some people simply DO NOT THINK when naming a child.
Now, I'm not talking about the urban legends of teachers who have kids named Lemonjelo and Orangelo after lemon and orange Jello or Shi-thead from, well...the obvious. [Although my mom did teach a child named Formica Dinette!] HOWEVER. There is a naming trend that needs to stop. If you have a bun in the oven or even thoughts of breeding someday, it is critical for your future children's success that you heed this warning:
***Do not, under any circumstances, name your child Brandon or any form of William, particularly Will or Willie. This is not a joke. Ask any educator.
Other names to be leery of include Jacob, James, Jordan, Zachary, Brittany, Courtney, Lexi, and forms of Christopher.
Now, other names have good connotations for teachers. Dylans are always superb. Alyssas are always good. Also pleasant are Matthews, Emilys, Ryans, Michaels, Katelyn/Catelyn/Caitlyns, and Sarahs.
Now, on another note, I remember in high school the DJ's on Rock 92 in Greensboro had this theory they tested with the criminal report each Monday that it was released. It was called the Wayne Lee Ray Update. Their theory was that criminals were likely to have one of these names somewhere in their given birth name. If you start watching in the news, you will find this to be true!
So, the Cliff's Notes version is: Do not name your child Brandon, Willie, Wayne, Lee or Ray. Don't say I didn't tell you!

I Take It All Back

My previous post listed the jobs I would not want to have, but it turns out I was wrong, these are far worse:

From News of the Weird 877, by Chuck Shepherd, November 28, 2004:

* "Anal-wart researcher" (visual inspection being the only way to
detect anal cancer from the human papillomavirus) heads Popular
Science magazine's second annual November list of the worst jobs
in science. However, "worm parasitologist" can be just as
challenging, especially for anyone studying the Dracunculus
medinensis (which can settle in humans to a length of three feet
and then must be removed carefully after its thousands of offspring
burst through the skin). Other contenders: "tampon squeezer" for
the study of vaginal infections; a Lyme-disease "tick attractor"
(who must sing, to keep bears away, while trolling in the woods);
and "monitors" at warm-climate landfills (where garbage has been
reduced to steamy, liquid condensates).

Big 'Ol Word Fun

Some of my favorite words and phrases are from North Carolina, but I have found two new ones since I've moved to Texas that are particularly amusing to me.
I'm sure that someone from Texas could make fun of some of the things they might hear in NC, and there are even some that are shared. For instance, in both Texas and NC, if you are preparing to do something, you are "fixin' to" do it. This vernacular is accepted in both states. I've had several people, particularly colleagues [as this example is gramatically incorrect], voice interest in why I say "used to could." As in, "When I was a child, I used to could do a cartwheel." This is very incorrect, but has character. I blame my use of it on my mother.
I have always expressed when something is particularly large with the phrase "big 'ol." As in, "I have a big 'ol fat kid in my class this year." In Texas, the phrase is "big o." Or maybe "biggo." I'm not really sure, but it doesn't flow off my tongue as naturally. I feel that when there is a BIG 'OL cheeseburger on the plate, the size is more emphatically communicated than is a BIG O cheeseburger.
The other one that bothers me is the use of the word "whenever." Texans use the word whenever in the way that the rest of the country uses when. For instance, the rest of the country would say, "Remember when you and I went to the beach?" Texas would say, "Remember whenever you and I went to the beach?" Well, not the beach, since clearly that's not a valid option around here, but you get the point. I don't understand whenever.
Maybe whenever Joel or Katie write a big o comment on this post, I'll understand. I used to could understand what people said better whenever I lived in NC. Hee!