Warmth

One of my favorite things about winter is being tucked up all cozy in a warm house full of friends. There are very few things I like about winter, but that image stays with me as a comfort. This fall, we celebrated our 2nd annual Practice Thanksgiving, in which every family brings a dish to practice new and tricky recipes before they fall onto the plates of judgmental relatives. This group of people is full of the warmth that is my greatest joy in barren winter, and I am so thankful for their graciousness and fun and adorable progeny and delicious cooking skills.

I don't know who took which photo, but I assume the best ones here are taken by one of the artists. Feel free to give them credit.

Spanish class is (almost) always appropriate.

High school students can make almost anything sound dirty. It's a real battle to keep blush-worthy items out of the classroom, and I have to repeat the phrase, "Spanish class is always appropriate," at least four times a week. I learned pretty quickly to avoid saying things like, "This test is longer and harder than the last one, so make sure to study," because of the snorts of laughter from two or three corners of the room. Snigger, longer and harder, he he he. I'm usually pretty good at thinking about what I say beforehand, scanning the phraseology with my Will-Teenagers-Twist-This-To-Be-Sexual filter, and rewording as necessary. This is a very specific skill that high school teachers develop.

This last week, however, my filter has turned out to be faulty.

How else can I explain saying things like, "Show your Peter to your neighbor" or "There are no double D's in Spanish." OUT LOUD. IN FRONT OF STUDENTS. I must be going insane.

For my curious friends, the context: Peter was the name of a monster they drew as I explained what he looked like in Spanish to practice body part vocabulary. Spanish words don't have two letter d's in a row.

Any advice for fixing the filter? I don't know how much more I can take.

Spelling

One of the glories of being a Spanish teacher is that I don't have to read much of my students' English writing. On the rare occasions I do, it makes me want to teach 5th grade grammar and spelling. To all the 5th graders in the country. I would be the most-loathed teacher in these United States, and dadblastit, they would actually be able to communicate with others in their mother tongue. Instead of curling up under my desk and crying (I save that for meany-pants parents), I have been compiling a list of crazily misspelled words for your reading enjoyment and a fun game.

Because if I think about it to much, its enough too make a girl waist a way in destress. Honestly, there lose cents of grammatical structure is the mane issue, but I could ring their necks for some of the spelling mistakes I've scene. Seriously, it makes me want to dye. Lets take a pique into the sole of the problem:

The homonyms... O, the homonyms. One student wrote he was excited to meat Megan Fox... which might be a fun episode of CSI, but nothing at all what he expected. A doodle on the back of a quiz had someone yelling in distress, "Oh no! A bare!" GACK! A bare what? The suspense is killing me! Back in my student teaching days, a student wrote a persuasive essay about keeping pop machines in schools because of all the prophets that come out of it. Why look, Elisha is only a dollar! Or do I want a Diet Moses Dew?

Unfortunately, reading misspelled words all day plays with one's mind. I just misspelled "dollar" three times.

Ok, here's the game! Identify correctly the following words in the comments, and you might wean a pries! I've even been warming up your brains.

1. annor
2. musten
3. saro
4. baised
5. barry
6. zizers
7. krymet
8. scelotins (an easy one!)
   

Sick Day Diary

I felt seriously ill yesterday - the vomity kind. First period was almost over. We were practicing reflexive verbs (whiteboard markers on the desks - they're colorful and easy to read from a distance. Plus, writing on desks makes them feel naughty enough to like grammar drills... weird). And I was certain if we continued I would projectile vomit all over three or four of them. So I told them to put their stuff away while I stepped out in the hallway to lean over the garbage can. They're good kids. Anyway, long story short, I went home.

And stayed there.

Here I am, still at home. Feeling gloriously rebellious even though I was legitimately sick. I do feel much better today (lightheaded and tired, but no tummy troubles). Here was my day:

7:27 Wake up, check time, snuggle with the handsome husband
8ish Read murder mystery (Anne Perry... good stuff)
9ish (Chapter 5) Get hungry, go to kitchen
9:05 Realize kitchen is a dump and wash all the dishes
9:28 Still hungry, make oatmeal with blueberries
9:38 Eat and read... for hours (the reading... the oatmeal only lasted 15 minutes or so)
12:05 Heat soup. Eat and read... again
3:00 Finish book, watch Bones
4:00 Prep for dinner
5:00 Go to gym (I am feeling all the way better by this time)
7:00 Come home, ice knees, blog.

This was the best sick day ever. Sick enough to avoid severe guilt. Not too sick to enjoy. And my kids watched a travel movie. Everyone's happy! So, thanks, nausea, for coming and leaving so quickly so as to improve everyone's Thursday.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November. Not for silly old Guy Fawkes, but for my silly daddy, who passed away 13 years ago today. He is still sorely missed.

Overexuberance

Yesterday, I made six mini-apple crisps with apples I picked myself with a recipe I developed. Perfect with the homemade vanilla ice cream. I also made two kinds of cookies for 2nd period because they won a vocabulary contest, dinner for today (late-season eggplant in a spicy Pasta alla Norma with chicken meatballs), roasted carrots and mashed potatoes for dinner that night, and went to the gym. It was chaos.

And I loved it.

Parents

Today is arena conference day! A chance for all of us teachers to gather together in the commons, sit at cafeteria tables with our names calligraphed on lovely big signs, and discuss student progress with parents! We are allowed this privilege for three glorious hours after working a full day. It is the equivalent of a twelve hour shift, but with parents.

It is my least favorite day of the year.

My interactions with parents have been mixed, to say the least. At this point,, I am fairly certain that teachers who rave about the benefits of parent interaction and cooperation have never worked in a district with more than 50% free and reduced lunch (the most common determiner of poverty). The parents of many of my students in poverty don't have a phone number, much less an email, because they move so frequently (read: are evicted so frequently). They are often my age (that's 28 years old with kids in high school. That there is some scary mathematics). Their students tell me horror stories about their parents being drunk every night and cussing out their kids without providing them any real love or discipline. I've heard of parents prostituting themselves for drug money in the house while their children are in the next room. Some parents do and/or deal drugs. They are either absent or abusive. About a third of parents I try to contact never get back to me. I am sad for the kids, but glad for me.

Which brings me back to arena conferences. The parents who come here are the parents who care. For example, I just told a mom, "Your son is a joy to have in class. He understands everything right away and he has a really fun sense of humor." And the parents just before her were the parents of the highest grade in the class, who also has a wonderful heart. He sits next to a special ed student and helps him patiently everyday and never sounds like a condescending jerk. Some of them are obviously poor, but they also just as obviously love their children. Every once in a while, I get a crazy.

My very first year, one mom came up to my table literally shaking with rage. She held out her trembling arm, pointed a finger at me and said, "What is wrong with you? Why did you give my son an F on his quiz? He is an A student." He had let someone copy the answers to his quiz. They both got zeros until they came in to retake it. Of course the student in question, Mr. Angelic himself, forgot to mention this to mom. And by the time she arrived at my arena table, she had turned fully into a hydra and was incapable of understanding the situation. She made me cry (I managed to leave the room first, but I got lost in the new building trying to find a bathroom. I hid under a table in the art room for a few minutes to pull myself together. That is a true story).

The following year, a mom wrote scathing letters about my lack of teaching ability, and showed up in the classroom while there were students in the room to confront me about her son's missing assignment that I apparently had lost. Her son was fine as soon as he turned in his late work which was half-complete in his backpack. I did not lose it. I did not fail him on purpose.

And the year after, an athlete failed my Spanish I class for the second time, and his parents put me on speaker phone so they could both cuss me out at the same time. It was my fault their son failed (never studied, never turned homework in, and never paid attention in class) and now he was dropping out of high school and would never be happy again on account of me. No matter that he failed three of his other classes. It was my fault! It took three times to get the message through that they could call the principal because I wasn't going to talk to them until they could talk like actual grownups, please. I worded it differently.

After these (and more) interactions, I'm wary of parents. And I wear waterproof mascara.

Sometimes I wish I could be completely honest with these people. Someday, I'll lose it completely and say things like:

• I know he said he turned it in. He lied to you. It's in his binder.
• She actually did skip class. I don't just not see people.
• Your child is a mean-hearted twit. And I think that's your fault.
• Maybe if you hid your marijuana better, your child would be able to focus better in class.
• Are you high right now?

But usually, I bite my tongue and smile and keep calm and try to remember the good parents. The ones who thank me for the work I do, the ones who know their students and consistently try to help them do their best. So, thank you, calm and reasonable parents! If it weren't for you, I would have quit a long time ago!