Arch-Nemesis

Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting on the couch minding my own business, when suddenly there was a buzzing sound in the window behind me. I assumed it was one of those big, fat spring flies that gets in the house, concusses against the window in a futile escape attempt and dies. I didn't even look to see it. I just kept pinning. Pretty garden pictures, make your own limoncello, DIY wasp trap, mini soup-can cakes.

Today, I heard it again, and turned around to see. It was not a fly. It was a yellow jacket.

Yellow jackets are one of the few bugs that scare me. I hate them. I rolled up a magazine to smoosh it on the window, but it kept moving into the blinds. I didn't want to squish it in the blinds, because they are awful to clean. So I remembered the DIY wasp trap and made a makeshift one out of a wine bottle.

The dang yellow jacket has been sitting on the outside of the trap for the last three hours.

Which leads me to believe that it is, in fact, not a yellow jacket, but a tracker jacker sent to make me crazy and then kill me mercilessly. So I named him Jack. And we taunt one another while I wait for him to crawl into the darn wine bottle filled with delicious wasp-enticing juice and he waits for me to slowly go insane. He might be winning.

My Secret's Out

Last week a student's cell phone rang in class.

No big deal. Say you're sorry, ignore the caller, and let it go to voice mail. Right?

Or alternatively, answer because it's your Gram-Gram.

Then your Spanish teacher yells at you for a while until she feels you are sufficiently chastened. She uses words like professional, respect, and dumb-dumb head.

All of a sudden, another student stands up and points at her! He says, "Mrs. S! What did you do? You just got mad, but you didn't get mad! You are a robot."

That's right, my little friend. I am.

And you'd better be thankful I'm so self-differentiated, or else all y'all would be rocketing through the trapdoor in the floor into a lake of hungry piranhas after being smacked upside the head with your mobile telephone device.

Lies!

I try not to lie. At all. This last week has been truly tempting. Read the stories and decide for yourself if you'd do the same in my place.

Student: Mr. N said you're turning 42. You look really young!
Me: Um, thanks.

Me: Leche is the word for milk. You can't tell if it's masculine or feminine just by looking at it, but it's logical. Therefore it is...
Student: Feminine!
Me: Good! It's feminine, so use la for the.
Student B: Wait - why is that logical?
Me: because only females produce milk.
Student B: Male cows don't produce milk?

Now at this point, if I were a good person, I would have just said, "Actually, all cows are feminine. Male ones are called bulls. Female mammals are the ones who produce milk." But the lie (stolen from a devious coworker who regularly tells his students this) slipped on out:

Me: Yeah, the milk of male cows is poisonous. You can't drink it at all.
Student B: What?? I had no idea!

So ultimately, this is a story of how I lied to innocent children. And during Lent too. And liked it.

Lent

Lent has been on my mind for a few weeks now. Easter is my very favorite.

   Love's redeeming work is done, Alleluia!   Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!   Death in vain forbids him rise, Alleluia!   Christ has opened paradise, Alleluia!

My Lenten activities have never been really successful (if you can call spiritual exercises successes and failures). I usually last a couple days and give up, then am so buried in my overwhelming sense of guilt and hopelessness that I stop trying. Which ultimately makes me pretty grateful for Jesus' grace. But I suppose it doesn't work unless I start out with a plan in the first place. After all, how can I be crippled by shame unless my expectations are a little bit higher than normal?

I did a little research. (Stop shaking your head. You're not really surprised. Think about whose blog this is). I loved the Lenten videos at Relevant magazine, which I recommend watching. Spokane folk will recognize a familiar face, and I teared up listening to Jonathan talk about using our gifts to invest in the freedom of His people instead of their exploitation. Pretty amazing stuff. I also looked at some of the older ideas for preparing to celebrate Easter. I had considered giving up meat, sugar, alcohol, negative self-talk, and all of them at once. I think I'm deciding on a combination to help me with moderation (not one of my current strengths). Here are my ideas:

Prayer

Practice Liturgy of the Hours
Avoid guilt so that I associate prayer with joy and peace, not shame
Memorize, starting with my hero Donne.


Sacrifice

Learn, examine, and control my material excesses.
Start with abstinence from certain foods, and change as I discover where the excess really lies.

Charity

Reflect on the unique collection of my gifts and resources
Give them away (at least in a small way every week)

I'm pretty excited about it, actually. And on a side note, I think I might always schedule my February dentist appointments for Ash Wednesday. Sitting in a chair and having a dental sadist take off layers of skin with a pointy metal object and wonder why you're bleeding seems a good sort of appropriate for the first day of Lent. Somber. Painful.

Superheroes!

Celebrating David's birthday was an extra-fun blast this year. Mostly because our Super Fun Friends were willing to dress up for a Superhero themed party! Good times were had by all:

February Foolishness

This week, after a long couple weeks of feeling depressed and secretly looking at other career options (State Line, anyone?), I finally found a solution... at least a temporary one.

In spite of the insanity, attitude, and apathy, I will keep a log of all the kind and genuinely funny things my precious students say and do.

So I will forget about having to keep that darn 5th period after class on Monday because they were naughty and I will remember 4th period begging to sing along to David Bisbal. I will remember the kid who said, "You look nice today, Mrs. S." Even though I thought he was talking to the guy's afro in front of him and the whole class had a good giggle at my expense. I will fondly laugh to myself about my class's crush on Seth the IT guy with enormous biceps (comically enormous). They threaten to break my computer/projector/smartboard on purpose in order to call him in. They like my shoes - the blue ones and the beige ruffly ones and the sparkly toms. And they laugh at my jokes, even when they're just being polite.

Thanks, good kids! You make it worth the headache.

On Being a Good Learner or How I Suck at Skiing and Ski Anyway

A few weeks ago, we were invited to a surprise birthday party that included a Suprise! We're-Taking-You-Skiing at 7 am. David is an avid and talented skier. He's been skiing since he was three, was a ski instructor for a time, and now races down seemingly impossible slopes (or undefined slopes, for all you mathy types). He signed us up right away.

At that point in time, I had been skiing twice the winter before last.

That's all.

So the idea of skiing with a group of experienced skiers made me stressed out for about three weeks, up to and including the actual day. They were all very nice about it, even when I was crying (thanks, Scot and Erika!), and swearing (again... Scott and Erika). After the crying and in the middle of the swearing, I had a minor epiphany. This is what my class is like for a lot of my students.

The mountain is scary. The slope is too steep. I'm the only one who can't do it. I'm a stupid loser face. The toddlers can get off the rope tow on the bunny slope, and I fall on my face. Awesome. Everyone has to wait for me. They're bored and wish I weren't here. I shouldn't have come. I hope it's at least funny when I fall. Nope... no one's laughing.

And my students don't even get the researched benefits of swearing when they're super frustrated. Sorry, kids!

But it made me think about how to be an effective encourager when trying feels like a waste of time. And I don't have lots of really insightful wisdom, but I think me being in that place will make me more empathetic. And, for me, having people there who were pointing out the little things I do well (I'm good at getting off the chair lift. I have reasonably good form. I kept going.) helped immeasurably.

And maybe if I keep practicing, I'll actually be kinda good someday.