Breakfast together is not a normal occurrence in our household. Josh really isn't one to want cereal or fruit- he usually goes straight for burgers or Ramen, which takes place around noon. I'm really the one in our family of two who wants some sort of breakfast before heading to school.
Today, though, Josh woke up and got to work on breakfast.
A few weekends ago, a friend came over and spent the night because Josh was gone for Men's Retreat. She brought two packages of bacon with her for our one-night slumber party, and I'll just level with you: I do love bacon, but there are some things I have abandoned for the greater good. When you live with IBS, there are certain food groups you just learn to live without, and bacon, well- pork of almost any kind, is on my "NO" list.
The friend was slightly hurt, I think, that I only ate one strip, so she left the second package in our refrigerator since it was purchased for our slumber party.
If I'm being totally honest, I also hate cooking bacon. It makes your entire person smell of greasy swine all day long, leaves you with a pan full of grease you have to find creative ways of throwing out, and pops you with a vengeance every single time you fry it.
While it does make me feel like Mt. Saint Helen's erupting in my colon, it also just makes me mad. It stinks, leaves disgusting amounts of melted fat, and injures me. While it may taste yummy, the cons outweigh the pros.
So we just don't eat it often, which hurts my husband's heart, because he is a lover of bacon.
Because Josh was the one to make breakfast this morning, I let him have the kitchen to himself, and I took a few extra minutes sleeping in on this very rainy and gray morning. I had a feeling he'd find that package of bacon, and sure enough, our house began to smell and our bedroom began to get a bit smokey.
Josh was quite proud of himself, and I had to laugh a bit, because as he finished the last tasks of frying, he made the proclamation, "I love bacon...it's like meat candy!" If you know this guy at all, then you know he bleeds Starbursts and jelly beans, so comparing bacon to candy was the closet picture of heaven he could make.
But today's breakfast menu was bacon and pancakes- a mixture of two worlds.
As we sat down to eat, Josh made yet another proclamation. "I hate pancakes. You have to be a starving lumberjack to eat them."
Now this bacon candy lover of mine is putting together a chair for my classroom, singing to himself and making plans of putting Ivan in the chair box once he's finished his project.
Today is a good day.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
What a Whirlwind
Finally- spring break! Call out the band and baton twirlers, we've made it!
Between Master's work and Union negotiations, new jobs and ordinations, Josh and I have been running the race of our lives. I'll try to recap what I've failed to blog...
As Josh continues to get in the groove of bus driving, I cannot help but laugh at his stories of students. A few weeks ago, one little girl was trying to finesse a toy from another little boy, so Josh intervened and asked the boy to put his toys away so he wouldn't lose them. This made the little girl angry. Josh said she looked him square in the eyes and said, "What are you? His uncle or somethin'?" To which Josh responded, "No- I'm the bus driver."
Josh and I went to the first track meet of the season, and I must admit, it was strange to be cheering for red and black and not Josh's youngest brothers' black and gold. At this meet, though, I had my first interaction with one of Josh's bus riders.
A very awkward 13 or 14-year-old girl made her claim to fame.
Josh was buying two hamburgers, and I was watching a race, so to a stranger, it probably didn't register that we were together. Out of the nowhere, I hear this teen say, "HEY!" Thinking nothing of it, I continued to watch the race, but then heard my husband respond, "Oh. Hey." I found this odd, as Josh is generally a fairly genial person, so turned to look, and found the teen holding a fist mid-air ready to be pumped, and saw Josh, one burger in each hand, just staring at her. She finally walked away and Josh resumed his burger perfection.
The girl walked off, met up with teenage friend, and then said something shocking.
"See! I told you he was cute."
I nearly died!!!! Josh was, of course, oblivious, so I enlightened him and we both had a good laugh. I told him we were going to have to buy him a blingier ring so girls would know he was taken.
Two weekends ago we drove to Hermiston, OR for Josh's ordination interview. After an hour with a panel of six, Josh passed with hugs and a few tears, and eagerly awaits his ordination service in July. I could not be more proud of this man I get to call mine.
Josh's life has been one thing after another, and life for me has been entertaining as well.
Union rights are in question with new Idaho legislation, and about four weeks ago, our Union leader called a spur of the moment meeting, telling members there was going to be a walk-out and he needed a 'yes' or 'no' count by the end of the day. In a frenzy, I called the most knowledgeable people I could think of, including my mom and mother-in-law, my nana, and a beloved professor from college.
The wisdom and counsel was unanimous- don't walk out.
My first year of teaching has inducted me to the very raw reality of education reform, and the brazen attitudes of some union members and leaders. As a Christian, I didn't feel I could be a part of such an action, especially when I view education as a ministry, not a statement. From our school, only two union members said 'no' to the walk-out, myself being one of them. As a first-year teacher, I determined I had a lot to lose, and the four women I talked with confirmed that.
The walk-out was canceled, but now I know how to respond should this happen again. And as my professor pointed out, I can use that as an opportunity to share a bit of Light with my students when they ask the question, "Why didn't you walk out?"
Friday, the last day before break, I had another raw reality: parents make personal assaults on teachers.
One very angry mother unleashed her fury on me, telling me I wanted her child to fail and that I was a horrible teacher. We're talking screaming through the phone. And then she hung up on me.
I called her to touch base- I've been in touch all semester- and it still wasn't enough. She began an altercation. And I was crushed.
After an hour with my principal- documenting, counseling, reaffirming, and praising- I was sent home. We may not always agree with our bosses, and our bosses may not always agree with us, but I am so thankful for a boss who takes care of me, backs me up, and notices the blood, sweat, and tears I pour into my job. And I am thankful for a boss who occasionally sends me home.
I came home and, with my in-laws en route to South Dakota and my husband, cried a bit more, went to lunch, came home, and crashed.
If teaching were just about teaching, anyone could do it. But teaching is also about humility. And relationships. And love. And passion. And humanness.
And I botch it up horribly sometimes. The last thing on my mind was loving this mother...or her child.
This week is a much needed reprieve.
Twelve more weeks of Master's work. Nine more weeks of this first year of teaching. A few days before baby Lesslie makes his debut in Missouri. Then ten more weeks before I can set aside my 'teacher' hat and don my 'Aunt Ashley' hat. Four weeks after that, Uncle Josh will get to razz up a very cute nephew named Martin.
Life is so good. Even when teenagers think you're cute, unions have melt downs, and parents think you are the embodiment of wicked.
I'm convinced- spring break makes it all better.
Between Master's work and Union negotiations, new jobs and ordinations, Josh and I have been running the race of our lives. I'll try to recap what I've failed to blog...
As Josh continues to get in the groove of bus driving, I cannot help but laugh at his stories of students. A few weeks ago, one little girl was trying to finesse a toy from another little boy, so Josh intervened and asked the boy to put his toys away so he wouldn't lose them. This made the little girl angry. Josh said she looked him square in the eyes and said, "What are you? His uncle or somethin'?" To which Josh responded, "No- I'm the bus driver."
Josh and I went to the first track meet of the season, and I must admit, it was strange to be cheering for red and black and not Josh's youngest brothers' black and gold. At this meet, though, I had my first interaction with one of Josh's bus riders.
A very awkward 13 or 14-year-old girl made her claim to fame.
Josh was buying two hamburgers, and I was watching a race, so to a stranger, it probably didn't register that we were together. Out of the nowhere, I hear this teen say, "HEY!" Thinking nothing of it, I continued to watch the race, but then heard my husband respond, "Oh. Hey." I found this odd, as Josh is generally a fairly genial person, so turned to look, and found the teen holding a fist mid-air ready to be pumped, and saw Josh, one burger in each hand, just staring at her. She finally walked away and Josh resumed his burger perfection.
The girl walked off, met up with teenage friend, and then said something shocking.
"See! I told you he was cute."
I nearly died!!!! Josh was, of course, oblivious, so I enlightened him and we both had a good laugh. I told him we were going to have to buy him a blingier ring so girls would know he was taken.
Two weekends ago we drove to Hermiston, OR for Josh's ordination interview. After an hour with a panel of six, Josh passed with hugs and a few tears, and eagerly awaits his ordination service in July. I could not be more proud of this man I get to call mine.
Josh's life has been one thing after another, and life for me has been entertaining as well.
Union rights are in question with new Idaho legislation, and about four weeks ago, our Union leader called a spur of the moment meeting, telling members there was going to be a walk-out and he needed a 'yes' or 'no' count by the end of the day. In a frenzy, I called the most knowledgeable people I could think of, including my mom and mother-in-law, my nana, and a beloved professor from college.
The wisdom and counsel was unanimous- don't walk out.
My first year of teaching has inducted me to the very raw reality of education reform, and the brazen attitudes of some union members and leaders. As a Christian, I didn't feel I could be a part of such an action, especially when I view education as a ministry, not a statement. From our school, only two union members said 'no' to the walk-out, myself being one of them. As a first-year teacher, I determined I had a lot to lose, and the four women I talked with confirmed that.
The walk-out was canceled, but now I know how to respond should this happen again. And as my professor pointed out, I can use that as an opportunity to share a bit of Light with my students when they ask the question, "Why didn't you walk out?"
Friday, the last day before break, I had another raw reality: parents make personal assaults on teachers.
One very angry mother unleashed her fury on me, telling me I wanted her child to fail and that I was a horrible teacher. We're talking screaming through the phone. And then she hung up on me.
I called her to touch base- I've been in touch all semester- and it still wasn't enough. She began an altercation. And I was crushed.
After an hour with my principal- documenting, counseling, reaffirming, and praising- I was sent home. We may not always agree with our bosses, and our bosses may not always agree with us, but I am so thankful for a boss who takes care of me, backs me up, and notices the blood, sweat, and tears I pour into my job. And I am thankful for a boss who occasionally sends me home.
I came home and, with my in-laws en route to South Dakota and my husband, cried a bit more, went to lunch, came home, and crashed.
If teaching were just about teaching, anyone could do it. But teaching is also about humility. And relationships. And love. And passion. And humanness.
And I botch it up horribly sometimes. The last thing on my mind was loving this mother...or her child.
This week is a much needed reprieve.
Twelve more weeks of Master's work. Nine more weeks of this first year of teaching. A few days before baby Lesslie makes his debut in Missouri. Then ten more weeks before I can set aside my 'teacher' hat and don my 'Aunt Ashley' hat. Four weeks after that, Uncle Josh will get to razz up a very cute nephew named Martin.
Life is so good. Even when teenagers think you're cute, unions have melt downs, and parents think you are the embodiment of wicked.
I'm convinced- spring break makes it all better.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Bus Driver
Well, It's official folks, I, Joshua James Bartholomew, am the newest bus driver employed by Kamiah School District.
Ash and I see this as such a clear reminder of God' provision. Around August or September, I had inquired about any open positions at the bus garage. They were looking for a substitute, and would be happy to train me, after I passed my written test with the DMV. Well, life went on, and it never happened. Months passed.
About two months ago I called in and asked if they still needed help and if they would still train me. They said yes.
There was a new position opening up because they were adding a new route and needed a driver fast. When I started training there was also someone else training, and one of us would be a sub and one of us wound get the route position.
When I went into the district office to get the application, reference forms, fingerprint cards, etc., I brought up the fact that I had applied to substitute teach in early 2010. They pulled up my file, and all of the paperwork I had filled out earlier was exactly what they needed. I had been approved to work already, and the only thing I lacked to start working was my CDL, which was in process.
Two weeks later I was driving a new route for the school.
I am amazed at how God provides. All of the pieces fell into place at all the right times.
It's an interesting job, and the students keep me on my toes, but I'm enjoying it, and I'm thankful for God's provision.
Ash and I see this as such a clear reminder of God' provision. Around August or September, I had inquired about any open positions at the bus garage. They were looking for a substitute, and would be happy to train me, after I passed my written test with the DMV. Well, life went on, and it never happened. Months passed.
About two months ago I called in and asked if they still needed help and if they would still train me. They said yes.
There was a new position opening up because they were adding a new route and needed a driver fast. When I started training there was also someone else training, and one of us would be a sub and one of us wound get the route position.
When I went into the district office to get the application, reference forms, fingerprint cards, etc., I brought up the fact that I had applied to substitute teach in early 2010. They pulled up my file, and all of the paperwork I had filled out earlier was exactly what they needed. I had been approved to work already, and the only thing I lacked to start working was my CDL, which was in process.
Two weeks later I was driving a new route for the school.
I am amazed at how God provides. All of the pieces fell into place at all the right times.
It's an interesting job, and the students keep me on my toes, but I'm enjoying it, and I'm thankful for God's provision.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Parent Conferences Change Perspective
I'm not gonna lie- every time parents call my room, or email asking for a conference, my heart skips a beat or two. You just can't tell when a parent is going to come in as Godzilla looking for innocent prey.
I have one student who hasn't been doing so hot, and his mom and I have been emailing back and forth all semester about his progress.
Yesterday the email read, "We need to meet."
Cue the defibrillator. I think my heart stopped.
After an hour-long conference with both parents, I am both pleasantly surprised and crushed.
These parents have restored my faith in good conferencing. They were positive, and weren't on the attack. We had a very encouraging discussion about goals and accountability for the student, as well as methods of praise at home.
I'm broken, though, over why my 10th grade student is drowning right now.
A mentor, a man this boy admired and trusted, burnt his own home down, and shot himself two weeks ago. It was all over the news- the school- the town- the paper. It's tough enough to deal with death in general, but suicide? How does a 15-year-old even begin to deal with the emotion and loss of that, especially a 15-year-old who doesn't know Christ?
My head has been reeling since my talk with the parents. College doesn't prepare you- student teaching doesn't prepare you- for the heartache you take home for your students. They are broken, therefore, I break for them.
Last night was a restless night for me. I'm usually the one to punch the alarm clock six times before finally rolling my body out of bed, but not today. Today I got up because I couldn't shut my brain off. This semester is throwing one thing after another.
I love my job, and I love my students. But I carry their pain, and it's weighing on me.
I was reading from Ruth this morning, and my eyes fell to the words "I will go where you go, and where you stay I will stay." Ruth made that declaration to Naomi. How much greater must God's declaration be to us? I find myself in constant prayer that God dwell in my classroom, because I just can't do it without him.
Would you mind writing my name on your hearts? This first year of teaching is more humbling and taxing than I ever anticipated. But it's also way more fulfilling than anything I ever dreamed.
I have one student who hasn't been doing so hot, and his mom and I have been emailing back and forth all semester about his progress.
Yesterday the email read, "We need to meet."
Cue the defibrillator. I think my heart stopped.
After an hour-long conference with both parents, I am both pleasantly surprised and crushed.
These parents have restored my faith in good conferencing. They were positive, and weren't on the attack. We had a very encouraging discussion about goals and accountability for the student, as well as methods of praise at home.
I'm broken, though, over why my 10th grade student is drowning right now.
A mentor, a man this boy admired and trusted, burnt his own home down, and shot himself two weeks ago. It was all over the news- the school- the town- the paper. It's tough enough to deal with death in general, but suicide? How does a 15-year-old even begin to deal with the emotion and loss of that, especially a 15-year-old who doesn't know Christ?
My head has been reeling since my talk with the parents. College doesn't prepare you- student teaching doesn't prepare you- for the heartache you take home for your students. They are broken, therefore, I break for them.
Last night was a restless night for me. I'm usually the one to punch the alarm clock six times before finally rolling my body out of bed, but not today. Today I got up because I couldn't shut my brain off. This semester is throwing one thing after another.
I love my job, and I love my students. But I carry their pain, and it's weighing on me.
I was reading from Ruth this morning, and my eyes fell to the words "I will go where you go, and where you stay I will stay." Ruth made that declaration to Naomi. How much greater must God's declaration be to us? I find myself in constant prayer that God dwell in my classroom, because I just can't do it without him.
Would you mind writing my name on your hearts? This first year of teaching is more humbling and taxing than I ever anticipated. But it's also way more fulfilling than anything I ever dreamed.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Winter Ball Adventure
Josh just lived through his first high school dance. As a 24-year-old adult. There are reasons some parents should just keep their kids home from such functions.
One thing this wonderful husband of mine has picked up on very quickly is that there are some duties of a teacher that also fall to the spouse, especially when the teacher is the yearbook adviser.
Sporting events, concerts, knowledge bowls, and dances have all become a part of our wedded bliss, and to be completely honest, are some of the only "date nights" we're able to squeeze in during this first year of mine at CVHS.
Tonight, in an attempt to raise money to off-set the cost of yearbooks, eleven students, two teachers, a counselor, Josh, and I put on a Winter Ball.
Announcements and posters stated the ball would be "semi-formal," a component chosen by my yearbook staff. Sitting at a table taking money from students was an entertaining treat, because we were right by the main entrance.
Girl after girl entered, took one look at the dressed-down boys, and ran to the bathroom screaming and covering as best they could the formal dresses and heels they were wearing. Then girl after girl exited the bathroom in basketball shorts and t-shirts.
All seemed satisfied, until about 30 minutes later. The entire escapade repeated, only girls were changing back into formal wear and heels, pranced around for about ten minutes, then ran shrieking back to the bathroom to once again don the baggy shorts and t-shirts.
I thought this would be the highlight of the evening, but I was pleasantly surprised.
Just before we left our house, I grabbed Twister from our cupboard to take along. Josh and I received the gift for our wedding, but had never opened it.
Let me tell you, it was a hit. I have not laughed so hard in a long time. Our foreign exchange student from Taiwan was in on the fun, and his 5'0" body was twisted beneath two of Clearwater Valley's 6'4" basketball stars. At one point the exchange student screamed, "You made me bite my lip!" Then he fell off the mat holding his lips.
The most memorable moment of this night however, did not involve dancing, or Twister, or photos, for that matter.
Halfway through our designated 3-hour event, the physics teacher found me and asked if I had seen a couple recently. Then we were on the hunt.
We did a lap around the outside of the school. Then we did a lap around the inside of the school. I walked through every couple on the dance floor. Nada.
This may seem like little cause for concern, but today, just today, this same couple snuck off school property...onto private property...to..."study."
I wasn't quite sure what to do.
There is a small hall closet on the back entrance of the stage. For some reason, my gut told me to try the door. I did.
And horror of horrors, I caught my very first high school couple in the middle of..."studying."
It was awful. I had no words. I simply pointed my finger at them, then waved that finger forward.
I wanted to vomit.
Eventually a parent came. I told my story. The physics teacher told his story. And the rest is history. The parent was taking both students home, though, and I would not be surprised to hear that one of the two had to walk home.
What a night! But despite the formal changing, Twister laughing, "study" busting that went on, today was a remarkable turnover from yesterday, and I'll take that as a step forward.
One thing this wonderful husband of mine has picked up on very quickly is that there are some duties of a teacher that also fall to the spouse, especially when the teacher is the yearbook adviser.
Sporting events, concerts, knowledge bowls, and dances have all become a part of our wedded bliss, and to be completely honest, are some of the only "date nights" we're able to squeeze in during this first year of mine at CVHS.
Tonight, in an attempt to raise money to off-set the cost of yearbooks, eleven students, two teachers, a counselor, Josh, and I put on a Winter Ball.
Announcements and posters stated the ball would be "semi-formal," a component chosen by my yearbook staff. Sitting at a table taking money from students was an entertaining treat, because we were right by the main entrance.
Girl after girl entered, took one look at the dressed-down boys, and ran to the bathroom screaming and covering as best they could the formal dresses and heels they were wearing. Then girl after girl exited the bathroom in basketball shorts and t-shirts.
All seemed satisfied, until about 30 minutes later. The entire escapade repeated, only girls were changing back into formal wear and heels, pranced around for about ten minutes, then ran shrieking back to the bathroom to once again don the baggy shorts and t-shirts.
I thought this would be the highlight of the evening, but I was pleasantly surprised.
Just before we left our house, I grabbed Twister from our cupboard to take along. Josh and I received the gift for our wedding, but had never opened it.
Let me tell you, it was a hit. I have not laughed so hard in a long time. Our foreign exchange student from Taiwan was in on the fun, and his 5'0" body was twisted beneath two of Clearwater Valley's 6'4" basketball stars. At one point the exchange student screamed, "You made me bite my lip!" Then he fell off the mat holding his lips.
The most memorable moment of this night however, did not involve dancing, or Twister, or photos, for that matter.
Halfway through our designated 3-hour event, the physics teacher found me and asked if I had seen a couple recently. Then we were on the hunt.
We did a lap around the outside of the school. Then we did a lap around the inside of the school. I walked through every couple on the dance floor. Nada.
This may seem like little cause for concern, but today, just today, this same couple snuck off school property...onto private property...to..."study."
I wasn't quite sure what to do.
There is a small hall closet on the back entrance of the stage. For some reason, my gut told me to try the door. I did.
And horror of horrors, I caught my very first high school couple in the middle of..."studying."
It was awful. I had no words. I simply pointed my finger at them, then waved that finger forward.
I wanted to vomit.
Eventually a parent came. I told my story. The physics teacher told his story. And the rest is history. The parent was taking both students home, though, and I would not be surprised to hear that one of the two had to walk home.
What a night! But despite the formal changing, Twister laughing, "study" busting that went on, today was a remarkable turnover from yesterday, and I'll take that as a step forward.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Everything's Going My Way
Because I grew up in the blessed land of wheat, I often find myself living the life of an "Oklahoma" poster child. I know every song by heart, and apply them to themes of daily life.
"Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day. I've got a beautiful feeling. Everything's going my way!"
I had this song on instant replay a'la delusion today as my world as an educator, as a wife, and as a friend crumbled right before my very eyes.
Now, I realize this is my second post of "woe is me," but if the purpose of blogging truly is to keep you all up to speed on the lives of us Idaho dwellers, as well as document life for the future family clan of Josh and Ashley Blain, then I figure not every day can be a happy one, right? I'm not trying to portray the perfect Brady Bunch family, because, let's face it, sometimes life just stinks.
Today...nope...this week has been rough. Last week was rough. I live with a 7Up can in hand 24/7, and Beptobismal within arms reach at all times. Truth be told, I have two bottles of that pink chalky stuff in my desk at school, and I drink it straight out of the bottle. The measuring cups are for amateurs.
During first hour today, my prep hour, a fellow teacher swung by for mindless chatter, but that chatter turned serious, and before I knew what was happening, she was crying and I was crying. Another teacher popper her head in, then she was crying.
The crisis? Loneliness of single parents. I couldn't even find words.
Yep, I started the day off on a heavy topic.
Second hour came, a boy got mad, stormed out of my room, tossed a few choice words over his shoulder, and then I couldn't find him. I had a class full of 10th graders, and one was MIA. I was livid, he was upset, and next week's detention will be a bit more full.
Third hour proved the true imperfections of my knowledge over the "Iliad." Curse you Homer.
Fourth hour ended with 16 students cussing my name for a failed pop quiz of "To Kill a Mockingbird." Believe me, if I was the mockingbird, I would have taken the bullet.
Fifth hour...was...stinky. Literally.
Senior English. Plus immaturity. Plus male humor. Plus burritos from lunch. PLUS a one-liter bottle of Pepsi. Yep- the loudest, most grotesque flatulent of human history. And the boy simply looked at me and said, "What?"
A full can of Lysol, that's what!
Sixth hour, there was no room in the inn. Truly. We went to one computer lab...pre-arranged, I might add...full. Lab number two. Full. Library? FULL.
"Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day."
Seventh hour. Yearbook. Should be a breeze.
Disaster. Yelling. Screaming. More storming off.
"I've got a beautiful feeling."
Student: "I don't even want to be in this stupid class!"
Nothing... is... going... my way.
To top everything off, Josh called to see how my day went, quickly assessed that it went poorly, and tried to brighten life with a bit of humor.
My response was most certainly not one of Carol Brady's.
My response was, "If you don't stop, I'm going to punch you through the phone."
There went my Wife of the Year Award.
This semester has started off so poorly. I ended the first semester of my career confident that teaching was the only profession for me, confident I would always love every single one of my students, and confident I would live through this first year as an English teacher. No wonder 50% of all first year teachers quit after that notorious year.
All I can say is, "Boooo!"
Tomorrow I'll be humming "I Will Survive," and might even possibly get the full lyrics tattooed to my buttocks. Just to remind myself every day is not a musical where the wind comes sweeping down the plains. Sometimes, every day just makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry until your tear ducts have dried out and your face gives the impression that it was stung by a very large bumble bee.
I don't have anything clever or humorous to add for a closing. If I had any energy at all the "crying it out" technique might actually sound appealing. But I think I'll just go to bed, let my husband hold me, and pray tomorrow is either much, much better than today was, or that I get the Swine Flu and can call in sick.
At this point, I'm not sure which is better.
"Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day. I've got a beautiful feeling. Everything's going my way!"
I had this song on instant replay a'la delusion today as my world as an educator, as a wife, and as a friend crumbled right before my very eyes.
Now, I realize this is my second post of "woe is me," but if the purpose of blogging truly is to keep you all up to speed on the lives of us Idaho dwellers, as well as document life for the future family clan of Josh and Ashley Blain, then I figure not every day can be a happy one, right? I'm not trying to portray the perfect Brady Bunch family, because, let's face it, sometimes life just stinks.
Today...nope...this week has been rough. Last week was rough. I live with a 7Up can in hand 24/7, and Beptobismal within arms reach at all times. Truth be told, I have two bottles of that pink chalky stuff in my desk at school, and I drink it straight out of the bottle. The measuring cups are for amateurs.
During first hour today, my prep hour, a fellow teacher swung by for mindless chatter, but that chatter turned serious, and before I knew what was happening, she was crying and I was crying. Another teacher popper her head in, then she was crying.
The crisis? Loneliness of single parents. I couldn't even find words.
Yep, I started the day off on a heavy topic.
Second hour came, a boy got mad, stormed out of my room, tossed a few choice words over his shoulder, and then I couldn't find him. I had a class full of 10th graders, and one was MIA. I was livid, he was upset, and next week's detention will be a bit more full.
Third hour proved the true imperfections of my knowledge over the "Iliad." Curse you Homer.
Fourth hour ended with 16 students cussing my name for a failed pop quiz of "To Kill a Mockingbird." Believe me, if I was the mockingbird, I would have taken the bullet.
Fifth hour...was...stinky. Literally.
Senior English. Plus immaturity. Plus male humor. Plus burritos from lunch. PLUS a one-liter bottle of Pepsi. Yep- the loudest, most grotesque flatulent of human history. And the boy simply looked at me and said, "What?"
A full can of Lysol, that's what!
Sixth hour, there was no room in the inn. Truly. We went to one computer lab...pre-arranged, I might add...full. Lab number two. Full. Library? FULL.
"Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day."
Seventh hour. Yearbook. Should be a breeze.
Disaster. Yelling. Screaming. More storming off.
"I've got a beautiful feeling."
Student: "I don't even want to be in this stupid class!"
Nothing... is... going... my way.
To top everything off, Josh called to see how my day went, quickly assessed that it went poorly, and tried to brighten life with a bit of humor.
My response was most certainly not one of Carol Brady's.
My response was, "If you don't stop, I'm going to punch you through the phone."
There went my Wife of the Year Award.
This semester has started off so poorly. I ended the first semester of my career confident that teaching was the only profession for me, confident I would always love every single one of my students, and confident I would live through this first year as an English teacher. No wonder 50% of all first year teachers quit after that notorious year.
All I can say is, "Boooo!"
Tomorrow I'll be humming "I Will Survive," and might even possibly get the full lyrics tattooed to my buttocks. Just to remind myself every day is not a musical where the wind comes sweeping down the plains. Sometimes, every day just makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry until your tear ducts have dried out and your face gives the impression that it was stung by a very large bumble bee.
I don't have anything clever or humorous to add for a closing. If I had any energy at all the "crying it out" technique might actually sound appealing. But I think I'll just go to bed, let my husband hold me, and pray tomorrow is either much, much better than today was, or that I get the Swine Flu and can call in sick.
At this point, I'm not sure which is better.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Some Needed Laughter
Today was a rough day. It started very early, included an all-staff meeting, and had me in tears before lunch. My wonderful husband text me to ask if there was anything he could do. My reply?
"Lunch?"
After a few very bold reminders from this man I get to call mine, some more tears, and a very organic lunch, the bell rang, Josh's cue to head out.
As students began to filter into my room, I hurriedly tried to finish a note for one of our congregants Josh was on his way to visit. After a flurry of hand motions and about four nanoseconds, it donned on me that liquid was trailing down my desk.
It was one of those moments where you're watching from what feels like outer space. Nothing could be done to stop the moment until Josh's voice broke into my head.
He said very somberly: "I'll just go."
I'm still not quite sure how it happened, but somehow Josh knocked over the almost-full can of 7Up sitting on my desk. Rather than simply spilling on the floor, it was unfortunate that, in fact, the bottom drawer of my desk was open, the drawer I just grabbed the card from. The drawer that just happened to be full of student finals, IEPs, and 504s. And they were sopping with clear stickiness meant to soothe the war going on in my lower intestines from the day's events.
I left the mess, finished writing my note, told Josh a good-bye, and turned to see 10 sets of eyes watching me.
I didn't say a word. They didn't say a word. We simply stared at each other.
Finally someone piped up, "He looked like he just got in trouble!" To which I said, "Probably because he thought he just got in trouble."
Then I burst out laughing, and my students burst out laughing, because my desk drawer began to urinate 7Up. And it was loud.
Suddenly, my day had no more room for tears or intestinal relapses. Just the "Iliad" and 10 seniors who have slipped into my heart, and who I am very honored to teach English.
I'll just have to save those tears for another day.
"Lunch?"
After a few very bold reminders from this man I get to call mine, some more tears, and a very organic lunch, the bell rang, Josh's cue to head out.
As students began to filter into my room, I hurriedly tried to finish a note for one of our congregants Josh was on his way to visit. After a flurry of hand motions and about four nanoseconds, it donned on me that liquid was trailing down my desk.
It was one of those moments where you're watching from what feels like outer space. Nothing could be done to stop the moment until Josh's voice broke into my head.
He said very somberly: "I'll just go."
I'm still not quite sure how it happened, but somehow Josh knocked over the almost-full can of 7Up sitting on my desk. Rather than simply spilling on the floor, it was unfortunate that, in fact, the bottom drawer of my desk was open, the drawer I just grabbed the card from. The drawer that just happened to be full of student finals, IEPs, and 504s. And they were sopping with clear stickiness meant to soothe the war going on in my lower intestines from the day's events.
I left the mess, finished writing my note, told Josh a good-bye, and turned to see 10 sets of eyes watching me.
I didn't say a word. They didn't say a word. We simply stared at each other.
Finally someone piped up, "He looked like he just got in trouble!" To which I said, "Probably because he thought he just got in trouble."
Then I burst out laughing, and my students burst out laughing, because my desk drawer began to urinate 7Up. And it was loud.
Suddenly, my day had no more room for tears or intestinal relapses. Just the "Iliad" and 10 seniors who have slipped into my heart, and who I am very honored to teach English.
I'll just have to save those tears for another day.
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