When you're a teacher, you have to be in control of yourself. You cannot let the sight of a flying granddaddy roach set you off.
I had my room sprayed earlier this year, and it's been fine ever since. I don't know if it's worn off or because it was rainy today, but in the middle of a game with a group of 4th graders, it emerged. I screamed, and then all the girls screamed (imagine 4th grade girl shrieks) and jumped up on the tables, and then the boys fell all over each other trying to stomp it. It escaped. I smartly snatched out my emergency can of Raid in case it was crazy and decided to come out again.
Once I finally got a semblance of order going on, it had to poke its barbarous head out again, and fly this time. Shrieks. A rush of boys bumping into each other. One grabbed the can and finally got it. It died. Then some boys picked the nasty thing up by its antenna and decided to swing it a little to spook the girls even more. "Throw it in the trash!" I tried to yell over the din.
In the end, I said, "Forget the game, we're having quiet time for the last five minutes. We've had enough excitement for one day, haven't we?" The nasty boys who touched the nasty thing lined up beside my desk for squirts of hand sanitizer. I shuddered at the thought that they could even fathom touching that cursed creature with their bare hands.
On the way out, one of the boys, roguishly grinning, said, "We had a good time today!" I can just imagine the dinner conversations tonight:
"What did you learn about in Spanish today, Johnny?"
"Not much. Our Spanish teacher freaked out when she saw a roach and the rest of the class was a disaster. But boy, we sure had a good time."
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Happy Birthday, Will!
I had a dorky Creative Writing instructor in college (on whom, inevitably, I had a pedagogical crush) who would always refer to William Shakespeare as Willie the Shake. That is painfully corny, but at the time I thought it was cute.Anyway, today is my boy's birthday! It dawned on me when I was teaching my middle schoolers how to say today's date in Spanish. Hoy es el veintítres de abril. Today is April 23rd. Wait a minute! Isn't it William Shakespeare's birthday? The look my 6th graders gave me said that they couldn't care less. They seemed a little more interested when I told them he also died on his birthday, though. What a birthday present, huh?
So, here's to you, man before your time, brilliant above many, creator of many loved and revered works of literature, the one and only Bard, William Shakespeare. Happy Birthday!
Citronella
Once I was talking to this guy, and a bug flew directly into my mouth.
This would only happen to me, of course. It was after church. I was in the midst of awkwardly trying to explain myself, having one of those conversations that one doesn't exactly reminisce about when dealing with members of the opposite sex--trying not to make him feel bad and trying not to make myself look dumb, when a bug flew into my mouth. I think I screamed and then started spitting, quite unfemininely, into the grass beside us. I must have been yelling, "Ugh! A bug flew into my mouth!" because, as I found out later, one of the observant, big-mouthed five-year-olds who witnessed these acts ran into the church and began loudly proclaiming them to everyone in the foyer within earshot. I think I also tried to regain my composure by apologizing and coolly saying, "Excuse me," and I don't think he knew how to react. Do I laugh? Act like it didn't happen?
Boy, these things are so much funnier in retrospect.
Anyway, I had put that episode in the "do not wish to remember" drawer in my brain. It happened maybe a month ago, so I really had put it out of my mind. But tonight, said guy hands me a box with four Citronella candles in it and says that he really felt impressed of God to give this to me. What? Citronella candles? He asks if I know what Citronella is for. I warily answer that they're for warding off bugs, of course. I'm still clueless. He said that I'd understand it better by and by and walked away. Then it hit me. Omg. Ol' bug in the mouth, back to haunt me! But at least I was laughing, gasping for air. It was funny. I'll give him that.
This would only happen to me, of course. It was after church. I was in the midst of awkwardly trying to explain myself, having one of those conversations that one doesn't exactly reminisce about when dealing with members of the opposite sex--trying not to make him feel bad and trying not to make myself look dumb, when a bug flew into my mouth. I think I screamed and then started spitting, quite unfemininely, into the grass beside us. I must have been yelling, "Ugh! A bug flew into my mouth!" because, as I found out later, one of the observant, big-mouthed five-year-olds who witnessed these acts ran into the church and began loudly proclaiming them to everyone in the foyer within earshot. I think I also tried to regain my composure by apologizing and coolly saying, "Excuse me," and I don't think he knew how to react. Do I laugh? Act like it didn't happen?
Boy, these things are so much funnier in retrospect.
Anyway, I had put that episode in the "do not wish to remember" drawer in my brain. It happened maybe a month ago, so I really had put it out of my mind. But tonight, said guy hands me a box with four Citronella candles in it and says that he really felt impressed of God to give this to me. What? Citronella candles? He asks if I know what Citronella is for. I warily answer that they're for warding off bugs, of course. I'm still clueless. He said that I'd understand it better by and by and walked away. Then it hit me. Omg. Ol' bug in the mouth, back to haunt me! But at least I was laughing, gasping for air. It was funny. I'll give him that.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Thanks to regular coffee and a late afternoon nap
I'm up at 11:59 p.m., rambling online. Two things are on my mind right now.
Number one: I don't want to think about the Virginia Tech shootings because it makes me feel sick. People in this world are so twisted, it defies all human rationale. And why was I shocked to find that the shooter was Asian? As much as I hop up on my soapbox, blasting away at human tendencies to buy stereotypes, I realize that I'm human too and harbor some of my own. Yes, the angry, young, sociopathic white male (the Columbine guys and Timothy McVeigh come to mind) is a stereotype too. May God help and comfort all of the people affected by this senselessness.
Number two: I was thinking about how much I love the accuracy of descriptive words. Like, instead of saying "he walked across the street" why not say "he ambled across the street" or "he loped across the street" or "he strode across the street" or "he shuffled across the street" or "he strolled across the street" or "he pranced across the street" or "he limped across the street" or "he cavorted across the street"? Each word has a different shade of meaning. I was thinking about how much I love that aspect of language. I also like when people use words that are more familiarly used to describe certain things applied to something else outside of that sphere. For example, we don't normally use the word "manic" to describe the behavior of characters in fairy tales, but if you think about it, it is such a fitting label for Rumplestiltskin's theatrics after the princess guesses his name correctly. When I read the aforementioned reference in an email today, it was that much more amusing because of that word. Manic. And it's also so much more fun to describe dumb actions using descriptive words. Like, instead of "that was dumb," why not say "that was asinine" or "that was imbecilic" or "that was inane"?
Look, I know I'm a nerd. I own up to it. I never denied it.
Number one: I don't want to think about the Virginia Tech shootings because it makes me feel sick. People in this world are so twisted, it defies all human rationale. And why was I shocked to find that the shooter was Asian? As much as I hop up on my soapbox, blasting away at human tendencies to buy stereotypes, I realize that I'm human too and harbor some of my own. Yes, the angry, young, sociopathic white male (the Columbine guys and Timothy McVeigh come to mind) is a stereotype too. May God help and comfort all of the people affected by this senselessness.
Number two: I was thinking about how much I love the accuracy of descriptive words. Like, instead of saying "he walked across the street" why not say "he ambled across the street" or "he loped across the street" or "he strode across the street" or "he shuffled across the street" or "he strolled across the street" or "he pranced across the street" or "he limped across the street" or "he cavorted across the street"? Each word has a different shade of meaning. I was thinking about how much I love that aspect of language. I also like when people use words that are more familiarly used to describe certain things applied to something else outside of that sphere. For example, we don't normally use the word "manic" to describe the behavior of characters in fairy tales, but if you think about it, it is such a fitting label for Rumplestiltskin's theatrics after the princess guesses his name correctly. When I read the aforementioned reference in an email today, it was that much more amusing because of that word. Manic. And it's also so much more fun to describe dumb actions using descriptive words. Like, instead of "that was dumb," why not say "that was asinine" or "that was imbecilic" or "that was inane"?
Look, I know I'm a nerd. I own up to it. I never denied it.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Auburn Trek
So, yesterday, I drove a 45-minute, rainy trek to Auburn U. Formerly known as "that other school." I had a meeting with the Graduate Director of the Spanish program to see when/if/how I could start taking grad classes this summer. My heart was throbbing heavily on the way. I was nervous. Hoping I'd get there on time and not get lost and be able to find a parking spot (if parking is anywhere near the way it was at UA).
I finally met with the gregarious Cuban director, and he told me that everything was good to go. He looked over my transcripts and GRE scores, he said everything looked great and that I've been accepted. All I needed to do now was enroll. Did I have any questions? Wow. That was . . . easy. No stress, no agonizing wait. That was it. I couldn't think of any questions then, but, "I'm sure I'll think of a million on the way home," I said jokingly.
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Let me tell you something. You are too smart to be a teacher, dealing with brats all day. I've seen your grades and your scores. You can and should be doing much, more more. You have the potential to go very far, you know that?" I laughingly explained that I really love my job, that it's great for now, but no, I never intended to work indefinitely, and that's why I'm here to further my education. I'm not going back to school because I'm trying to get out of teaching, like I feel it's beneath me. I love it, but I want to do more.
Just then, a tall, bronzed, modelesque guy strolled in. Wow, God, is this a sign or something? It turns out that he was a Spaniard, from the Canary Islands. He didn't have the Castillian lisp of the madrileños (inhabitants of Madrid), of course, but his accent and manner were unmistakably Spain Spanish nonetheless. His girlfriend wanted to go on the study abroad in Spain trip over the summer. Is it possible for her to go with Auburn since she's graduating from her school in Florida in May? It was wonderful to hear Cuban director and Spanish student engage. It was also refreshing to know that I could understand everything. Whew, I haven't lost my Spanish edge.
So, all I have to do is enroll. Director gave me the info on the classes they were offering during the Summer and Fall terms. I called Registration and got my PIN. Call director if I have any questions. That's it. But on the way home, other questions tumbled around as I gazed through windshield wipers. But the commute? (Don't even get me started on the ridiculousness of gas prices.) Classes starting a week before teaching school is over? Money? And then in the fall . . . teaching while taking classes? And . . . money? I'm pleased that I was accepted and that everyone was so friendly and helpful and that the whole process was a breeze. But now I have other decisions to make and other things to face and other plans to work out as a result.
Oh, and interesting postscript: BD is leaving our place of employment and going back to school too. Back to—yeah, you guessed it—Auburn. I have a feeling our paths will cross even less than they do now, though. I mean, Spanish and Microbiology have even less to do with one another than Spanish and Band. I have kept him abreast, and he's politely expressed excitement and congratulations for my desire to join the "War Eagle!" chant. But that's it.
I finally met with the gregarious Cuban director, and he told me that everything was good to go. He looked over my transcripts and GRE scores, he said everything looked great and that I've been accepted. All I needed to do now was enroll. Did I have any questions? Wow. That was . . . easy. No stress, no agonizing wait. That was it. I couldn't think of any questions then, but, "I'm sure I'll think of a million on the way home," I said jokingly.
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Let me tell you something. You are too smart to be a teacher, dealing with brats all day. I've seen your grades and your scores. You can and should be doing much, more more. You have the potential to go very far, you know that?" I laughingly explained that I really love my job, that it's great for now, but no, I never intended to work indefinitely, and that's why I'm here to further my education. I'm not going back to school because I'm trying to get out of teaching, like I feel it's beneath me. I love it, but I want to do more.
Just then, a tall, bronzed, modelesque guy strolled in. Wow, God, is this a sign or something? It turns out that he was a Spaniard, from the Canary Islands. He didn't have the Castillian lisp of the madrileños (inhabitants of Madrid), of course, but his accent and manner were unmistakably Spain Spanish nonetheless. His girlfriend wanted to go on the study abroad in Spain trip over the summer. Is it possible for her to go with Auburn since she's graduating from her school in Florida in May? It was wonderful to hear Cuban director and Spanish student engage. It was also refreshing to know that I could understand everything. Whew, I haven't lost my Spanish edge.
So, all I have to do is enroll. Director gave me the info on the classes they were offering during the Summer and Fall terms. I called Registration and got my PIN. Call director if I have any questions. That's it. But on the way home, other questions tumbled around as I gazed through windshield wipers. But the commute? (Don't even get me started on the ridiculousness of gas prices.) Classes starting a week before teaching school is over? Money? And then in the fall . . . teaching while taking classes? And . . . money? I'm pleased that I was accepted and that everyone was so friendly and helpful and that the whole process was a breeze. But now I have other decisions to make and other things to face and other plans to work out as a result.
Oh, and interesting postscript: BD is leaving our place of employment and going back to school too. Back to—yeah, you guessed it—Auburn. I have a feeling our paths will cross even less than they do now, though. I mean, Spanish and Microbiology have even less to do with one another than Spanish and Band. I have kept him abreast, and he's politely expressed excitement and congratulations for my desire to join the "War Eagle!" chant. But that's it.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
I (Heart) Don Miller
It’s finally happened. I’ve fallen head over heels, completely, deeply, in love. I have developed a seriously passionate literary attachment to Donald Miller. Yes, Donald Miller. Of Blue Like Jazz fame.I inhaled his book Searching for God Knows What a week or so ago, and I was inspired by another avid reader/blogger to read To Own a Dragon, a book Miller wrote about growing up without a father. I devoured it like it was Sara Lee strawberry cheesecake ice cream with a graham cracker ribbon. And if you know me, you'd know that means a lot. I also picked up his book Through Painted Deserts, a chronicle of his road trip from Houston to Portland, which I’m sure I’ll down in similar fashion.
There is something mesmerizing, raw, and alive about the way he writes. It grabs something deep inside of me that makes my gut ache with recognition. I know that pain. I know that doubt. I know that insecurity. I know that revelation. His writing makes me tear up with yearning. I want to find my place in His story. I’m tired of checking boxes—I really want to know Him. I want true relationship. I want to fall in love with Him. He always cautions against tearing the poetic out of the spiritual. I don't want to reduce it to a formula.
There is something so sexy about a well-read man who has a way with words. Not just well-read, not just a way with words, but gutsy and honest. Earthy and sensitive at the same time. The fact that the subject at hand is God-centered is important too. One who probes the theological to try to come to an understanding rather than one who flatly and patly belts it out as though he’s got it all figured out is also attractive. But not just attractive, it’s real. And I don’t even know Don Miller for real. Yet, I’m smitten.
Perhaps, weirdly, I, the indecisive, ever-fickle me, am coming to a slow realization of what I really want. What really and truly matters to me. It’s not Don Miller per se. But maybe the tip of the iceberg is that it’s the essence of him, of what he’s passionate about, that so unwaveringly draws me in.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
No, Parent
No, parent. My classroom is not your cell phone-talking hangout just because my door is open and I have a break. No, parent. I mean, you can come in and check out my room (which I’m more than happy to show off), but flippantly meandering in here, mouthing your need of a pen (without a greeting), invading and poking (while still talking) and finally eliciting an annoyed, “Um, do you need something to write on?” from me is not cool. No, parent.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Blind
I know it's kind of unoriginal to post song lyrics, but this song by Third Day (Have I mentioned I love Third Day?) has been ringing through my mind for the longest:Each and every single day
I was throwing life away with questions
Searching for a better way
Always looking in the wrong direction
My heart I could not trust
'Cause it lies to me too much
And my mind just couldn't
Understand it all
Chorus:
Chorus:
How could I have been so blind to not see You?
The more I look the more I find
You've led me to the truth
That I am nothing if I'm without You
You opened my eyes and helped me to find
How could I have been so blind?
I have fallen once again
Evidently made the wrong decision
Stumbling in the dark
Now I need you here to be my vision
My heart I cannot trust
'Cause it lies to me so much
And my mind just cannot
Understand it all
Understand it all
You took my heart and You changed it
With your words of life
You took my eyes and You opened them
And gave me sight
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