Superlong Awesome Post...

...pending on SUSAN. Susan get your ass in gear and send me those photos!

Here is your alternate "Happy Halloween" post.

Tre'vonne's seat is right in front of my favorite place to stand in the classroom, so he is privy to some of my muttered rants and quiet musings. Sometimes, I say really strange things in the middle of a lesson just to see if anyone is listening. Usually, only Tre'vonne is. I know this because he'll catch my eye for a split second, smile faintly, then shake his head.

Likewise, I get to hear Tre'vonne when he talks to himself. He'll comment on the idiocy of a classmate or the quirks of his teacher. At certain points, we engage in these "private" conversations that really wouldn't be private at all outside of my classroom. What I mean is this: even though there are usually no less than 25 pairs of roaming eyes within my walls, the chaos of the classroom shrouds us in a weird sort of isolation sometimes. Am I making any sense? I've often thought that if I picked the right moment during the block, I could change clothes at the front of the classroom without anyone noticing. There's just that much going on in the room.

Anyways.

Today after lunch I was muttering something along the lines of "What in the world kind of place is this? Are we in some sort of parallel universe where this is normal activity for a school? What are these kids ON? They're acting like..."

As I struggled to find an appropriate simile, Tre'vonne (without looking at me) finished my sentence.

"Children of the corn." He looked around the room and shook his head. "I mean I know it be Halloween and errthang but DAMN."

I know what you're thinking. That doesn't look like her group of boys at all! You're right. My boys wouldn't be caught DEAD in those button-downs. Unless they were Polo, of course.

TMI stands for Too Much Information and Terrible Mental Image

I'm helping Tre'Sean and Je'Cory with their worksheet on geologic time. Tre'Sean stands up to re-tuck his shirt/tug up his pants when I catch sight of something strange...

Was that?

Did I just see?

Tre'vonne turns around from the front row and says out loud what I'm thinking in my head: "Bruh. You got on silk drawers??"

I hide my face behind my paper and bite my lip.

"Yeah bruh!" Tre'Sean answers.

"Was dey....RED WIT WHITE HEARTS??"

"Yeah!"

I am now laughing audibly, for indeed; red, shiny sateen boxers are blousing out from Tre'Sean's pants. Like the cheesy ones you see at Wal-Mart around Valentine's Day.

"BRUH. Whatchu doin' wit them things?" Tre'vonne is laughing with me.

"Mann dat silk feel GOOD on your butthole!"

"UMMMM....Excuse me??" I say. "Do you not see me standing right here? Did you not remember that your FEMALE TEACHER was in the middle of helping you with your timeline??"

Ughhhh. There's nothing quite like the charismatic charm of a 13-year-old boy.

B U L L E T P R O O F

During a workshop I was required to attend as part of my teacher inservice, we learned all about how to use music in the classroom. It is great as a "launch button" to tell kids when to get up, move, talk, stop talking, etc. If they know they're supposed to ______ when they hear the music, you don't have to yell over the din; all you do is press play.

A few other advantages they listed:

1. Music can set a positive tone in the classroom

2. Music can be a great way to build culture

3. Music can be used as a reward system

4. Light background noise actually helps today's generation concentrate

5. Using your kids' music during class shows you care about them (although I'm pretty sure playing even the mildest Gucci or Waka song could get me fired in a heartbeat)

That's super. The reason I use music in the classroom:

It improves my mental health.

Last year I played Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" every day during warm-up to distract myself from the fact that I was in living hell brighten my spirits. Eventually the boys sang along and loved it. Today I introduced a new one:

(here)

Picture it, if you will. My speakers are on as loud as they can go. My expo marker is my microphone, and the aisles between the desks are my stage. I may or may not be wearing a cardigan, but you can bet your life I have on teacher flats. Twenty-eight pairs of eyes shift nervously from their questions on convection currents to their semi-crazed teacher. Or is that Lady Gaga? Tina Turner? Stevie Nicks?

These comments:

"UGHHH. Ms. M What IS DIS?!?"

"Turn it off, dis WACK. Play sum Drake or somethin.' Man dat old crap you play in tha mornins is better than THIS mess."

Turned quickly to these comments:

"Aight hey can you play dat again?"

"Man who sings this?"

"Dis my JAM!"

By the end of the day, kids were jogging past me on the bus lot fist-pumping and singing, "THIS TIME MS. M I'LL BE....BULLETPROOF!"

Breakfast of Champions

"Ms. M! CAN I BORROW YOUR PHONE??" Jeffrey asks me as soon as he walks in the door Thursday morning.

"Um. Why?"

"BECAUSE I LEFT THE OVEN ON 425 WHEN I LEFT THE HOUSE AND LOCKED THE DOOR BEHIND ME!!"

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah go get my phone from the top drawer of my desk."

Jeffrey returns to the door a few minutes later, phone in tow. "No answer," he said with a shrug.

"Well I hope you don't return to a pile of ashes this afternoon. Just what exactly were you cooking in a 425 degree oven at seven in the morning?"

"Fish sticks."

Duh.

don-tizzle

Mama is ALL TALK and NO ACTION. No secret hideaways or surprise-ambushes. I should have known though. I mean, if Mama was really as tough as she pretended to be on the phone, would her son act like a donkey at school?

Probably not.

Today in third block I asked the kids to draw a bird's-eye view of the classroom to illustrate remote sensing. It was fairly quiet in there for THAT class (meaning only 5 people were talking and the rest were merely making strange noises, beating on the desk, farting and/or humming). "Okay, I want you to draw what a bird would see if he were flying over your heads right now! What would a bird see?"

"A buncha 'special' children," Brandon said under his breath. I bit my lip to stifle a giggle.

I pulled Dontravius out of class while the rest were "doing their work."

Let me give Dontravius some context. He was suspended from days 2-12 for fighting. The day he returned he almost started another fight in my room. The Warm-Up that particular day was to reflect on your performance in science thus far. I found Dontravius' on the floor after he left, balled up. It said, "I haven't done anything well yet. I just got back. I need to change my attitude and my grades. I need to try my best and do good in here."

The next day I returned it to him with a note on it that told him I was proud of him for being honest and I wanted to help him reach those goals; to let me know if there was any way I could help him. When I put it on his desk, he picked it up. "What the hell is this?" He read it, laughed and pushed it aside. For the rest of class he was an ass. He'd smirk when I'd get frustrated, make fun of the students who would comply with my directions, etc. etc. He's been no better ever since.

ANYWAYS. Today he strolled in 15 minutes late sans pencil or paper, plopped down, put his feet up on the desk and went on an expletive-filled rant about how "wack" RMS is. I called him out in the hall and took a deep breath. Was there anything I could say to him that would even phase him? This dude is a notorious "thug" at our school. He's always suspended, always cussing out teachers and starting fights. He's gotten lectured and yelled at more in the past 3 years than I probably have in my life total. What could I say that hadn't already been said--a million times over. I looked up at him and began slowly.

"Dontravius...I read on your student survey that you wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer. Is that right?" He nodded. "Okay. I don't know if anyone's ever told you this before...but that is NEVER going to happen unless something changes. Doctors don't curse at people in the office and start fights with their employees. Lawyers don't push over chairs and throw stuff across the courtroom. You are perfectly capable of being either one, but only IF you start acting right. How can you make good enough grades to get into college when you're acting like a total fool already in 8th grade? It's not going to get easier!"

"How was I acting like a fool?"

Seriously!?

"Well, wandering around the room while I was teaching...refusing to do the work...yelling...instigating things with classmates...I mean....Dontravius do you really not know what you were doing five minutes ago?"

He shook his head.

"Well maybe I'm the first person to tell you, but this shit's not gonna fly in med school. You need to fix this NOW before it's too late." Whoops. I said I wasn't going to cuss this year.

Dontravius marched his happy ass into class and took down every single note I gave them. He didn't interrupt once. Well, except at the end when I was explaining how to chart reflectance curves (kill me). I sat down to let them practice and he came up to my desk.

"Uh, I need yo help."

"Yeah that's funny because I explained how to do it when you were turned around in your chair at the end, talking to Jaequon."

He gave me a blank look, paper still held out. Sigh. How was I going to turn him away when he finally cared enough about something school-related to get out of his desk and walk the three feet to me to ask a question? As the rest of the class fell to chaos, Dontravius and I got our spectral analysis on.

Lord, show me how to love Dontravius with the same patience you love me.

Sweet Home Alamabama

It is embarrassing how devastated I was by Alabama's loss Saturday. I should have just taken the weekend for what it was--a great weekend away to catch up with old friends and relax. Instead, Saturday night consisted of me avoiding TVs/internets, sitting on the coach bemoaning life, gorging myself on delicious/heart-attack-inducing dips (Thanks Megan), and desperately trying to get in touch with people who would gladly join me in wallowing in misery.

If I thought walking down the ramps of the stadium after the game afforded me enough crap-talking to last a lifetime, I was wrong. The taunts and key-jangling I received there were NOTHING compared to what awaited me at RMS Monday. From the time the 8:15 bell rang 'til the kids left at 4:00, there was not a moment where I wasn't reminded of the score, Alabama's record, Alabama's rank, the grim stats...

When I walked into the classroom first block, I was greeted by a mural on my whiteboard consisting of me wearing an Alabama shirt, tears streaming down my face and the score repeated over and over in the background. The banner over the whole scene read: "Alamabama got KILLED by South Carolina!!!"

Yes, you read that right. Alamabama.

"That's really great, " Mr. M said sincerely when he walked in after school and saw the whiteboard.

"Yeah, yeah congratulations on Ohio State taking the lead," I sighed.

"No, no I'm talking about the kids caring so much about your team!"

"Ummm, did you READ what they wrote? Did you HEAR them today?"

"Yes. But that's how they show they care about you. They don't know how to say, 'hey, sorry your team lost' because no one's ever talked to them that way. They just have to show you the only way they know how. I promise it's a good thing!"

Maybies.

Stay tuned. I called about 9287983 parents tonight (man there were some good ringback tones) and one of them is actually going to come to school, hide in the closet to observe her hellion-of-a-son, then surprise ambush him in the middle of class. I kid you not. I'm like a kid the night before Christmas morning; I can't WAIT!

TELL ME WHY...

...the same kid who punched me yesterday showed up at my door second block today???

Apparently, it's ok to hit teachers at RMS. Way to send a great message to the rest of the class.

"Ummm, that would be a NO." I told him, giving him a dramatic "STOP" signal.

"What you talkin' about?" he asked innocently.

"You can't come in here."

"Dis my class. Where you want me to go??"

"That's really not my problem. Bye."

If administration isn't going to do anything with him, then I'm not either.

Off to South Carolina to watch the TIDE play. Deuces.

My classroom? Or WWE Raw?

I got smacked in the head by a student today.

Yes, that is a true statement.

In other news:

Student #1: "Ms. M you be lookin' FRESH today! Dat curly hair a BEAST an you ROCKIN dem skinnies!"

Student #2: "Yeahh bruh you like dat outfit, aye? I picked it out fo her dis mornin.'"

When I showed them my middle school bowl-cut picture:

"She got dat military fade!!"

Back to the smacking of the head.

Let me just say this: I'm tired of boys trying to act all hard by bowing up on their classmates, then just standing there making threats. Um, you look stupid and you're causing a scene and you're wasting my time. Either stop it, or actually hit someone. I've taken to getting in between them (Because they CERTAINLY aren't hard enough to smack a female teacher. I thought.) and shoving one away until another student or two steps in and helps me get one out the door. So here I am, thinking I'm all trill, and I get smacked in the head.

It wasn't intentional. He was trying to hit the other guy. But he definitely missed, and the rest of the class freaked out on him. "MANNNNN YOU JUST HIT HER!!!! YOU JUST HIT OUR TEACHER!!!" Yes. You just hit your teacher.

I should have milked that one for all it was worth. I should have flung myself on the floor and cried and gotten a month's leave with pay. I should have limped and demanded medical attention. Instead, I called security, rolled my eyes and continued my lecture on natural selection.

Homeboy strolls back through to pick up his stuff on his way to ISS and I tell him to "Get your stuff and get out of here NOW." To which he responds: [nasal white girl high-pitched voice] "Git yer stuff and git outta here NOW!"

Kill.

That definitely sealed the deal, though. I marched that referral right up to the princiPAL's office and explained to her that I had gotten violently assaulted by a student. See ya in 10 days, SUCKER. Good riddance.

Want to know my mom's response to this story? "You got hit in the head? Where?"

"Um...on the side?"

"Oh. Goodness. Could you send me Susan's email so I can pass it along to Mrs. Moore?"

I was hoping for more of an, "OH MY GOSH! ARE YOU OKAY?? I CAN'T BELIEVE THE HORRORS YOU DEAL WITH ON A DAILY BASIS!! HOW DO YOU DO IT!?!?! YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF THAT PLACE IMMEDIATELY!! I AM CONCERNED FOR YOUR SAFETY!!"

But my mom's never one for big reactions. And besides getting punched in the skull, today was a pretty good day!

Down in the Double Dumps

"Yes, this year might be crazy. But I just have to remember that last year was crazier. And that at the end of the day, it's ok. It's OK that they're crazy because they're going to be crazy whether you're a good teacher or not. The difference between this year and last is that I'm not taking everything so personally. I don't go home upset at the end of school. I haven't cried once this year!"

That was me talking to my dad yesterday. I had had a pretty long day where I timed six children out of the classroom and broke up an almost-fight between two football players. I was on my way home and the weather was pretty and I didn't have much more work to do for the night. I was feeling pretty good. Proud of myself for not letting things get to me like they used to. Yes, that's the difference between this year and last. No tears.

Welll...opened my mouth too soon again, because where did 5th block find me today? Hiding from the windows at the back of the room, sniffling away.

White people are emotional. That's what all my black colleagues tell me. We're too sensitive, apparently. What difference should it make if adolescent CHILDREN disrespect you and say mean things to you all day long? You are an adult...get over it. I guess due to my melodramatic tendencies, it's just wayy easier to indulge in a little self-pity. I work so hard and spend all my time for these ungrateful children who ignore all my kind gestures but can't let go of their bitterness when I try to correct them!

Gosh, that sounds so familiar...where have I seen that before...wait, I've got this one...OH, ME. I did that to my parents all growing up (sorry Mom, sorry Daddy). I do it to my heavenly father on a daily basis. Sorry Jesus.

Also, let's be serious. Even though half the time I tell them they need to ________ (listen/focus/shut up/quit punching each other/stop throwing things/do work/pay attention/wake up/get off the counters) for their own good, mostly I just want them to do all those things for my own good. So I can have some sanity. Not so they can become better people.

I will close by telling you two quick anecdotes--one scary, one funny.

Scary first, 'cause it's almost Halloween: Essa is being a jerk (that's the nicest word I could use here). He laughs when I get upset. He makes fun of my sweet little babies who never do anything wrong. He acts like because he is good at running track he is god of RMS. Oh yeah, and he's twelve. TWELVE!! He is a leedle child. Anyways. I called his dad's number today but he didn't answer. He called me back a few minute later and left this message (in a very deep, very African-accented voice): "Nevah call dees numbah. NEVAH EVAH call dees numbah ageen."

Okay?? I was just going to tell you your son told me to 'fuck off'!? But nevermind??

Funny: "Ms. M. How do you pronounce your last name? Can I just call you double D?"

I laugh, but he clearly doesn't see the humor in what he just proposed. "Ummm...I don't know about that one...I don't know if it...suits me."

"I like it! Imma call you Ms. Double-D."

Pride comes before the...

This weekend, I returned home for the football game. Friday night I went out with some old friends. Back when I was a young sprite, I would get my G&T at the bar and charge straight to the dance floor where I would immediately take it upon myself to be the band's personal backup dancer. I'm sure they truly appreciated it.

Now that I'm old and world-weary, I generally get a Michelob Ultra at the bar and proceed to make fun of people for doing the exact same thing I just described. Well, this Friday there was plenty to ridicule. Drunk girls teetered on their heels and tried desperately to locate the beat of the songs, skeezy guys flocked to them and latched on with frightening determination. One dude was so into his "dance" that he started biting his lip and closing his eyes while jabbing the air spastically with his hands. Trying to be hilarious, I sidled up to him and began to join him in his seizure-like display. It worked. Suz and Will were doubled over. Feeling pretty good about myself, I really threw my heart and soul into the performance...not realizing just moments before Suz had spilled her entire drink on the very spot my 6-inch heels were shuffling on.

You know the next part. By the time my feet flew out from under me and my bottom smacked against the concrete floor, homeboy had already turned around to see his mocker. She was sitting with her legs straight out in front of here and a surprised look on her face, entire backside covered in bar sludge. Guess I got what was coming to me. If I thought Susan and Will were laughing before, it was nothing compared to the fits they were in now.

This morning: "What happened to your wrist Ms. M?"

Well kids, I fell in a friend's Sabanade puddle at a bar while dancing with an inebriated 19-year-old fraternity guy!!

"Sprained it when I was crocheting pot holders this weekend. I'll be fine."

What are these children eating for breakfast?

Speed?

Surge?

Cat nip?

Whatever it is, I need it. They come in in the mornings talking a mile a minute and bouncing off the mother effing walls. Mrs. J suggested we feed them Niquil in the mornings and tell them it's candy, which would be a brilliant idea if it weren't so expensive.

I kid, I kid.

Ms. S stopped me in the halls today. She's our science facilitator, and she's very difficult to please. I like her, but last year I always got the feeling she didn't really like what she saw in my classroom. Hell, can I blame her? I didn't really like what I saw (heard, felt, experienced) in there either. ANYWAYS. Today she greeted me with a grin and announced that she had just seen my data (aka my students' growth data and EOG scores) from last year.

"It was really good. Impressive for a first year teacher."

Whaaa?

Huhhh??

Now if THAT'S not evidence that God is good and that he WILL accomplish great things under the most doubtful circumstances (through the most incompetent people)...then I don't know what is. Sometimes I think that's one of the reasons last year was so terrible. If it had been good or easy, I know I would have been tempted to think that it was because I had done something right or possessed some kind of merit.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever.