This week has already been an experiment in survival and it's only Wednesday.
In addition to a very nice field trip which some aggravating parent decisions rendered stressful for me, my kid is sick. She never gets sick. In her nearly 2 years of life, she's had a round of antibiotics exactly once. Therefore it's hard to know what to do to make her feel better because we've had to do it so rarely.
And did I mention I'm 27 weeks pregnant? If you've never done that, it's not so fun. This is the point where things start getting uncomfortable. I can't move or bend like I would like to, I can't hold my kid in certain ways, I have ver little lap for her and Gus to share. And since it's the second go around things that weren't such a bother last time like round ligament pain and Braxton Hicks contractions really seriously hurt and suck schweddy monkey balls.
And the husband has the creeping crud and is even less helpful around tha house than usual which means that instead of contributing in very minor ways to cleaning up his own messes, he's leaving them and making them bigger than ever. Why does he need to keep 4 pairs of dirty socks on the couch? Why?
Then today my to-do list at work grew by leaps and bounds, mostly from being voluntold to do various things. When people schedule things for me to attend or incorporate into my own overfull schedule, I get cranky. I was stuck in a meeting having the same conversation about the same aspect of curriculum that I've now had at least 5 times. I'm not sure if TPTB think that the learning curve on this particular math program is that steep or if they are just trying to find some way to fill our time other than letting us use it to accomplish some of the million things they want us to do during the day without actually allocating the time that accomplishing them requires. Thanks for that.
The Squirt has poison ivy. I didn't even know what poison ivy looked like. I've never gotten it and am pretty sure I'm immune to it. I KNOW I've come into contact with it many times but never had a rash or anything. The Husband is the same way. So then last night we noticed a couple of little red bumps on The Squirt that we first dismissed as bug bites because she loves to play outside right now. Then tonight when she requested bathtime and got nekkid, we noticed that her 3 or 4 spots had turned into 10-12. So, knowing her Papa has some sort of rash situation going on that his regular doctor couldn't identify but was supposed to be seen by a dermatologist today, we called to find out what his diagnosis is, and bingo, poison ivy. So thank goodness for Uncle Mike in Georgia who is hyper allergic to it and was able to confirm for us that the poor kid is indeed itchy and miserable.... and despite not inheriting her Mommy and Daddy's resistance to poison ivy, she did inherit her daddy's odd reaction to benadryl, meaning the medicine that should make her comfortable, less itchy and sleepy renders her hyper as a loon.
Mommy needs a break, people. And a burrito. And probably some cookie dough ice cream.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
When you Kick a Puppy
My enjoyable co-workers and I have been struggling for the last month to deal with no longer being in an abusive relationship. As I looked around a meeting this morning and listened to our new Fearless Leader say without directly saying that we didn't need to fear being treated and suspected of wrongdoing constantly as we had in previous regimes, it occured to me that the public school teacher is, on the whole, a kicked puppy.
You've seen them on the ASPCA ads. The big, sweet eyed puppy cowering in the corner, terrified of the kind hand of rescue being offered because some soulless monstrosity of a person had kicked him too many times and like anyone with motives as pure as a puppy's, he didn't understand why the person whose acceptance he craved was hurting him. Oh my, at 6 months pregnant, even visualizing that and typing it up made me tear up a bit.
Teachers are beat down. We are now universally held accountable not only for teaching reading, writing and 'rithmatic, but for raising American children, teaching their parents to parent, providing meals to those whose parents can't or won't do it, urging parents/doctors/diagnosticians to identify disabilities, teaching morality and ethics and thinking and in too many cases lately, toilet training to 5 and 6 year olds. And when our superhero powers fail us, the "system" cuts our pay, points fingers at us, kicks us and generally treats us with malice and suspicion that is unwarranted in most cases.
Of course there are bad eggs. There are bad eggs in any profession. But I'd wager that the vast, vast majority of teachers are not bad eggs. They're sincerely trying to do the best they can to educate little friends and teach them how to function in a safe and healthy environment. Without this sincere desire to touch the life of a child with something other than a fist or a kick, there'd be no reason for a teacher to take the abuse that's heaped on us daily when we could trot our merry rear ends to the private sector for better pay, better benefits and more respect.
I posted something on Facebook the other day about wishing I subscribed to a religion that had more work holidays, and a high school friend asked if having three months a year off wasn't enough.... I think this illustrates perfectly that most Americans hold us accountable for a job they don't understand and could never do themselves, but believe they know more about than we, the ones doing the job, do. I don't have three months off. Never have. Probably never will. I could do like others and go through accounting for all the time and energy I expend in my job that others don't have- even trivial things like not purchasing wine or liquor in a store where a child that knows me from school might see me. Think an engineer has to worry about whether or not his Friday night 6-pack purchase might offend a co-worker to the point that he's profiled and demonized on the evening news, written up for ethical issues and in fear of losing his job? Likely not. But teaching, like being a pastor, is a vocation. It's a life. It's all encompassing. I don't turn it off when 4:00 comes around and I head home.
Teachers are beaten up. But from what I see, we're not broken down. We're working our collective heinies off to try to compensate for an educational system that doesn't see children as unique, expressive and fallible humans but as machines and for whom The Almighty Dollar runs the show. But that doesn't make us stop tying shoes and wiping noses. We can't abandon the needs that we see. We show up every day hoping that there's news saying that the pendulum is swinging back into the realm of sane expectations, parent responsibility and reasonable accoutability standards from the insanity of No Child Left Behind and its ramifications. But even until it does, and hopefully it will, we still plan, prepare and teach.
It sure would be nice if more people like our new boss would make the choice to stop kicking us when we're down and instead choose to row the boat along with us as we continue gently down the stream, merrily waiting for when life will be a dream.
You've seen them on the ASPCA ads. The big, sweet eyed puppy cowering in the corner, terrified of the kind hand of rescue being offered because some soulless monstrosity of a person had kicked him too many times and like anyone with motives as pure as a puppy's, he didn't understand why the person whose acceptance he craved was hurting him. Oh my, at 6 months pregnant, even visualizing that and typing it up made me tear up a bit.
Teachers are beat down. We are now universally held accountable not only for teaching reading, writing and 'rithmatic, but for raising American children, teaching their parents to parent, providing meals to those whose parents can't or won't do it, urging parents/doctors/diagnosticians to identify disabilities, teaching morality and ethics and thinking and in too many cases lately, toilet training to 5 and 6 year olds. And when our superhero powers fail us, the "system" cuts our pay, points fingers at us, kicks us and generally treats us with malice and suspicion that is unwarranted in most cases.
Of course there are bad eggs. There are bad eggs in any profession. But I'd wager that the vast, vast majority of teachers are not bad eggs. They're sincerely trying to do the best they can to educate little friends and teach them how to function in a safe and healthy environment. Without this sincere desire to touch the life of a child with something other than a fist or a kick, there'd be no reason for a teacher to take the abuse that's heaped on us daily when we could trot our merry rear ends to the private sector for better pay, better benefits and more respect.
I posted something on Facebook the other day about wishing I subscribed to a religion that had more work holidays, and a high school friend asked if having three months a year off wasn't enough.... I think this illustrates perfectly that most Americans hold us accountable for a job they don't understand and could never do themselves, but believe they know more about than we, the ones doing the job, do. I don't have three months off. Never have. Probably never will. I could do like others and go through accounting for all the time and energy I expend in my job that others don't have- even trivial things like not purchasing wine or liquor in a store where a child that knows me from school might see me. Think an engineer has to worry about whether or not his Friday night 6-pack purchase might offend a co-worker to the point that he's profiled and demonized on the evening news, written up for ethical issues and in fear of losing his job? Likely not. But teaching, like being a pastor, is a vocation. It's a life. It's all encompassing. I don't turn it off when 4:00 comes around and I head home.
Teachers are beaten up. But from what I see, we're not broken down. We're working our collective heinies off to try to compensate for an educational system that doesn't see children as unique, expressive and fallible humans but as machines and for whom The Almighty Dollar runs the show. But that doesn't make us stop tying shoes and wiping noses. We can't abandon the needs that we see. We show up every day hoping that there's news saying that the pendulum is swinging back into the realm of sane expectations, parent responsibility and reasonable accoutability standards from the insanity of No Child Left Behind and its ramifications. But even until it does, and hopefully it will, we still plan, prepare and teach.
It sure would be nice if more people like our new boss would make the choice to stop kicking us when we're down and instead choose to row the boat along with us as we continue gently down the stream, merrily waiting for when life will be a dream.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The One Where I Laughed A Lot
Today I had a cherubic little friend who kept calling me "Miss Teacher Person." Well, I grew tired of it, and invited him to come talk to me during snack time. I told him that if I could remember his name, that it would be very nice if he could remember mine, too. Here's how that went....(changing first name for privacy purposes)
Me: Georgie, if I can remember your name, don't you think you could remember mine?
Georgie: No, maybe not.
Ok.... well, then later on the guidance counselor was checking the bus roster on his bus to make sure everyone was where they should be. When she got to Georgie, she asked him what his name was.
Georgie: Georgie Davis.
Counselor: Georgie Davis? I don't see anyone on the list named Georgie Davis? Are you sure your last name is Davis?
Georgie: Yes, I'm Georgie Davis.
Counselor: Do you mean you're in Mrs. Davis' class?
Georgie: Yeah.
Well, so I think we've solved the problem of him forgetting MY name. The question remains as to whether or not he knows who HE is.
Me: Georgie, if I can remember your name, don't you think you could remember mine?
Georgie: No, maybe not.
Ok.... well, then later on the guidance counselor was checking the bus roster on his bus to make sure everyone was where they should be. When she got to Georgie, she asked him what his name was.
Georgie: Georgie Davis.
Counselor: Georgie Davis? I don't see anyone on the list named Georgie Davis? Are you sure your last name is Davis?
Georgie: Yes, I'm Georgie Davis.
Counselor: Do you mean you're in Mrs. Davis' class?
Georgie: Yeah.
Well, so I think we've solved the problem of him forgetting MY name. The question remains as to whether or not he knows who HE is.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Less Effective Management of Herds of 5 Year Olds: A Treatise
Each year, kindergarten teachers greet their newest crop of little ones and walk out the door on the first day with the same general consensus:
Kindergarten showcases the reasons why humans don't have litters. Nobody sane can handle 21 five year olds in one room.
Today we were off to the races for the 2011-2012 school year, and what a send off it was! Having had approximately 1/32 the needed amount of time to actually prepare physically and emotionally for the first day of K due to Virginia's rapidly deteriorating reputation with natural disasters, I entered my room with at least a vague notion of what I was doing (a nice side effect of staying in the same grade 2 years in a row for a change). I had a to-do list for the day, I was ready to get the things that needed doing done.
Of course, by 9:15 I couldn't find the damn list so I resorted to just flying by the seat of my pants, only to find the list right there. In my pants. Well, in the pocket. Sort of like the lost-glasses-on-the-head trick.
So we alternated between reading stories and using the different items of interest around the room, letting the little ones explore and experience this new environment where they will spend so many hours until June.
No, wait. That's not quite as picturesque as it sounds.
Picture, if you will, a carpet. That carpet attempting to contain 20 totally spastic wildebeasts, and failing. 3 are sitting nicely, waiting for directions. Five are untying their shoes because it will be fun to ask me to tie them again. Four are spinning hypnotically on their butts, oblivious to those around them. One is attempting a headstand. The other 7 have their hands in the air to "tell me" something that has no actual relevance to well, life on this planet. And me. Little old me, in my teachery chair, story in hand, interrupting every page to say "No, please stop, that's not how we sit, show me what big kindergarteners do, everybody freeze, show me criss-cross-applesauce-hands-in-your-lap, it's my turn to talk, it will be yours in a minute....." on a running loop.
But my "favorite" moments revolve around the bathroom.
Me: Ok, boys and girls, Mrs. Davis has one very important rule about the bathroom. When we are all sitting on the carpet, you can't ask to go to the bathroom then. So everyone look right now. Where are you sitting?
Kids: On the carpet
Me: So can we go to the bathroom right now?
Kids: No
Me: Great! You guys are super smart!
Kid 1: I need to go to the bathroom
Kid 2: Can I go to the bathroom, too?
Kid 3: I want some water.
Kid 4: I'm THIRSTY!!
Me: *headdesk*
And so begins another of Davis' Bathroom Training Sessions.......
Kindergarten showcases the reasons why humans don't have litters. Nobody sane can handle 21 five year olds in one room.
Today we were off to the races for the 2011-2012 school year, and what a send off it was! Having had approximately 1/32 the needed amount of time to actually prepare physically and emotionally for the first day of K due to Virginia's rapidly deteriorating reputation with natural disasters, I entered my room with at least a vague notion of what I was doing (a nice side effect of staying in the same grade 2 years in a row for a change). I had a to-do list for the day, I was ready to get the things that needed doing done.
Of course, by 9:15 I couldn't find the damn list so I resorted to just flying by the seat of my pants, only to find the list right there. In my pants. Well, in the pocket. Sort of like the lost-glasses-on-the-head trick.
So we alternated between reading stories and using the different items of interest around the room, letting the little ones explore and experience this new environment where they will spend so many hours until June.
No, wait. That's not quite as picturesque as it sounds.
Picture, if you will, a carpet. That carpet attempting to contain 20 totally spastic wildebeasts, and failing. 3 are sitting nicely, waiting for directions. Five are untying their shoes because it will be fun to ask me to tie them again. Four are spinning hypnotically on their butts, oblivious to those around them. One is attempting a headstand. The other 7 have their hands in the air to "tell me" something that has no actual relevance to well, life on this planet. And me. Little old me, in my teachery chair, story in hand, interrupting every page to say "No, please stop, that's not how we sit, show me what big kindergarteners do, everybody freeze, show me criss-cross-applesauce-hands-in-your-lap, it's my turn to talk, it will be yours in a minute....." on a running loop.
But my "favorite" moments revolve around the bathroom.
Me: Ok, boys and girls, Mrs. Davis has one very important rule about the bathroom. When we are all sitting on the carpet, you can't ask to go to the bathroom then. So everyone look right now. Where are you sitting?
Kids: On the carpet
Me: So can we go to the bathroom right now?
Kids: No
Me: Great! You guys are super smart!
Kid 1: I need to go to the bathroom
Kid 2: Can I go to the bathroom, too?
Kid 3: I want some water.
Kid 4: I'm THIRSTY!!
Me: *headdesk*
And so begins another of Davis' Bathroom Training Sessions.......
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
No Peeing at Work
In light of the working environment changes foisted upon those of us who work at my school, I've come to the conclusion that we are essentially a Urine-Free Workplace. While this sounds like something that would be great- I mean, who wants urine in the workplace?- let me stand up and say that it ain't all that and a bag of chips, ya'll.
What do I mean? Well, most people don't realize that unlike almost every other job in the country, when a teacher needs to use the bathroom, he or she can't just go. Nope. Walking out of a classroom of 20-30 bright eyed youngsters to take care of such a minute personal issue is against the rules, more or less. It was particularly enjoyable when I was 63 months pregnant and had traded my usual class for a pack of rabid baboon/howler monkey hybrid creatures.
So what do we do? Well, we have a planning period... sometimes. But that can take place anywhere between 10am and 3pm, and I don't know about you but I just don't plan the urge with that much clockwork precision to know that "I shall pee at 2:15, but not before and not after." We have a lunch break.....sort of. 4 days a week, we get our kids through the serving line, then rush back to the lounge to scarf whatever leftovers or Lean Cuisine we remembered to pack that morning (or we bum snack food off a certain follicularly challenged but very entertaining and lovable 3rd grade teacher). The other day, we're required to do lunch duty, to eat our own lunch standing up and walking around the cafeteria opening milk cartons and silverware and coaxing reticent 5 year olds to take "just two more bites." No bathroom break that day.
And now, in the wake of Hurricane Irene, with nearly a quarter of a million local residents still without power (including 12 schools, but apparently not the important ones), we're heading back to work tomorrow after losing essentially all of the time we had to prepare our rooms for orientation and "Meet the Teacher" on Thursday. I suppose we're drafting the local woodland creatures and elven folk to magically construct bulletin boards, label hundreds of nametags, bus tags, cubby tags, etc...., unpack and organize all our possessions and supplies and plan our teaching for the first week of school. Because there ain't no way a single human being in a building with no electricity and therefore no air conditioning in the Virginia August heat can make those things happen before 10am on Thursday. Ain't nobody, ain't nohow.
How does this relate to peeing, you may ask? SIMPLE. In our old, moldy, carcinogenic building, every staff bathroom is in an unventilated windowless room. Have you ever wanted to know what it's like to be blind and have to pee? Yeah, me neither. But evidently our school district has decided that our staff needs that little lesson in tolerance, so in the event we have not fully trained our bladder to go a full 10 hours without needing to empty itself before exploding (and since some of the women I work with are really teeny tiny, I can't imagine they have elephant bladders or anything) I think we shall all Pee Blind tomorrow.
Of course, one way they've chosen to circumvent this pesky personal health and hygiene issue is by making us do the manual labor of setting up our rooms in this unairconditioned building. Perhaps rather than peeing out our excess liquid, we shall excrete it through quarts and buckets of sweat. Then we will both smell good AND have beautifully decorated, organized and stocked classrooms! Yay!
So, friends, I would like to petition the higher powers to Bring Back Urination in the Workplace. We promise to put it in the appropriate receptacles.
The other option I see would be to discontinue our status as a Velociraptor-Free Workplace. Being chased by giant lethal lizards would be exciting and take our minds off the need to, you know, go.
What do I mean? Well, most people don't realize that unlike almost every other job in the country, when a teacher needs to use the bathroom, he or she can't just go. Nope. Walking out of a classroom of 20-30 bright eyed youngsters to take care of such a minute personal issue is against the rules, more or less. It was particularly enjoyable when I was 63 months pregnant and had traded my usual class for a pack of rabid baboon/howler monkey hybrid creatures.
So what do we do? Well, we have a planning period... sometimes. But that can take place anywhere between 10am and 3pm, and I don't know about you but I just don't plan the urge with that much clockwork precision to know that "I shall pee at 2:15, but not before and not after." We have a lunch break.....sort of. 4 days a week, we get our kids through the serving line, then rush back to the lounge to scarf whatever leftovers or Lean Cuisine we remembered to pack that morning (or we bum snack food off a certain follicularly challenged but very entertaining and lovable 3rd grade teacher). The other day, we're required to do lunch duty, to eat our own lunch standing up and walking around the cafeteria opening milk cartons and silverware and coaxing reticent 5 year olds to take "just two more bites." No bathroom break that day.
And now, in the wake of Hurricane Irene, with nearly a quarter of a million local residents still without power (including 12 schools, but apparently not the important ones), we're heading back to work tomorrow after losing essentially all of the time we had to prepare our rooms for orientation and "Meet the Teacher" on Thursday. I suppose we're drafting the local woodland creatures and elven folk to magically construct bulletin boards, label hundreds of nametags, bus tags, cubby tags, etc...., unpack and organize all our possessions and supplies and plan our teaching for the first week of school. Because there ain't no way a single human being in a building with no electricity and therefore no air conditioning in the Virginia August heat can make those things happen before 10am on Thursday. Ain't nobody, ain't nohow.
How does this relate to peeing, you may ask? SIMPLE. In our old, moldy, carcinogenic building, every staff bathroom is in an unventilated windowless room. Have you ever wanted to know what it's like to be blind and have to pee? Yeah, me neither. But evidently our school district has decided that our staff needs that little lesson in tolerance, so in the event we have not fully trained our bladder to go a full 10 hours without needing to empty itself before exploding (and since some of the women I work with are really teeny tiny, I can't imagine they have elephant bladders or anything) I think we shall all Pee Blind tomorrow.
Of course, one way they've chosen to circumvent this pesky personal health and hygiene issue is by making us do the manual labor of setting up our rooms in this unairconditioned building. Perhaps rather than peeing out our excess liquid, we shall excrete it through quarts and buckets of sweat. Then we will both smell good AND have beautifully decorated, organized and stocked classrooms! Yay!
So, friends, I would like to petition the higher powers to Bring Back Urination in the Workplace. We promise to put it in the appropriate receptacles.
The other option I see would be to discontinue our status as a Velociraptor-Free Workplace. Being chased by giant lethal lizards would be exciting and take our minds off the need to, you know, go.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)