This is for you Doug.
Last week, because I must have been on crack at the time, I bought pizza for the entire third grade. Why on earth would I do this? You mean aside from the $150 price tag once juice, grapes and paper goods were figured in? Here's why.
The thing is this is a testing year for my kids. That means they get tested by the state this May. But we test the shit out of them before that. My kids, the ones in my class, there is no reason at all that they can't pass every test. They are all on or above grade level, so I thought a little incentive would be a good thing. I settled on pizza. If everyone hit the benchmark at 75 or better I would get pizza for the class. Which turned into everyone else offering their class pizza too. Soon it was pizza for 70. Lucky us. All my kids passed btw.
So there I am last Thursday dishing pizza to 70 and I was starving. So while my fabulous partners were pouring juice and handing out grapes and carrots, I grabbed a couple pieces of pizza and crammed them down.
In an hour or so, I wasn't feeling so good.
And three hours later I was really not feeling good.
I got The Kid to piano and waited in the car. It was all I could do to drive home and make it to the toilet before the barf fest began.
Friday was a work day and I did not go in. I lay in bed wanting to die.
Saturday I woke up fine though. It was Ricardo's birthday weekend so we decided to go ahead with the plans to go to DC for the night and have a brunch out for his birthday. So we did. As we were driving home Sunday, I felt a little more tired than usual. I chalked it up to having lost 6 pounds in 36 hours.
By Monday I had a cold. Tuesday I dragged myself in to school and barely made it through the day. But I soldiered on. Wednesday I woke up thinking, "This is not good." I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. I was so tired and so achy and coughy. But I figured, one of my teaching partners was out that day with a bad migraine, I could make it through. By 10 am it was clear that was a very bad idea. The school secretary told me to stay home the next day and my principal told be to leave after the buses left. So I did. I left my plans on the back table, and went home where I climbed in bed for an hour before taking The Kid to soccer, leaving him there and crawling back home into bed.
The highpoint of the day though was that during our reading class, my group of high readers was looking at maps. This is the group that includes my own Kid. And they came across the Yellow Sea. And my own son started giggling. And then I heard it: "Hold on, wait a minute, let me put some yellow in it." He had taught his group mates the chant from the Yellow Sea during this summer's Semester at Sea voyage. And soon enough, 24 third graders were alphabetizing and writing up their cause and effect charts, and practicing their sentence combining while threatening to "put a little yellow in it." And when I told them that that was enough, my son, my only child, the premie from the NICU, the infant I stayed home with, nursed through illness, worried and fretted over, the boy I took this job for, taught them the next cheer: "We are the Yellow Sea and we're gonna pee on you." It was an elementary schooler's dream come true. A veritable fantasy of potty and one that GROWNUPS had come up with. I knew I was sick, because I just sighed and went over the parts of speech with the group I was with.
The next morning, I was watching the Today Show in my Nyquil induced haze when I saw the school closings at the bottom of the screen. I looked out the window. It wasn't snowing. What was going on? I couldn't figure it out. That's when it occurred to me, maybe I was really sick.
Turns out some nutter was out on 64 shooting at cars over the night. The high school locked down. The county closed schools. Everyone was in a tiz. And this meant the plans I left were no good because the kids were supposed to go to the high school to go to the Art Show. No dice there. And no outdoor recess. It was going to be a loony bin over there.
And the difference between being 26 and being 36? I was just glad it wasn't me over there at school.
I slept all morning, got up, made popcorn, and slept all afternoon.
And I took today off too. I still feel like utter crap. I blame the testing. It's a good thing we've got more coming up this week.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
Cold and Wet
Here's what happened at school today.
It was an emotional day. Lots of crying. Over all kinds of things. Some of it was my kid, and some was others. It was cold and wet and dreary and the kids are tired and stressed and needing a break. And so am I.
So I'd planned some fun stuff. We were doing some presentations, some writing and then were going to play this game they love where I give them super hard vocab and they have to look it up and figure out what the words are clues to. We were all set to play when the fire alarm went off.
And I thought that was quite weird because it was 42º and raining at the time. But we did exactly as we were supposed to. They lined up quietly and we went out. I took role and we got wet. And then wetter. And it wasn't over.
A couple of my girls started to worry and began to cry. But I calmed them down, saying I was sure it was nothing since the fire department was so close and they'd be there or we'd hear sirens by then. And then we *did* hear sirens. The fire trucks roared up and the fire fighters went inside. And we were still outside in the cold rain. In my head I am cursing the fourth grade (or given this year, possibly the kindergartener) who has pulled this alarm and was causing one of my poor children who is as small as leprechaun to begin to go cyanotic around the lips. But I figured they'd know which one was pulled and give us the all clear.
By now we've been outside in the cold rain in our shirts for 15 minutes. One of the other teachers went to her car and got a huge golf umbrella. She lent it to us and I had the kids gather around and put their arms around each other. By that point I had some more crying. And at that moment, one of the kids said, "They're going on the roof!" Bam bam bam, three more start weeping. And I had just gotten the first two to stop. We were shivering and shaking and freezing.
My aide went to her car and grabbed a bunch of sweaters and sweatshirts to put over the kids. Another aide found us a blanket. We were huddled in on each other and I started talking to them. Ridiculous things like, "So do you think soccer will be rained out?" and "What are you doing this weekend?"
And finally no one was crying. We'd been out there for 35 minutes by then. We were talking and hanging out. Some were shivering still and others were sopped straight through. My hands were numb from holding the umbrella over all 22 children (2 absent). And then I saw him. He wasn't just jumping from the cold. And then the tears rushed forth from him.
"Ms. ________ I got to go."
I thought he was panicking because another girl had been sobbing she wanted to go home. And maybe I was dull because of the damp chill that had spread through my body. But he didn't mean he had to leave.
"Ms. ________ I'm not going to make it. I got to GO!"
So what do you do with 22 children in the rain, three firetrucks, and a 9 year old who has to GO? You call to the male aide in 4th grade and send him off to find a solution.
Turns out the blankets came from the very nice family who was right nearby. And they let my young lad GO in their bathroom so there was no adventure peeing for him. But by then one of my girls had caught chill.
We moved her into the middle of the group. Another girl put her arm around her and another took of her sweatshirt and wrapped her up in it. One of the early criers was talking to her sweetly and one of the boys was telling jokes. We'd been out for 45 minutes.
And then it was over. They waved us in and we rushed for the door. I sent the girls to the rest room to take off their wet shirts and put on jackets and sweatshirts. The boys I sent to the cubbies to change. My aide went to the lost and found to find more jackets. I put a wet tissue over the hear register to crank it up. And I noticed that it was time to go. The kids were sharing layers and helping each other into jackets. One got tissues for another one who was chilled and whose nose was still running. My boy who had to go gave his jacket to someone else to wear and everyone clamored to praise someone who'd done something nice for them.
The thing is when I set out to write this I was sure it would be a funny here's what happened to me story. But the thing is here's what really happened to me today:
I found out my kids were really the kind, caring, sweet and lovely children I had hoped they'd be. I found out that in a pinch they aren't mean and bossy and rude and pushy. They're giving and supportive and concerned and good. So even when they are crappy to each other, I guess I have to remember that deep down, my class rocks!
It was an emotional day. Lots of crying. Over all kinds of things. Some of it was my kid, and some was others. It was cold and wet and dreary and the kids are tired and stressed and needing a break. And so am I.
So I'd planned some fun stuff. We were doing some presentations, some writing and then were going to play this game they love where I give them super hard vocab and they have to look it up and figure out what the words are clues to. We were all set to play when the fire alarm went off.
And I thought that was quite weird because it was 42º and raining at the time. But we did exactly as we were supposed to. They lined up quietly and we went out. I took role and we got wet. And then wetter. And it wasn't over.
A couple of my girls started to worry and began to cry. But I calmed them down, saying I was sure it was nothing since the fire department was so close and they'd be there or we'd hear sirens by then. And then we *did* hear sirens. The fire trucks roared up and the fire fighters went inside. And we were still outside in the cold rain. In my head I am cursing the fourth grade (or given this year, possibly the kindergartener) who has pulled this alarm and was causing one of my poor children who is as small as leprechaun to begin to go cyanotic around the lips. But I figured they'd know which one was pulled and give us the all clear.
By now we've been outside in the cold rain in our shirts for 15 minutes. One of the other teachers went to her car and got a huge golf umbrella. She lent it to us and I had the kids gather around and put their arms around each other. By that point I had some more crying. And at that moment, one of the kids said, "They're going on the roof!" Bam bam bam, three more start weeping. And I had just gotten the first two to stop. We were shivering and shaking and freezing.
My aide went to her car and grabbed a bunch of sweaters and sweatshirts to put over the kids. Another aide found us a blanket. We were huddled in on each other and I started talking to them. Ridiculous things like, "So do you think soccer will be rained out?" and "What are you doing this weekend?"
And finally no one was crying. We'd been out there for 35 minutes by then. We were talking and hanging out. Some were shivering still and others were sopped straight through. My hands were numb from holding the umbrella over all 22 children (2 absent). And then I saw him. He wasn't just jumping from the cold. And then the tears rushed forth from him.
"Ms. ________ I got to go."
I thought he was panicking because another girl had been sobbing she wanted to go home. And maybe I was dull because of the damp chill that had spread through my body. But he didn't mean he had to leave.
"Ms. ________ I'm not going to make it. I got to GO!"
So what do you do with 22 children in the rain, three firetrucks, and a 9 year old who has to GO? You call to the male aide in 4th grade and send him off to find a solution.
Turns out the blankets came from the very nice family who was right nearby. And they let my young lad GO in their bathroom so there was no adventure peeing for him. But by then one of my girls had caught chill.
We moved her into the middle of the group. Another girl put her arm around her and another took of her sweatshirt and wrapped her up in it. One of the early criers was talking to her sweetly and one of the boys was telling jokes. We'd been out for 45 minutes.
And then it was over. They waved us in and we rushed for the door. I sent the girls to the rest room to take off their wet shirts and put on jackets and sweatshirts. The boys I sent to the cubbies to change. My aide went to the lost and found to find more jackets. I put a wet tissue over the hear register to crank it up. And I noticed that it was time to go. The kids were sharing layers and helping each other into jackets. One got tissues for another one who was chilled and whose nose was still running. My boy who had to go gave his jacket to someone else to wear and everyone clamored to praise someone who'd done something nice for them.
The thing is when I set out to write this I was sure it would be a funny here's what happened to me story. But the thing is here's what really happened to me today:
I found out my kids were really the kind, caring, sweet and lovely children I had hoped they'd be. I found out that in a pinch they aren't mean and bossy and rude and pushy. They're giving and supportive and concerned and good. So even when they are crappy to each other, I guess I have to remember that deep down, my class rocks!
Monday, March 3, 2008
Bras and Jeans
Today I had a personal day so I thought I'd go to the Mall and investigate jeans. I have waited until the point where any moment I will have thigh failure in my favorite jeans and since I don't particularly want this to happen at school, it seemed a good time as any. And since I also needed bras, I headed to the Mall.
It turns out that there is a new sizing system for jeans at Lane Bryant. For the under sized 14 crowd, this is a fatty store. Where people with the kind of ass I have can find jeans. But not easily.
Because when I got there all the jeans were color coded and sized strangely. Like, I am a 20. I know I am a 20 because when I look at pants, that's the size I get. Sometimes I am an 18 (yippee!) and sometimes a 22 (d'oh!) but almost always, I am a 20.
Except now I am a Yellow 4. WTF?
Here's how I became a Yellow 4: First the girl asked me if I knew what sized jeans I wore. I answered 20 because that's my size, or was. So she took out a tape measure and measured me. Then handed me a Yellow 7 and a Red 6. But I didn't understand why. Because they sell sizes 14, 16, 18, 20, 22, 24, 26, 28. By my calculation, a 7 was like a 26. And I am not a 26. I am a 20. But what did I know. I took both pairs and tried them on.
And they were huge. But here's the really odd bit. The Red 6? Much larger than the Yellow 7. WTF? So I told her they were too big. And she said, oh, you probably need a 5. Why a 5? I thought. I just had on a 7. Shouldn't I go down a bit slower? Or was I circling the target? I tried on the Yellow 5 and they were fine, but it was clear that within an hour or two, I'd be hitching them up. So I told her I needed something just a bit smaller. Oh, she said. Well, I wear a Red 4 because they do stretch out. And that's when I realized what had happened.
You see everyone who works at Lane Bryant is chunky. I don't think it's required, but it's definitely, if you'll pardon the pun, a Plus. And the thing about fat people is this: We all know we're fat, but we all believe that every other fat person is fatter than we are. So here was this obviously fat person (and let's face it, empirically fatter than I since the Red 6 was larger than the Yellow 7) who has decided that I am fatter than she because in her mind she's smaller than she is. And here am I judging my weight based on hers because in *my* mind I am not as fat as I am. But I can tell you this: I wear a smaller jeans size than she does!
And oddly, the bra shopping? Fairly painless. I found 3 bras, they fit fine, not as nice s Le Mystere, but 1/2 of the price so everyone's happy. And who knew? Despite my sized 44DD bras? I am a 4!
It turns out that there is a new sizing system for jeans at Lane Bryant. For the under sized 14 crowd, this is a fatty store. Where people with the kind of ass I have can find jeans. But not easily.
Because when I got there all the jeans were color coded and sized strangely. Like, I am a 20. I know I am a 20 because when I look at pants, that's the size I get. Sometimes I am an 18 (yippee!) and sometimes a 22 (d'oh!) but almost always, I am a 20.
Except now I am a Yellow 4. WTF?
Here's how I became a Yellow 4: First the girl asked me if I knew what sized jeans I wore. I answered 20 because that's my size, or was. So she took out a tape measure and measured me. Then handed me a Yellow 7 and a Red 6. But I didn't understand why. Because they sell sizes 14, 16, 18, 20, 22, 24, 26, 28. By my calculation, a 7 was like a 26. And I am not a 26. I am a 20. But what did I know. I took both pairs and tried them on.
And they were huge. But here's the really odd bit. The Red 6? Much larger than the Yellow 7. WTF? So I told her they were too big. And she said, oh, you probably need a 5. Why a 5? I thought. I just had on a 7. Shouldn't I go down a bit slower? Or was I circling the target? I tried on the Yellow 5 and they were fine, but it was clear that within an hour or two, I'd be hitching them up. So I told her I needed something just a bit smaller. Oh, she said. Well, I wear a Red 4 because they do stretch out. And that's when I realized what had happened.
You see everyone who works at Lane Bryant is chunky. I don't think it's required, but it's definitely, if you'll pardon the pun, a Plus. And the thing about fat people is this: We all know we're fat, but we all believe that every other fat person is fatter than we are. So here was this obviously fat person (and let's face it, empirically fatter than I since the Red 6 was larger than the Yellow 7) who has decided that I am fatter than she because in her mind she's smaller than she is. And here am I judging my weight based on hers because in *my* mind I am not as fat as I am. But I can tell you this: I wear a smaller jeans size than she does!
And oddly, the bra shopping? Fairly painless. I found 3 bras, they fit fine, not as nice s Le Mystere, but 1/2 of the price so everyone's happy. And who knew? Despite my sized 44DD bras? I am a 4!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Back on the exercise bandwagon
And of course, it's hellish. Since coming back from S@S and starting to teach 3rd grade I've gained some weight. Like 10 pounds actually. And at my size, one cannot afford that. But it's not like my eating habits have changed, if anything, I eat less than I ever did. So I have to think it's the alcohol since I drink more than I ever did.
Last night we went out with some friends to this great restaurant here that makes a killer steak frites, called Zinc, and all I could think about was how will I decide which drink to drink? So I didn't choose. I had both the French Kiss (very tasty, champagne and peach and other yummables) and the Ooh La La (vodka, pineapple, kir and other yummables). Rare is the night I get two cocktails (and spendy ones at that). But it's getting less rare.
So now I have to work out. And it's not fun. And also by the time I get home it's so late and hard to do. But I don't want to have to get up at 4am to do it. So it's weekend (one of our spelling words this week!) workouts for me! And the occasional afternoon number. But it seems to be working. I just hate it.
I've discovered though that the best thing to do is watch a TV show preferably and actiony adventurey type. Because right around 30 minutes is when I think I can't make it any longer and that's when the action peaks on those shows. I've been watching Firefly (thanks Fred!) and it's perfect for it. Plus I feel all virtuous I want to have a cocktail to celebrate!
Last night we went out with some friends to this great restaurant here that makes a killer steak frites, called Zinc, and all I could think about was how will I decide which drink to drink? So I didn't choose. I had both the French Kiss (very tasty, champagne and peach and other yummables) and the Ooh La La (vodka, pineapple, kir and other yummables). Rare is the night I get two cocktails (and spendy ones at that). But it's getting less rare.
So now I have to work out. And it's not fun. And also by the time I get home it's so late and hard to do. But I don't want to have to get up at 4am to do it. So it's weekend (one of our spelling words this week!) workouts for me! And the occasional afternoon number. But it seems to be working. I just hate it.
I've discovered though that the best thing to do is watch a TV show preferably and actiony adventurey type. Because right around 30 minutes is when I think I can't make it any longer and that's when the action peaks on those shows. I've been watching Firefly (thanks Fred!) and it's perfect for it. Plus I feel all virtuous I want to have a cocktail to celebrate!
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