Would you rather...

As I sat crammed in the bleachers for supervisor duty in the un-air conditioned gym for a two hour music assembly today, I found myself wondering, which is worse: twenty-five middle schoolers, completely pitted out and wreaking of BO, or one middle schooler with enough Axe on for all twenty-five of his smelly classmates and then some. I'm still not sure. 

Growing Pains

A few years back, following a Girls Camp YCL experience with first year campers, I developed a theory about the emotional roller coaster that is early adolescence: 

In 1820, a young boy knelt in a clearing and uttered a humble prayer there. At the tender age of 14, Joseph Smith unleashed the powers of heaven. In return, an indignant Lucifer unleashed his fury on all children of men roundabout the age of 14. I ballpark the range as 12-15. Life during those years is now hell on earth. 

Now, a few semesters of educational psychology and theory inform me that the cerebral cortex, located in the frontal lobe of the brain and responsible for all higher-order thinking and processing, doesn't begin to fully develop until the onset of puberty. That's right, doesn't begin to develop until puberty. The cerebral cortex is often called the Conductor because its proper functioning is so crucial to virtually all aspects of our lives-- language, organization, emotional interpretation, etc. etc. So that means our "conductors" are testing out their water wings in the kiddie pool while we've gotta sink or swim in the deep end of puberty, pimples, and peer pressure. Lame. 

For either one of these extremely valid, well-thought out explanations, middle school sucks for everybody. If you think it didn't, your frontal lobe took so long to develop you've blocked it all out. I'm finishing up my student teaching in a 7th grade humanities class this spring. The kids are so energetic, so interested, so sweet-- and so thirteen. To get myself through the day, I often have to remind myself of what a friekin' nut case I was at their age. 

Yes, this is me in middle school. This is actually my 8th grade picture since the pages of my 7th grade yearbook are ripped out-- I told you it sucked. That coy smile is an attempt to hide the crooked teeth I was so ashamed of, and my hair is pulled forward not to show off luxurious flowing locks but the ears I'm pretty sure earned me the loving family moniker "orangutan" as an infant. I couldn't figure out if I was more interested in continuing life as a tomboy or turning a leaf towards more girly pursuits; if I was a flute-playing, drama and debate loving nerd, or more concerned with being into what the "cool kids" said was "cool." Oh, and that was the year I tripped and fell into (yes, literally into) a garbage can while saying hi to the boy I'd been in love with since kindergarten. Oh, and the year that my friends from elementary school decided I was no longer cool enough to sit with them at lunch. Oh, and the year that... Needless to say, I was ridin' that roller coaster. 

I'm not sure if I ever really figured it all out, but at least by the time high school rolled around and certainly now I don't burst into tears when I realize I don't know much about me somedays. I'm thinking I might make a copy of this to keep in my pocket so I can pull it out and remind myself of that on those days when I can cut the drama (and pheromones!) in the classroom with a knife and the last bell can't come soon enough. 

*** If you could avoid making any comments about how I look exactly the same now, I'd appreciate it. I can't even count how many times I've been mistaken for a student. Yes, a middle school student. 

When life gives you smashed apples...

You make applesauce! It's a well-known fact that I am quite accident prone. One of the primary reasons I steered away from elementary education is that I failed to develop motor skills beyond about the age of 4 and didn't want to be responsible for the formation of those skills in other people's children. Anywho... I've been on spring break this week and have been trying to use my time as efficiently as possible, e.g. going to Costco and stocking up on enough food to hold me over through the apocalypse. I'm not sure when I'll have this much time to run errands again. One of those purchases included a flat of apples. I recently moved apartments and took the third floor option since it's a little cheaper. So there I am yesterday afternoon, balancing my flat of apples on top of an 8-pack of canned black beans on top of an 8-pack of tomato sauce on top of my knee (yep, one leg) as I hunt for my house keys in my coat pocket that seems to have become six-inches deeper up those three flights of stairs... and I think you get the picture. Fifteen of my apples tumbled down the stairs. All three flights of stairs. I'm just glad the toddler from the first floor wasn't playing out front. My grandmother's axiom "waste not want not" ringing in my ears, I dutifully collected all of the apples, or at least what was left of them, and started looking for good applesauce recipes. Even foisting off as much as I can on Sean, pretty sure I'm going to have to start looking for apple cookie and apple bread recipes. 

There's No Place Like Home

I spent a few days of this spring break in good ol' Spokane. Spokcompton. Spokaloo. Spokanistan. Spokavegas. Whatever you wanna call it, I went home. My great-grandmother's health precipitated the trip, but I was looking forward to getting home regardless. After surveying economic forecasts, the teaching job market down in the Portland area, and the cost of living in both areas, I've decided that moving home after graduation is probably the best decision I can make at the time. Maybe that's why little things I normally don't think twice about jumped out at during the few days I was there, letting me know yup, this is home:

#1: My early morning flight on Friday left me feeling a little groggy upon arrival. I definitely did a double take when I looked out the window and the first thing I saw was a plane tail fin emblazoned with the WSU emblem. There's no place like home. 

#2: My mom called me late on Thursday night to let me know that she wouldn't be able to pick me up at the airport because of a last minute meeting at work. 'No big deal,' I thought to myself. I didn't get my license until senior year of high school, meaning I spent a lot of time on the public buses if I wanted to go anywhere (that is, unless a friend would pick me up-- thanks, Jill, Bri, Ame, and Matt!) Also, down here in Portland, the MAX is the way to go when it comes to traffic. Two things about public transportation in Spokane: first, it's only a dollar!!! In Portland, you're paying about $2.75 for two hours on public transit. Great deal when gas was $4/gallon, a little steep now.

 Second, every bus I saw flashed the phrase "Support Our Troops" on its electronic reader board that has the number and route on it. This is something you would NEVER see in Portland. Now, let me clarify a few things. While I don't necessarily agree with the premise of the war in Iraq, we are there and need to get the job done responsibly. Furthermore, I was born on Fairchild Air Force Base. My dad served in the Air Force, as did my grandfather on both sides. My uncles have all served either Army, Navy, or Coast Guard. My little cousin will be entering the Army ROTC this fall. It's in my blood to support the troops, regardless the opinion I may or may not hold for their Commander-in-Chief. This is a sentiment I've not seen much of in Portland, and I didn't realize how much it meant to me until I saw those little electronic reminders. 

#3: Gonzaga basketball!!! I loved seeing the "Go Zags!" signs from the Spokesman (something I definitely DO NOT miss about Spokane) all over the place. 

#4: SUNSHINE! Even it's cold out (like snowing in late March) there is still sunshine to be seen. After four years in Portland, I'm ready to break through the clouds and rain. Bring on 260 days of sunshine a year! 

I could keep going. I didn't even mention how wonderful it feels to be near family, or how impressed I was with the growth of the city, or how much better Washington treats its teachers than Oregon does. This little side trip helped me realize that I'm not moving back to Spokane just because it's the only place I can afford to live after graduating as a teacher, barring Barrow, Alaska, but because it's home for me and... ummm...well... I kinda like it and miss it (something I swore in high school I'd never think). While I don't think I'll settle down permanently there, I'm looking forward to a few years back home. 

Someday

I spend a lot of time thinking about the ever elusive someday.

Someday… I’ll be done with school.


Someday… I’ll have a job I truly enjoy.


Someday… I’ll spend less time working, and more time playing.

Someday... I'll stay at home to raise a family. 

Someday… I’ll devote more time to the people I love.


Someday… I’ll be able to travel to all those places I spend hours looking up on Expedia.


Someday… I’ll be able to read for fun.

Someday… I’ll start writing more.

Someday... I'll run a half-marathon.  

Someday… I’ll go back to school.



Someday will be a pretty great day. I just need to figure out how to make someday today. Any ideas?

Fifty Cents on Pay Day

Back at the beginning of this program, a friend asked how much I would be paid while student teaching. I felt a little bad about literally laughing in her face. Perhaps a tad foreshadowing of what is to come, I'm actually paying $40,000 (give or take a g's) right now to work 40+ hours a week. I try not to think of it in those terms too much. I'll have years and years of loan statements to do that for me. 

ANYways-- this week has been a bit more challenging than others, and one of the first during which I've actually felt some anxiety about my ability as a teacher. A student in one of my classes was shot over the weekend while in downtown Portland (innocent bystander during a random act of violence-- she's recovering fine, but she's an exchange student and I can only imagine how that adds to her trauma right now). We had a nice long staff meeting this morning about escalating events of violence and gang-related activity at school. It's the beginning of a new term and I've had no less than two teachers and one student question whether or not I am actually old enough to be a teacher (people keep telling me I'll appreciate my youthful appearance when I'm older, but it's sure a pain in the you-know-what right now). Let's just say I'm feeling a decreased sense of my self-efficacy as an educator these past few days. 

The clouds parted and the light shone down yesterday afternoon. I've developed a good rapport with one of the juniors in a history class. He comes from a disadvantaged background to say the least, but this kid is one of the hardest workers I've ever met. He squandered a lot of chances his first two years, but has really kicked it into high gear this year, taking night classes on his own, seeking out extra help and assignments, etc. He's discovered a real love and raw talent for creative writing. Knowing that I also teach English, he came to me during independent work time with a poem and asked me to look at it for him. After a twenty minute conversation about simile, onomatopoeia, allusion, and various other nerdy things, he started asking me questions about discontinuous narrative (jumping around in the narration of a story) in relation to a short story idea he had. As if his excitement and motivation wasn't enough, another b

oy, one whom I've often thought had more ambition to be a brick wall than in a desk, jumped in the conversation. 

"Yeah, man, haven't you ever seen Fifty Cent's movie? It's like whoa, dude just got shot in the face, and then he tells you how he got there. It's just like that man, it's cool. Real cool." Ok, so I've never thought much of "Fiddy" or his work, but if he can get two of my students excited about and, more importantly, understanding something as obscure as discontinuous narrative or poetry in general-- hats off. Luckily, both boys were able to come up with other examples, too.  (Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, some James Joyce stuff) I was near euphoria, completely re-energized when I left school that afternoon. So I guess somedays I do get paid. 

PS- I need some serious help with formatting and placing pictures in Blogger. I know how to upload them (obviously) but not how to move them around once they're in here. I've looked through the Blogger help menu but can't find what I need. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. 

 

Heartwarming

With all of the chilly winter weather blanketing just about everywhere, I thought I'd share this little story about a couple of smart kids who knew just what they wanted. I'm thinking the allure of warm weather inspired their jaunt-- I know I'd be tempted by something a little toastier right now! I hope everyone had a happy holiday season and that 2009 is off to a great start.