Friday, July 9, 2010
I Need a Blog Intervention
I've spent WAY too much time on here today doing some pretty useless stuff. But you'll be happy to know (or at least I hope you will, because if not it would've been a huge waste of time) that my blogs are now all labeled under the lovely categories you see a little ways down on the right sidebar. Which means you can now find old blogs more easily by using the labels! I bet everyone was hoping I would do that soon (not). At least it makes me feel more organized. Although I am a little insecure that some of the posts I chose to label "funny" are not found as humorous by others as I found them.
The Problem with Scary Books
My first book was "Are You My Mother?" by P.D. Eastman. I used to sit on my little brother's lap and make him listen as I read out loud (something my college roommates know that I LOVE to do):
"Are you my mother?" I'd look down at him squirming and pause. "No," I'd reply to myself with conviction. "I am NOT your mother."
Since that first book, I was hooked. I read all the time. It's part of the reason why I wanted to teach- because I love reading and writing enough to major in it in college (read: English) and actually enjoy when I had papers assigned on 400 page novels. I no longer sit on anyone as I read, but you will find it pretty difficult to interrupt me. It's like I'm in a different world. People have screamed my name and thrown objects (and missed) but I don't skip a beat. It's because when I read, I'm in it. I think in the voice of the author. I add myself into the plot. I have to finish the book in a day or I risk dreaming myself back into, which only serves to confuse me when I start reading the next day.
My latest book was Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I'm a little behind on that fad, because it's already come out on Netflix, but oh well. If you haven't heard about it, it's classified on its back cover as a murder mystery/family saga/love story/financial intrigue, so you can imagine how freaked out I was to have 100 pages left at 3 am. I was far enough in to be at the most horrifying part, but not far enough in to reach resolution. I was also at the absolute end of my energy; I had no choice but to go to sleep. Turning off the light, I laid in bed, swearing I'd see a shadow in my window just beyond my foot board. Forget that the story happens in Sweden. I was in a half awake, half nightmare state. I should have just finished the book.
Then it happened. A figure- in my door, just standing there.
"What the hell?" I called out sleepily.
"I need to sleep in here. It's too damn hot." Great time for my mom to open my door and stand as a haunting shadow for thirty seconds. I should only be allowed to read scary books in the daytime.
*Note: the book isn't actually that scary. Very good, no doubt, but really not that scary. I'm just a baby.
"Are you my mother?" I'd look down at him squirming and pause. "No," I'd reply to myself with conviction. "I am NOT your mother."
Since that first book, I was hooked. I read all the time. It's part of the reason why I wanted to teach- because I love reading and writing enough to major in it in college (read: English) and actually enjoy when I had papers assigned on 400 page novels. I no longer sit on anyone as I read, but you will find it pretty difficult to interrupt me. It's like I'm in a different world. People have screamed my name and thrown objects (and missed) but I don't skip a beat. It's because when I read, I'm in it. I think in the voice of the author. I add myself into the plot. I have to finish the book in a day or I risk dreaming myself back into, which only serves to confuse me when I start reading the next day.
My latest book was Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I'm a little behind on that fad, because it's already come out on Netflix, but oh well. If you haven't heard about it, it's classified on its back cover as a murder mystery/family saga/love story/financial intrigue, so you can imagine how freaked out I was to have 100 pages left at 3 am. I was far enough in to be at the most horrifying part, but not far enough in to reach resolution. I was also at the absolute end of my energy; I had no choice but to go to sleep. Turning off the light, I laid in bed, swearing I'd see a shadow in my window just beyond my foot board. Forget that the story happens in Sweden. I was in a half awake, half nightmare state. I should have just finished the book.
Then it happened. A figure- in my door, just standing there.
"What the hell?" I called out sleepily.
"I need to sleep in here. It's too damn hot." Great time for my mom to open my door and stand as a haunting shadow for thirty seconds. I should only be allowed to read scary books in the daytime.
*Note: the book isn't actually that scary. Very good, no doubt, but really not that scary. I'm just a baby.
A New Look
Due to summer boredom, a new Blogger template designer, and a general feeling that things should change since my blog is about to become the adventures of a SECOND year teacher, I've got a new look. Today must be some kind of re-formatting day for me, because I also updated and redid my resume from scratch for law school applications (yikes!) AND started a blog/website for my dad's personal training business. Like?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
When LeBron James Was a First-Grader...
I'm no sports junkie, but my boyfriend is. Usually I can sound somewhat intelligent by parroting what he and his friends have discussed in front of me and pretending that they're my own thoughts (sneaky, right?). It's because of him that I know about the whole LeBron one-hour special tonight about his decision of where he'll play next, and because of him that I've formed the opinion that he is sort of acting childish in his request to have a prime-time special centering around his choice that would probably take up about a minute or two of the programming. It would arguably take up that much time in the same slot even if he had released it in the way most of the other free agents had (given ESPN's propensity for beating the day's sports stories to death).
It made me think of what he might have been like as a first-grader, perhaps demanding that the kids watch him pick others to play on his team for that game with the big plastic basket and the different holes for the ball to come out. He would definitely be the one shooting paper towels into the garbage can in the bathroom, chest-bumping his much smaller classmates who had not yet washed their hands. It's because of him that all the students in my class would steal the sidewalk chalk from the communal bin during recess, rub it vigorously on their hands, and begin clapping clouds of dust into the air screeching "I'm the king! I'm the king!" (That really did happen pretty frequently). Come to think of it, that's probably where his whole pre-game routine started- on the first grade playground. Just some non-sports thoughts on a sports issue.
It made me think of what he might have been like as a first-grader, perhaps demanding that the kids watch him pick others to play on his team for that game with the big plastic basket and the different holes for the ball to come out. He would definitely be the one shooting paper towels into the garbage can in the bathroom, chest-bumping his much smaller classmates who had not yet washed their hands. It's because of him that all the students in my class would steal the sidewalk chalk from the communal bin during recess, rub it vigorously on their hands, and begin clapping clouds of dust into the air screeching "I'm the king! I'm the king!" (That really did happen pretty frequently). Come to think of it, that's probably where his whole pre-game routine started- on the first grade playground. Just some non-sports thoughts on a sports issue.
Get Out Yo Seat and Romp Around
One of the more amusing things about teaching lower elementary is the gifts you get from the kids throughout the course of the year. Ask any K-2 teacher and they'll be able to tell you about some pretty hilarious and outrageous things that kids have brought in. One of my student's former teachers donated a huge 3' by 1' decorative art piece that was clearly plucked off the wall of their home (or off the curb in front of a random stranger's house) in a last ditch attempt at Christmas spirit. Some have gotten pints of obscure perfumes or toys from fast food kid's meals. My aunt had to call home after a first-grader began stealing jewelery from his mother to give to his beloved teacher.
My mother, since her school was closing and she was retiring, brought home a massive box of gifts. Most of them were cards and letters, ranging from "I hope you enjoy retirement" to "I'll dream about you every night." She also got a cardboard box that was meticulously covered with colored duct tape with a large F protruding from the top of it.
I have received my fair share of thoughtful and bizarre gifts, ranging from Chick-fil-a gift cards to stuffed animals to the homemade flower pen I mentioned in a previous post. My favorite and most random gift came on the last day of school just as one of the most well-behaved kids in my class left, handing me a cute little gift bag (I take a lot of notice of cute gift bags and cards). I didn't get the chance to open it until the next day, when I found a pajama romper from Target inside. Why a student and his parents would decide that a green floral onesie would be an appropriate end-of-year gift for a teacher is beyond me. All I know is that it is the perfect summer accessory for me, letting me wear it all day when I've woken up past noon singing my "Romp Around" song (to the tune of this classic). It really lets me capture the feeling of summer and my lack of responsibility and we all could learn a little something about the feeling you get when wearing one. Those of you that aren't teachers, though, will have to go out and spend the money yourself.
My mother, since her school was closing and she was retiring, brought home a massive box of gifts. Most of them were cards and letters, ranging from "I hope you enjoy retirement" to "I'll dream about you every night." She also got a cardboard box that was meticulously covered with colored duct tape with a large F protruding from the top of it.
I have received my fair share of thoughtful and bizarre gifts, ranging from Chick-fil-a gift cards to stuffed animals to the homemade flower pen I mentioned in a previous post. My favorite and most random gift came on the last day of school just as one of the most well-behaved kids in my class left, handing me a cute little gift bag (I take a lot of notice of cute gift bags and cards). I didn't get the chance to open it until the next day, when I found a pajama romper from Target inside. Why a student and his parents would decide that a green floral onesie would be an appropriate end-of-year gift for a teacher is beyond me. All I know is that it is the perfect summer accessory for me, letting me wear it all day when I've woken up past noon singing my "Romp Around" song (to the tune of this classic). It really lets me capture the feeling of summer and my lack of responsibility and we all could learn a little something about the feeling you get when wearing one. Those of you that aren't teachers, though, will have to go out and spend the money yourself.
The romper in question from Target.com
(no, I did not model it myself and then post it on my blog)
(no, I did not model it myself and then post it on my blog)
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Happy Birthday America
I wish every birthday party could be this fun. The Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays, beaten by the only two birthdays more important than America's- mine and Jesus'. In some ways it's better because you're allowed to be cheesy as if it were a theme party, with mass-produced flag t-shirts and oversized colored sunglasses. It has no full family or friends obligations either- it's whoever you want to spend it with.
This Fourth of July was spent at my mother's family estate in Western New York. I'm using the word "estate" very loosely here. I managed to get my boyfriend back with all five of my mom's brothers and their families at the campground my Nana has been taking them for over thirty years. It's a pretty unique little place, a circle of trailers left year round down a dusty dirt road on an Indian reservation. The younger relatives are left to tents set up wherever there's room, sometimes having to resort to shelter under unused picnic tables or the beds of pick-up trucks (maybe that only happens when you forget some vital part of your tent).
The best part of Fourth of July on an Indian reservation is the fireworks. Sure, we've all seen pretty spectacular fireworks displays, but you haven't seen fireworks until you've seen them set off of washed up tree stumps with a Bic lighter twenty feet away from you. Add in a Happy Hour that officially starts at 5 pm (or whenever you wake up, if Nana forgets to take down the flag) and bonfire conversations until late into the night, and you have one fun party.
The topic at the bonfire this year centered on the five items you'd need to survive on a deserted island, led by my father who essentially bashed any of the other choices the other campers made. A favorite interchange was when a family friend shared that he's bring a family photo for emotional strength. My dad looked at him for a hard five seconds and just said,
"You're dead."
Great Fourth of July spirit Dad.
This Fourth of July was spent at my mother's family estate in Western New York. I'm using the word "estate" very loosely here. I managed to get my boyfriend back with all five of my mom's brothers and their families at the campground my Nana has been taking them for over thirty years. It's a pretty unique little place, a circle of trailers left year round down a dusty dirt road on an Indian reservation. The younger relatives are left to tents set up wherever there's room, sometimes having to resort to shelter under unused picnic tables or the beds of pick-up trucks (maybe that only happens when you forget some vital part of your tent).
The best part of Fourth of July on an Indian reservation is the fireworks. Sure, we've all seen pretty spectacular fireworks displays, but you haven't seen fireworks until you've seen them set off of washed up tree stumps with a Bic lighter twenty feet away from you. Add in a Happy Hour that officially starts at 5 pm (or whenever you wake up, if Nana forgets to take down the flag) and bonfire conversations until late into the night, and you have one fun party.
The topic at the bonfire this year centered on the five items you'd need to survive on a deserted island, led by my father who essentially bashed any of the other choices the other campers made. A favorite interchange was when a family friend shared that he's bring a family photo for emotional strength. My dad looked at him for a hard five seconds and just said,
"You're dead."
Great Fourth of July spirit Dad.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Searching for The "Just-Right" Book
Quick post to let you know that my very first Donors Choose project is posted. Read my project proposal here and PLEASE donate so that my kids can have a full library when they come back to school in the fall. Not only are you supporting my classroom, but you're also supporting a really great organization that helps thousands of teachers get the resources they need. Take a look!
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