Wedding Countdown

Let me start off by saying that there might not be a wedding.  Currently, I'm braving the Nor'easter in Longmeadow, MA at Jack's house.  We're scheduled to leave tomorrow, but it seems that the weather might have something else in store for us.  I mean, they might as well black out the whole radar map and say "Nice try, travelers."

There's my disclaimer.  We all know the wedding won't go on without its number one most important guest, so let's put it out there in case something goes wrong.  Start making alternate plans, Kris.

A year ago, I was still processing this whole engagement thing.  Remember?  I had known my bedside table longer than Kristin and Ryan knew each other.  He had the AUDACITY to propose to my dear older sister without even MEETING me.  The nerve!

Now I'm so excited for the wedding of the century that I can barely contain myself.  I find myself squealing for no reason, practicing my maid of honor speech when I'm driving (which is dangerous because usually I start crying when I do so), and buying a lot of random presents off of the gift registry to ensure that they don't have to worry about things like not having a full set of matching soup bowls.  To try to calm my mind (and take it off of the blizzard warning), I've decided to make a list of the things I'm most excited about.

• Just being home.  Can't wait to see all the family.
• Watching my sister stand around calmly, asking why so many people think it's weird that she wants to eat Aniello's pizza for lunch on her wedding day.  Aren't brides supposed to be stressed out?
• Watching my mom freak out about how much glitter is coming off of the centerpieces.
• Watching my brother try to convince everyone that he doesn't have a girlfriend.
• The open bar.  Duh.
• Singing during Kristin and Ryan's first dance (yes, I'm still holding out for that).
• Kristin and Ryan's first dance, because I'm wondering how well those choreography lessons worked out for her.  After her first session, she kept counting "1, 2, 3" to every song she heard.

That's all I can think of now.  Remember, this is all contingent on my safe arrival upstate, so keep your fingers crossed for clear roads and the ability of Jack's snow tires.

And Of Course...

What would Christmas be without some Office quotes?  Getting Season Six on DVD really put me in the mood.

"'But what are we going to do with this hacked off part?'
'Well, that is a perfectly good mini-tree, Kevin. And we are going to sell that to charity. That's what Christmas is all about.'"

"Unbelievable. I do the nicest thing that anyone's ever done for these people and they freak-out. Well happy birthday Jesus, sorry your party's so lame."

"Presents are the best way to show someone how much you care. It is like this tangible thing that you can point to and say 'Hey man, I love you this many dollars worth.'"

And, saving the best for last...
"Christmas is awesome. First of all, you get to spend time with people you love. Secondly, you can get drunk and no one can say anything. Third, you give presents. What's better than giving presents? And fourth, getting presents. So, four things. Not bad for one day. It's really the greatest day of all time."

Cookie Cutter Christmas

Just got done watching Christmas Vacation for the first time, away from my family for the first time.  It made me think about what we expect out of the holidays and how well (or poorly) things live up to those expectations.  In the movie, Chevy Chase sets his hopes high for a big family Christmas, only to find everything going wrong.  In the end, though, he finds...

Well, I wouldn't know because the DVD was scratched.  See what I mean?

My parents love Christmas, if you don't remember from past holiday blogs.  It's actually a family-wide epidemic.  But I think we're all guilty of trying too hard to make things perfect.  One year, my dad got us a gingerbread house kit.  Most of my time was spent shoving gumdrops in my cheeks while no one was looking.  Kristin was just as fascinated by the random blinking of the Christmas tree lights.  After a few minutes of my father capturing us hastily attaching Necco wafers to our roofs with frosting, the video cuts out and then back in, with a time stamp of 2:08 am.  The finished homes looked pristine, sparkling in the light of the garlands that adorn the inside of my house from November to March.  A background narrator describes them in flowing, poetic language, sounding like a strange mix of James Earl Jones and Santa Clause.  Clearly, it was not the work of the ADD and childhood obesity Fiorillo elves, but rather that of their father, the beer-drinking elf with a knack for home improvement (even of the edible type).

When I first thought about this idea, it made me sort of sad.  It seems people are more likely to be disappointed with all this idealism.  But the more I thought about it, the more it made me think that it was why the holidays are so special to most people.  No matter who you are, Chevy Chase or Lou Fiorillo, you want the holidays to be perfect.  Sure, things are going to go wrong.  The favorite Christmas DVD is scratched.  Winter alerts screw up your travel plans.  The cookies get burnt.  The turkey is dry (or raw).  You end up compromising and fixing the things that go wrong, all in the name of a Christmas you can look back on with "perfect" memories.  In the end, it's all the effort behind the perfection that everyone remembers.  My family will never forget the Extreme Gingerbread Home Makeover my dad performed on our gingerbread houses, just like we'll never forget the drive of death in a white-out blizzard where all my brother did was point out the new minivan's feature of telling you when the tires were slipping ("Pa, you're slipping... SLIP!  You're still slipping!").  We remember not because the experience was perfect, but because it ended just fine.  And usually with a couple of festive cocktails.

So, in the spirit of Christmas, let go of those expectations.  Accept the bad roads and the awkwardly shaped cookies and the tipsy inappropriate grace at family dinners because those things are what make these times memorable and special.  Enjoy your time with the people you care about, people who are pretty awesome even without all the garland and carols and holiday cheer.  Merry Christmas everyone.

Holiday Spirit

Last Thursday, we had our school holiday program.  Nothing quite puts me in the Christmas mood like slightly tone-deaf renditions of non-denominational holiday songs such as "We Wish You a Merry Winter."  The intent was there, but I'm pretty sure if you're going to play "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" over the intercom during the art show and put a Christmas tree up in the main office, you might as well just sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

Anyway, it got me thinking about all the wonderful things that make me feel like that little tangled hair girl in footie pajamas on Christmas morning when I was a kid.  A lot of them are missing now that I live in the South, where the average temperature in December is 47 degrees, but it doesn't stop me from being excited.

The Sounds
Harry Connick, Jr. and Hanson.  People are really quick to bash the Hanson CD and many will refuse to believe that their version of "What Christmas Means to Me" is better than U2's, but I will stand by that album until the day I die.

The Smells
Really cold air.  The kind of air that smells like snow.  I've only gotten a whiff of it once or twice down here, but I love that smell.

The Tastes
Everything tastes better around Christmas.  Maybe it's because people use the holidays as an excuse to eat whatever they want, but I'm not complaining.  For some reason, people seem to be carrying around high-fat goodies with them at all times, ready to pass them out to anyone that crosses their path.  My roommates and I have brought home more treats this month than any other time of year.  It's awesome.  Even the drinks are better- Starbucks Christmas blend coffee, hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps, egg nog... I even made chocolate pudding shots with Bailey's and Kahlua for a Christmas party the other night.  The only down side is that a lot of these drinks are made with milk, which means your hangover is about 7000 times worse the next day.

The Sights
One word- glitter.  Everything is sparkly.  I love it.

The only thing I need now is to get up to New England and see some snow.  Real, Christmas-y snow.  Then I'll be a happy girl.  Maybe I'll even put on the footy pajamas again.

Ke$ha is Ruining America

I try my very hardest to dislike Ke$ha.  I really do.  Every time she puts a new song on the radio, I listen to it and complain about how she's not even singing, and how her lyrics make no sense, blah blah blah.  Give me three days, though, and I'm maxing out the volume with my steering wheel volume control and busting out on the way to work (yes, at 5:15 am).

Today, though, I found something that might enable me to finally shun her horrible (yet so good) music from my ears.  When asking a child how many syllables he heard in necklace...

Long pause as he sings "We R Who We R" to himself

"Neck-a-lace! Three!!!"

Damn you.

My Life...

A student today stacking his group's notebooks-

"I'll let the girl go on top because it's the nice thing to do.... pause.  Miss Fiorillo, why are you chuckling?"

Sometimes I just can't keep it together.  Innuendos get me every time, even if they're unintentional and from the mouths of babes.  Is that sick?

Slap on the Hand

In the teaching world, it's called in action plan.  In real life, I think you could call it "the mom guilt trip" but either way, I'm in trouble.

Yes, yes, I'm referring to my blogging (or lack thereof).  Reading previous blogs had made me realize that it's not just that I'm blogging less often, but I'm writing shorter and less interesting posts.  Have I become jaded?  Am I now immune to the hilarity of my kids?  What happened?

Last year, my students never ceased to amaze me with the ridiculous things that they did.  One day it was asking me to blow in their eye, the next it was a kid drawing a picture that looked like a horrendous homicide/rape that turned out to be him getting stung by a bee (must have been traumatizing).  This year... none of that.  Maybe I'm SO focused on my improved instructional methods that I don't notice those little things anymore, or maybe they've ceased occurring because the only thing that happens in my room is student mastery of objectives.

I'm more inclined to believe that I'm paying less attention.

So what to blog about now that my life isn't a free fall of death and my kids are generally well-behaved and under control?  It's been difficult, especially being busy with all this extra "figuring out my career" thing.  There aren't very many quirky things about applying to law schools; in fact, it's probably one of the least exciting things to blog about.  I'm wondering if this is a normal progression- part of getting older and growing up.  Do you just naturally become more boring?  I hope not.  But when given a chance to poke fun at my life and the other people in it, one of my FAVORITE pastimes, I pass it up to play Web Sudoku or scrub my baseboards (okay, I've only done that once... but still).

The more I thought about it, the more I feel like our overall fun-ness fluctuates something like this:

I honestly think I'm going to have to wait until retirement to return to the fun level I was in college.  Not only will I not have to work, but I'll have all this money to spend on whatever I want.  Take my parents, for instance- retired (or close enough, anyway).  They are having a blast.  My dad just bought a new shower with 10 different settings, including one strangely similar to getting sprayed full blast by a hose.  They've turned the office into a bar, and have bought four flat screen LED TVs for three rooms in our downstairs.  Pretty soon, the attic will be turned into a dance club and my room will be the new hookah lounge.  Then there's my nana, who probably parties harder than most 22-year-old frat boys.  With all the money she saves on vodka with her mail-in rebates, she can pretty much do whatever she wants with her AWOL (Available Widows On the Loose) friends.

I should probably readjust my attitude, seeing that if I don't I'm sentencing myself to 30 years of very low life enjoyment, but I think I might be onto something.  Until then, I'll try to go back to noticing my students and all the crazy things they do so that the two most fun people I know (Mom and Nana) stop pointing out what a boring person I've become.

thank-ful (adj.): feeling or expressing gratitude; appreciative.

I know it's not Thanksgiving yet, but I feel overcome by the holiday spirit.  This is my hands-down, no contest FAVORITE time of the year.  There is one thing in particular, though, that I can't wait for.  It's the best holiday of the holiday season, and last year I didn't get to spend it in my typical fashion.  This year... I'll be back.

Yes, I'm talking about Thanksgiving Eve, the single greatest night to be at home of the whole year.  Why?  If you don't know, you've clearly never been to the Fiorillo house for Thanksgiving Eve and the festivities that follow it.  Let me give you an idea of how it all goes down:

1. Freshly poured draft beers in the kitchen.  My friends and I are reunited, and we begin with basic conversation about what is happening in our life.
2. The pitchers come out.  We begin to play one of the many card games that we have made up over the course of our friendship, games that no one else understands or knows the rules for.  This gives us an advantage because we can change the rules at will.  My favorite is the Gauntlet.
3. The computer comes out.  We watch YouTube videos that we have been saving to show each other the entire year.  As the YouTube videos run out, we begin to play the party music.  And then...
4. We get the woofer.  I don't know what a woofer does besides make our music way louder.
5. Downtown.  We hop from one end of Market Street to the other, bar to bar, socializing with people we went to elementary, middle, and high school with.  After every person we talk to, we immediately reassure ourselves that we are much, MUCH cooler than them.
6. The drive home... after my dad picks us up, we inevitably try to convince him to stop by McDonald's to see if it's open (even though we know it's not).  Instead, we end up at the corner gas station with $35 worth of Doritos and salt and vinegar chips.
7. The after-party.  Upon getting home, my dad begins brewing the hot chocolate for the 5K race he organizes in the morning.   By brewing, I mean he heats up gallons of it in our lobster pot on the stove, then carries it to the Gatorade dispenser on the front porch.  On the way out he spills it all over our carpet and porch, which, in the morning, looks as if someone was murdered in our house and then carried out to a stolen car in the driveway.
   
   In the meantime, my friends and I have invited everyone we know back to our house.  The party gets broken up when mom comes downstairs and discovers the hot chocolate stains and the thirty-plus people in our living room... whoops.
8. The morning hangover.  Some of the brave ones actually make it to the 5K and run in it without vomiting on the finish line.  Some are not so lucky.
9. The free bagels!!  And the high school kids.  My father invites all the high school runners over to our house for a free breakfast after the race.  This is great and not great at the same time.  It's great if you can clean yourself up enough to take advantage of the free Wegman's bagels.  It's not great if you're my brother's best friend and over forty high school runners see you passed out on our couch in your boxers.
10. Oiling the bag and ruining the carpet.  Another way my dad ruins the holiday for my mom is his method for making Thanksgiving turkey.  The trick is to cook it inside a paper bag soaked in olive oil.  The tricky part of the trick is dousing the bag.  My dad likes to measure tasks in the number of beers you need to drink while getting it done, and cooking a turkey is a 12 beer job.  The result?  Lovely olive oil stains to match the hot chocolate on the carpet.  He gets so sucked into the great conversation that he walks right out into the living room to join it... complete with the oiled up turkey bag.
11. The dinner! Enough said.  We also get to say what we're thankful for, and it's usually something that saved us the night before.

I CAN'T WAIT.

Do We Ever Grow Up?

Sunday procrastination... what better to do than blog?

It's been a successful weekend, meaning that I managed to have a social life (even if that means going on a series of dates with my roommate).  Last night, we made it uptown and were getting money out of an ATM when the guy behind us began air humping Erin's back.  It was pretty humorous because the ATM was reflective so we could see him relishing in his very mature joke.  When confronted about it, he assured us that he meant it as a compliment ("Ooooh, well then it's okay.").  The thing is that this guy was probably thirty, and I'm pretty sure he was waiting in line with his friend and his friend's fiance or wife.  It just made me think about when we're SUPPOSED to grow out of that stage... or if we ever are.  I guess I'll have to grow up to find out.

More Phantom Tollbooth Wisdom

I posted a long time ago about the doldrums of March, doldrums being a term inspired by one of my favorite childhood novels The Phantom Tollbooth.

Recommending it to a friend, it prompted me to look again at my copy of the book (15 years old and smelling as wonderful as all old books smell) and requote my favorite parts.

"You may not see it now, but whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do affects everything and everyone else, if even in the tiniest way."

"Remember also, that many places you would like to see are just off the map and many things you want to know are just out of sight or a little beyond your reach.  But someday you'll reach them all, for what you learn today, for no reason at all, will help you discover all the wonderful secrets of tomorrow."

Call the SPCA

First, some background- I'm a huge believer in karma.  So when good things happen to me, like finding a $17 Starbucks gift card in the Harris Teeter parking lot, I assume it's because I'm so humbly devoting myself to the betterment of America's public education system (go ahead, laugh).

I had a terrible day today.  Complete with desk kicking, fake plastic coin throwing, pouting, and "private part" issue.  Normally, the whole private part thing would get a little chuckle out of me (as long as it wasn't an actually serious thing).  It just seems kind of funny- calling things your private parts.  To be clear, they should be called genitalia because I have some parts that I consider to be private but do not necessarily fall into the sexual reproduction, like my bellybutton.  That's besides the point.

Anyway, when I got home, I figured out why my day was so bad.  The cat climbed in the fridge when I was making breakfast at the ungodly hour I make breakfast and I shut her in.  Whoops.  Half an hour later my other roommate found her.  She ate all my bacon, but I guess I don't really blame her.

Worst cat owner ever?  Right here.

Say Cheese 2

She didn't offend me AS much this year, just told me I looked like the high school kids she photographs.  I suppose I'll appreciate that one day, or so I'm told.

Say Cheese

Picture day is tomorrow.  Kids are so cute on picture day.  To look at, anyway.  The whole waiting in the smelly old gym for an hour with nothing to do isn't very cute.  Last year at that time, I was in my own personal hell.  It happened to be right smack dab in the middle of the free fall of death stage (see First Year of Teaching graph) and I was just trying to keep myself alive.  I was the last one in line.

"I get my picture taken today too, right?  For the yearbook?"

The photographer just looked at me blankly.  "You know, there are retakes in a couple of weeks."

"Retakes?"

"Yeah," she said.  "If you didn't want to get your picture taken today.  For some reason."  She stared at some place between my eyebrows and my forehead.  Maybe my hair... when was the last time I washed it?

I must have looked pretty rough for a school photographer to tell me to wait to get my picture taken.  Especially since she had just shot a girl in lime green skinny jeans without skipping a beat.  Needless to say, tomorrow I'm pulling out all the stops.  I don't want my self-confidence to be blown by a poorly paid broad with a camera.

Maybe the reason I have so much to do during the week...

...is because I spend all my weekend time doing things that are completely ridiculous.  Like becoming so inspired by Nelly's new song (seriously... I love it.  Takes me back to my dad driving my friend Cortney and me to middle school as we rapped Hot in Hurr) that I spend AN HOUR AND A HALF re-writing a new version about student achievement to teach to my kids.  Not only did I spend that long writing it, but I also practiced it.  With dance moves.

Productive start to the weekend...  I'm including the video so you can get as pumped as me, but you'll have to wait until we finish our official class recording for my version.  Until then, enjoy the inferior Nelly one with a small taste for what the chorus will say-

I was thinking ‘bout life, thinking ‘bout dreams

Thinking 'bout the future, who we gonna be

Open up my eyes and say, gotta follow all my dreams...

Halloween's A-Comin'

Halloween is a pretty controversial holiday around here.  Hence the blog title.  One of my kid's legitimately told me that October 31st is the devil's birthday.

At school, it means having a book character parade in order to fend off zealous parents who don't want their children participating in pagan rituals as offensive as wearing costumes.  Talking about the big event today in planning made me reminisce back to my Halloween days.  I cried pretty much every year because October 31st in upstate NY might as well be the dead of winter.  As a result, we had to wear winter coats.  Thick winter coats.  Under our costumes.  This meant instead of being a beautiful angel, I was a fat angel.  Instead of a graceful butterfly, a fat butterfly.  And instead of a freakish clown with blue hair... actually, the fat part probably didn't really affect the coolness of the costume.  Still, that kind of stuff sticks with you.

Leprechauns

In the middle of crisis time (aka a student sprinting away from my room because I "ruined his great day"... probably by trying to teach him something), another one of my kids came up to me and tapped me repeatedly on my arm.  Kid in the hallway crying, exasperated teacher... perfect opportunity for this conversation in this student's eyes.

"Do you know why I don't like leprechauns?"

Really?  REALLY?  Leprechauns?  You're sorting shapes.  How does a leprechaun factor into the situation?

"Because they're STEALERS."  Good to know.

Misnomer

I called a Charlotte restaurant today to make a dinner reservations for Jack and me.  They asked me for my last name and I paused.  How many times had I given my own last name and then spent 10 minutes trying to clarify the pronunciation and the spelling?  Too many.  I decided to finally just make it easier and use Jack's last name.

"Abbott," I replied, ready to hang up.

"And the first name?" the hostess asked.

Shit.  Since when do they ask you for the first name too?  I had two choices.  The first choice would be to suddenly deepen my voice and reply "Jack" as if I had just turned into a man.  I opted for the second choice.

"Sara."

"Alright, Ms. Abbott, we have you down for seven o'clock!"

It was fun to explain to my boyfriend why our reservation was under Sara Abbott.  Didn't creep him out at all...

Mission Accomplished

See ya later LSAT... at least until November 1st when you invade my life again with your score report.

To tell you the truth, it really was not that bad.  I got to sleep in past 4:30 am, it was a beautiful day, and I got to work in a quiet room free of scabies and ringworm.  Overall, better working conditions than I'm used to.  It was funny to listen to people during the break too, especially the people that you could tell were still in college.

"Oh my God, if I have to read one more second my eyes are going to fall out."
"I can't believe it's only halfway over... how are we going to keep working in that room for another two hours?!"
"This is awful."
"I need another beer." *Note: yes, another beer.  The kid sitting next to me admitted to picking up a cold one at 7:30 before leaving for the test to calm his nerves.*

Like I said before, compared to what I'm used to- kids peeing their pants, tapping my arm incessantly asking for a pencil, and spending 12+ hours at school- this thing was a piece of cake.  I'm wondering what these people are going to do when they actually get into law school and have to read for *gasp* more than two hours.  Or what they're going to do when they get a job and they have to work for eight (or more, realistically) hours CONSECUTIVELY.

I can't poke too much fun, because I'm pretty sure I was the same way before I graduated.  And I definitely downed a few cold ones in celebration of finally being done after.  But still, it was mildly amusing.

Now, on to the equally time consuming process of law school applications...

Moment of Truth

LSAT tomorrow.  Big day.  I decided to prepare by giving myself a pedicure and shaving my legs.  Like it's a big date (sorry Jack).  I've also begun to exhibit the extremely nerdy side of myself that I normally try to keep under wraps.  Some examples?

• I sharpened ten brand new Dixon Ticonderoga soft No. 2 pencils to bring along with me.  Yes, ten.  And yes, I have a very specific favorite brand of number two pencil.  If you don't know what brand I'm talking about, then you obviously have never used a quality number two pencil.  And I'm bringing ten just in case I become possessed by something that causes me to savagely break nine pencils during the course of the test.
• I'm also bringing a jumbo size pink eraser.  In case I fill in the wrong bubble two thousand times and use up all the erasers on my ten pencils trying to correct the mistake.
• Can't forget to bring the mini pencil sharpener... because there is such a high likelihood of all ten of my brand new, super sharp pencils will break.
• I spent 20 minutes planning out my outfit, with a specific layer for any possible temperature.  I don't think I spend that much time picking an outfit to wear when going out, and I definitely don't spend that much time picking out what I wear to work.

Wish me luck.  And pray that my pencil sharpener doesn't malfunction (just in case...)

We actually reach full maturation at age six

I've found a kind of scary parallel between college students and first graders in the past year.  It's weird how many things seem like a flashback to when I was in school- I never thought I'd be cleaning vomit off a carpet again, at least.

Today, it that feeling was stronger than ever after I found an index card in my room that said "I love Immanuel.  as my boyfren."

I pulled Immanuel over to me and asked him whether he knew who wrote it.

The look he gave me was a look filled with so much fear and horror I thought something else had happened to him.  He started to cry, and in between his sobs he said, "I... don't... have... a... girlfriend..."

The funny part is I'm pretty sure I've seen that face before in college.  I think that's how most 20-something guys act when they're the last ones to find out they have a girlfriend.  Jack reacted the same way when he found the note I wrote about him being my boyfriend in the Psi U basement bathroom.

A New Toy

I needed a pick-me-up today.  Badly.  I've been feeling a little deflated (a little may be an understatement) because of some things going on in my whole teaching life.  Then, just when I thought it couldn't get any more down in the dumps, I found out there is a case of scabies somewhere in our school.  I don't know what scabies is exactly, but it makes me feel like I have worms crawling under my skin.  I picture the symptoms to be foaming scabs... although that is probably completely inaccurate.  I'd google it but I'm pretty sure that would make me feel worse, not better.  I am instituting a strict no hugging or high five policy until further notice (one teacher suggested just giving kids a Jersey Shore fist pump instead).

Anyway, on top of the scabies, it was Wednesday.  And we had a staff meeting.  And a training.  And then another meeting.  It was 3:30 before I got something to eat- a long time to wait when my lunchtime is 9:45 (yes, in the morning).

Like I said, I needed a pick-me-up.  So at 4:20, I left for UNCC on a mission.  I bought a brand spankin' new MacBook Pro at 4:50 and made it to class at 5:00.

Now I'm home and get to play.  The only problem is that I don't know how to do anything.  I never realized how much I use backwards delete until a time like now (how DO you use backwards delete on a Mac?  If it's not possible I might have to take it back).  I'm just hoping I don't spend the whole night exploring the trackpad shortcuts and finally being as cool as all those people with the photo booth pictures (see below).

Note: I am already in bed at 9:30.

A New Kind of Aromatherapy

This week is crazy.  I have school and TFA meetings pretty much until 8 pm every night and I'm banking on my quick reflexes to get me through the day.  One thing that is managing to ease my stress is my kids' insistence lately that I smell them.

Yes, more than one child has asked me to smell them.

The first one happened when they were lining up after lunch, when the smiling caboose of my line said,

"Miss Fiorillo, smell me!"  He was sniffing his arm.
"No, thank you.  I don't smell my students."
"But I smell good!"
Well in that case...

Then, the next day, a very soft spoken girl tried to talk to me during morning work:

"Miss Fiorillo, my mom put mumblemumblemumble."
"What's that?"
"Mango."
"Oh, do you like mango?"
"No.  There's mango in my hair."
What are you supposed to say to that?  "Oh... that's nice."
She looked at me, wide-eyed.  "Do you want to smell it?"
I never thought I'd have to say "No thank you, I don't smell my students" twice in one week.

And finally, during reading workshop, one of my students with a farting problem let a few go, causing me to stare her down to cut it out.  "Can you smell it?" she asked.

Just then another boy raised his hand to tell me that someone had passed gas and the stink was making it very difficult to work... no kidding.

My Double Life

I like to make myself into a new kind of person for my kids.  I wouldn't exactly call it lying, but I do take advantage of the gullibility of young children and stretch the truth.

Cases in point:

• Telling them how old I am.  This year, for some reason, I have decided to convince my kids that I am old.  Not older- old.  I want them to tell their parents that their first grade teacher is a decrepit old lady that can barely get around without having to pop her hip back into its joint.  It started involuntarily when one of my kids asked what all the black under my eyes was.  At first, I thought she meant I had makeup running or something, but quickly realized she was talking about under eye circles.  After that I was determined that they attributed any sign of me looking tired or irritated as an effect of my old age.  I think it makes them take me more seriously.
• Making them believe I'm the next Beyonce.  I rap the alphabet song and sing pop music, then casually add comments about how good I am and that I should be on the radio.  They don't really do much besides agree, so it's a real self-confidence booster.
• Convincing them that I am best friends with any adult they might ever come in contact with.  The other first grade teachers, their mom, the principal, Santa Claus- I may even go as far as to edit myself into fake photos.

 Short post, but I'm very tired.  After all, I'm pretty old for a teacher/pop star.

Playing Catch-up

I've been terrible at life lately.  Or maybe it's just blogging.  At any rate, I've been super busy going between, work, grad school, and LSAT stuff.  It's EXHAUSTING.  Then this weekend (which would have been my blogging catch-up time to reveal all the hilarious little details from my babies) I took an impromptu getaway to the Rappahannack (sp?) River to my roommate's house there.

We did nothing.  We woke up late, had her dad make us delicious breakfasts, lunch, and dinner, and then alternated between napping on the beach and closing our eyes while laying out on the beach.  There's not much of a distinction between the two, FYI.  See picture below to get jealous of me and my very impressive tan.

Looking out towards the Chesapeake Bay

School?  It's great.  I'm actually LIKING it.  Feeling like a teacher, minus the fact that we have been testing so much these first weeks that I've barely gotten to teach at all.  But soon that will be over and I will be in the zone.  More to come later- I promise.

No, I did not cry in my cubby this year

For those of you who are wondering, no, I did not end the first day in the fetal position crying.  Quite the opposite, actually.  I had a pretty awesome three days, although my kids are still in the honeymoon stage (never got one of those last time).

Some funny stories from first three days of school:

• "Why is it so important to walk in the hall?"
  "Because it's not very lady-like to run."
  
• On a student survey: If I could be any animal, I would be not be an animal_______.
• Making a counting book about things you'd bring to a picnic: "I'm bringing five vacuums cause we're all probably going to get dirrrrrrrrtay."
• And, the highlight of my day, a little boy bopping in his seat and singing this

Even though he didn't do the Lil Wayne part it still really got me in the weekend mood.

Misunderstood.

I was packing my lunch when I noticed a letter for me on the counter.  The return address was "Mommy Fiorillo."

Oh my gosh!  I thought.  She planned it to arrive the day before the first day of school!  It must be a letter wishing me luck.  It must be a letter telling me what a caring and good teacher I'll be this year.  It must be...

A dental bill?

"Sari, please submit this to your insurance company.  Thanks."

Come See How Good It Looks!

Pictures of my classroom!  First day of school tomorrow, so no time to actually talk due to the nervous anxiety/nausea. Hopefully my kids will be so mesmerized by its beauty they won't do anything wrong.

My word walls

Calendar and behavior chart

Carpet area

Themed bookshelf

Wall of work... and computers

From the door

Quickie

Get your minds out of the gutter folks, this isn't THAT kind of quickie.

Remember the Sunday night anxiety?  It's back.  I bought myself a lavender candle in an effort to relax (an idea from a friend's blog about her classroom approach this year), but I have a pretty good feeling it won't work as well as I want it too.

My first week back (really, it's been two weeks) has been HECTIC, in a word.  Working from 8 to 4, eating dinner, and then studying wildly entertaining LSAT PrepTests until 10:30 is, surprisingly, a pretty tiring lifestyle.  On Friday, I managed to keep myself up until 10:30.  Then I slept past noon.  So much for having a social life this year.

The hard work is paying off though.  My classroom looked great for Open House on Friday (pictures to come) and I got to meet seventeen of my twenty-two kids.  Most VERY cute and excited for school to start.  I have two more days to prepare and then BAM.  First day of school.  I'm just hoping I won't end up in the fetal position at the end of the day again.

For all you first year teachers out there reading this (probably only like one of you), don't worry.  The only real important thing about the first day is keeping the children alive and getting them on the bus home.  And you even get a little leniency as far as getting the transportation one hundred percent accurate.

That's all for now (I told you, QUICKIE).  More later.  Hopefully before Wednesday.

Reinvigorated

Official second-year TFA programming began this week.  I was not ready.  I forgot what it was like to work 12 hours a day for a whole week (I was in my school too) and I shouldn't have been surprised when I found myself asleep on a Friday night before 11:00.

BUT- and I know this is cheesy, but bear with me- I'm feeling like I should change the "Fear/Dread" portion of my teaching graph to "Reinvigoration."  Which spell check just told me is not a word... oh well.  The program staff in Charlotte is very "excited" (a much overused adjective in this region) to be starting this year off on a different foot.  I'll admit that I was pretty jaded and grouchy and skeptical about it the first day of programming, but yesterday was actually extremely motivating and- I'll use the word again- reinvigorating.

The whole mission has become much more urgent in that they're stressing significant change in EVERY classroom of EVERY corps member without excuses.  I've felt many times that Charlotte a city where if you want to escape from that guilt you feel about your kids being two grade levels behind or living in extreme poverty or not having the love and support that every child deserves, you can do it.  It's easy.  So in some ways, as hard as I worked last year, I checked myself out from it and eventually lost sight of what I was trying to do from the beginning.

My program director is really cheesy when she meets with us, using a lot of quotes and youtube videos set to inspirational music and all of that.  I'm including two below so that you all can feel as motivated as I feel right now.  Maybe it's about going to the gym instead of public education, but whatever- I won't judge.

Ridin' Dirty

With all the time I've spent in my car this summer, I've decided to put together a list of things I like about driving stick and all the things I hate.  Not only does making a list make me feel like I've done something when I really haven't, but... okay, it really just makes me feel like I've done something when I really haven't.

The Benefits of Driving Stick

• Looking really cool and sounding impressive.  This is especially true when your boyfriend can't drive stick.  I like to pretend that solely being able to take a manual car out for a spin makes me a better driver, especially when he brings up articles about men fearing for their life when their partner is driving.  (Possible response: well I fear for my life when you drive my car... because you don't know how.)
• Being able to pretend to street race.  Yeah, I said it.  I'll rev my engine at you.
• It's more fun... I mean that.  When you're in the mood, it makes driving more of an activity than a mindless drudgery getting you to where you need to go.

What Sucks About Driving Stick

• Not being able to do ANYTHING while driving.  I know it's not safe to distract yourself in the car but let's be honest- we all do it.  It's next to impossible to do anything when you drive a standard car.  Texting?  No way.  Only at stop lights.  Eating?  Absolutely not.  Sometimes I feel bad when I'm accelerating next to someone and I'm at about 5000 rpms because I'm trying to eat a bagel.  No, I'm not trying to race you (although maybe we can later).  I just want to eat my bagel and wish my car would shift itself into third gear.
• Other people can never drive your car.  If I had a dollar for every time I needed someone to drive for me and they couldn't because my car is manual, I would have about $6.  This doesn't seem like very much, but one of those times was the 13 hour trip back home with Jack.  Through DC and NYC.  Which brings me to my next point...
• Traffic.  It's one thing if you're looking for a really good left buttcheek workout, but quite another to have to hold the clutch down for over an hour going 5 mph.
• It makes driving hungover eight billion times worse.  We all know that after a night of libations are fine motor skills our usually suffering.  For me, that means shifts that feel more like earthquakes.  And earthquakes are not fun when you spent all last night pretending you were a booze-fueled Step Up 4 extra.

 

4: Stick Shift Vs. Automatic - watch more funny videos

Happy Birthday Krissy

This will be a brief birthday post because my sister gets to celebrate with my mom.  She usually goes overboard for our birthdays, particularly when it comes to alliteration, sponsoring events such as "The Seven Days of Sari" and "The Many Cakes of Krissy" and "June is Joyous... Shit, Jon's Birthday was Yesterday".

Anyway, congratulations on turning 26, ya old fart.

In the picture below, you can see me practically diving into her cake headfirst.

Also, don't be fooled by my man hands and massive head- she's still two and a half years older.

I Need to Prove that People Like Me

Two requests directed at all the readers of my blog-

1. Donate to my Donors Choose project PLEASE.  Even $5 helps and research proves that people that spend money on other people consider themselves happier.  The link to donate is the first box on the left sidebar (or, for those of you that are too lazy to move your mouse that far, go here).  Some ways that you can make those bills back:
• Eat dinner at your parents' house one night, then pull a high school move and take some of their liquor home in a water bottle.
• Accept a drink from that sketchy guy at the bar when you're out this weekend (just make sure he's not TOO sketchy)
• Walk somewhere instead of driving... yes, I know it's 97 degrees out with seven million percent humidity, but come on people, it's for the children.
2. Follow my blog.  It has a measly four followers, which makes me look super lame.  If you have a Google account, which I'm SURE most of you do, and you read my blog occasionally, then follow me.  I'm asking nicely.  Just go to the box on the left hand side of the page where it says "Super Fans," then click Follow.  Make sure you follow it publicly, otherwise it won't make me look any cooler (my primary goal).

Heavy on the Head

Since coming back to Charlotte, I've been spending most of my free time figuring out law school stuff (the remainder of that free time is probably spent wandering around aimlessly in Target) and it's making my head hurt.  First of all, I have to study for the LSAT and have found myself dreaming of doctors labeled F,G, H, J, K and of their X, Y, Z patients.  Or of factories A, B, C and their coincidental processing of products that conveniently start with sequential letters of the alphabet (i.e. steel, timber, and uranium).  On top of that, I've been navigating TFA's partnerships with various schools, deciding arbitrarily to apply to any school that waives the application fee and happens to fall in my general bubble of geographical acceptability (which probably covers the entire country).

All this time I'm wondering if this is really what I want to do, or simply the easiest next step.  Most people pretty much have their whole life decided for them up to age 22, but then we get out of college and have a minor (or major) freak out because there are so many acceptable paths.  The easiest one is continuing to go to school.  After seventeen years of being a student, most of us are pretty good at it (or at least used to it), so its the most comfortable choice.  After working for a year, I am fully NOT in support of people going to more school right after school, except maybe med school (and even then, I'm skeptical).  It puts off the real world, with real bills and real work hours.  Plus you don't get paid (and even if you're getting a small paycheck, it's pretty liberating to be "living on your own," even if that means eating spaghetti every night and using sugar-free Popsicles as a replacement for air-conditioning).  And, most importantly, you get out with these great academic qualifications... and no work experience.  None.  The last one's more of an opinion of mine, but pretty true nonetheless.

In light of all that, I'm still thinking of going back to school because it's the safe choice.  It puts the next job decision on the back burner and lets me do what I love doing- reading and writing papers- all while escaping from the life where a real live paycheck let me pay my real live bills.  Now it will be a real live interest accruing loan paying my real live bills instead.  Is that really what I want to do?  Who knows.  But at least it's keeping me busy.

Char-What?

Charlotte.  Back in my home.  It's funny how much it feels like home, especially since I've lived out of two bags for a month and half.  My old "home" is really just my parents house now, and even though I grew up on the bunk beds they put back in my room after I stole all my other furniture for down here, it didn't feel like my room anymore.

As excited as I am to be back in Charlotte (after a mere 14 hours in the car starting at 5 am), I've encountered a few problems:

1. My phone is dead- maybe this doesn't seem like that huge of an issue except that...
2. My charger is missing- okay, that complicates things a little more, but why don't I use my car charger?
3. My car is about 2500 miles past its oil change.  Whoops.

Oh well.  I need to tame this explosion of things that is in my room right now.  I hate unpacking.

The Stages of Teaching

We were given this graph of the stages of a first year teacher sometime in October for a TFA session on having "balance" in your life.  HAH.  That's how most of us responded to that, if we could manage to untuck our heads from the fetal position.  One of my friends posted this on Facebook and got a pretty funny line of responses, mostly questioning whether rejuvenation would ever ACTUALLY happen.

I re-did the graph to more accurately show the stages of a first year teacher.  Please note the area where the plot line drops off the graph into no man's land (approximately September-November).

Additional Photos

I've been looking at old photos at home, and happened to stumble upon some from the infamous Cousin's Camp that I blogged about last week.

At left is the playhouse in all its glory, and below are two pictures of all the cousins.  To me, the funniest part is the fact that all the kids are doing whatever they want in the third picture, with my mom and dad just looking away not caring anymore. Wonder if Mollie's arm is broken there?

More About That Girl

My boyfriend reads Barstool Sports religiously (as most 20-35 year old men on the East Coast probably do) and I usually give him a pretty hard time about it.  Surprisingly, I don't love watching him pore over the Red Sox, weird-looking criminals with even weirder sounding crimes (i.e. does this look like the face of a man who would lure children into his broken down van with hot dogs and cotton candy flavored condoms?), and hot local girls.  Even so, I caught a post about The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo over his shoulder... which made me laugh, mostly because it's true and also because I just blogged about it.  Women ARE reading this book, including my 80+ year old grandmother.  So all three males that read my blog- follow this advice and maybe it'll score you a date (possibly with Nana).

Upgrade

One of the few reasons I'm excited to get back to Charlotte- being able to join the Mac community.  I figure that getting myself a new little MacBook Pro will be ample distraction from leaving my family and friends and boyfriend until school starts.  After all, for the past month I've pretty much been able to bum around with whoever I want for however long I want.  I've extended two-day visits into weeklong stays, driven 400 miles on a day's notice, and used the "Let me check my schedule" sarcasm every time someone has asked me if I can come to a party.  It's a pretty awesome feeling, but knowing that I'll be going back to real life where work and yoga and eating and sleeping leave very little time for extra activities made getting a new little toy a very attractive distraction option.  The only problem is the fact that I now want to throw my old computer out a window... I'll have to suppress that urge until next week.

Camera Insurance

Yesterday I finally pulled the trigger and bought a new camera- my sixth one since I started college.  The quality of the cameras I was receiving (usually on my birthday or for Christmas) slowly began to decrease, and for good reason.  I mean, what kind of person needs a new camera once a year?

People that know me, especially people that know me from college, know that I LOVE taking pictures.  Some nights, I would come home to a memory card with over 100 pictures on it.  It would be closer to a film of the night's event than to random snapshots.  Part of the problem is that I used my camera at all times (and often alcohol is involved), so my little electronic friends would be done faster than most.  Following is a short list of how each of my cameras met its demise.

1. Camera #1: my 17th birthday present, it made it through high school without a scratch.  But at the first tropical party at Trinity, some kind of sticky beverage got underneath the buttons, making it very difficult to work them unless you could put up over 150 pounds on benchpress.
2. Camera #2: bought hastily to capture our family vacation in the Outer Banks in August, it lasted until New Years without incident.  It fell to its death in a toilet (note: a clean toilet) at a party in New York City, and although it still SORT OF worked after that, the pictures had weird lines through them.  Then it fell in a drink concoction and it was DEFINITELY done.
3. Camera #3: my 21st birthday present that was bought with my upcoming semester abroad in Rome.  I loved it.  It got through my 21st birthday celebration, Thanksgiving festivities, and Christmas at the beach in Florida.  Unfortunately, my purse got knocked out of the car at a gas station on our drive back north.  Purse: recovered.  Wallet with credit cards: recovered.  Cash and camera: gone (along with all our pictures from Disney).
4. Camera #4: I couldn't go to Rome without a camera, so I got one before I left that took awesome panoramic shots... probably the best feature on it, especially when I used it to create pictures combining one person's lower body with another person's head.  Somehow, this one stayed firmly on my wrist through a near-arrest by the Spanish police in Barcelona, red wine fueled club nights in Rome, sprints through Prague to avoid homeless men peeing in the street, and all the European gypsies that my mother cautioned me would chop off my arm with a machete to get to my valuables.  First week back at school and it got dropped onto a coffee table.  For some reason, a lens bent up at a 45 degree angle won't take pictures... weird, right?
5. Camera #5: Christmas, four months later.  I was hurting.  I had missed the documentation of MAJOR senior year events.  Then what did I find in my stocking?!  A new Kodak!  It was a Christmas miracle.  So maybe it was the cheapest model they made.  Maybe it was bigger than my first camera with its five-year-old technology.  I didn't care.  Fast forward to about two months ago.  After a night out in uptown Charlotte with way too much ridiculous dancing, one of my friends was missing.  We couldn't leave without her.  Unfortunately, I didn't make the most practical choice of footwear.  Solution?  Take off my four and a half inch stilettos while we waited for her to meet us.  Not wanting to stand on the bare pavement, I decided to stand on my purse (after taking out my electronics, of course).  My camera is probably still sitting on that lamppost, waiting to be picked back up.

The cashier asked if I wanted camera insurance on this new one as I was buying it.  I thought about it...

"Does that cover spilling things on it?"
"Uh, no.  Only internal problems with the camera."
"Oh, so like a lens that gets broken when you drop it."
"No, because that would be your fault."

What's the point of insurance then?  I can only hope that it survives this weekend in Boston...

What a Bummer

One of the most mood deflating things that can happen to me is doing something I hate (i.e. get up at 5:30) for something I love (i.e. 6 am yoga class) and then getting stopped by some impassable obstacle (i.e my dad's truck at the end of the driveway with a dead battery).  And all before I had coffee.  I would have jumped it, but considering I learned how to do that from Michael Scott (see Season 3, Episode 14 intro), I decided it might be better to just go inside and wait for someone else to help me with it.  See post title for my current mood.

Confidence Boost

Sometimes, the articles written about Teach For America give me a much-needed lift in my self-confidence.  Apparently these articles are in no shortage these weeks, probably because of a pretty anti-TFA study done in Texas.  I like reading both kinds of articles because it lets me see how much of the TFA juice I've drank (quite a lot) but it forces me to think about what I consider to be the positive and negative aspects of the organization.  It also gets me fired up because in most cases there is some kind of inaccuracy, especially regarding teacher layoffs* (see below).  Not that TFA's info is free from criticism- I'm pretty sure that their alumni statistics are a little skewed when it comes to judging how many alums are in an "education" field (a pretty broad category, I would argue) and how many still support the TFA mission (another vague description).  If you'd like to be a little bit more impressed with me (or rather, the organization I'm a part of), feel free to browse through these articles.  They're mostly based on Ivy League and really elite schools, but still applicable to all in TFA.

A Chosen Few Are Teaching For America, NY Times

What They're Doing After Harvard, Wall Street Journal

Also, if you haven't made your way down to the bottom of my blog, you'll find a stream of education/TFA related news... just in case you're interested.

*It's a pretty common misconception that during teacher layoffs, districts are letting go experienced teachers and replacing them with TFA teachers.  Budget cuts requiring a reduction in force and the hiring of Teach For America teachers are two different things- TFA hiring (at least in my district) is part of the district's strategic improvement plan, mainly because our superintendent believes strongly in the program's results.  So, for example, the district may be cutting its technology budget by 1/3, but its strategic technology plan calls for the purchase of 3,000 new computers.  These two decisions sound contradictory at first, but (as I said before) they're part of two different district initiatives.  Also, Teach For America teachers are not immune to layoffs.  You can ask corps members in my class who DID get laid off this year.  A lot of people believe that we are allowed to stay no matter what we do, but our performance is measured by the same evaluation tool used to determine which teachers get RIF (reduction in force) letters.  Usually, the teachers that get these letters are (1) mid-year or emergency hires who have only signed a contract to the end of the year, (2) teachers who have been teaching for fewer than five years and have been rated below-standard in one or more of their evaluations, or (3) teachers whose position has been combined with another or eliminated altogether (sadly, more and more special-area positions like librarians and guidance counselors are being cut).

What Happened to Cousin's Camp?

Today I went to Buffalo for a hot second with my mother for my cousin's graduation party.  My siblings and I are the only ones that don't live there, so we're given some extra points on the coolness scale because people don't see us as much.  It does make it more disappointing when not everyone shows up, though, because we drove the whole two hours to make an appearance for nothing (no hard feelings Jordan, Justin, and Laura...not).  In the family spirit, it made me remember a pretty significant tradition in my childhood that I realized has never been mentioned on this blog.

Sometime in the '90s, my parents decided it would be a good idea to have something called Cousin's Camp.  Cousin's Camp, in their minds, would be a week filled with fun activities and family bonding.  There was one rule- you had to be potty-trained.  Naturally, my aunts and uncles jumped at the chance to get rid of their pesky Polish offspring, and most of them were shipped of to the village to join the festivities.  All in all, there were nine of us- six Fiorillos and three Zaprowskis.

The next year, Cousin's Camp was shortened to three days.  The year after that, it was canceled.

"But why?" you're probably asking.  "It sounds like such a great idea!"  I don't think any of these events is the sole reason for the demise of Cousin's Camp, but they may have had something to do with my parents' hesitance to repeat it (or my relatives' hesitance to send their kids back):

1. The vagueness of the potty-training rule: to be clear, there is a big difference between potty-trained and mostly potty-trained.  One cousin (probably so excited at the thought of spending a week with his ultra cool cousins) wet his pants the first day.  I don't know if he knew of the only rule, but he hid the evidence... in his suitcase.  For six days.  You do the math.
   
2. Make-your-own-sundae: it works in theory, but when practiced in reality it results in one cousin stealing the strawberry syrup, chugging it under the kitchen table, then passing out on the living room floor after the sugar rush wears off.  Also, chugging strawberry syrup is impossible without spilling some (read: a lot) on your chest, which looks an awful lot like blood (especially if it's on the body of a passed out five-year-old).
   
3. Medical liability: my parents had a very specific mindset when it came to childhood (and teen and adult) injuries- suck it up.  In fact, "suck it up" was heard more often than most other phrases in our house growing up.  So, when my cousin Mollie stood at the top of our fireman's pole...
   
   Wait a minute.  I need a digression here.  After my sister's First Communion, my dad used the money to build us the most awesome playhouse of all time.  It was two stories high, with a cargo net leading up to a second floor balcony and "bedroom" that was carpeted.  From the balcony, you could take the fireman's pole down to the first floor, where there were swings, gymnast's rings, a window that folded into a table, and a ladder with a hatch back to the second floor.  It's the only reason we had friends as children.  Anyway, back to the main point.
   
   Mollie was too afraid to go down the pole, even though it was only about twelve feet off the ground.  My dad's advice?  Suck it up.  She tried.  But apparently to Mollie, suck it up means let go of the pole and fall twelve feet to the ground.
   
   "I hurt my arm!" she cried.  My parents' response?  Suck it up.  Oh yeah, and go bowling with everyone the same night.  Her parents were a little bit more concerned when she got back... broken arm.  Whoops.

So somewhere between the urine-soaked clothing and making a little girl use a crippled arm to bowl, Cousin's Camp lost its fervor, especially because I think my aunts and uncles paid to get the kids out of their hair.  Most people don't like to pay for stuff like that.  It's really too bad, too, because we all agree that Cousin's Camp would be awesome now that we're all older and DEFINITELY potty-trained.  Our parents still won't do it though- they claim they can't afford the alcohol.

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.

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?

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.

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.

 The romper in question from Target.com 
(no, I did not model it myself and then post it on my blog)

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.

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!

You're Leaving? When I Specifically Asked You Not To?!

One effect of a bad economy is the tendency of people to reconsider their employment situations, whether it becomes a necessity because of being laid off or a strategic move to gain stability.  Apparently this economy has even had that impact on fictional characters, because this weekend I learned the incredibly upsetting news that Michael Scott will be bidding his employees and adoring fans goodbye after the coming season (a reporter from the NY Times interviewed him about his decision, I'll let you read what she said about it).

To say that I watch The Office religiously would be an understatement.  To say that I am pretty familiar with the characters and most of the episodes would be an insult.  I consider myself one of those obnoxious people who could reenact the entire show, Season 1 to its most current episode, with my eyes closed and the TV on mute.

All in all, I think that it's probably time for the show to end anyway and that Carell is making a smart move to leave.  I'm hoping the NBC and the show's writers will see it my way too- that Dunder Mifflin is nothing without Michael Scott- and end the show after Carell goes.  Anyone who has watched from the first season can attest to the evolution of the show from the extremely dry humor of its pilot (a nearly identical re-make of the British pilot) to its more expansive and outlandish cast of today.  The best seasons are the ones that have mixed the two kinds of comedy- in my opinion, Seasons 2 and 3 (maybe 4 too).

Anyway, I'll end this post with my favorite Office moments, ones that have taught me a lot about social etiquette, business professionalism, and personal relationships.  Enjoy!

• Best of Michael
• Best of Dwight (the sound's a little up and down on this one)
• The Epic Rivalry

"Guess what?  I have flaws.  What are they?  Oh, I don't know- I sing in the shower.  Sometimes I spend too much time volunteering.  Occasionally I'll hit somebody with my car.  So sue me- no don't sue me.  That is the opposite of the point I'm trying to make."

More Inspirational BS

Okay, this is the last time today.  I'm working on my classroom theme for next year and I came across this quote (which I LOVE):

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty, well-preserved body but rather to skid in broadside thoroughly used-up, totally worn out proclaiming, "Wow! What a ride!"
-James Holmes

The syntax bothers me, but I like what it's saying.

Go Getter

I was afforded a lot of extra think time today thanks to the hopelessly boring drive from Western Massachusetts to my house in Painted Post.  The monotonous scenery and static-ridden radio stations are enough to make anyone's mind wander.  I, considering myself an especially pensive person (mainly because of an overactive imagination and a tendency to try to write novels in my head), was no exception.

I got to thinking about how the best way to get the life you want.  I thought about all the things I have done (or not done), about what has gotten me to the point I am at right now.  And I realized that it's actually quite simple.

You just have to go out and get it.

Okay, okay, this isn't always as easy as it sounds.  Most people believe that they do TRY to get the things they want in life but I think usually people just don't try ENOUGH.  I used to be (and in some ways, still am) a very shy and passive person.  I hated making people go out of their way.  I'd eat food I didn't order, avoid eye contact with acquaintances to get out of small talk, and nix voicing my opinion because I didn't want to cause a conflict.  That is not how to do it.

The main reason for this is that people aren't mind-readers.  This applies most directly to people-to-people relationships.  Most people think that their eye twitches alone are enough to let others know how they feel, as if they spoke in some kind of bodily Morse code in which all human beings were fluent.  Even the most perceptive people I know cannot pick up on everything.  What you have to do is TALK.  ASK.  I have always wanted to get on a direct flight when I have connections.  I never ask or, if I do, make a very pathetic attempt.  Recently, I went up to three different ticket counters to get on a direct flight.  And guess what?  I got on one.  All because I asked.  Maybe three times... but still.  I asked.

And sometimes, when asking isn't enough or when it waters down your request, you just have to take it.  One fellow TFA corps member put it quite nicely-

"In teaching, I've learned that you're better off asking for forgiveness rather than permission."

If you do something and it works, people tend to forget that you weren't supposed to do it in the first place. Hell, that's how I showed my boyfriend I was interested and it's one of the only times I've ever really put myself out there rather than waiting for someone else to do it themselves.

In re-reading this I realize it sounds like one of those books you find in the self-help sections, usually with a picture of an overweight balding guy holding his arms out as if to say, "Look how happy I look!  This stuff must work!"  That's not really my intention... just wanted to point it out.