Somewhere in-between...

...a  good day and a bad day.

Monday has too much power over me.

Could it be that I had too much sleep because of the time change?
Could it be that those students were freaking energized and loud?
Could it be that my tights were too much?

My mom did call at seven am just to say I looked pretty yesterday.
My husband did send me a love-text during first period.
My cheer girls did give me an edible bouquet.

Somewhere in-between a good day and a bad.
More good than bad.
Just a Monday, after all.

Love, me and my tights

Wee Small Hours

I like to wake up earlier than everyone in the house.

I  tip-toe around like a kitty cat on silent paws

and sip coffee the way I remember my great-grandmother sipping her's -

but she drank from fine bone china and rested her cup on a saucer in-between sips.
She read the paper at the kitchen table.
I sit on the couch with a computer on my lap,
coffee mug at my side.

Right now the only noise I hear is the faint hum of the refrigerator

and the jingling of the dog's collar as she scratches her ear.
The fridge noise actually is not that soft and is rather annoying now that I think of it.
Pretty sure that bad boy is on its last leg.

I have about thirty minutes left before I must get ready for work.
I do not want to go today - not a bone in my body wishes to walk through the doors
and smell that school smell and hear those school noises and ask kids to be quiet.

Some days are better than others and some days are plain hard.
I think the pom girls drain me the most with their needs, their bickering, their everything.
Next year I refuse to let an outside obligation rule my life - I will not sponsor an activity.

I wonder if today will be a day that I beat my body up and hate it,
or if I will feel wonderful and slim.
I cannot tell yet and I am not sure what my trigger will be if any.
I do know that my fixation on my appearance cannot be right,
it must be too much and pushing obsessive.

I do not want to write about it, but something keeps telling me that I must
and that it might be the only way to heal and move forward.

I know that I am pretty.
I love my hair.
I love my face.
I even like my ears.
I love my small chest; it makes me feel pretty.
Did I just hit the nail on the head - small makes me feel beautiful?

Why for the life of me can I not move past my body?
I am smaller now than I have been for years.
I have worked hard to get here.
I do not want to obsess every day.
It is tiresome.
Bothersome.

I have to teach my daughter to have a good body image,
but how can I do that if my own is tarnished?
Where did this come from and how did it start?

You would not know this about me if I did not express it.
I look perfectly put together most days.
I take good care of myself.
I love clothes and fashion.
I exude confidence,
but deep down I am a tiny little school girl fighting the crowd.

Sure seems like the bad days are much more frequent than the good lately.

I know it is spring and that teachers get burnt out and want to die.

I know I am good at what I do.

I do know that crying in the principal's office is nothing I ever did when I was in school,

but I guess there is a first time for everything.

I just don't know that I can do it forever.

Right now I do not know if I can even do it tomorrow.

fuck: not the word you want to hear at work

today i made my student teacher cry
then i had to have a meeting with a colleague that i did not want to have
later a student lost his marbles
yelling at me - something to the tune of
you mother fucker,
i hate this fucking class,
you are such a dumb ass
because that is the kind of abuse that i deserve
because someone did not teach him better
because he wanted to see how i would react in front of the class
because things were not going bad enough
then a student that has been kicked out of school
came to my classroom door
opened it
came right in and asked his friend
from accross the room
for his locker combination
he did not leave when i asked
he did not get in trouble for being in our building
these are the days that i do not feel like i can keep teaching
no consequences
no voice for myself
two ice creams later
i want to quit my job

Operation Nice: FAIL

Below is a rather honest post. I almost hate to push publish, but I am going to be brave and do it.

***

A few years ago, when I started teaching, I came up with a rule for myself: always be nice; even when a student is annoying as hell, be nice; even when a student is rude, be nice in return - just kill her with kindness; even when the student is not particularly fun to be around, be nice. This rule has worked rather well for me, at least it has made me consider my actions towards others and try to react differently in heated or awkward situations.

Sometimes, however, the rule is hard to follow. I have broken it a few times; no lie. Each time that I have broken it, it has come back to taunt me. One circumstance happened recently and has been hard for me to shake, an incident with a young man whose name I will fail to mention. In fact, to regard his privacy in high-esteem, let's just call him a her - her being a girl named Rachel.

Everyday Rachel asked me a lot of questions. Sometimes I thought the questions were annoying and warranted eye-rolling, maybe just a little attitude. I forgot my own rule that "no question is a dumb question." Some days I would humor her and answer her questions, but I would do so with short, direct answers. Other days I would just stare at her blankly and tell her to ask someone else. Rachel caught on to my annoyance. She found my buttons; I showed them. It became a game. 

"Okay," Rachel seemed to think, "if my questions annoy her and she likes to make a mockery of them in front of the class, then I will show her annoying." 

And annoying she was. 

And the banter began.

Everyday Rachel would set out to be more and more annoying. My gig was up, my button pushed, my annoyance level "red." 

This went on for months, until one day Rachel did not show up for school. Relief? To say the least. Class was quiet, I had no one raising their hand an arguing with me, asking pointless questions. 

But Rachel did not show up the next day, or the next. A part of me began to miss Rachel - her noise, her inquisitiveness.

One day, a student who shall also remain anonymous said,

"Hey, where is that girl you hate? She has not been here for a while."

Immediately and defensively, I gasped as I crossly responded,

"I like Rachel, how dare you say that!"

My card had been shown. I knew it, everyone else knew it. Everyone knew that Rachel often pushed my buttons and they took it as me not liking her. To be honest, I did not even know if I liked Rachel because I did not give Rachel a chance. If I could have gotten past the questions, I could have formed a relationship with this student and completely diffused what came to be a somewhat volatile and unfortunate relationship.

That very  moment was horrible for me. I hated that they thought I hated. Hate is an ugly thing. In that moment, I truly considered how I had been treating Rachel. Was it with the same respect in which I hope my daughter's teacher will someday treat her? We all know that answer is no.

The moment only lingered and got worse as Jemil raised his hand to inform all of us that Rachel's father had unexpectedly passed away.

I realize that Rachel's father passing away was not my fault; I am not going so far as to blame myself for her misfortune.I'm not crazy.  Life happens. Horrible, sad things happen, even to students that I feel are too young to face tragedy. I will admit that I do, however, feel regret. My heart immediately washed with sorrow - sorrow for her loss, sorrow for the opportunity that I had and did not take with Rachel. I could have turned our relationship into a positive one, when instead,  I encouraged negativity.

In that moment, I wished that I had been nicer to Rachel. I wish that maybe I would have been one of the teacher's that she could have come to and shared her grief. I wish that I could have even felt comfortable sending a card. Right, I know, I could have still sent a card, but to Rachel, in her time of grief,  would she really want to hear from the teacher that she thought hated her?  I would not want to hear from me, if I were her.

I am playing the nice game from now on - the suck it up and be nice game. Because it is true, not only do we not know what is going on in others' lives, but we do not know what is coming around the corner, either.

Name Tattoos

I do not play favorites;

really, that is not how I roll.

Though, I must admit, there are always some students

that stay with me more than others.

This list will mean nothing to you,

it will only be what it is - a list of names.

To me, these names are stories;

each one taught me something about life,

made me think twice,

made me want to be a better mother,

or even just made me love a  little more.

Ailee

Ginger

Joshua

LeTrey

Adrian

Kiara

 Mitchell

Shelby

Marissa

Sinead

Tilly

Tawana

Taeren

Already, just three weeks into a new semester, 

and again, names are tattooing themselves into my mind.