Thanks for the memories, now go away.

So today I went down to the district office for my final "checkout." This is where, I've come to realize, that they make sure you aren't taking off with all manner of equipment, such as, who the hell knows. Textbooks? Wire in-baskets? AND they wouldn't check me out until I turned in (yesterday) my annual reflection of my year as a teacher. I'm not making that up. I was tempted to just type, "I'M QUITTING. HOW DO YOU THINK IT WENT?"

I was looking most forward to the exit interview. where, ostensibly, I would have my say. I would be pleasant, diplomatic, but be clear on why I was really leaving. Because, you figure, an organization wold want to know why it was losing an empoyee that had been with them for eight years, right?

In a nutshell, I was planning on saying this:
I've worked hard and never caused problems; the worst rule I've ever broken was perhaps parking where I shouldn't. Every year I have received the high ratings on my evaluations. Every school counselor I've worked with thinks I'd be really good at counseling, and I hold a master's degree in educational psychology, and a second master's degree in counseling.
I've applied for ten counseling positions. Of the ten applications, I've been interviewed twice. The rest of the time I wasn't contacted, not even to be told when the position was filled. Five positions were at the school where I've taught for six years.
Whenever the people they hired (from outside the district) left, I would reapply for the same opening that I hadn't been hired for--only to hear about the new hiree when it was announced at the next staff meeting, usually someone from outside the district. At least two counselors of the ten had never even worked in a school.

So I went to district, loaded for bear.

And then, well

and then, they handed me my exit questionnaire.

It wasn't an "interview at all". They don't really want to know why a veteran employee is leaving. It's all just bullshit. They asked questions such as:

• Do you have any problem with any of your supervisors?
• Do you have any problem with your pay?
• Do you have any problem with your benefits?
• Do you have any problem with your leave?

I answered no, no, no, and no. And then I summarized a little of what I said above, adding this:

I have no complaints about any aspect of my employement here: I liked all my supervisors and my pay was fine. I live in and care about this city. However, Rio Rancho appears to have a policy against promoting their teachers and frequently hires support staff from outside the district. If I were afforded the opportunity to work as a school counselor I would have stayed indefinitely.

I got to look in my file. No letters of incident, nothing but good evaluations and rehires.
I turned in the questionnaire to a junior member of HR who appears to have just graduated from high school herself. I have no expectation that it will ever be read, or that if it is, that anyone will care. I think I saw her put it in my file.
I'm just one person of about 20 who quit just at my school alone.

I doubt that I will be missed - they'll just hire another teacher. One who knows her place and stays there. We're expendable, I guess.

And then I turned in my badge.

And then I left.

And now I'm crying and I don't know why.

...

The Adventure Begins.

I'm sitting here on my bed multitasking: writing this, eating a chocolate Quaker rice cake, drinking a [small] margarita, and packing for this weekend's marathon. This will be my 7th marathon in my quest to eventually do one in every state, and the 6th I've done in the past ten months.

Okay, today isn't really margarita day - I didn't even know that existed until I found this picture; apprently it's February 22nd. But today is margarita day for me.

The thing is, today was my last full day as a teacher. It's just two 1/2 days of final exams and then I return to the life that I put aside.

I had my first child at 19. Then in 1991 (with #3 on the way) I looked over a small pool of careers I knew I'd enjoy and be good at, and chose the one that seemed the most responsible given my three children. I don't hate kids, or schools. It's just that I've spent the last 25 years taking care of children - mine and other people's, and now I'm ready to do something else.

So yesterday, I had my final annual review as a teacher, where I was pronounced "awesome" and my evaluator hugged me and said that if I changed my mind about leaving, to let her know. I feel good about leaving teaching after nearly 9 years without burning any bridges.

At the same time, change is scary, for me. I'm verrrrry nervous. I know the ins and outs of my school and most of the people in there. I'll be going to a newish place with newish people and newish policies, both written, unwritten, spoken and unspoken, where I don't have a reputation as a veteran anything. Yikes!

But anyway, the marathon. The weather forecast for Ogden: Mid 50s (F) at race start, and highs in the lower 80s by the afternoon.

Here's the course profile:
Without a lot of uphill climbing, I won't heat up as much as I usually do. I'll wear a long-sleeve meshy-wicking shirt to wear at race start, over which I'll wear over my meshy wicking Marathon Maniacs singlet. If I get warm, I'll take off the shirt underneath. As this is a well-supported course, I'll not be carring much other than a waist pack with my inhaler in it. My trusty New Balance 768s and my moving comfot Fitness Shorts complete the ensem.

But of course, it goes without saying that I'll have the insanely sexy toe socks in attendance.

My goal: beat my Mississippi and Las Vegas times (about 5:45) We'll see. My next post will be after the marathon, so cross your fingers for me, and will the clouds to cover the Utah sun.

...

You must have holes in your head.

Friday at work I got to say something that I have never said before. Did you ever have one of those moments? You say something, and then you think to yourself, Hey, I bet nobody has ever said that before.

It happened like this: Carlos (not his real name) came up to me and asked me if I had any jumbo-sized paperclips he could have.

Normally, this is not an issue. I am a teacher. Carlos is a student. There are papers. Hence, paperclips.

However, Carlos has a 17% and an announced intention not to do any work and just chill until he can get his GED. He also likes to fling and shoot things. So I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious, What for?

"To put through my lip. This is irritating it." He gestured to what appeared to be a small zip tie he had somehow threaded through his lip piercing.

Carlos, you need to disinfect that. Paper clips aren't hygenic. You need something make from stainless steel. It's not a good idea.

He thought about that for a moment. Then,

"So you're not going to give me a paperclip?"

The ASL interpreter coughed to cover her laughter.

And that's when I said the sentence that I bet nobody else has said. And here it is:

"No Carlos, I will not give you a jumbo-sized paperclip to stick through the hole in your lip."

Now, earlier in the week a couple of kids were comparing gauges - in case you don't know, there is a whole speciality of products designed for making you look like a member of African tribe. There are, for instance, special tapers for gradually making the holes in your ears bigger, because when it comes to holes in your head perhaps size does matter, and as you may have seen at the local coffee house or grocery store, you can also buy little plates that snap across the large plastic holes in the ears. Perhaps that's to stop the whistling noise, I don't know.

I try not to make too many judgements about people who do this sort of thing even though, quite honestly, I think it looks stupid and the thought creeps unbidden into my brain that, perhaps, the wearer might be, too.

So Carlos and one of his buddies were daring each other to extend their gauging, and eventually approached me and asked if they could go to the nurse's office because, oddly enough, their earlobes hurt.

Let me get this straight: you've spent this class period trying to stretch even bigger holes in your head instead of working, and now you want me to send you to the nurse?

"Yeah, that's right."

I pondered for a moment and realized that legally and ethically, I had to send them, and so I wrote this pass out:

• THESE TWO IDIOTS PUNCHED HOLES IN THEIR EARS AND NOW THEY NEED SOME ICE FOR IT. 1:45 PM, ROOM 29, MP.

I heard that after the nurses finished laughing, they put the pass up on the bulletin board for display.

...

Dear Princess...

Okay, I shouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I did, that moment when you shouted at me about what a bitch I am, in front of the vice principal.

But I did.

And I shouldn't enjoy the news that you'll be a freshman again next year.

But I do.

Just not for the reasons you'd suspect.
See, you're a beautiful, smart, talented upper middle-class kid from the suburbs, from a nice family that dotes on you. You're not abused or neglected. So, why are you like this? Not because you have some dark tragedy in your life. No, the real tragedy is that nobody ever said 'No' to you before. You failed nearly every class last year, and were promoted to 9th grade anyway. Despite your Fs and school suspensions, you still have a cell phone and an ipod and a car.

You've been given chance after chance after chance, and what have you done with it? You're intelligent, and have only managed to pass choir and PE. You've gotten over two dozen office referrals this year. Many of these were for bullying other students. Nearly a third were for swearing at your teachers when they asked you to settle down and stop being so disruptive, and cussing out substitutes and office staff: All people who were just doing their job.

Now here's a newsflash: At the end of the day, I get in my car, and drive home. I sleep well. We all do, we "losers" with our degrees, our jobs, our friends and our families.

And you, well, you'll be a freshman again next year. That fact is fundamentally unchangeble. No amount of summer school will save you. Your friends will be moving to another school, and you'll still be here. Hopefully, you'll learn something from this very painful lesson. Hopefully, that "NO" will be meaningful enough for you to make some changes. We'll see.

Oh, and one more thing: if and when you reach "Step 8," don't pick me. I'm not interested.

Oh wait, one more thing:


...

Two weeks, four days, and counting.

SO I have a partner teacher. She's very sweet. She's supposed to be in charge of the 6-7 special ed kids I have in my first two classes. However, she's not a math teacher. This means that I have to make extra copies of everything, including keys to worksheets and tests, because she can't do them. I have to grade all the tests because she can't grade the work, only the answers.

Did I tell you she's very sweet?

She's not happy about the arrangement. She is normally a social studies teacher, and was very alarmed when they put her in Algebra. She can't help me teach, because she doesn't know Algebra. She's supposed to be a special education teacher, but she can't help the special ed kids. She wants to do more, but she can't. She feels bad about this. She's retiring next month. Meanwhile, she wants to be useful.

So finally, I asked her to grade some quizzes for me. Multiple-choice ones. Sounds easy, right? I mean, you look, the key says C, so if their answer isn't C, you mark it wrong. Except that I didn't give her the key and she didn't want to bother me, and she doesn't know enough about Algebra to make one. So she decided to try to "help" me more by doing some other stuff, like consolidating my files. Without asking me.

I told you how sweet she is, right?

She showed me the result: very large files labled with each period that had all of their work in it. All of it. She'd taken the papers that were graded and not recorded, turned in but not graded, and recorded but not yet passed back--and put them all in one big file. Mixed them all together. Aieee.

"Um, Eleanor? Um, did you notice that some of the files said, "IN" and some said, "OUT"?

"You mean I mixed all that up? Oh, dear...you must be furious with me!"

Sigh. I decided that I was going to have to fix this myself. What else could I do? I can't let her have access to my electronic gradebook, to see which ones are recorded and which ones aren't. Besides, there's only so many deep, cleansing breaths that a person can take before they go postal and scream out, "Get the eff away from my files!"

Meanwhile, I'm supposed to be writing 5-6 pages of "reflection" on how my year went for my annual evaluation because apparently, now, it's now my job to tell my supervisors how I did. (I have decided that, since it's up to me, I did awesome.) I was going to spend the morning writing my reflection, which is due Thursday morning, but instead, I sorted through the very large snafu.

I'm so glad not to have to do this crap again next year. I'll still have crap, but it will be different crap, and new crap is sometimes interesting. For a while.

Oh, and have I told you how tired I am of gangsters and their posturing and their stupid baggy damned pants and their stupid grafitti and their stupid blue and white everything? Well, I am.

...

It's all good.

I don't want you to think that all I do is complain. Top Ten Things that made this a good week:

10. I have a renewed feeling of hope from two comfortable bike rides in a row.

9. I still have the residual feeling of goodness that comes with finishing something that I've been putting off finishing.

8. I managed to dodge 8 hours of "SmartBoard" training by having a couple savvy students spend 20 minutes teaching me how to use it.

7. I have the hopeful optimism that, come August, I will not be facing a classroom full of surly teenagers. In case you're wondering, I've taught highly capable and gifted students, and they are a joy to behold, but they unfortunately have surly parents.

6. During my special class of the day today, 6 students were pulled out because they hadn't turned in their registration cards, another 4-5 to meet with counselors they weren't earning enough credit to go to the "big" high school next year, and another 5-6 students to go serve Friday school for various infractions. Some of groups overlapped. The school police officer was still pulling students out to question about the Fire Alarm incident. I was left with 5 quiet, friendly, well-behaved students at the end of the day, and when they finished their work, I let them draw pictures on the SmartBoard.

5. I was informed that yet another obnoxious student will be suspended and thus, yet another class will be taught free of interruptions.

4. I had a nice evening swim workout with Sweet Baboo, who I felt like I rarely got to see this week.

3. I found another, unexpected use for my counseling skills,: the passive, neutral face that I put on when my gang students come to class in rediculous clothes. It wasn't enough the pants so sagging that they have to hold them up with one hand to walk; today, one of them was wearing what appeared to be part of a pair of pantyhose on his head.

2. Tonight, I finished out my week with a nice, leisurely 1500 meter swim and a sweaty spin class. I practiced the modified swim stroke Sweet Baboo taught me and I feel like I use less effort to keep the same pace. I'm going to get faster. I can feel it.

And the number 1 thing:

WeightWatchers informs me that with 1 day left in my week, I have 29 binge points left to blow.

...

It's a 2-fer.

I did go for that run and felt way wonderful afterwards. And mini-Baboo is better now.

You know, I can quickly identify problem kids because when they're absent, the class runs smoothly. Unfortunately - and other teachers can back me on this - those usually are the kids with perfect attendance. They fly under the radar, so that it's hard to pinpoint exactly how they're disrupting class. It's just that when they're gone, things are better. You may know adults like that. Chances are, they have a cluster B personality disorder. But we can't diagnose those until people are at least 18.
But I digress.

It happens that the culprit in Monday's fire alarm stunt was apprehended yesterday, and turned out to be the most obnoxious student in my last class of the day. I'm pretty sure that this is the kid that threw my keys in the trash. I had this kid last year, too, when I taught 8th-grade, and s/he put a ball point pen in my microwave, turned it on, and walked away.

This particular class, by the way, is the class that security guard Tom said to me, "has the worst kids in the school in it." So, "most obnoxious" in this case is highly relative.

So this student is in a buttload of trouble because it turns out that's a FELONY. Most people might not know that because MOST people don't think to do this kind of crap...but now this student is suspended for nine days, and full charges are being pressed. I feel bad for the Mom because she's actually a decent person who has no idea why her kid acts like this. I feel for her.

But it gets even better than that. The person who turned this student in is the second most obnoxious student I've got. And THIS student is, apparently, worried about getting jumped for ratting out the first student, and so has decided not to come back to school.

Yes, school violence is sad. But a peaceful classroom is joyful and liberating with two problem children out of the equation. Today, I actually taught that class. I think they learned it, too. Cool.

Oh, and special note to Cody the Clydesdale: I'm not really a hard liquor drinker, but thanks for the tip. Perhaps it's time to start working on a sugar-free sour/margarita mix. Lets see: Splenda, limes, lemon juice...

...

My day of drama. Mundane, boring drama.

7: am I started working on grading and my planning for the day. I found my connection to the district server was not working, so I had no access to student grades or attendance online. I answered emails to administration about "Day of Silence" on Friday, because some parents were angry about it. (I answer these questions this every year, in response to the letter writing and calling campaigns that "family" organizations embark on every year. Because, you know, I have this evil agenda. I note that they are not teaching, or volunteering. Just bitching. But I digress.)

7:20 I got a phone call BEGGING me to an IEP meeting because a participant didn't show up and and I made the mistake of answering the phone and I'm a complete pushover, so... then at 8:56 I left the meeting and went downstairs to get ready to teach my first class.

9:15 a substitute showed up and announced she was my sub "for your IEP meeting at 9:30," For 25 minutes I attempted to show how to graph an equation by finding the intercepts. General education teachers are required by law to be at every IEP meeting, whether or not the child has a general education, or even if the teacher even knows the child. THANK YOU, No Child Left Behind - at 9:40 I left my class and went to my 9:30 meeting.

10:15 I came back to class, and was told that mini-Baboo had called because he was sick. I said I'd call back during my lunch. Then I started teaching my third block how to graph an equation using the intercepts.

11:15 - I ate lunch, and forgot to call Mini-Baboo, because I am a bad, bad, mommy. I did call the people who want to interview me for a counselor position. They can see me at 12:15 May 1st, the day we are supposed to leave for the Collegiate Peaks trail run.

11:30 I dashed off another quick email begging the technologist to fix my computer.

12:15 - Mini-Baboo called and begged me to take him home, with a headache, fever etc. I found a sub, sprinted to my car, drove to the high school, then called BACK to work to have the sub to take my keys off the whiteboard where they would certainly be taken by students, and took Mini-Baboo home.
Where I fed him stuff to help him feel better and put him to bed. Mini-Baboo informed me that his award ceremonly for JROTC was the evening on May 1st, the day I was supposed to leave for the Collegiate Peaks Trail run. My blood pressure skyrocketed as I sped back to work completely stressed about where I was going to be on May 1st.

12:46 my 4th block class protested their new seating arrangement. I informed them that with, or without a security guard present, this is where they would sit. Then I attempted to teach them how to graph an equation by using the intercepts.

1:15 Class was interrupted as a student was escorted out by a security guard, because she pulled the fire alarm yesterday. Yeeeeesss, that's right. There was a fire alarm yesterday and the whole school watched as firemen entered my classroom to search for a non-existent fire.
(I secretly worried that my lack of access to the district server was a sign that I was being fired for lack of classroom management, because that's the way I roll: All paranoid and stuff.)

2:00 I confided to the ASL interpreter that I wasn't sure how I was supposed to do ALL THIS CRAP. She sympathetically offered to make photocopes for me, which is so not her job. (I accepted.)

2:15 Outlook reminded me that I had a 2:30 meeting. In room 226. AND in room 529. $hit.

3:15 my first meeting was over. I called the counselor interview people to get a room number for the interview and was informed that the interiew was on May 9th, not May 1st.

3:15 I went to my other appointment, where I tutored a friend's son in using the quadratic equation, the meaning of the descriminant, etc.

4:00 I took my friend's son to the public library, and went home. I looked at the calendar and realized that we're leaving on May 2nd, not May 1st. My blood pressure finally came down.

A small margarita is 5 weightwatchers' points. Not worth it.

At 7, I'll go for a run. Or maybe 8.

17 more days until final exams. tick...tick...tick...tick...

...

Rambling, mostly, about my job(s).

Today was tough. the last 6 or 7 weeks between spring break and summer represent time in which students are physically, but not mentally, in my room. 2-step inequalities? rise over run? Are you kidding me?

Why can't I eat a large back of check mix and king-sized candy bar in class? Hey, can we have a free day? Why do I have to put my phone away? Why can't you be cool?

Oh, for all its glorious wonder spring break is just the cruelist thing. It's a week long enticement, dangling summer in front of me, summersummersummersummersummersummer and then, PSYCH!

During spring break, I made my trip to downtown Albuquerque on Pistachio the Precious, did some stuff, and then sat in the shade at Tingly Pond eating chips and drinking water. Then I headed back north where I sat in the shade at a local coffee house, drinking a lovely iced drink. It was one of those beautiful days that are so terrific that you forget all about winter. Winter? What winter? cold? Nah. Never happened.

The trip I was making had to so with some stuff I needed to take care of over at this community mental health center where I've sometimes worked as a mental health counselor for the past two years. I'm not licensed yet (I defend my thesis on April 18th and have the NCE to take) but every time I go there they remind me that I'm welcome to work there. They've been offering me a job since I was an Intern. Plenty of clients, they say, no problem, anytime you want. Just say the word.

And there it is, one of those dillemas: The job you want, the people you like, and a salary you couldn't feed a cat on.

To give you an idea of how low the salary is, it's considerably lower than what I am paid as a high school teacher. Oh yes, that's right. Lower than a teacher's salary, and that's without the summers off.

It's painful to keep saying no each time they tell me how good they think I am. Every time I leave the counseling center I feel smart and efficacious. Then, I go back to my "real" job where, for all practical intents and purposes, I'm told, "We'll let you teach another year. You may, or may not get your own classroom. And you may, or may not, get a place to park, if you get here early enough. Don't complain about how crowded the classes are. They're crowded everywhere."
Which is a lot like saying, "Don't complain about how hard we beat you. We beat everyone that hard."

One of these days, I'm going to turn down the tentative parking spot and classroom for a real office and a door that I can shut and furniture that people aren't allowed to write on with sharpies or carve their initials into, and I'll have books free of badly drawn pot leaves and genitalia.

So, here's the plan: One more year. Just one. May of 2009 will be the day that I check the "no" box on my "intent" form for the next school year Do you plan to return to this school next year?
I fantasize about thumbing my nose at the district. I fantasize about mooning someone, or making some dramatic speech about respect, and writing a letter to the editor telling off all the parents in the district about how they could make the life the next teacher easier.

Most likely, though, I'll do what a lot of teachers do; I'll fail to report for duty on August 15th of the next school year. I wonder if they'll miss me.

Old teachers never die; they just wipe their slate clean.

...

Reframing

My sucky job My character-building experience

defiant brats spirited individualists

beaucrocy structured consistency

hot flashes power surges

weird kid future inventor

effin' cold brisk

February sucks spring's coming

I've got a big a$$ I'm bootylicious

stupid meetings down time

Feel free to add your own.


...

So, dear, how was your day?

You know, most of the time when I tell people I teach 9th-graders, I get that Oh, my God" look that should really be reserved for people who are in the trenches in some far-away sandy country. Some people even suck air through their teeth.
And I always say, "Oh, it's not so bad. They're just kids. You just have to not take their behavior personally."

Of course, when some little sociopath throws your car keys in the trash, it's kind of hard to defend them. Or not take it personally.

Yes, that's right. My fault, I admit, for leaving them within reach. And you know what? the kids all knew I was looking for them. Some were even helping me look. Among them was at least one kid who knew where they were, or maybe s/he threw them in on the way out.

My afternoon classes are interesting; a interesting potpourri of kids with academic, emotional, legal and psychiatric issues. Several students are not allowed to leave class for any reason without an escort and the rest have to go to the bathroom one right after another after sucking down their lunch-time Red Bulls. So, in the middle of class I've taken to just taking the entire class to the bathroom, like in kindergarten. I count them before we go, before we leave the bathroom area, and after we get back.

And it was right after this that I set my keys down on a table instead of putting them back in the locked filing cabinet where I keep my things, and poof! there they're weren't.

Once class had ended, and I sent them home, I got to thinking about how hard it would be to explain a large ring of keys, including car keys, to your parents. I got the idea of looking in the trash, and there they were: near the bottom under paperwads in the pencil shavings. I picked them up, and shook them off and went to my message appointment.

All the way there, I was listening to Amy Winehouse, just kind of shaking my head in amazement and then mumbling to myself, "m****erf***er" at the kind of kid that cannot conceive of how their behavior affects others.

And people ask me why I run.

Oh, and guess what, I am now officially Marathon Maniac #831!

As if it needed to be "official."

...

I need a haircut. More kvetching about work.

Haiku in honor of my hairdresser:

Goddess of scizzors

Oh, take away my dark roots!

Make me blond again.

I don't know what our anniversary is, mine and Tammy's. I only know that I've been with her almost as long as I've been with Sweet Baboo. The trials and troubles of AndraSue have made me appreciate her all the more.

Today I ditched a mandatory training at work for a test that, as it turns out, we aren't going to give. I chose to spend my time instead calling parents of kids who have Fs, making photocopies, writing a test, and planning lessons. They were all like, "THIS TRAINING IS MANDATORY" and in capital letters in several "friendly reminder" emails, and then told me afterward that it didn't matter that I wasn't there; it wasn't that important anyway since we aren't giving the test.

I don't know if I should spread that little joy fact around to the other teachers or not. Could have some entertainment value watching the fall-out. Nearly all the other teachers gave up their prep period to go to a training that wasn't even necessary.

Meanwhile: I've turned in my credentialis to another school district to see if they'll have me. I have to try another district before I leave teaching for good.

Here's my day: 30 teenagers every day who have already failed Algebra once, and are forced by law and their parents to take it AGAIN, NOW. No, NOW. It's a lot like, well, I don't know what it's like, but you get the idea.

I try to be moderately entertaining and get my point across but then admin comes up with training that we don't really need and threats that it is MANDATORY and I start to feel like I'm not a very good teacher because I don't use CPS clickers every single day: Friendly Reminder!

For instance, they like to take advantage of my training in counseling to send me kids that just got expelled from other schools, or released from jail, but three years in a row they've turned down my request to get "Crisis Intervention and De-escalation Training" that is offered to other staff members on in-service days.

So, last inservice day, instead of learning how to handle the kid that is decompensating because I asked him to move to a different seat, I went instead to "learn" how to use PowerPoint and Excel and, as you would imagine someone called GeekGirl would, I have taught other people how to use them for instructional purposes at two major universities. I also attended mandatory 'Smart-Board' training.

That will sure come in handy when that kid is freaking out and all the social workers and counselors are gone for the day to their mandatory trainings.

I also spoke today to the clinical director of a community mental health agency where I used to work part-time. Last fall I was feeling pretty burned out and decided to clear my plate of all non-work stuff to figure out what to do with my life, and took a leave of absence from the counseling center even though, whenever I've worked there, I felt smart and efficacious. I feel like I've done something important, instead of overworked, abused, and down-trodden. The director tends to wax a bit toward mushy, but it was nice to hear things today like, "you're a part of this place " and, "you know you always have a place here." He thinks I'm a good therapist.

>Sigh< If only I could work there full time AND pay my student loans. (Community mental health pays less than a veteran teacher's salary) Ever have that dillema? Oh, I guess we all have. Few of us get to do what we love AND pay the bills. I hope to be one of those some day soon!

...

Memorandum to District Office: I Want A Divorce.

Last July I read an email from the principle at my school and decided that this was that last year I'd be teaching at that school.

You see, I'm kind of a long suffering kind of person. (That much is obvious, I guess. I mean - 17:20 to finish an ironman. jeesh.) . But then there comes that moment, which some will refer to as the "last straw" but that's the moment, that IS THE MOMENT where I look at the person or the email or whatever it is and I realize,

that's it. I'm done.

And that moment came last July. It doesn't matter what happened. It was just that moment, after years of creeping doubt and bitterness when I suddenly realized, it's not me. It's them.

This realization came slowly, but through several comments people made to me over the year by people who were in my classroom, observing me. There was the special education teachers and the sign language interpreter who told me that they could understand Algebra now, and before Algebra sucked. There was that new teacher observing me who asked me if he could come back because I was organized (ME!) and he wanted to write down some of the things I did. Then there's that school counselor who told me I have "a way with kids."

I ignored them at first. Like a battered spoused who ignores her friends telling her she deserves better, I hung on for 8 years telling myself, it's going to get better, hoping I was okay and any day now my district would start appreciating me...and then there was that moment when it finally hit me:

THey don't care about me.

It's been 8 years.

They will not change.

I have to leave.

It's finally dawned on me that it's not me. I don't think that my school district respects its teachers. Maybe it's the community I live in, and their politics. 1/4 of our school's teaching staff turned over last year.

Now, I have this theory about that every person needs that little edge of insecurity, just that tiny bit of worry that maybe that aren't as good as they think they are and that makes them work just that much harder to be good at whatever it is that they do. It's why they work so hard.

Well, my current employer has capitalized on my nagging self-doubt long enough.

The only thing I've been mulling over the last couple of months is, what will I do next? AFter exploring a lot of options, I've decided I need to try a change of venue. I'm not leaving teaching, not now. SO this morning I turned in an application to Albuquerque Public Schools to be a math teacher for them. It's scary. They're huge., with over 6000 teachers and a whole bunch of high schools.

I'm kind of sad. And pissed. I've been in a co-dependent relationship with my current district for so long (8 years) and change is scary. I have a 4-mile commute and what if APS doesn't want me? (True, they did call me 30 minutes after I submitted my online appliction and clarified a few things before sending out their letters of inquiry to my listed references. )

It's really, really hard to find experienced math teachers. Really hard. My two previous interview for math teacher both went like this:

....Sooooo, this is the school...here's the lunch room, administration...here's let me introduce you to the math department head...hey, when do you think you get down to district to sign a contract?

Me: well, I, uh...

You know what? never mind. Tasha - can you zip on down to district and bring back this nice lady a contract to sign? Say, do you have a TI graphing calculator? Stop by the book room on the way out and get yourself one.

But that was 8 years ago. I might have to answer questions and stuff this time.
So anyway. I guess I'm rambling. I'm really nervous about this. I don't know why. change is scary. I'll keep ya posted.

...

2008: A year of changes (?)

2008 is gonna be a year of changes. I can FEEL it.

<--But lets first get the gratuitious boob shot out of the way. (I think there's one there. )

No need to thank me guys.

Well, 2008 is the year no meds. I've been on meds for treating anxiety and adult AD/HD for the past 6 or 7 years, and I've tapered off them (under my doc's directions, of course) and now I'm done. I feel good. I feel calm. A little disorganized, but calm.

Second, it's the year that I accept that I'm going to be a bit softer, and rounder than what one imagines an endurance athlete to be. I entered all this hoping I'd come out of it with a hard body but what I have instead is a stronger, fitter body, and that's fine. I'm happy with that, and will focus on getting stronger and fitter and loving myself.

Lastly, at some point during 2008 I'm going to make a dramatic change in my career. I chose teaching because it provided the best intersection of my talents, abilities, and interests along with the (at the time) role of a single mother. I was available for my children when I needed to be. However, as my youngest approaches his senior year of high school he (thankfully) no longer needs me as much as he did.

Oh, he thinks needs me for ride after practice but we built our home 2 miles from the high school for a reason. Plus it's hard to whine to your mom that you need a ride when you've done an Olympic distance triathlon, a half marathon, AND you're in cross country but especially when your mom's 10 mile run goes past your school. Go on and hoof it, triathlon boy.
But anyway.

I'm good at what I do, and take it very seriously. I have lots of skills in reality but not on paper. Here's some of them that I'm trying to fit into a resume:

• I can make about 30 kids gasp with horror (by writing something on the board, tonight's homework assignment or the quadratic equation)
  
• I can bend and twist any government regulaton or new rule and make it conform to what I'm already doing.
  
• I can scan a room of people and, in about 10 seconds to determine whose cheating, who's sleeping, whose texting on their cell phone, whose watching a video on their ipod, who's doodling instead of working and--HEY, WHERE ARE YOUR HANDS? NO, YOU CANNOT SHARE A SEAT. BECAUSE I SAID SO, THAT'S WHY.


• I can stand outside and watch kids get on the buses. And off the buses. And kiss each--HEY, LET'S MAKE A CLEAN BREAK, GUYS. THIS IS A FAMILY PLACE.
  I'm required to do this, twice a week.


• I can test the hell of kids (thanks, NCLB).


• I can use a computer fairly well, and I know the proper bribes for getting first on the list of the tech people when I need it fixed.
  
• I can write a lesson plan and then change it at the last moment because of an unnanounced picture make-up day, "off sight evaculation drill," or other contingency.
  
• I can, by creative use of language, make a parent enthusiastic about the idea that we should, "maybe think of other options besides college for Natalie."

Now, this spring I'll have about 10 years experience teaching and 2 master's degrees, one in Educational Psychology and one in Counseling.

Unfortunately counseling turns out to be a fairly useless degree, which nobody told me. Anybody can call themselves a "psychotherapist" without any training whatsoever in nearly every state, and few people know the difference between a "psychotherapist" and a "licensed professional mental health counselor."

What I do will need to cover incidentals such as running shoes, student loans, the ever-increasing cell phone bill, as well as allow me the time to get in all the training that has helped me become calm and thoughtful and happy. Because, without those, I'm no good to anyone, the people I try to help, my family, or myself.

More on this story as it develops.

...

Teacherisms

Understanding your child's teacher comments: a Guide for the layperson.

We don't call home or write things on report cards that get us pulled into the principal's office.

And YES, we do get pulled into the principal's office. I got pulled in there twice during my 8 years of teaching. Okay, three times.

1. Once, I left my classroom too messy after a class party on 'Pi' day. 'Pi' day for the uninformed, is held on March 14th (3.14, get it?) which also happens to be Einstein's birthday. The rules are: bring food that is round, and we measure the radius before eating it, and then calculate circumference and surface area from that.

2. I once called a parent for a month getting no response. Her son was failing and poorly behaved in my classroom, and likely involved with all the wrong sorts of people.

Finally in desperation, I left a message with her boss, please tell her to call me, and said, "I'm concerned about her son's grade and behavior."
Her response? She called the assistant superintendant, who I believe was a distant cousin of hers, and said that I had 'humiliated' her to her boss (she was a night clerk at a hotel).
I was asked to apologize, and I said bitterly, to my boss, "Can I say, 'I'm so sorry your kid is such a loser?'" Barely hiding a smile, my principal said, "NO."

I'm a good sport, and never one to stand on principal when I can make a problem go away. I apologized, appropriately and in person.

3. I mentioned off-handedly to a bunch of teenagers a You-tube video called, "Shoes" and how the song was stuck in my head. I was asked after that to confine my comments on videos to those with 'educational' content. I agreed that this was best.

So where was I? Oh, yes. Ya know, I could lose my summer priveleges for telling you this, but the truth is that over the years, most teachers learn to be diplomatic. It's hammered into our heads to always stress the positives. The strengths. But unfortunate this doesn't do you, the parent, justice when you really need to hear the hard truths. So I submit to you, the parent, translations and iterations and definitions of commonly-spoken comments from teachers.

So hear goes:

Gets along well with others/A little too social.

really means: I asked if I could use duct tape to get her to shut up, but my principal said No.

Not as motivated as I would like.

really means: I've almost got him trained to show up with a pencil. Next week, I'm hoping to start working on bringing paper or a book.

Much more capable that what his grades show.

really means: He's lazy.

She requires frequent redirection.
really means: I have to remind her constantly to get back to work/sit down/shut up/stop bugging people.

He has a very strong personality/is very independently-minded.
really means: The other kids think he's bossy and he backtalks me in class.

I think she gets too much help from others, and I'm concerned that this interferes with his/her ability to work independently.
really means: She cheats off the smart kids.

I think he tries to hard to please others, often at his expense.
really means: He's the smart kid the other kids cheat off.

(On a math paper) Your work doesn't make sense.

really means: You copied the answer form somewhere, and made up all the work in between.

Quite a sense of humor she has. She keeps the kids in stitches, although I've been trying to temper her sense of humor.
really means: I want to throw things at Miss Entertainment's head. Daily.

On occasion, your daughter/son wear clothes that are inappropriate.
really means: Your child is dressing like a gang member or a gang member's bitch.

I've spoken to your child's other teachers, and...
(Stop! This is ALWAYS BAD NEWS. Teachers usually don't make a point of standing around venting about the "good" kids. They vent about the badly-behaved ones, if for no other reason than to find out if they are ill-behaved in all their classes, and what things each other has tried that works.)

on a brighter note:

I wish I had a whole class full of kids like your kid.

really means: I really wish I had a whole classroom of kids just like your kid.

There. My holiday present to you, the parent.

No need to thank me. I'm here to help.

...

Teaching and triathlon.

Okay, I don't mean to whine so much. I know that every job has its crazy time. I just use this place to vent. Accountants have tax season; food service workers have rushes during the day. Retail workers have Christmas. Engineers have...what? I don't know. Do they have a crazy time? Is it when the computer is down? The slide rule is stuck?
(I poke fun because there's a lot of engineers in triathlon.)

My teaching year is like a long, hard race triathlon.

I start the year with a combination of trepidation and excitement. This time it will be different. This time I'll do things right. I'll push through the pain. I'll plan the greatest lessons evar.

Report card time is like that long hilly part of the race (for me, it's the bike) when I ask, why on earth do I do this? I'm all alone, at the back of the pack. This is insane. I'm not cut out for this.
Parents and students complain. You must have lost my work, because I know I turned it in. Administrators ask you to explain your Ds and Fs.
Look at all those people ahead of me. It's easy for them. It's too hard for me.

There are the frustrating, hopeless moments. Parents accuse you of picking on their kid. They want to know why you don't stay after school every afternoon. Your admin calls sudden meetings, sucking up what little planning time you have. You have another thing you have to write to justify your position. You get a flat in the middle of the race, and you watch everyone speed by while you're unrolling the tube from your flat kit.

I. Hate. This.

So you talk to other triathletes, or teachers, and find out it's hard for them, too. Your kids might mouth off, but her kids pushed and threatened her. Even those who make it look easy have their difficulties. You pick up a few tips and tricks along the way. Use body glide.
Get the kids to do some of the work.

In between, there are those moments when you crest the hill and get a breathtaking view that you wouldn't have gotten any other way but in that particular race. That kid that comes back to see you that you'd just about given up on. A former student, now grown, that you run into somewhere who says, "Remember when you showed me those statistics about education and income? I never forgot that. I'm going to college this fall." Or, maybe it's that parent (or even student) who says, I appreciate you.

Sometimes you have make your own moments. For instance, when I have a really dark, angry, hopeless moment, I like to pick one or two kids, not straight A students, but earnest, hard-working kids who are nice and work really hard for their Bs and Cs and call tell their parents what great kids they've got. No, he's not in trouble. I just wanted you to know what a hard worker he is, and I sure wish I had a classroom full of kids like him. (If you're a teacher, try this some time. The astonishment and grattitude you get from parents will make you day, maybe even your month.)

Then comes May. The finish line is in sight. There! Whew. Just in Time. Hey, that went by fast...

Of course, summer, is my off season. I lay around and taunt my friends at work who aren't teachers. The difficulties of the race start to fade and soften. I attend a few workshops and think about how I'll do things differently next time.

Then in August, toe the line again. Yes, I hopefully tell myself. This time will be different. I'll push through the pain. I'll plan the greatest lessons evar...

...

Sorry.

I've gotten really behind on my blog reading. That's me, at the right --> showing how sorry I am. How can you resist my sorry furry little face?

Anyway, sorry about that. I'm trying to get caught up and leave some comments and encouragement. Lots of people are doing lots of interesting things.

It's just that it's the end of the 9 weeks, which means that I'm trying desperately to get caught up on grading, while also working on revisions to my master's paper.

As an aside, I'd just like to say that, Boy, nothing quashes interest in a subject like a nice long paper on the subject. (there's just no pleasing some people; why can't they just recognize my brilliance and give me my damned master's degree? Jeesh.)

OH, and also working on the dreaded dossier. Because, as I've mentioned, I need to be able to show that, after eight years of teaching, that I can 1) read, 2) write, and 3) teach.

NOT THAT I'M BITTER OR ANYTHING.

Several teacher friends of mine were grand-fathered in just weeks, nay, days before the dossier became a requirement. My license renewal occured 2 months after the dossier became a requirement. Which means my friends got to go to level 3 without having to prove that they could 1) read 2) write, and 3) teach.

NOT THAT I'M BITTER OR ANYTHING.

Meanwhile, grades are posted tomorrow, report cards come out on Monday, and I have 18 parent-teacher conferences scheduled for the 17 students I advise each year (yes, you read that right - one of the students has parents who can't be in the same room with each other since the divorce, so parent teacher conferences have to be conducted seperately. Also, the inquiries have already started, e.g., "is there anything I/she/he can do to bring up my/her/his grade? This started YESTERDAY. It started YESTERDAY. Two days before grades were due.

Of course, it goes without saying that if they are asking the question chances are that they are not going to understand the explanation, that 99% of their grade is a 62, or whatever, so no, there's not much to be done

This is also the day that I have to call parents and give them the heads up that their son/daughter has a D or F coming on their report card. Joy. So far, the calls have gone well. Parents either have been 1) not at all surprised, or 2) not home when I called.

So, in closing, I hope to get caught up my blog reading soon.

Thanks for reading my whining about work. Again.

...

Busy day.

Busy day planned.

I'm taking Sweet baboo to the airport this morning so he can officiate at a triathlon in Dallas. Then, I'm taking mini-baboo over to the high school so he can go to his cross country meet. This means I'm home alone for nearly an entire day.

It's rare that I'm left with nothing but the ticking of the clock and the sound of the cats scratching in the cat box. At least, I hope it's the cat box.

But I have so much to do. I figure first, I'll take an 8-hour nap alternate between working on my paper (yes, The Paper continues to plague me and haunt my dreams in its unfinished state) while taking periodic breaks to Eat some macaroni and cheese work on cleaning my room. I vowed that I would clean this the last time Sweet Baboo was out of town, but then something terrible happened. I got lazy.

Around noon I'll wake up, maybe get dressed take a break from cleaning and the paper to head over to NMHU to see what my professor has to say about it. So far, all I've gotten is an ever-unhelpful, "your title page is not in APA format." Who gives a $hit about that? Formatting your TITLE PAGE should be the last worry or concern. I hoping that she has comments about the content when I pick it up.

Anyway, All this while an assorted of old movies and "House," season 3 uplifting music plays in the background. After I've gotten tired of watching TV for 6 hours finished the first two sections of my paper and cleaned my side of the room, I'll probably take another nap be on the trainer most of the afternoon, while waiting for Mini Baboo to call and say, "come pick me up."
If I get the first two sections done before 2, I'll watch some more TV start working on my dossier.

FYI, My "dossier" is this nightmarish thing that the state of New Mexico came up with a few years back so that anyone who has been teaching for at least 6 years and has a master's degree can prove that they can 1) read 2) write, and 3) teach. In other words, I will write a very long paper, complete with examples of student work, that I can do what I've been doing for about 8 years. I don't have to do it. Unless, that is, I want a raise. Meh.
Since it is such a big undertaking. I've taken a leave of absence from the counseling center where I work part time until after December to give me time to finish the dossier and the paper and defend my paper.

My incentive to getting all this done today is so that Sunday I can go to the Church of the Dusty Trail. In other words, after a solid breakfast at 3 am or so, I'll lay down for a couple hours and then around 6 am, head for a 15-mile run on the mean (graded, but unpaved) streets of Rio Rancho.

At some point, I'll turn east and watch the "Farewell Mass Ascension." This week has been the balloon fiesta, and Sunday is the last day. It's supposed to be clear, and in the upper 30's or low 40's. Bliss!

After all that I shall celebrate with a margarita, cookies, and a can of frosting by making myself a Recoverite smoothie. With ice creme. With sherbert.

...

Got time for my whining and rant?

So, it's official. I'm signed up for the inaugural Mississippi Blues Marathon, in Jackson. In my quest to do a marathon in every state, this will give me state #3, y'all.

In my traiing, I missed my long ride last weekend because it was cold AND windy. Cold and wind make GeekGirl a weenie. I'm not as ough and butch as Pirate is.

For instance, Pirate tortured me tonight in the upper body workout thing she does. She kind of dances through it making it look pretty effortless, and then when I step up the machines all mysteriously get much heavier and harder to move around. She has assured me that all that will change. I did pullups, tricep dips, bicep curls, tricep pull-downs, crunches, some side oblique crunch thing, and pushups.
(Sort of. I'm not strong enough to do the pushups without modification yet. Right now, I'm kind of kind of in pushup special ed.)
All this after swimming 2000 meters. She's a sadist. But, like a good friend says about climbing hills, I may not like lifting, but I'm pretty sure I'll like like it does.

And now, my weekly rant. The following is exerpts from an email that I received from a parent:
It has been brought to my attention that you are unable to hear out of one ear. (Sorry to hear about that). I would like you to know a little bit about my daughter. She is a shy child and doesn't ask a lot of questions. For her to get to the point of raising her hand is class and asking for help is a "huge" step for her, ...I'm sure it can be frustrating handling all the kids, let alone, have trouble hearing some of them. ...I would just ask that if you see her hand up or notice she has a question please answer her.... It has also been brought to my attention that you are allowing the children to listen to ipods during tests! I must say as a parent, I DO NOT agree with that...Mrs. P., I'm just wondering if the principal is aware that you are allowing the kids to do this.

(Signed) Mrs. Busybody.

Of course, I responded with my usual teacher-speak and assurances and explained things so that she thanked me for my response and went away.

But here's what I wished I could really say...My fantasy reply...

Dear Mrs. Busybody:
Thanks for your disengenuous 'sympathy'. I wear a digital hearing aid that cost more than my first car. Do you really think I would be partially deaf and teach in a public high school without one?
Gosh, does your request mean I have to give up my strict policy of ignoring all questions? Or could it mean that, perhaps, I was already trying to help some of the other 31 students in the room. Your daughter is a great kid. If you want, I'll move her closer to me. But honestly when helping students, I go to the first hands that go up. I'm sorry I can't do more. I would love to be able to intuit who needs me most, but I don't have that kind of power. Listen, I'm sorry you got kicked out of teacher's college or had a mean teacher or WHATEVER it is that you feel gives you license to harass me... But don't insult me by suggesting that I'm ignoring your daughter on purpose.

As to the ipods, it is perhaps possible that in 8 years of teaching, 23 years of raising children, and a preparatory education including a master's degree in educational psychology, that I might ctually make decisions because I think they help kids. Not listening to the person next to you nervously digesting their lunch or breathing heavily or tapping their feet during a test is one of those things that might help. Hearing the music that you identify with when you're in an institution that does not have the time or space to truly honor your individual tastes might be one of those things, too.
Lady, I will do anything I can to bridge the space between the best needs of students, high-stakes testing, administration, and my professional ethics even if it includes--shudder--listening to an iPod during a test. I know it means the end of the world as we know it. I imagine that people said that about the evils of Rock-n-Roll 50 years ago.

Finally, as to your last comment, uh, is that some kind of threat? Do you even read the papers? I'm pretty sure that, if given a truth serum, the principle would say she's pretty damned thankful I don't steal from the school, molest students, or end up in the police blotter after a weekly barfight and DUI charge. She's thankful that I am serious about my job and that I sincerely believe in trying to keep students in school. I don't cause incidents. Hell, I don't even park in the visitor's lot, even on the really icky weather days.
But, let's pretend for a moment that she did care. Let's pretend there's no union and that I got FIRED for it. Lady, look around. I'm pretty sure that any of the local districts which post year round openings, and have to hire long-term subs to fill Algebra positions would be happy to employ someone whose only incident in 8 years was letting kids listen to iPods during a math test.

If I may say so, you need to get a life. Whatever it takes. If you've got time to compose angry letters to overworked public servants, then you've got time to volunteer, run a few miles, or get laid.

So, in closing,

Bite. Me.

================================

thanks for reading my rant, ya'll.

...

It's an "I hate my job" day.

So, I have inservice coming up next Tuesday. This time I get to choose three of the following:

• How to do data analysis of SBA scores (I taught data analysis. For two years)


• How to use Power Point (been using it since 1997, and taught it at the university level)


• How to use Excel (Again, been using since 1997, taught to college freshmen)


• How to use a document camera (I don't have one)


• How to use a Smart Board (I don't have one)

Then I got an email saying that crisis intervention training was being offered that day to counselors and social workers and certain special education teachers. Now, there's something I could use! Mental health issues are rising among teenagers.

I wrote the principal and asked her if I could take this instead.

Her answer?

"No."

According to district, it's not training that teachers need. I must take the "approved" training for teachers.

Crisis intervention will be offered again, so I can take it then, I was told,

I've been given this same answer the last four times I asked to take this training. "No. Just wait. We have far more useful things for you to learn to do, like use programs you already know how to use, or how to use items that we can't afford to buy for you."

Your (and my) tax dollars at work: mandatory, useless training.

I know this is a common problem in a lot of workplaces, so I'm curious...

What's the dumbest mandatory training you've ever had to undertake for work?

...