So THAT'S why...three of 'em....

Little nodules in my throats
Little nodules gets my goats
Little nodules isn't noice
Little nodules takes my voice

Size of salt grains, all you is.
Cut yous out? "Oh, no," is his
opinion--get some rest and then
your voices should come backs again

But this my jobs, my livelihoods!
If I can't talk, that ain't no goods!
He signed me up for speech rehabs
They 'spose to teach me how to blabs
More easy- how to use my chords
efficientsly. And so towards
this goal of resting nodules,  I
won't say no mores. (At leasts I'll try.)

Doc says mine aren't symmetrical, which is unusual.

Is good spelling a waste of time, or a waist of thyme?

I can never buy this dress.

Man oh man. We are are either getting dumber or lazier, not sure which. Tooling around on a fun fashion site, I clicked on a link that took me to a sentence containing two consecutive Autocorrect problems that no editor checked/caught/knew enough to spot--read it and weep, and try to ignore the unnecessary comma:

"Day At The Races Dress- Black 

We love the fit of this dress! So classic, and cute! The synched waste is sure to show off the best parts of you!"               

 I am grateful that I was born a great speller. Got a word that needs spelling? I'm your go-to. (Except "occurance" or "occurence" or "occurrance" or "occurrence"--only one of these is right* and I truly didn't know without the little spell check feature on this bloggy.) But I know that spelling is not a function of intelligence. HOWEVER, good publishing demands that someone spend some time editing and checking, lest embarrassing moments happen to otherwise good writers:

That's one laep forward, two laeps back

Mr. Rogers wants you to be his neighhobor

Hey, aren't we supposed to be creative?

*The last occurrence is correct. It was the last one I typed and I truly was surprised. (Every time.)

Strictly Surprising, Somewhat Unsettling

Soooo. A friend of my mom's is a kindergarten teacher, retiring any minute now. L. tells me she ran into a former student of mine, that they discovered this mutual connection somehow, some freakish incidence of Six Degrees from Lola Bacon. Apparently what he told her about me as a teacher is that I am very..... strict. Strict???

Though I've been teaching since the dawn of cell phones, this is the first time I've had THAT feedback. I kinda don't know what to make of it.

It's better to be remembered as strict than as lenient, I suppose, and "strict" is waaaay better than "horrible."

Ratemyteacher.com asks students to rate a teacher's helpfulness, clarity, and easiness. I do really well on the first two and think that is a teacher's goal. Students do not perceive me as an easy teacher. Is that the same thing as saying someone is strict?

What does that word mean, anyway? When I was in elementary school, it kind of was synonymous with "mean." If a teacher was nice but was in charge, we'd say, "She's nice, but she doesn't let kids get away with stuff," because the word "strict" had some bad connotations.

Am I strict? In September, I am super strict, I admit (a little defensively proud of it). There are only four rules for class and I have to make sure 35 or so 8th graders, crammed together in a small wooden bungalow with no a/c, LEARN stuff that they don't, let's face it, care about. When kids learn how to behave in September, that pays big dividends for the rest of the year.

But am I strict? I don't write referrals because my kids behave. The principal (well, the one who just left who was at the school for eight years) sends in student teachers and visitors and staff members to watch me because she thinks I'm a good class manager with good class rapport. Am I strict? Did that former student REALLY mean I was "mean?"

Postscript: This morning I read a blog that is usually way above my head, and I caught whiffs of my  post and of other doubts I've had about the meaning of my life, that I've never written a book, about possible self-delusion, and personal struggles as a teacher in a public school setting (a Christian teacher, what's more).  This post by Dr. Holly Ordway gave me a handle: http://www.hieropraxis.com/2011/01/i-can-be-a-failure/

Homework done!

I've rediscovered
the joy of days I choose to fill
(NOT paperwork--NO!)

Chick Fil A gave free
breakfast to us, dressed as cows,
my awesome cousins

And then alfresco
lunch at the winery with
mom and dear friend

Theater tonight!
Playing on my retirement
island. (C'mon, Lotto!)

And I just finished
one of the best books I've read
in years of Sundays

Summer School Homework

I've written elsewhere about the delicious, holy moment that comes with turning in the classroom key.

But I haven't really told you how hard it is to slow down.

When the Blessed Day comes, I find I am running still, and it takes about two weeks to truly enter into the joy of rest.

On the first day off, I become aware that my breathing is shallow. I do some post-guest laundry and put-aways. I play Words with Friends. I finish two books (one I started last month and the other, a year and a half ago). I take a nap. I put on walking shoes and hit the bay. I go to the grocery store.

Except the nap, everything I did was a Have To. Those are ordinary Sunday afternoon activities. (I wouldn't ordinarily put reading on a Have To list, but that nine billion page memoir by Condoleeza was a present from my mom and there were twenty pages left, and the other was a meh Hemingway novel.)

The problem is that all year long there is a steady stream of "If I only had some time" thoughts and a steady stream of invitations and fun things I turn down because of grading and planning. When the days of freedom arrive, I feel that I need to rush to get all the summer projects done at once before Summer runs out, that I need to get out there and have some Fun, quickly, before I put my brain to the plow again. But when Fun is something you HAVE to do, it smells a little like Work.

This fellow's Fun looks like Work to me--and that's how my first two weeks of vacation feel.

That's why the binders I HAVE to organize are in the closet--they will keep until I re-learn how to live like a normal person.  Here's my new Have To list: I need to re-adjust my internal clock to my usual past midnight bedtime and 8 am up-time. I need to say yes to friends' invites, unless I don't want to go, in which case I need to say no.  I need to waste some time, to feel hours grow slower. I need to lay by the pool or the beach with a really good story (not some political recap), and Malcolm Guite's poetry, taking snoozes if I want to. I need to watch some movies I've missed and watch some oldies I've seen before that feed my soul. I need to resume what I like to call my morning "runs." I need to sit in coffee shops, post-"runs," drinking noncoffee beverages with books, books, books. And maybe a friend. Yes. I need to waste more time. I need to learn how to vacation breathe.

The Student Teacher's German Lesson on the Last Day of School: a follow-up haiku to last post

Eins, zwei, drei, vier, funf
German lesson had some oomph!
sechs, sieben, acht, neun--

My student teacher
did just fine. Acht, sieben, sechs,
funf--he survived it

and there's proof: vier, drei,
look down! There's no blood upon
the ground! Eins and now

he's done! Learning German was
sorta fun. Now I simply
have to run. I'M DONE!!!!!!!!!


(yes, there was candy)

The YMCA School of Swimming, German, and Feisty Sharks

Long ago when we were wee 'uns and enrolled in a Backyard Swim class, my brother told me that at the YMCA, they just threw you in the pool and let you figure out how to stay afloat. Although that's not true (is it?), my student teaching felt a bit like being thrown in the deep end after having merely READ about swimming, with a university supervisor, master teacher, and my own rising panic all screaming, "Swim better!" as I flailed about in a pool with 30 smallish but feisty sharks. Consequently, whenever I have student teachers, I've always tried to make things easier for them.

My current student teacher began the semester boldly independent, sure that he could be an amazing teacher right away, mostly by building rapport with kids, which meant talking about football. Without realizing it, he began pretty much copying my day-to-day lesson style and sometimes whole presentations, using my examples and pauses, borrowing far more from me than he imagined, because lesson planning is time consuming and he was teaching, going to school, and working ten hours a week: "I liked the test you're giving, so I'm going to use a lot of it" meant he was pretty much going to change my joke question to one about the Philadelphia Eagles. I suggested activities, had him spin them his way, let him use my homework, and let him believe that he was mostly original.

So. Student Teacher realizes his 4th period is beginning to turn on him (the worst feeling) with only two more days of school, today and next Monday. Finals are over today. "What do you have planned for Monday?" I ask.

"I don't know."

"You better think of something, because the natives are restless." With no test to dangle over young teens and as a teacher without much life experience and with not much originality, he's in deep water.

He hemmed and hawed and hung about, and said, "I wonder what I could do? I wonder what would keep them involved? Hmmmm."

Yes, he was flailing, hoping I'd rescue him. "The internet is loaded with ideas, M." Suddenly, I was working for the YMCA.

"I know! I'll teach them to count in German!" He looked at me for feedback. (Teach them to count in GERMAN?!? OK, that'll be interesting to about ten of them. But twenty sharks'll kill you just as dead as thirty. "If you were thirteen, would that interest you?" is normally what I would ask, pushing him to fix his lessons until the answer was "yes.")

"What incentive will you use? I think you are going to have to cave and buy candy."

"Yes, that's what I was planning to do." I tell him I'm glad he thought of that, because middle schoolers will do anything for a Jolly Rancher, but I think he told a fib. I hate fibs: my brain thought, "You and your German lesson are on your own. After ninety days of Lola-designed, -modified or -approved lessons, you are going to have to apply what you've learned at Backyard Swim."

I'll be in the room so there will be no blood, but fifty-five minutes feels a lot longer when you see fins.