So We Had "The Talk...."

...And I Feel Like I Need To Go Shower...So Dirty...So Very Very Dirty

I've been struggling for days about how to make this post humorous, because that's kind of my thing. It makes me feel better about the everyday tragedies that are my job and (so I think) it makes you laugh. It's a win win.

I'm not sure that I can do it.

To catch up those of you who have not read my post about The Talk (first of all, shame on you for not reading)...I have recently discovered that several of my very young students are talking about sex, including lesbianism, rape and pussies (sorry for the graphic language...but it is all them, not me) and I, being the adult in the room, needed to deal with it.

(sigh) Sometimes I SO don't feel like being the adult.

At first, I was going to have a colleague come help me. She's amazing and works with our older students on "non-discussable" topics. We were going to do a read aloud, talk about the words that are being used and then doing some role playing. But at the last minute, I changed my mind and had her pull out the repeat offenders for a one-on-one chat. I made this decision because (a) I'm a huge wuss, (b) I just don't feel ready to use the words "dick" and "boobs" in front of my class, and (c) I didn't want to be responsibile for introducing these words or topics to the children in my class who may NOT be dirty talking their way through recess.

Ok, so it was mostly (c)...I just had visions of the whole thing back firing on me and the situation deteriorating into an innocence-robbing session for some of my friends. I mean, to quote the Weave's fine wisdom, they have a lifetime of talking about sex, touching and what exactly a vagina is.

So really, all I got was a play by play from my colleague. Which was enough, thank you very much.

Evidently, four kids (two in my class) started a "Sex Club" where they get together, talk about sex and various body parts, and, possibly, look at each other in the bathroom. And I don't mean in the mirror.

Cut to me, with my hand over my mouth, eyes wide, stomach churning as my colleage relayed this information to me. I mean, COME ON!!! What happened to, "He called me dumb!", "She said shut up!" or "He farted!"?? I can deal with name calling, the shut ups and the farts. I mean, once I had a kid come back to the room covered in his own poo....I would so much rather have a friend covered in poo than a "Sex Club" to deal with.

Long story short (or maybe it's already long....), my colleague had a big heart to heart with these kids about the words they are using. She recognized their curiosity but told them that HOW they are using these words is not okay at school. Then she referred them all to their parents for more information. Next week, we are going to sit down with their parents as well and tell them the whole story.

Pass the buck much?

The Softer Side of the Weave

Alternative Title - "Dropping the F Bomb"

Today the phone rang mid-math lesson (of course).

Me: Hello?
The Weave: I'm sending up a sub...let's talk about your possible hold-over students in my office.
Me: Now?
The Weave: Yes. See you in 10. I'm just finishing up reading The Newspaper.

(She's reading the F'ing newspaper?? At 9:30 in the morning when she should be working? And admitting to it??)

And, like the magician I am, I miraculously pulled fifty minutes worth of lesson plans out of my a*s, uh..hat, in those brief ten minutes.

I went downstairs mentally reviewing my short list of friends-I-am-concerned-about. I hate holding kids over (making them repeat a grade) and welcome the opportunity to discuss my decision with anyone who will listen...even The Weave.

I get into her office and we actually have a fairly productive conversation in which she successfully plays devil's advocate and pushes my thinking.

Yes, you read correctly. It was almost a full-on compliment for The Weave. I'm not ALL snark you know.

We're discussing one of my long-time friends who happens to have an I.E.P. (For those of you outside of the world of education, that means an Individualized Education Plan. It is written for students who have diagnosed learning issues...yet, in my school the I.E.P. remains this mythical document that the teacher is never provided a copy of, because, really, why would it be beneficial for the teacher, of all people, to have access to a list of goals created for that particular student? ...hello? Please tell me you are picking up on the sarcasm here). As a result of my friend's I.E.P. she is entitled to receive special services from "experts" in the field of special education.

Notice my use of quotations with the word "expert." It is all intentional, baby. I rank our "expert" to be as effective and knowledge as say, a turnip. Yes, sit a large turnip in a chair in my classroom, and our "expert" in another chair. My friend will get just about the same amount of academic help from both.

I'm not kidding.

Needless to say, I am frustrated by this individual's (let's just call her The Turnip, shall we?) lack of sense of responsibility toward children. In other words, I think she sucks the fat one.

I decide to express these frustrations to The Weave, because all too often, The Turnip flies under the radar and the administration simply looks the other way as she consistently screws up her schedule, demonstrates a blatant lack of knowledge about anything, and offends everyone with her lack of style. Or maybe that's just me who is offended by her insistence on mixing a loud paisley blouse (I mean it's 2008...PAISLEY??!?!) with checkered capris. Just because everything is red, doesn't mean it matches, sister.

Getting back on track -
I vent my opinions to The Weave.

Me: I just think it stinks that my friend isn't receiving ANY of the services she is entitled to. I'm busting my butt for her, but I still carry around all this guilt that she isn't doing well. And The Turnip has been very inconsistent this year. I see her wandering around the building with children, but never actually working with any students. (I'm stumbling as to how to best express my opinions in a professional manner. I'm not THIS in-your-face at work...)

The Weave: Yeah, she's a F***ing mess.

(What?? Did she just drop the F bomb??)

Me: Um, yea?

The Weave: I think she sucks, but she's been walking around this place, taking up space for 20 years trying to get her shit together. I don't think it's gonna happen, so now we just have to wait her out.

Me: Hm.

The Weave: She's just a F***ing mess. And she's so slippery...she spends all her time creating this illusion that she's actually working...if only she put that much effort into the kids.

Me: Right.

And although I am intensely uncomfortable with my administrator's liberal use of the word f*ck in a professional setting, I have a new found respect for The Weave. It's like, on this level, we are kindred spirits....or bitchy spirits. However you want to look at it. In some very strange way (that probably needs the attention of a therapist), I find comfort in the fact that she can acknowledge the train wreck that is The Turnip and, on some level, feels my pain.

However, I also know her well enough to NOT expect her to do anything proactive about it either.

I mean, she DOES have to read the paper.

Tune in for tomorrow....it's the big Sex Talk Day! Yikes!

Happy (Lack Of) Teacher Appreciation Week

So did YOU know it was teacher appreciation week? 'Cuz I didn't.

"But you're a teacher!" is what I'm sure you are thinking.

And yes, yes I am a teacher. However, it seems as if that alone does not qualify one for participation in this much needed celebration. I guess you also need to teach in the right place at the right time. Or perhaps I've been voted off the island. Either way, this week did feel so celebratory.

Not that it was particularly bad. It was the usual shananigans this week. Which normally, would be bearable....but during Teacher Appreciation week....oh hells no!

And before you go there, no, I am not another teacher complaining about my job. No siree. I will never be "just another teacher."

And before you go to that other dangerous place, it's NOT all about the intrinsic rewards of a child learning something new. Yes, that is lovely, but sometimes you just want a gold sticker for yourself.

I can only speak for myself, but I think there are a lot of other teachers out there who are extremely type A like yours truly. When I was little, I lost my shit for a shiny sticker. And if it was scratch and sniff (or scratch-'n-sniff if you want to be totally correct), well, that was just the motherload. It was a form of praise. Acknowledgement of my achievements. No, wait, PUBLIC acknolwedgement of my achievements. The public part was important. Everyone could observe that I had clearly done something to merit a sticker. And the bigger, shinier and smellier it was, the bigger, smarter and more wonderful your deed must have been. It was like the elementary school equivalent of stuffing your bra or sticking a sock down your pants. It gave you that (false) sense of self-worth.

Today, I liberally apply stickers to my students. On their foreheads, hands, papers, folders...if it stands still, works hard and behaves, I will lavish it with sticker-related praise. And yes, I am the only teacher who hands out the coveted scratch-'n-sniff.

So is it any wonder that I would like a card, a smile, a pat on the back during a week specifically designated for just such activites?

I don't think it is. And really, I don't need a huge gift or catered luncheon (unless you're offering, because then, I'll take it)...but would it really kill the administration to give a specific compliment? Or would it be too much to ask the PTA (who regularly bitches for a larger voice in school politics...evidently this voice is not loud enough or it is not praise-oriented) for a card? Again, I don't think it is.

Let me tell you about the highlights of my days this week:

Monday - The photo copier was broken. In addition to being in located in the furthest reaches of the school...in fact, it may actually be in an "annex" or something...it ate all my paper including my original. Once I wrestled the orignial from the vice-like jaws of said photocopier, I brought my crumpled work to the office where I was told by an aide that I need to learn my place which is evidently no where neat the nicer, newer, functioning copy machine. She neglected to wish me a happy Teacher Appreciation Week.

Tuesday - The Weave came into my classroom to ask if I had any drawings that my class had done after a field trip we had taken to a ballet. Oh, it was a trip we took SIX WEEKS AGO. She didn't understand why I no longer had any of the children's drawings (um, maybe I sent them home with the kids Einstein?) and then demanded that I come up with a class set of ballet trip drawings by the end of the day. Maybe AFTER I rustle up some drawings, she'll wish me a happy Teacher Appreciation Week....

Wednesday - As I sat in my classroom, correcting work on my free period, three mice decided to make an appearance. Yet, perhaps in honor of teacher appreciation week, instead of simply darting across the classroom, they chose to run around on the carpet in an ellaborate dance. Maybe it was just for Teacher Appreciation Week, maybe it was to welcome the new spring weather, maybe it is just becuase my clasroom is now totally infested and they have nowhere else to go.

Thursday - I was treated to a meeting with the Bacon Hunter in which our team was supposed to collaboratively plan our upcoming math lessons. All good, right? You would think so...but then the Bacon Hunter dominated the entire meeting and blew us away with her suggestions. She actually spent our time informing us that we should teach lesson 9.1, then 9.2, follow up with 9.3, move into 9.4 and then (gasp) end the week with lesson 9.5. Seriously, how does she come up with this stuff? It's like she was JUST READING THE MANUAL OUT LOUD. And then she wished us a Happy Teacher Appreciation Week...no, she didn't, she just continued counting by ones.

Friday - I avoided most of the adults I work with like the plague, only allowing myself contact with my colleagues who are lovely, hard working and make me smile. I threw myself into the day and decided that I would wish myself a happy Teacher Appreciation Week by having a fabulous and enjoyable day with my kids. At the end of the day, Curly came up to me and said, "Thanks for the compliment you gave me during Writers Workshop today, Mrs. Mimi. I've learned so much from you this year."

(sigh)

And there's my teacher appreciation.

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby, Let's Talk About You And Me...

Yes, let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be.

Although I'd rather not.

Why?

Because talking about sex, lesbianism and rape with eight year old children just seems wrong. I mean, make your own parenting decisions, but to me, not something I ever thought I would be talking about in school when I signed up as an early elementary school teacher. They (and I'm not sure who I mean by they except for someone more powerful and all-knowing than myself) should warn you at the door as you try to skip inside with bags full of stickers and rainbow dreams.

As I have said before, it is NOT all flowers and sausages people.

At this point, you may be thinking, "What the F is she talking about? Sex? Lesbianism? Sausages?

But you're intrigued, right? Don't act like you're not.

I am talking about the latest dilemma in my life as a teacher. Recently, there has been a lot of dirty talk on the playground. I am a firm believer of " a time and place for everything" (am I right, ladies??) but I do not think that recess is the time, nor do I believe that the playground is the place to be discussing things of this nature. Why, oh why aren't they talking about crayons, freeze tag and Popsicles? Because I'm pretty sure that that was my repertoire of conversation as a child.

Here are some examples of the recent "dirty talk":

"Your mom has sex on you."

"You want to have sex on your uncle."

"All lesbians have sex in bathrooms."

"He is going to rape on you."

And the ever popular "Your pussy smells."

Whoever came up with the phrase "from the lips of children" never hung out on the playground at recess evidently. Or possibly was referring to another group of children.

I just don't get it. They are so sweet. I really and truly love this class. And not phony Little Miss Sunshine I Have To Love My Class Because That Is What Teachers Are Supposed To Say crap...I mean, I will honestly be sad on the last day of school. For the first time in a long time, I will not run skipping down the hall, cheering and hugging everyone in sight after the last child has left (hate to burst your bubble, but that's REALLY what teachers do on the last day of school). Over the summer, while sipping on a cool fruity beverage complete with a small umbrella, I will smile when I recall the funny things they said and the fun we had together.

And then I'll remember the dirty talk.

When I was their age (I walked up hill both ways...) the boys were infested with cooties, NOBODY could shake their booty in time with the music and we NEVER discussed a foul bodily odor other than the occasional fart. So, I guess farting was the most risque topic we covered. Farting and perhaps, just perhaps, we would try out a curse word or two. But we certainly did not discuss lesbianism, nor do I think I had ever even heard of rape. The whole notion of french kissing was still up for debate.

In sum, we were not this knowledgeable.

(By the way, I NEVER thought I would talk like this...seriously, I sound like my mom when she regales me with tales of her childhood. I totally promised myself that I would refrain from starting sentences with phrases such as "When I was little...." or "In my day..." I have sadly let myself down and have fallen down that slippery slope. All of which probably means that I am (sigh) old.)

(I also never thought that I would be preparing a lesson on "dirty talk" for my early elementary class. Or would be forced to pee in a bathroom infested with mice, but that's another story.)

It's too late now though. It's out there and no one can take it back. It's not like when they accidentally call me "mom" and then blush furiously as we both pretend it didn't happen. Or when they let a fart fly on the carpet in the middle of a read aloud and we all try our darndest to ignore it. ( I just realized that I have brought up farting at least three times in this post...what does THAT mean?)

No, it's out there and I have to deal with it. I can't have them using these words and thinking it's OK to use them in these ways. And, clearly they are exposed to these ideas somewhere and I can't let them be filled with all this misinformation, right? So I have teamed up with one of my colleagues and we are going to do a whole little talk on Words They Hear On The Playground That Make Them Uncomfortable and discuss the proper time to think and talk about those things. We are also going to write a letter home to parents explaining the entire situation and reassuring them that this Little Talk will not turn into Sex Ed.

This last minute, reactionary change in schedule is going to replace my previously planned lesson on place value.
Granted, sex talk is probably more interesting than debating how to use tens and ones, but somehow, I'm not looking forward to it.

So for any of you out there who STILL think this job is a cake walk, who STILL believe that all I do is finger paint and lead sing-a-longs, and who STILL insist that small children are just adorable - put that in your pipe and smoke it.



Although, I secretly wish that we COULD just sing-a-song and finger paint it away.

Walking With Curly

It's almost my version of "Tuesdays with Morrie"...but slightly less inspirational.

(Scene: It's approximately 8:03a.m. I have just picked up my class from the cafeteria and Curly is the line leader. I love it when Curly is the line leader. Although, to be clear, I don't have favorites. Yes, I do. No, I don't. I totally do and he is it. We are walking up the stairs together, one of my favorite times to chat).

Me: Hey Curly.

Curly: Hey Mrs. Mimi. ( eyes shining with a new discovery) Did you know that two lines means you're pregnant and one line means you're not?

Me: Uh....well, yes, I suppose I did know that. What I want to know is how do YOU know that?

Curly: We all sat in the bathroom last night while my mom peed on the stick. And there were two lines. I'm gonna be a big brother...Holla!

(No, I am not embellishing. He said, "Holla!" Can you see why I totally love this kid?)

Me: Wow, that's pretty exciting. But, does your mom know that you're telling people? Sometimes moms want to keep that private for a little while.

Curly: She should have thought about that before she made us all watch her with the stick.

I suppose he has a point.

I'm Ba-aaack!

So, for the many of you who expressed concern at my absence, thank you. And for those of you who said you missed my stories, thank you too. I missed myself also. Where have I been? I have been strung out. Just plain old strung out, and I have missed this so much....it even hurts to write about all of it. And I promised myself that I would keep my blog about SCHOOL (or bitching about school) rather than my life in general (or bitching about my life..)

In fact, all of this has resulted in one of the most impressive To Do Lists of all time. And, if you happen to know me personally, you know I loves me a good list...especially one with multiple categories or some nice color coding. I practically drool as I input all of this lovely organizational goodness into my new found joy - the iTouch. However, even this list intimidated me, the List Lover. If I'm honest, I will admit that it sent me into a catatonic state at times...and at other times it rendered me a raving lunatic. Sexy, right?

And on my long commutes home, as I frantically tried to manage my dwindling time effectively, I began to get angry. Very angry. I mean, just how far can the proverbial buck be passed?? And just how many times am I going to be there to accept it???! I figure, that if I had one dollar for every "buck" that was passed my way, I would no longer have to work. Ever. Again.

Let me give you a few examples....

Buck #1:

We get back from a field trip (you know how I feel about field trips). It was a great time, but I have not eaten or peed in like 10 hours despite providing time for all my students to engage in those activities. We are 10 minutes late for music (which would be my free prep period and a blessed opportunity to scarf down a PB and J and pee....again, sexy, yes?). We run into the music teacher in the hallway.

Me: Oh great! I'll bring them right up!!
Him: Huh?
Me: It's our music time and I really could use a few minutes to use the ladies room and eat my lunch. I'll bring them...
Him : (interrupting me....jerk!) Yea, I don't feel like it anymore and it's too late now.
Me: (Where to begin....) Um, I'm not sure it's really about 'what you feel like doing.' I
Him: They're your class, you deal with it. Teachers are so prep-hungry.

Oh no he didn't!!!!!

But unfortunately, yes he did. And in front of my little friends, I could not spew forth the profanities that were brewing in my mind. Instead, I sighed, crossed my legs and went upstairs.

Buck #2:

It is the morning of our field trip. (Why do I put myself through this?) The Weave has planned this trip so I should have known that some serious buck-passing was about to occur. Sure enough.

Ring!! I answer the phone. She asks me if I remembered to order the lunches from the cafeteria. I say no, because I did not plan the trip. She says that there are no lunches. I ask her what we are supposed to do without lunches for 80 children. She tells me to work it out.

No wonder they pay her more.

Buck #3:

A few of the teachers talk to the principal about all the fighting that is happening at recess. We express our concern that the lunch aides are reading the paper rather than monitoring children. We remind him of the angry parents who have also screamed their concern. He suggests that we handle recess ourselves rather than pick on the aides.

Perfect. The dollars just keep piling up, don't they?

Buck #4....or do I even need to go on....

And you wondered why I took such a long break.

(Just FYI, I won't do that again until the end of the year. I swear.)

You Are What You Eat...

...Unless Your Parents Are Idiots And Send You To School With the Most Disgusting and Unhealthy Lunch EVER!

Phew! That title was a bit long. But oh so accurate.

We went on a trip today. I love trips!!

Yes, I know they are physically and mentally exhausting. Yes, I know that the screaming on the bus reaches near deafening levels. Yes, I know that every one gets so excited that they can barely control themselves. And yes, I know there is never a man around yet there are an entire group of boys who need to pee which means standing outside the bathroom and yelling empty threats until they come out. It means complaining. And long lines. And other school groups who seem to be led by rude and obnoxious adults who encourage their class to push. Yes, yes, yes, I KNOW all that...

Wait a minute...I lost my train of thought. Let's see. I like field trips...because....um, well...now that I think about it...hmmm.

I love field trips because it always reminds me of just how young and sweet my friends are. I love bringing them places and seeing them excited about learning.

See? And you thought I couldn't come up with anything good.

We were having a fabulous time. Fabulous! And then it was time for lunch. We sit down and open up our lunches. This is always very exciting for the kids. Almost all of them get free-and-reduced school lunch (read "dogfood and prison grade meat") and so the experience of eating a lunch that their parents lovingly put together/bought for them is a big freakin' deal. I know. I don't really get it either.

Anyway, my friends are starting to eat and I'm frantically running around twisting caps, opening bags and inserting straws (those Capri suns are no joke!). I then start to monitor what everyone has, preparing to enforce my Sandwich First law. I get to one of my friends and notice that she is already eating her chips.

"Honey, you need to eat your sandwich first."

"I don't have one."

"Well, what do you have?"

She shows me a bag of Doritos, a bag of Cheesy Poofs and a big bottle of Blue Sugary Liquid masquerading as "juice."

WTF??

She tells me that is all her mother bought her. Her mom was in a hurry.

Hold on. I've been in a hurry too and grabbed a yogurt. Or a PB and J. My mom worked full time and raised me on her own, yet somehow I always managed to have a lunch that didn't come exclusively from the Fats and Oils sections of the food pyramid.

And it's not a money thing because those bags of chips are like $1.99 each...and if you have two bags, that's about $4. At the corner store closest to my school you can get a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water for $4.50. I know because that is what I brought on the trip today.

I promptly gave my little friend half.