Alternative Title - "Dropping the F Bomb"
Today the phone rang mid-math lesson (of course).
The Weave: I'm sending up a sub...let's talk about your possible hold-over students in my office.
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.
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.
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!