Insulin Junkie

I am addicted to insulin. It comes with the territory of being a diabetic. Sometimes I miscalculate whether or not the insulin in my pump will make it to the end of the day. Today was one of those days. I ran out right after lunch, which means the insulin did not cover my lunch. So by 330 I was dying to leave school to get some insulin. All I can think about is getting home to get the insulin coursing in my system so that I don't feel like my body is crashing into itself. So basically, I am like a meth-head looking for my next score. In other news... I promised fourth block a reward if they were good all week. They realized that tomorrow is April Fool's day. They don't quite believe me anymore. Registration is over. Thank God. After Spring Break, our lives will return to normal. Sort of. We now get to prepare for the end of the year. A fellow teacher brought me a homemade cinnamon muffin that was still warm the other morning. It made life worth it. Big Bang Theory was awesome tonight. Amy Farrah Fowler was drunk; off of one sip of coffee liqueur. She wanted to throw poo. My heart smiles.

Indesiveness

Mondays are rarely good. I think it probably has to do with my attitude. I should fix that. Good news? I have great students who can make me smile. No matter how sleepy I am or ridiculous registration is at least one student will revive my faith in the human race. It's nice to see they do want more out of life. Which brings me to the rock and hard place. The American public is often complaining about the educational system. Public schools are some of the first places Big Brother begins to cut budgets. Everyone knows that good teachers will make sure students succeed no matter what the balance on the budget is. Our students are compared to Asain students whose school system is set up completely different than ours. The general idea, and this is very general, secondary schools are set up for students to flourish in certain areas. Students are expected to plan their future at a very young age. Or their future is planned for them. Should we change our school systems to better compete with the world market? Part of me thinks so. Why make a student who obviously knows they want to work in the technology field waste his time in a fine arts class? And yet, I watched a tenth grader try to decide on her electives today. She is a bright young girl who isn't afraid of hard work. After asking her what she wanted to do after she graduated high school, she looked at me quizzically, giggled and said, "I don't know. I was just trying stuff out to see which one I would like." Should we encourage students to choose a future for themselves when they change their mind about their friends every week? Do we prepare students for a future? Or do we allow students to enjoy a childhood? Are they too young to make decisions like this? Should we make the decision for them? Where is the easy multiple choice answer?

Santa in March

My in-laws came to visit this weekend. I love my in-laws but they can drive me bat shit crazy in a heart beat. Even faster than fourth block. But we hadn't seen them for a few weeks so I knew that I could handle the insanity. And I must say, thanks to margaritas and Bub Light, I managed to be a perfect daughter-in-law all weekend. The great thing about the in laws, Auntie Em and Duke, is they are loaded! I'm not sure how they get all of their money, I have some ideas, but they have no problems dropping over a grand on us in a day. And then some more on the next day. This weekend involved a trip to a wholesale club to stock the cabinets, I now have 168 tampons at my disposal, a new bike rack for our Jeep, and eating out for every meal. We offered to cook for one meal, but Duke insists on treating everyone when he's in town. They even treated my sister, whom they love, and our other roommate. And I had to talk him OUT of buying me a bicycle. I convinced him that I would start seriously looking for a bicycle and then he could send the money down. Duke tried to let it be an early birthday present, my birthday is in September. I laughed and told him Auntie Em wouldn't let me get nothing for my birthday and he would have to buy me something else. He laughed and agreed. In the future, there will be more posts about the insanity that is my father-in-law. For today, I will let you walk away with the image of a man who confuses himself with Santa Clause.

Shoes and Accessories

I wore these new earrings today. They made a tinkling sound with every step I took. It reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe's poem "The Bells." Except my tinkling had a happy peppy side to it. And my shoes had the grown up click clack without the pain of high heels. I sounded like a real teacher on a mission walking down the hallway, striking fear into the hearts of all wrong doers. But my happy earrings sent happy thoughts into overworked brain.

It's amazing how a pair of earrings can make your day.

Disappearing Faces

I started teaching two and a half years ago. I started in January 2009, in the middle of the year, which worked out well because my school is on the semester system. I got new freshmen and by the end of the first week I knew all of their names.

I've seen a few of the students in my clasroom since then. A couple because they failed my class. A couple because they failed tenth grade and I teach tenth grade now. I always see them in the hallway, and their names come back to me as I see their faces. Until today.

One girl stood in front of my classroom today, commenting on my name change since I got married, and knew her face. I stared at that face for ninety days straight. But I cannot tell you her name. Later today, as I was walking to the office, another student called out to me and asked about my day. I did not know her name either. I see other names in emails and I cannot put a face to their names.

When did I lose them? When did they stop mattering to me? When did they stop haunting my dreams and every thought? My thoughts were consumed with questions such as: How do I help them? How do I encourage them to complete their work? Am I challenging them enough? Is there enough group work in my classroom? Is there enough technology being used in my lessons?

When I first starting teaching I wrote about the ghostly teenage voices calling my name twenty thousand times a day. It was impossible to do anything without them in my head. Now I ask myself: Are the questions still there, just in different voices? Do they still matter? Or have I learned to block them?

Granny Panties

My best friend got married this weekend. It was a beautiful ceremony and reception complete with tons of emotion because her father died a little over a year ago after a gut wrenching battle with cancer. But there was lots of laughter as well. Especially since none of us are the same size we were in high school.

I'm not one for wearing fancy panties. My butt is too big and dimpled for thongs, lacy boy shorts simply stay in my crack, and bikini panties are often so short they don't cover the top of my booty. The bridesmaid dress was flattering, but I was a little worried about my bottom curves. (My top has very little curve.) At the last minute, I bought some of those big panties that come up to my boobs and are advertised to flatten my tummy, even if it looks like I am pregnant, which I certainly am not. As I was headed to the church I looked at the panties in my bag thinking I would try on the dress, get the other bridesmaids opinions, and go from there. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I just couldn't imagine pulling out those old people clothes in front of my old friends and blatantly displaying how much weight I've gained since our softball days.

We finally get all of our hair fixed and makeup perfectly placed and change into our dresses. Low and behold, what does everyone pull out of their bags? Different versions of my tummy flattening undergarments. So what was I worried so about? Apparently all of us have gained a few since our heyday.

On a side note, being a matron of honor is quite a bit of responsibility. In less than ten minutes I was told I had to make sure the bride didn't trip over her train, hold her flowers, keep up with the groom's wedding band, and not fall. I wasn't the only worried about ME keeping up with all of this stuff. The wedding party laughed at the the rehearsal when they all heard this. And the falling was a realistic fear. I fell at my own wedding, so there was a distinct possibility of me falling here. In fact, the groomsmen had a bet on whether or not I would fall. My husband started the pool. I don't think he has much faith in my gracefulness.

Ham and Beans

My husband, Tex, does the grocery shopping. I know this is backwards, but we can only afford Walmart right now and I can never work up the energy to face Walmart. I worked there for a few months when I was really desperate for a job. Going back now just irritates me. Plus I am really lazy and my husband has a complex that doesn't allow him to sit still. Grocery shopping is perfect for him, however I think he's getting bored.

I eat soup and crackers everyday for lunch. Tex forgets that I don't like a variety of food. He wants to try everything and I want simple chicken and noodle or vegetable beef. With Tex buying the soup I get interesting flavors such as chicken fajita and today's ham and beans. I will admit, the ham and beans was really good. Then. Now the beans have worked their way through my digestive system and are wreaking havoc on anyone in the living room. Because Tex bought the soup I don't feel so bad.

As a girl, I don't want to smell like a fart. I want to smell like a girl. Pretty flowers, soft fruity scents, and even the occasional food flavoring should waft from my skin. But no, the older I get the more I smell like my dad. My dad does not smell good. His digestive system torments people on a daily basis. I don't want to torment people. I just want to enjoy food like a normal girl, without the after effects.

I'm Over the Testosterone

My fourth block has eighteen boys. Eighteen adolescent boys after P.E., chorus, math, lunch and right before the three o'clock bell. Six of these boys are on special education services. This is code for "I can get away with anything." Do you know what this means for me? This means most days I want to mix tequila with my diet Mountain Dew.

Don't get me wrong. Teenage boys are fun. They have plenty of energy and when they are engaged in a lesson they can carry it to epic proportions which makes me feel like the best teacher in the world. But when they are trying to stumble through Romeo and Juliet they can only care about it so much. Today they reached their limit.

As usual, Juliet was rambling on about how much she loves Romeo when she finds out he has killed her cousin. Then she starts whining about the dilema of loving or hating Romeo. Fourth block was tired of translating Shakespeare and stopped attempting to decipher the poetry and simply starting asking questions about what was on the page. Of course, I tried to answer, but after asking a question, the students do not stop talking long enough for me to explain the deeper meaning behind the language. Now, I ask you, how rude is it to ask someone something and then turn right around and continue talking to your neighbor? Why even bother asking in the first place?

I don't pretend to be the best teacher ever, but teaching is a two way street. One can only learn what one is willing to learn. Needless to say, after thirty minutes of this, crazy teacher lady came out and I only had fifteen minutes to go.

So close.