It's Not All Flowers and Sausages

When Do The Innovations Stop?!

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 15:24:00 +0000

I think I might be crying...a little.

Now before you read any further - no, I don't work for a massive office supplies conglomerate; no, I do not own stock in Sharpie and yes, I have a problem with obsessively purchasing office/organizational supplies. (There are worse addictions you know...I do organizational supplies and shoes, some people do crack. Whatevs.)

In my most recent post, in which I fantasized about the possibility of ending
Persistent Dry Tip forever, a fellow reader mentioned something to me that inspired me to post immediately. Literally, it sent me into a dither. (Did I just say "dither"? Did I even use that word correctly? Please advise...) Miss M commented that she had seen...

a commercial...

(Wait for it.)

for...

(Oh, it's good...totally worth the wait.)

(Are you sitting down?)

(Because you should be.)

a no-bleed, fine point Sharpie!!!

No bleeding!! Sharpie!! Fine point!! So many colors to choose from!!!

(Insert me grasping frantically for a piece of furniture so I don't fall over after my display of energetic enthusiasm.)

Ok, some details. (Check it out for yourself too! Again, it's in the side bar thingy...I still don't know how to insert a photo.) It does not bleed through paper and is fine point like a pen. It is smear proof when dry, permanent and water proof. It is a Sharpie masquerading as a pen...I die.

The listing possibilities are endless. And beyond my wildest imagination...

Does This Make Me A School Supplies Pimp??

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 13:48:00 +0000

I know that I have previously pimped myself out to advertise the sheer wonder that is the Stainless Steel Sharpie ...I mean, words cannot describe this innovation in organizational/office supplies. (Insert large sigh and a shiver of delight here.) I also know that it is not quite Back-To-School season (although the commercials promoting this particular time of year begin earlier and earlier each summer, causing huge knots in the stomachs of teachers everywhere), however I saw an ad this morning for something that might just change my life.

As I casually sipped my coffee and flipped back and forth between the opening banter on Regis and Kelly and the Golden Girls (Yea, I said it...I'm not afraid to admit my obsession with this show), I caught a commercial for something called the Expo Click Retractable Dry Erase Marker.

Wait, let me repeat that for you. A retractable dry erase marker. THAT MEANS NO CAP, PEOPLE!! NO CAP!

If you are a teacher, at this moment you might be clutching your chest while simultaneously opening a new browser window to check out Staples (or you can just click in my little Organizational Supplies side bar thingy). If you are not a teacher, you most likely do not understand the importance of this revolution in dry erase marker. You see, many classrooms have begun using small dry erase slates, or white boards. Each child has one and we use them often throughout the day to practice math problems on the rug together, try out a new word family or jot down some thoughts. They are wonderful and I heart them. HOWEVER, I do NOT heart the Lost Cap Conundrum. Being the organizational goddess that I am, I have long since devised a system in which not only are my students numbered, but all of their school supplies are numbered as well. White boards have numbers emblazened on the back, tool boxes sport numbers and, yes friends, dry erase markers are also branded with student numbers. This minimizes arguments when shit inevitably gets left behind in various areas of the classroom. Yet, the cap, my friends, the cap is a dilemma. I am not crazy enough to number every cap (although I have thought about it...they're usually colored though and therefore the numbers don't show up well) and so I have fallen victim to a condition I call Persistent Dry Tip.

Persistent Dry Tip effects mainly children between the ages of 5 and 10. Although in my experience, I have found that children ages 7 and 8 are especially suseptible to such an ailment. Symptoms of this illness inlcude: cries of "my marker doesn't work!", blank stares when asked to get out their white board and marker, sneaky attempts to bogart a friend's marker and usually failed attempts to steal a marker with another number.

It is an often undiscussed, yet serious problem facing many teachers of young children.

Now, I have not sampled the Expo Click Retractable Dry Erase Marker for myself, but just the name alone makes my pulse quicken. Yes, they are a bit more expensive then the regular dry erase marker of days past, but maybe, just maybe, they could be the cure. Classroom set of dry erase boards...$60. Set of 3 Expo Click Retractable Dry Erase Marker...$4.49. Eradicating Persistent Dry Tip from your classroom experience...priceless.

The Final Showdown (For This Year At Least)

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 23:03:00 +0000

(Before I begin...totally sorry for not posting in ten days. Even after eight years, the last days of school always manage to knock me flat!! All the filing, organizing, grading....oh my! While at first glance, one might think, "Mrs. Mimi, you totally heart organizing and such" and you would not be wrong. However, at the end of the year, everything is so in your face and dominated by an urgent countdown of days left...it renders me fully catatonic (read: insane bitch). I have missed you though, my friends, I have missed you.)

Now that we have gotten that out of the way...

Get this. Last Friday I was absent. I know, I know...I am kind of a d-bag for being absent at The End, but I had a wedding related event. I am a bridesmaid and I take my duties quite seriously. Anyhow, I was absent, get over it. Another "teacher" (read: the dreaded kind out of the classroom person who is used to five free periods a day and therefore horrified when asked to work a full day) covered my room while I was gone. This "teacher" also happens to be all buddy-buddy with a certain Bacon Hunter.

(insert ominous music here)

Together they are like the Dynamic Douche Duo...two useless souls banded together in their pursuit of ways to slack off and not do any actual work. Basically, they are everything that is wrong with the public education system. I'm sure when they found out one of them would be posted in my room for the day, their first thought was, "I have to, um, DO stuff today?", their second thought was, "How will I eat a bacon, egg and cheese in front of the children?" and their third thought was, "Jackpot."

You see, I am a rock star. I work with other rock stars otherwise known as my Super Colleagues. And we have a little something I like to call the Binder of Everything That is Important...or the Binder Del Mundo. This binder is filled, literally brimming with genius. Original rubrics, engaging lesson plans, authentic assessments...seriously it is H-O-T with a capital brilliant! The Bacon Hunter has been trying FOR YEARS to get her little bacon-grease covered paws on this gem because it would be a) something she could/would take false credit for and b) a vehicle to do even less work than she already does.

Ever the consummate professionals, we have been hiding the Binder Del Mundo in locked closets for years. You know, because we're collaborative? We're safety conscious? We're jerks? Whatever. I, personally, take part in the Binder Protection Plan because this woman adds absolutely NOTHING to our conversation and while I will share anything with anyone in the name of bettering our practice, I refuse to share anything...not even a scrap of paper with this woman. (Ooooo....I sound a smidge angry, don't you think? I heard bitter equals wrinkles...I better watch out!)

You still with me? Okay. So I'm absent on Friday and the Bacon Hunter takes the opportunity to buddy up with her partner in crime and ransack through my cabinets while my kids are in the room and they should probably be, oh, I don't know, attending to them or something. Let me say this again, so you can react fully and thoroughly. THEY RANSACKED THROUGH MY THINGS....MY CABINETS, MY FILES, MY SHELVES. I am assuming they were in hot pursuit of the Brilliant Binder. Um, so holla that I lock it up in a move of shockingly juvenile spite, right?

I come to work on Monday and several adult sources, along with a group of horrified students, told me of Fridays events. At first, I was all, "whatever...they stink...they didn't find it." But as the day wore on, I was more like, "WTF?! They went through my ROOM?!? I mean, I know it doesn't technically BELONG to me, but it is MY SPACE. My KINGDOM. It is the only oasis I have at work." In short, I became fairly pissed. And it was then that I thought to myself, "Self, you can not roll over and take this. There are five days left in the school year, so why not have a good old confrontation?"

Fast forward to me showing up in her office.

Me: Um, so did you find all my math supplies in proper order?
Her: What are you talking about?
Me: When you went through all my things...on Friday..when I wasn't here.
Her: I would NEVER do that.
Me: But you did.
Her: Well...(Insert me holding up my hand here, stopping her in mid sentence. This is a move I learned from Big Mama Mimi when I was a teenager who may have, you know, mouthed off occasionally. It used to make me so mad when she would cut me off like that, that I would imagine snapping her hand off. However, fifteen years later...very effective.)
Me: Stop. I have been listening to you all year. Now, listen to me. Don't go through my classroom. Ever. Never. If you need something, have the professional courtesy to ASK. I know we don't always get along but I would NEVER go through your desk because I am not a sneaky, unprofessional person. Please show me the same respect. This will not happen again.
Her: You need to...
Me: Nope. No talking. (Cut to me turning on my fabulous heel - love you Nine West outlet near my grocery store! - and walked out of her office.)

So maybe it wasn't the smack down you were envisioning. Maybe I should have just popped her.

Happy Blogoversary To Me!!

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 22:32:00 +0000

Well friends, it's been TWO YEARS (!) since I started this lil 'ol blog...thank you so much to all of my loyal readers! You make my day when I want to poke myself (or The Weave) in the eye. Keep reading and keep being fabulous!!

Thanks A Lot Calvin Klein!

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 21:16:00 +0000

Today I went on a field trip with my friends. If you are a faithful reader, you are amazing. AND, you also know about my issues with field trips based on the ghosts of Horrific Field Trips Past that continue to haunt me. However, I am dedicated to my calling, and therefore, continue to subject myself to that yellow school bus, public bathroom emergencies and other potential disasters.

On this gray, gloomy and God-why-isn't-the-year-over-yet day, nudity struck before we even got to the museum. Now, I had a run in with Field Trip Nudity last year, but for some reason, it keeps coming back to bite me on my (clothed) behind. We're rolling along on the bus when we get stuck in a bit of traffic. As I chat with a fellow colleague, an uproar spreads across the vinyl green seats, followed by intense laughing and cat calling.

Little kids cat calling? (is something you might ask incredulously)

Yes, little kids cat calling.

At a Lady Ga Ga poster. In which she is essentially wearing only pasties and a frizzy hair-do. (I would find the image and upload it here, but am not going to for several reasons. 1) I don't know how to do that. 2) I think the image is permanently burned into my brain and I am trying to get it to go away and 3) I have a feeling that the regular readers of my blog aren't chomping at the bit to see her and her little tassels...am I right or am I left?)

As the bus pulls away from the Boobs, I think we might be out of the woods. But no, there's more. I am alerted to a Calvin Klein ad which stretches the width of an entire building and depicts a young, very muscular man as he evidently begins to, um, pull his pants down? I mean, good for you Mr. Model, but really? There are small children here who definitely don't need to ponder what you have on under your Calvins.

This is the point where I begin to desperately search through my Teacher Bag for some Advil, or my travel coffee mug, or a whistle to divert their attention.

Thank goodness the field trip was fabulous. But on the way home, don't you know we took the same route and stopped outside the exact same images? Of course we did. I wouldn't have it any other way. And as I watched these images literally push all their recently acquired knowledge out of their little heads, I wondered what they will say when their parents ask about the highlight of the trip today...

Although really...am I any better?

Say What?!?

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 00:29:00 +0000

I have a lot of respect for kindegarten teachers. I like little ones, but kindegarteners are WAY too little. I see some of my colleagues in the hallways and, despite their best efforts, it always looks a bit like they are herding cats. However, from my current position as "the cool teacher down the hall with the big kids", I enjoy admiring my little mini-friends from afar. In fact, one particular mini-friend might be the cutest little one I have ever seen EVER and, don't take this verbage the wrong way, he has become somewhat of a class pet. All my friends and I adore this kid. He is super duper mini, has the crazy little high pitched voice and no ability to filter what he says AT ALL. Plus, like icing on the cake, he is a Naughty Boy in training...he has this wonderfully saucy side to go with his cute personality.

Mini Friend gets sent to my room fairly frequently - when he's not allowed to go on a field trip, when he's been naughty (heart it!), or just for a visit. Sometimes he comes bearing notes asking for favors and other times he comes just to brighten my day.

Can you tell I love this kid yet?

If you can't...I worry about your ability to use context clues.

The other day, Mini Friend walks into my room and without seeming to notice that there are twenty big kids on the carpet in front of me, interrupts us by saying, "Mrs. Mimi, I'm in trouble."

"Sweetheart, what did you do?"

Mini Friend ducks his head with a little smirk and hands me a paper. On the paper are some incoherent kindegarten scribbles. Fortuantely, "child" is my third language and as I scan the page, I think I see the word "Ta-tas". Ta-tas? That can't be right...wait, let me check the post it. It reads, "Your friend was writing a poem about boobs."

Ah, thoooooose Ta-tas. I quickly pull myself together (because I am DYING!!!) and say, "Mini Friend, please go sit at the back table."

Fast forward twenty-ish mintues when my friends are diligently working away on a math project. I make my way back to Mini Friend to have A Little Talk.

Me: Mini Friend, what were you writing a poem about?
MF: Titties.
Me: (Did he really just say "titties" to me without batting an eyelash?!?) Oh, uhhhh....well, do you know what titties are? (I can't believe I just used the word "titties" at work.)
MF: (nodding)
Me: Ok. Well those are private. They are one of the private parts that we don't write about in poems at school.
MF: (smiling and nodding)
Me: Were you trying to get your friends to laugh and smile at that silly word? I know sometimes kindegartners think privates are pretty funny.
MF: (nodding...bashful ADORABLE smiling)
Me: Can we come up with a list of better topics for a poem together?
MF: (more nodding)
Me: (whipping out a beloved Post It note and a tangerine Sharpie) Any ideas?
MF: Teddy bears?
Me: (Did he say "titty" bears??) Did you say teddy bears, friend?
MF: (nodding)
Me: Ah! Fabulous idea....

I sent him back to class with a list of five more kindegarten-friendly topics for poetry. I kept the Titty poem and boob Post It for myself.

Someone Cue the Fat Lady?

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 01:45:00 +0000

I think it may be time for her to start singing.

There are a few annual events at my school that are prime for high drama. These are days in which tempers run high and the bullshit is thick and deep. For example, Picture Day is a day filled with last minute schedule changes, angry lines and disgruntled parent volunteers...you know, things that are very ironically not worth smiling about.

Field day is another such day. As I found out today, Field Day, a day that should be filled with laughter, good natured competition and sportsmanship and well deserved fun, has the potential to render me a shrill, slightly hysterical...um, bitch.

Am I yelling at the kids you ask? Oh, no! No! Not at all...they are fabulous. And Field Day hasn't even happened yet. No, no, no. All my angst and irritation is directed at the administration. So I am shrill and slightly hysterical with adults...not the kids, just to be clear. Today almost makes me miss the days when Field Day comprised of approximately 200 children literally sitting in a nearby field all day. Seriously.

However, after many years of lounging in fields, one colleague motivated and planned a real, honest-to-goodness Field Day complete with relay races, balloon tosses and fabulousness. Minus some of the odd sexual projections of some fellow staff members, it was a glorious day. This year, we anxiously set about preparing ourselves for another day of outdoor fun. With a somewhat-crazed smile plastered to our faces, we crawled through dirty storage closets, climbed over mountains of soccer balls and dug up old bean bags. We reworked master schedules, had the children create individual flags and made gorgeous banners for each of the stations. In short, we rocked out the Field Day preparations.

And then the weather man said that it was going to rain. That was when the shit began to hit the fan.

First of all, there is no rain date. We have an entire day of outdoor activities planned and the administration never thought to, you know, pick a rain date. Minor detail to them I guess. They don't have to face a room full of disappointed and irritable children ready to run around with eggs on spoons.

As we anxiously awaited the indoor Rain Plan schedule to be made public, my colleagues and I (some Super and some not so super...but hellish circumstances can bring people together, right?) tried to come up with a few scenarios for a fun day. Emergency popcorn and a movie. Murals. Painting. Craft projects. Games. ANYTHING!

And then, at approximately 3:05 (aka - five minutes after the day had officially ended) we were emailed the schedule. And...

WTF???

All the children in grades preK through 2 (about 250 children ) were alloted one hour in the cafeteria. One hour for Field Day. 250 children running around the cafeteria. This is batshit crazy for many reasons.

1. One hour???
2. 250 kids in an enclosed space?
3. Why do we only get one hour, but each upper grade gets a block of several hours? (You know teachers are all about FAIR.)
4. Did I mention that our one precious hour was from 8am to 9am?? Meaning we were going to be running around small puddles of milk, muffin tops and other assorted breakfast debris. (Could we turn that into a relay??)

So this is where me being shrill comes in....

Long, gossipy and dramatic story short, I let the new administrator with the Big Master Plan have a piece of my mind. Probably too big of a piece.

We'll see what happens tomorrow...

A Little Swine Flu To Go With Your Learning?

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Sun, 24 May 2009 15:18:00 +0000

Anyone? No?

As most schools are, we are currently on Swine Flu Watch. Unfortunately, my classroom has turned into something resembling a hospital waiting room what with all the allergy issues, asthma related breathing problems, spring colds and hacking coughs. But I am vigilant. Vigilant in my search for Swine Flu-esque symptoms. Or really, any symptoms that say Why the Heck Did Your Parents Send You To School Today When You Looked Like This?? Some schools have parents who are afraid their children to class because of the fear of sickness. I have parents (multiple parents) who lately have taken to dropping their children off, mentioning to me that they have a) been throwing up all night, b) have a fever of almost 100 or c) can't seem to stop coughing before they run out the door. Perhaps my favorite of these folks was the non-working parent who also thought to tell me she was sending her son to school because she didn't want him to stay home and get the other little brother sick. Granted, she told me to call if her son seemed "really bad", but to me throwing up all night/high fever/incessant coughing equals "really bad" and enough reason to stay home for a day.

One of these friends was Big Boy. It was so sad. He tried so hard all morning to do what we were doing and seem alert. But by 10:30 he had his head down, was partly asleep and had snot running all over his desk. In short, he was a mess. In an act of mercy, I sent him down to the nurse with a buddy an Official Pass. (God forbid I forget to use an Official Pass because a post it note just won't do.)

So Big Boy is gone for awhile and I'm thinking, maybe he's going to get to go home and get some much needed sleep. Big Boy comes up for his back pack and jacket. A good sign...

Then he tells me (read: wheezes) that he needs to wait upstairs (cough cough) for his mom to (hack sniff) come and get him.

Lately, thanks to the Swine Flu, we have been inundated with information that states we are to isolate the individual with the flu like symptoms until they are able to leave the building. We are, under no circumstances, to keep the child in the classroom.

I dig out another Official Pass and scribble a note suggesting that perhaps, just perhaps, we allow Big Boy to rest in her office, where it is quiet and I don't know, contained, until his mother comes. Big Boy goes back down stairs.

One minute later, Big Boy comes back upstairs (I'm sure that sort of intense cardio is awesome for flu sufferers) with another note that reads, "Dear Mrs. Mimi, I do not want to catch whatever this boy has. Please keep him in YOUR classroom until his mother comes."

Um. What? I'm fairly certain that sick children come with the territory, friend. I hear you on not wanting to get sick...but when you're the nurse? Call me crazy, but maybe, just maybe, keeping the OTHER CHILDREN germ free should be the priority. I'm just sayin...

I Did It!

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Thu, 14 May 2009 00:20:00 +0000

What did I do you ask? (Hint, hint...look on the right hand side of the blog...)

Well friends, I took a HUGE ego-maniacal step. (drum roll please!) I started my own fan page on Facebook.

Gasp!

Or maybe you're not that shocked. Maybe you're thinking, "Hey, she's fabulous but she's also pretty full of herself...it was just a matter of time." And maybe if you're thinking that, you're not that off base.

Ahem.

So, um, (bashful glance), you, uh, wanna be my fan? (nervous cough)

I Have No Other Choice...

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Tue, 12 May 2009 00:42:00 +0000

...but to call this guy a major douche. I know I err on the side of totally over-using that word, but this situation totally calls for me to shout "DOUCHE!" from the highest mountain tops. So if you happen to find that word offensive, I'm sorry, but steel yourself and read on.

Now I will never say that my class is perfect. They're not. But at this point in the year, they are pretty much a well oiled machine. We all know each other's personalities, we know how to push each other's buttons and we all know how to get along. I mean it's May and it's not rocket science. (Although I will toot my own horn, because while it's not rocket science, it is freaking HARD WORK...so Toot! Toot! for me.) Not for nothing, but they are lovely to work with...just lovely.

And, after all my hard work, I feel a little Mama Bear towards my little friends. This feeling is nothing new to me. It's fairly normal for me to feel very protective of my class at this time of year.

So today they were at music with Mr. Big White Guitar and when I pick them up, he totally narcs on them to me. (Dude, totally not how you win the class over by the way...nobody likes a tattle tale. Reason number one why this guy is just a douche.) He launches into this big speech about how six of my friends don't behave for him...ever.

Him: So they don't behave.
Me: Okaaay....
Him: And I tell them they have to behave to get a gold star and they just don't.
Me: (Clearly they don't give a rat's ass about your star, Einstein.) Okaaaay...
Him: I asked them if they would behave like this for you and they said no.
Me: Okaaay...(Ever think you're part of the problem???)
Him: I don't think they should have music anymore. Ever.
Me: Um, what?
Him: I just don't want to deal with this anymore.
Me: (Can I call him a douche in front of the kids?) We'll talk later.

Okay. In my book, teachers should reflect upon their own practice when things are going wrong. When multiple children are acting out and refusing to respect your directions...maybe, just maybe it's YOU and not THEM. But I guess it's just easier to blame it all on a bunch of seven and eight year olds than it is to look critically at yourself, change your practice and STOP BEING SUCH A RAGING DOUCHE.

Back up off my friends and teach them music. Do your job.

I Was Mere Seconds From Poking Myself In The Eye When...

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Fri, 08 May 2009 22:53:00 +0000

...I got the most lovely and thoughtful gift I have ever received as a teacher.

Evidently, this week there was something called Teacher Appreciation Day. Ever heard of it? I must have blinked and missed it or something. Let's see, maybe I should reflect on my week and see if I missed something in between holding my pee and frantically searching for the copies I request two weeks ago.

Hmmmm.....

Well, on Monday I danced my way through flaming hoops and tap danced with a ball on my nose for the Powers That Be who came and scoured my school for faux-fabulousness. (I have since theorized that they were actually the Tony people and we were really going for some sort of Best In Show award rather than a recognition of educational excellence. I mean, that had to be it, right? Right?!)

Ok. Then on Tuesday I got yelled at by the school secretary for not picking up my pay stub in a timely fashion. Unfortunately (for me? for her? for everyone within hearing range of the main office?) she is only available for "stub retrieval" between the hours of 12 and 2...hours when I am, um, teaching. I'm not sure what she does between 8 and 12 or between 2 and 3, but evidently stub retrieval is out of the question.

Um, on Wednesday I lost my prep (a.k.a. desperately necessary free period). Which always sucks, but somehow it sucks even more when you line the class up, walk them to the prep teacher's classroom and THEN find out that that person is absent. Evidently sometimes it is far too taxing upon the office staff to be thorough in reporting the day's absences. So we stood there for a few minutes as I silently prayed for patience and then I turned my friends around and we marched back downstairs where I pulled forty minutes of genius out of my behind because, you know, the prep teacher didn't leave any subplans. I mean, why would we all be held to high standards?

On Thursday I was subjected to a meeting with a very evil member of our Support Staff who is supposed to support both teachers AND students with special needs but in reality manages to just f*ck up everyone's day. In our thirty minute meeting she managed to insult an entire racial group, people of lower socio-economic status and teachers...I mean, really, if I wasn't so offended by her I would have been in awe of her ability to totally flatten three huge groups of people in thirty minutes flat. Seriously, that has to be some sort of record.

So far, I don't exactly feel as if I was basking in appreciation.

Then on Friday, Bubbles walked in a few minutes late, popped over to my back table where I was shuffling together some papers for our morning and dropped something off. (As a quick aside that will be important later, both Bubbles mother and grandmother are locally popular and talented artists.)

Bubbles: I brought you a present.
Me: I see that.
Bubbles: My grandma painted it. We have lots of paintings at our house. My mom said I could pick one out for you.
Me: That's so nice of you, sweetie.
I open the package to see a bright, colorful, almost graphic painting of an island.
Bubbles: I know you like the beach and sunny places. And I wanted you to think about us when it's summer, because I'm going to miss you. So I picked this one.
Me: (overwhelmed and actually at a loss for words) (huge hug for Bubbles) Thank you, friend. You have no idea how much I love this.

Just a little appreciation to carry you all through the week....

"Art" Imitating Life?

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Thu, 07 May 2009 01:16:00 +0000

(Please note that I use the term "art" fairly loosely here... but still it was way too creepy a connection tonight, way too creepy. Seriously, I thought about not posting this, but then it was like my DVR was speaking to me...or maybe Mr. Mimi just travels too much.)

Tonight, as I lay on my couch lamenting the papers that filled my bag (and begged to be graded) as well as the endless pile of laundry that taunted me from the upstairs hallway, I made the very adult decision to ignore it all and catch up on my DVR. I don't know when "catch up on DVRed shows" became a legitimate To Do in my world, but tonight, it seemed pressing. Or easier. Whatever.

(Before I continue, dear readers, I must say that I feel closer to you than ever...for I have just revealed to you my deep, dark secret love for bad television. Pause with me and bask in our closeness.)

Recently, I started DVRing a show called "Sit Down and Shut Up". It's a cartoon about teachers. One of those adult cartoons...like Family Guy (I heart you Stewie!). I could say that I am interested in this show for professional and/or academic reasons (you know, popular image of teachers in the media and all that) but really? People magazine said it was funny and I consider People to be a valid source of news.

(We grow closer still..yes, I also heart People magazine.)

Ok. So on the episode that I DVRed the faux- cartoon school gets observed by the superintendent's entourage to determine if they are indeed an Exceptional School. Throughout the episode, staff members were pictured furiously removing any books that are not approved by the Powers That Be, desperately trying to scrape together an inspirational speech, and basically putting on one hell of a dog and pony show. (With teachers playing the parts of both dogs and ponies of course.) They even showed the principal telling one less than stellar teacher to "just stay away and not talk to anyone."

Hmmmm....verrry interesting. Very interesting indeed.

And timely.

My school also got reviewed recently by the Powers That Be to see if we are Up To Par not too long ago. In preparation for this All Important Visit, buzzwords and bullshit were flying everywhere. Everywhere.

Each day precedeing the visit we received frantic emails declaring that we must "Show evidence of differentiation! The reviewers are coming!", "Have data readily available and on display! The reviewers are coming!" , "Update our bulletin boards! The reviewers are coming!". Custodial staff busily set about waxing the floors and (miracle of miracles) actually sweeping UNDER the desks. Plants were watered, urine soaked bathrooms were bleached...

I half expected The Visionary to be seen streaking down the hallway on horseback shouting, "The reviewers are coming, the reviewers are coming!" as he simultaneously set off the fire alarm to draw attention to this very serious three ring circus. Excuse me, I meant, situation...situation, not circus.

Ahem.

Because why would we want an honest appraisal of our work? Why would we want to show people what we are actually doing?

And tonight, as I sat and watched this cartoon that was intended to be hilarious in it's absurdity, I felt sad.

How Low Can You Go?

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Sun, 03 May 2009 13:17:00 +0000

I think we might have set the bar so low for professionalism that it may now be more appropriately used for a limbo contest. Seriously.

We are currently demo-ing potential new teachers for the few open positions in our school. To those of you non-teachers out there, demo-ing means that a candidate (whose cover letter isn't riddled with type-os or dripping with an Upper Middle Class Hero Complex) is invited to teach a lesson in one of our classrooms. The lesson is usually a review lesson and doesn't necessarily have to teach the kids anything. Really, it's just a vehicle for one to show off their Potential Teaching Fabulousness, or PTF. Ok, so maybe those aren't the exact words the hiring committee or The Visionary would use, but we're not asking them, are we?

Last week I had two demos in my room. I actually like having demos in my room because it gives me the opportunity to throw in my two cents. As I'm sure you've recognized by now, I've been known to have an opinion or two. And I'm not afraid to share them.

Both girls came in totally prepared and professional. They introduced themselves to me, handed over thorough lesson plans, had all their materials ready to go and were wearing cute outfits. Check, check, check and check.

Several other members of the hiring committee joined me in the back of the room as we prepared ourselves to observe these girls' PTF. Rating sheets were distributed, pens were poised and we were ready to go. Be brilliant!

As the first girl started her lesson, I was immediately distracted by the behavior of my "colleagues." The Bacon Hunter was (no joke) eating her breakfast which yes, contained copious amounts of bacon. Another colleague was sipping her tea and looking distractedly around my classroom, indicating that no, she was not listening at all. A third colleague began to take notes, but then felt the need to engage in a texting marathon...because of course she had her cell phone and thought that was appropriate during a demo!

I tried to imagine this scene from our candidate's perspective. Would I be attracted to a school where this is how the teachers' behaved while there was supposedly learning going on?

The next day, as the next candidate began her lesson, a different group of characters from the hiring came in to observe (read: embarrass the school with their unprofessional shenanigans). That day, however, our candidate was treated to a rare display of Professionalism, seen only in the select conditions. (And by select conditions, I mean early the next morning after a long night of drinking.) Yes, our candidate was able to observe one of our most senior, tenured teachers put his head down and GO TO SLEEP during her lesson. Awesome! I bet we won her over!

The sad thing is, I'm not even sure I have an informed opinion of either girls' PTF because I was so distracted by the bullshit going on around me. Way to set the bar, friends, way to set the bar.

A Hug Is Worth A Thousand Words

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 20:59:00 +0000

I don't handle everything beautifully. (Gasp! She admitted a flaw!) I mean, sometimes a fart flies on the carpet and I just can't deal with it in an adult fashion. Sometimes, farts are just funny. However, it's not always just a fart I have to handle as an adult. Sometimes, I have to handle much bigger issues and occasionally (notice I said OCCASIONALLY) I falter.

For example, last year, I couldn't deal with the Vagina Monologues or the Foke You Incident of 2007. I'm not alone though. We all have our troubles with "touchy subjects" (Right, Weave?)

But this time, all seemed to go well...

Right before lunch, one of my little friends handed me a note she had found crumpled up on the floor. I carefully unfolded the contraband and discovered a disturbingly anatomically correct rendering of a penis, along with the words "Watch Out! This is for you!"

Oh dear.

Unfortunately for the little culprit, the handwriting was extremely distinct. I know who it was right away. The only problem was, this is the last friend I expected this sort of Dirty Talk from. I mean, all little boys sketch penises from time to time, I guess. I don't have one myself, so I don't know what the obsession is, but that's a conversation for another day. But this was a little too graphic, a little too far for my taste.

Some interesting facts - my friend, we'll call him The Artist, didn't give this note to anyone in a threatening manner. It had simply fallen out of his desk (Which is a freaking mess... I mean how many times do I have to say the words "an organized desk equals an organized mind"? ) onto the floor. The little girl who picked it up very clearly told me that The Victim didn't give it to her, she picked it up off the floor, in a bold attempt to help The Victim get organized, and discovered it's contents on her way to the recycling basket.

Ok. Deep breath. How to deal? Well, I think this would be a lot worse if The Artist had forced his graphic renderings on another children in a threatening fashion. Really, I have no way of knowing if those were his intentions. Plus, The Artist has no prior record for Gross Incidents involving the ever popular Body Parts (also known as penises, va-jay-jays, boobs and butts). I don't' want to just let this go, but I don't want to blow it out of proportion. In the past, I have made this mistake and somehow it just makes the misbehavior that much more tempting.

After lunch, I send my friends to their seats to do ten minutes of quiet reading while I talk to The Artist in the hallway. Now, The Artist and I have a very good relationship...I also have a good relationship with his mom, who does not play around. She is the ace in my pocket.

Me: Friend, check out what I found on the floor today.
The Artist: (turning several shades of horrified) Oh.
Me: Is this yours?
The Artist: (nodding)
Me: (I love your honesty, sweetheart! I mean, who doesn't love a kid who just owns up?!?) Ok. So let's talk about this...

I then launch into a fairly decent and appropriate speech about private parts, privacy and sexual harassment - all in child friendly language of course. We talked about how this would have been a major deal if he had forced this note on another child, how these images are private, how the wrong assumptions could easily have been made...blah blah blah.

Important note, during this speech (which never descended into yelling but rather, maintained a very honest tone) The Artist had tears rolling down his cheeks.

Bingo! He gets it!

I told The Artist that I had to decide whether or not to tell The Weave and whether or not to call his mom. It was a hard decision. But I told him that I decided to do neither. That this time, this incident would remain between the two of us. However, I made it clear that I will be watching and listening and the next time, which there shouldn't' be a next time, I will have no choice. Everyone makes mistakes, but smart people fix their mistakes.

"All right. Do we have a deal? Do you understand?"
The Artist nods vigorously, wiping away tears.
"Now go to the bathroom, wash your face and come back to class."

At the end of the day, The Artist comes up to me privately, gives me a giant hug and says,

"Thank you for trusting me, Mrs. Mimi. I really won't do it again."

Now it's my turn for a few tears...

Holy Genius, Batman!

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 21:20:00 +0000

Ok, friends, I almost NEVER do this, but right now I am going to tell you to go buy something. I know I've experimented with the Widget thing in my sidebar...but in no way am I insisting that you buy these things. They are just things that I heart and sharing is caring, right?

Today I am insisting.

You must RUN, not walk, to you local office supplies store and get yourself a...(I need to take a second and catch my breath)

....stainless steel....

....refillable....

(wait for it)

Sharpie!

Whoah! Did I just faint? I think I might have fainted...Did you faint?

I was at the nail salon today treating myself to a little Vacation Celebration Mani/Pedi. This is part of my Be Good To Myself in 2009 promise, part of which involves doing something for myself every day that I am on a break from school rather than relentlessly plowing through To Do Lists Galore.

So I am flipping through a fabulous magazine that I would never buy for myself yet absolutely LOVE to read when it is left behind at a nail salon/train station/ doctor's office, when I see a HUGE, full page ad for this glorious invention. (I am featuring a link to this pure engineering genius in the sidebar...you might have to click to one of the other pages though because it seems to rotate what is on top at will.)

I may have to buy one for every bag I have.

Sigh.

I Heart Vacation

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 11:59:00 +0000

It's only 8a.m., but I have planned a rocking social studies unit, had three cups of coffee and caught up on my fave blogs. Sigh. My list is endless, but I am busily crossing things off. While I'm doing that, you might want to check out this list of 20 Teacher Blogs posted over at So You Think You Can Teach I made the list, but I also discovered some interesting new blogs to check out!

It Must Be Nice...

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 13:06:00 +0000

...To Have No Observable Work Ethic. I guess. I don't think I could look 20 children in the eyes and think to myself, "self, I'm going home early today...screw all that work!" But hey, that's just me. Evidently I take my job a bit more seriously than others.

And the Bacon Hunter saga continues. Sometimes I would just love to pop her. Pop her! But I know that is both unprofessional and unladylike and so it will remain a fleeting day dream. Recurring, but unrealized.

We had a meeting the other day. It is the first time we've really seen her since The Great Bullshit Email of 2009. While we've been walking the halls, heads held high, she's been skanking around corners and laying low in her office. Hmmmm....or maybe she just got a mini-George Foreman, has hidden it under her desk and is busy frying up bacon. Either way, she's avoiding us and not doing any real work. Not that I expect anything else, but still....

So at our meeting the other day, she informed us (all without making eye contact or lifting her head off her hand) that we need to spend approximately three to four hours of our time filing work in student portfolios. So SHE can come around with her clipboard and check to make sure that it's done. Like she's the Portfolio Police or a good example or something. Let me back up a bit, because you may not fully understand how ridiculous this request is. And it is truly ridiculous.

I have no problem with collecting data from my students. I have no problem with worthwhile paperwork. Some paperwork is necessary. I get it. But these portfolios - oh these portfolios!! How can I explain to you these mechanisms of dust collection? Let's see. We've been using them for the last five years. In those five years, the format has changed approximately three times. Each change came complete with hours of re-creating labels and tabs and switching out old tables of contents for new table of contents. Each year I have spent HOURS filing student work into these big black space wasters as they rained buttons, gumballs and pipecleaners from old pre-K projects all over my floor. My Super Colleagues and I have spent HOURS choosing pieces that should be added to the portfolio and creating projects for the sole purpose of eventually putting them in said portfolio.

However, in the five years that we have been "doing portfolios" NO ONE HAS EVERY OPENED THEM EXCEPT FOR THE BACON HUNTER. NO ONE. NOT ME, NOT AN ADMINISTRATOR, NOT A PARENT, NO ONE!

Unlike true portfolios, there is NO work that represents the students' perspective. There is no reflection piece. There is nothing of value whatsoever. Really, they are more like a monument to Wasted Time and Space, as I have probably spent 20-25 hours of my working life on these for no real educational purpose.

When we raised these concerns to the Bacon Hunter, for the FIFTH TIME she said (and I quote), "Sometimes you just need to do what you're told."

Um, I don't even say that crap to my eight year old friends! JUST DO WHAT I'M TOLD?

Oh sister friend, it is so on. You may be comfortable using your time in worthless ways and adding no true value to the lives of children despite the fact that you hold a teaching certificate and work in a school, but I actually like to teach. I like to spend my time thinking of ways to push my students farther. I know, crazy, right? I'm glad we pay you a salary for all that hard bacon frying you do. Who told you to do that?

So clearly, we are just hemorrhaging money on this woman's salary, these insanely giant binders AND all that bacon.

Hey...President Obama, I think I found some extra money for education.

Update-o-Rama

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 00:58:00 +0000

Update #1 - The plants are growing!! Whoo hoo - someone get me a cocktail! We planted sunflower seeds last week and I walked in this morning to see cup after cup with sprouting little plants! Now if we can just keep them alive (and the mice away from them) until they go home before spring break...

Update #2 - There are two more school days before our break starts. Wait...are those birds I hear chirping? Is the sun suddenly shining? Is that a rainbow?!?

Update #3 - Me vs. The Bacon Hunter 2009. A few quick bullet points and then I have to go get my plan on. 1) She still sucks. 2) I did not have to submit my lesson plans. 3). I have not seen in her in over a week. That's not true, I have seen her skank into closets and offices...I think she might be avoiding yours truly and my Super Colleagues. 4). We are meeting with her this week (insert ominous music here).

Update #4 - What would you think about Mrs. Mimi having her very own B-O-O-K??

Why Bill Nye the Science Guy And I Will Never Be Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 00:24:00 +0000

For those of you who didn't click on over to Teach Forever yesterday to read my April Fools Day post, here it is again.

Seriously. This really isn't a joke...it sounds funny, but really, it is somewhat tragic. Every single time I attempt a science experiment, without fail, the science experiment will either fail or yield some bizarre results that end up reinforcing the exact opposite idea in my students. Last year, because of an experiment gone wrong, I may have inadvertently taught an entire classroom full of children that yes, a plant can grow better unattended in a dark closet than it can in a window with lots of TLC. I mean, come on! How does the plant in the closet grow?

Recently, I decided to throw caution to the wind and try yet another science experiment. Despite my previous failures, I was pretty confident (read: cocky) that this one would work (Arrogance is not a problem for me...science, yes...arrogance, no, no problem there.) We were going to germinate seeds in a paper towel.

Easy, right?

I mean, anyone can do it, right?

I mean, how could it go wrong....right?

I took every precaution. I used seeds from the same little packet as my Super Colleague With A Green Thumb. I researched the proper amount of water as to not dry out or drown the seeds. I carefully spread the seeds across the paper towel. I gave them a prime spot in the window so that they would reciveve an adequate amount of sunlight and air. In short, I wasted an unimaginable amoutn of time making sure tat I did this experiemnt to the leter.

It was me against the seeds.

And the seeds won.

(damn.)

I knew I had had yet another scientific mishap (read: f*ckup) when I walked into my classroom this morning and was literally b*tch slapped in the face by the stench of rotting seeds. Yes, that's right, not only did my seeds not germinate, they tunred into a stench producing mound of mush.

Me: (to myself...and maybe the few mice who were listening) You have GOT to be kidding me.

I promptly threw the seeds away and opened every window I could. When the kids came to school that morning, I copped out and told them that someone must have come into our room and thrown them away by accident, thinking they were garbage. Yea, I lied to the children. But I just couldn't bear admitting to them (and myself) that yet another science experiment had gone horribly, and stinkily (is that a word?) wrong.

After this experiment-gone-wrong, I decided it was time to reflect. (And I don't mean "reflect" in a BS buzzword-y way, I mean really think about what the freak is going on!) I would think that with some of my past experiences, I would be a prime candidate for dealing with all things weird, and gross. You know, science-y stuff.

I mean, hello, what about the time when I walked into my classroom and found a mouse on a sticky trap who was a) still alive and b) being eaten by several of his friends who had come out of the wood work. Um, survival of the fittest anyone? A little Darwinism with your morning meeting? No?

Ooo...or the time when a mouse climbed up my bulletin board? I could take that moment alone and do a whole thing on habitat, right?

Well, what about all my experience with bodily fluids? Let's see, there was the time when the nurse refused to see one of my little friends because she wasn't sick enough and I was forced to send her to the nurse with a trash can full of her own vomit. If that isn't data collection, I don't know what is.

Or the time when another little friend was so excited about a special project I had asked to her work on, that she ignored the nagging feeling in her bladder and, after a few minutes, literally burst with pee all over the floor? Some basic anatomy? Maybe a teachable moment on the urinary system?

Ok, if that doesn't boil your beaker, how about the time when I had a student walk into the classroom literally covered in his own feces from head to toe? Have I gone too far?

Real world experience with all things science? Check. I then moved on to reflect upon my understanding of the actual teaching of science. Well, there was the time that my Super Colleagues and I were planning a unit on soil and The Weave suggested that instead of us requesting that the school, gasp, buy us actual soil, that perhaps we could encourage our students to (and I quote) "imagine the dirt." Um, yea. True story. And right away I thought to myself, "self, imagining soil does not make for good science teaching." I get the whole actual hands on thing.

So, in review, yes, I have all of this "real world" experience with things I would classify under "science", and totally get the whole hands on thing, but for some reason a proper staged experiment will always fail in my room. Plants don't grow, seeds don't germinate, food coloring does not go up the celery stalk. Ever. It has gotten so ridiculous, that I am the butt of many a school joke. Which is cool, I can take it, but at some point we need to think of the children, people! Think of the children!

I will not be deterred! Today, armed with the most expensive organic soil I could find and a bag of seeds that I made the manager of the gardening department swear up and down would germinate in the shade and actually GROW, we planted seeds in individual cups.

Keep your (green) fingers crossed for me. My science-ego can't take it anymore.

Fooled You!!

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 01:44:00 +0000

Ha! Ha! April Fools friends!! Whoo hoo...you guys are smart! Some of you guessed that my post from yesterday was all an ultra-nerdy but fabulous Ed Blogger joke! Yea you! What was it that gave it away? Our mystery blogger's ability to add a photo to his post, or the absence of the word douche?

Whatever it was that gave it away, you should check Joel out over at So You Want To Teach?

And where was I yesterday?? I'm sure I didn't fool anybody, but it was fun anyway. Check ME out over at Teach Forever...and then keep reading and check out Mr. D. too. I'll repost my blog entry from yesterday over here later on today too.

A big thanks to Mister Teacher over at Learn Me Good for putting all these shenanigans together.

Like A Dog With a Bone...

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 01:20:00 +0000

I am not letting this most recent drama go. If you haven't read my post from yesterday, check it out, because it's juicy!

So. I go in super early this morning and try to talk to The Visionary. Over the weekend, I sent him a fairly specific email regarding how offended I am both personally and professionally. I mean, call me loud, call me blunt, call me obnoxious....but lazy?!? I am NOT lazy and now, it is WAR!

Me: Good morning. Can I talk to you about my email? Is now a good time?
The Visionary: No. I have a meeting to get to.
Me: Ok. Is there a time later today when we can speak?
The Visionary: I'm not sure. Speak to the Weave.
Me: Ok. I will. But I'd like to talk to you too.
The Visionary: There will always be drama. (walks away)

Uh, duh! Of course there's always drama. We're in a building brimming with women and thanklessness.

I am not going to let this go.

The Weave writes us an email (evidently it is easier to be an inconsiderate douche via email than it is in person...note to self) that says we simply misunderstood. The Bacon Hunter was simply advocating for us to be "transparent" and keep everyone "up to date" on our progress so that we are "alligned" across the building....

...basically it was an email full of educational buzzwords. You know, "transparency", "allignment", "standards-based", "data-driven", "horseshit". All those old faves which, when used together and in exactly the right way MEAN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.
Seriously, she was one bullshit phrase away from asking me to "do it for the kids." ( And you know that it is a sure fire way to send me into a bit of a rage. I mean, I love the kids, but...well, we will save that discussion for another day. )

(insert yoga breathing here)

My Super Colleague, in a moment of sheer genius and unbelieveable balls, wrote a response to The Weave's email, acknolwedging the need for "transparency" and "accountability" and asking that The Bacon Hunter be held similarly "accountable" for the value she adds and be more "transparent" about her exact role.

Bam!

Shut the front door!

So the war continues. I am not going to let this die until The Bacon Hunter is forced to discuss this with us. I will be heard.

Back With a Vengence

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 13:22:00 +0000

Alternative Title for this post - I Think I Might Throw My First Punch Soon...

Oh man. I am angry. Angry with a capital P-I-S-S-E-D!

I was having this lovely little Friday with my friends...I introduced a group of super excited readers to a new character, conferenced with some writers who are really making progress and ended the day with a therapeutic session of water colors. It was lovely. Everyone was just tired enough to not stir up any trouble, but just awake enough to still get some work done. Even Big Boy and I had a nice day together. I mean, come on!

I dismissed my friends and went back to my sanctuary, I mean kingdom...I mean CLASSROOM to get some work done. My plan was to bang out some preparations for Monday through Wednesday and hop on the early train. Sah-weet! I was practically drooling at the thought of the Grey's Anatomy, Dancing With the Stars Dance Off and 30 Rock episodes waiting for me on my DVR. Hot Friday night, right?

I pause my productivity to check my school email. And there it is. A cyber middle finger waving at me from the computer screen.

I got an email from the Bacon Hunter. (insert dark, evil music here)

I will try to sum up her bullshit in a nutshell. (Please note that I am writing this post on Saturday, not Friday. Because on Friday, all I was capable of was long, curse filled rants, screaming and a little crying. Why do I let this idiot get to me?)

Like many schools around the country, our students were recently subjected to a battery of standardized tests. Many adults are needed to both administer and score these exams. In our school, that means that all the "extra" staff (read: out of the classroom losers....sorry, but it's true at our school) are used to handle these tasks. Bacon Hunter is one of these losers. As a result, she has not been available for our weekly formal Wastes of Time. And by weekly Wastes of Time, I mean the meeting my team is forced to attend so that we can talk about our instruction (read: poke at her to see if she is still awake, pry the bacon out of her hands and/or explain to her what good teaching is...it really depends on the day.)

Whatever, right? Not really her fault, not really our fault. But my team of Super Colleagues and I have continued to meet in her absence because we are amazing and have relished getting so much done. Seriously, the Bacon Hunter is a real drag on our productivity. When she is at the meetings we must repeat things multiple times so that she can take painful notes that serve no educational or professional purpose. I think she just takes them because notebooks make her feel important. Or perhaps she has confused her responsibilities with those of a stenographer. Or maybe she's just a worthless idiot.

Without her, we have rocked it out. We have planned some seriously rad stuff and our kids are totally pumped. Some of the things we were working on have re-energized my teaching and the way my students and I look at math. It's pretty hot.

So keep in mind that all this is going on while she is giving and grading exams. She never emails or speaks to us about her absences, nor does she ask if we need any of her "support."

AND THEN....we get an email from her informing us that she went to the Weave since we have been refusing to meet with her. She is all of a sudden concerned about the infrequency of our formal meetings and BLAMES US. THEN....oh THEN....this freaking moron actually accuses us of NEVER MEETING and IGNORING OUR PROFESSIONAL RESPONSIBILITIES!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! (Sorry. I guess I haven't gotten over the screaming....)

So because SHE is a lazy piece of dog poo, she assumes that WE are lazy pieces of dog poo. AND calls into question my/my team's work ethic and professional commitment to our administrator! As icing on the cake, she is demanding that we submit all of our lesson plans from the last month to HER so that we can prove to her that we were working in her absence!

Hold on. I have gotten myself all worked up. I think I need to put my head between my knees for a moment. (If it wasn't 9:30 in the morning, I would definitely substitute deep breathing for a cocktail.)

I read the email and stormed down the hallway where I found two of my other Super Colleagues in similar shock. I was pissed. Another Super Colleague was crying.

Happy Friday everybody! Try to be productive now!

Like A Breath Of Fresh Air

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 21:37:00 +0000

I woke up this morning happy for many reasons. It's Friday. I didn't oversleep. Mr. Mimi is coming home from a business trip today. And, it is FINALLY the first day of spring.

I heart spring.
I love teaching about seeds and plants and having all kinds of things growing around my room.
I love that my friends are still cute, but old enough to be almost completely indpenednet in our classroom.
I love starting to pull out my spring clothes and retiring wooly sweaters.
I love open toed shoes.
I love that it is still light outside when I come home.
I love long walks.
I love March Madness. (Somewhere Mr. Mimi is reading this and thinking, "liar!" And he's right, I really love the beer and wings.)
I love it all.

I got out of bed, started the shower and looked out the window.

IT WAS SNOWING. A LOT.

WTF? Aren't we done with this?

Ok, yes, I did celebrate the snow just a few short weeks ago when our school was gifted with a snow day. But now? Enough is enough.

So I put away my cute sleeveless top and pulled out a wooly sweater. Boo.

When I got to school, we talked about how crazy it was that it snowed on the first day of spring. And I was all set to regale my little friends with my I Hate Snow speech when one of them raised their hand.

"Mrs. Mimi, I think it snowed today because the snow wanted to say good bye to us for another year."

"Oooo...I agree! I think he (not sure why "snow" is a boy, but whatever) wanted to play with us one more time."

"I think the snow was crying, because winter is over and it's not his turn anymore."

And just like that, my day got better.

(I know, a fairly shmultzy post coming from yours truly, but I thought we could all do with a little cute to get us through the rest of March!)

My Heart Is Torn

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 14:34:00 +0000

I think I may have accidentally become Educationally Slutty. I mean, in my real life, I'm a loyal person...no trouble there. I heart me some Mr. Mimi. However, recently in my professional life, I feel as if my heart is being torn in twain.

You see, I have always held an educational flame (imagine me listening to sappy music, holding a Sharpie and swaying back and forth alone in my classroom) for my Original Teacher Crush, the math genius. He is smart, helpful, attentive, critical yet supportive...all the things you fantasize about a staff developer being. He has been the George Clooney in my love starved classroom drama.

But last week, last week friends, I was led a bit astray. Not that my devotion to my Teacher Crush has subsided...nothing like that. No. I just met this new person, this amazing person, who rocked my world. In social studies.

At first, I was a bit stand offish with this new person. After all, my heart belongs to another. But like a young, brash, movie star, this person managed to turn my head. Within the first ten minutes, I was hooked. The conversation was thought provoking, the ideas were brilliant, the resources were mind blowing. In short, my thinking about teaching social studies shifted in very positive ways. I was learning. It was awesome. Intensely nerdy, but awesome.

And get this...my new teacher crush is a woman.

Whatever you think of my newfound love, so be it. But I am putting it out there, because for the first time in a long time, I feel as if my abilities are being challenged and I am growing as a teacher. And that, my friends, is worth all the dirty looks and hushed whispers.

So, evidently, I swing both ways professionally. Which is kind of hip I think.

Stop Raining On My Snow Day Parade

noreply@blogger.com (Mimi) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 22:13:00 +0000

I had a snow day today - me and every other teacher on the East Coast. It felt like Christmas. I was so giddy I actually had a hard time falling back asleep, but somehow, somehow, I persevered. I know. I'm amazing.

Actually, the whole morning was quite dramatic.

5:27 a.m. My alarm clock went off at the usual time and instead of my normal routine (which involves some intense snooze button action and a lot of cursing of the morning), I hopped out of bed and ran to the window. You see, I had been harboring some hope for a snow day, but was too afraid to jinx the possibility. I even wore my pjs inside out.

5:29 a.m. After determining that it was indeed shitty outside, I ran to my computer (which I had conveniently stowed next to the bed for an immediate update on the weather...I said I was afraid to ˆjinxˆ my snow day, I didn't say I was afraid to ˆmonitorˆit. Big diff.

5:30 a.m. I scoured several news websites and...nothing. Damn.

5:35 a.m. I checked my school's website. Nothing. Damn. Maybe I should take a shower? Am I (gasp!) going to brave the elements?

5:50 a.m. I'm out of the shower and back on the computer.

5:51 a.m. I check the news website for school closings. Damn.

5:52 a.m. I check my school's website. Damn.

5:53 a.m. I take a moment to stew in my own anger. Every school district around my house is closed. Every school district around my school is closed. WTF? What are we? Mailmen? I don't remember taking that oath...

5:54 a.m. I check the weather. It says it is going to snow all afternoon. We might get 10 to 12 inches. And sleet, don't forget the sleet.

5:55 a.m. I realize that, after my hour long commute which necessitates several forms of transportation, no one is going to be waiting for me at the door with a trophy. And, I will most likely only be greeted by a list of names of co-workers (who live much much closer) who have called out.

5:56 a.m. That's it. I'm calling out. I open a word document and begin to write sub plans. I open up my cell phone and scroll to find my school's absentee number.

And then....

5:57 a.m. I receive a text message from above. (Actually it was from one of my Super Colleagues, but whatever.) SCHOOL IS CLOSED!!

I leaped up in the air. I wrote several aggressive text messages back to my Super Colleague demanding to know her sources. After all, I want to be d-bag who doesn't show up for work claiming, "I thought we had a snow day." And of course, my cynicism is unfounded. She is right and we are free.

6:00 a.m. I run to the bathroom, put my pjs on (still inside out, just in case) and jump back into bed.

6:15 a.m. I'm still awake. Too excited to sleep.

6:30 a.m. I begin counting backwards from 100...

8:30 a.m. I wake up.

Skipping down the stairs, I made a lovely breakfast for Mr. Mimi and I to actually eat TOGETHER. I linger over my morning coffee, blogs and TV. I change into real clothes around 11.

And then...

Mr. Mimi and I decide to take advantage of his home office day, and my snow day and get our taxes done. I know, it doesn't sound like very much fun to me either, but it needs to get done and I love crossing things off my list. So we go.

The person preparing our taxes (who was a VERY loud talker by the way) said, "Lucky you, with the day off. Teachers always want a day off...never want to work."

Um, hello? Drive-by! Who do you think you are, person who really only works during tax season? First of all, who doesn't want a bonus day off every now and then? Second of all, snow days are one of the bonuses of being a teacher...just like expense accounts, squashy office chairs and unmonitored bathroom breaks are the bonuses of other people's jobs. Let me have my bonus please. And third of all, screw you for insinuating that teachers never want to work. Just screw you.

As I opened my mouth to let her have it, Mr. Mimi (recognizing the signs of an impending explosion...hey, he's been around awhile) quickly made a joke and changed the subject.

She was lucky he was there...