The Scholastic Scribe

Artistic License

2012-02-01T20:09:00.003-05:00

Mama Kat's Prompt #3: What were you like in high school?

My Mom decreed me "diffident." My friends called me "creative." My Nana, although she never employed the word "karma," said she hoped God visited upon me in later years that which I dished out to my family.

High school - where insecure teens have the chance to try on different suits of armor to determine which might fit when they join the jousting in "real" life - proved to be a minimal struggle for me. I was good in the "humanities" - English, History, Languages - and I had a handle on the human element, as well.

Not to give myself props, as my cherubs would say, but in high school I made a subconscious decision to shelve my insecurities and embrace the moment. I tended toward the "free spirit" element, but my best friend was captain of the drill team; I wrote poetry and fell in love more than once with Eric Clapton, but dated the son of a Jewish dentist.

Part of the reason, I think, for my teenage comfort level is that no one told me that I was supposed to be "popular." I was, thankfully, clueless on that score. So I spent minimal moments wondering why what one of my buds termed the "Beautiful People" wanted everyone to love them just a little bit more than everyone else.

High school became a smorgasbord for me - of emotions, of experiences, of, essentially, imminent domain. I claimed the space I occupied at any given moment, and was comfortable enough, I guess, to move on to other territory when I felt like it.

High school is, of course, so much better the second time around. Honestly, I'm unsure a lot the time, but as one of my teacher friends likes to say, "You're older, you're wiser. Just don't let the little people know that you're afraid."

I'm in my 18th year of revisiting my "high school experience." I recently extended my tour of duty for another five years. Don't quite know where I'm headed, but I sure am enjoying the ride.

Room for One More?

2012-01-30T20:19:00.006-05:00

The end of the semester means a couple of things in the World of High School.

First off, we're halfway through the school year. Then, there's the fact that the cherubs have a four-day weekend (Saturday through Tuesday), so that their teachers can get papers graded and grades recorded.

Of course, there's also what I like to call the Focus Factor.

When one is involved in the teaching of electives such as newspaper and yearbook, certain perquisites - for the journalistas, at any rate - are involved. One is the unwritten law that the dispatching of a deadline requires a fiesta.

Food, glorious food.

Not sure if I've mentioned this, but I have 41 cherubs in my yearbook class. They decided to throw themselves a pizza party last week, to celebrate their recent accomplishments. Never mind that their spreads are full of typos, and the editors will probably have to remake the whole dang deal when the proofs come back.

Their reasoning? They worked hard. They're entitled.

Of course, being the pushover that I am, I dutifully collected two bucks apiece from my charges and called Papa John's. If you haven't taken an up close and personal gander at the above snap, that's 11 pizza boxes sitting outside Room 215. Eleven empty pizza boxes. I reckon my kiddos dispatched with the whole shebang in under 90 seconds.

The good news is I spent today getting my house in order and making sure each of my almost 160 cherubs had a grade that reflected their efforts - or lack thereof. Tomorrow, though, comes the insipid inservice. Four hours of alleged "professional development," while deep down inside yearning for a nap.

I know, I'm a schlub. But June seems right around the corner.

Laid Back

2012-01-24T20:30:00.000-05:00

Let It Snow

2012-01-23T20:28:00.004-05:00

While others watched the NFL playoffs on Sunday, the Mister and I watched golf. Well, he watched a tournament, played in arid and balmy Palm Springs, while I graded papers and hoped with great futility for snow.

We Green Bay Packers Backers had nothing much better to do. We had hoped to see San Francisco avenge our honor by playing the role of Giants-slayers. No such luck. Let's just say that nobody we care about is playing in the impending Super Bowl. A good thing, too. I'll be able to catch up on my beauty sleep.

Since the foosball (Kathy Bates, "The Water Boy") is essentially over for the season in our house, I've taken to praying for snow days. My more scientifically inclined cherubs, however, tell me that because of a La Niña pattern off the Pacific Coast, I shouldn't anticipate precipitation of the frozen variety anytime soon. Nothing, at any rate, on the order of the Snowpocalypse of two years ago.

So, I'm left to read Great Gatsby papers written by less-than-enthusiastic AP kiddos, who would rather skim the SparkNotes covering a 185-page classic than actually delve into the literature and enjoy themselves. That, and hope the Snow Gods bless us with some unexpected time off sometime soon.

I'm wearing my lucky snowman socks. Just in case.

obX Marks the Spot!

2012-01-19T20:44:00.002-05:00

It Takes Two

2012-01-17T22:00:00.001-05:00

Please Note

2012-01-17T09:36:00.002-05:00

Found this scribbled missive stuck under the door of Room 215 the other day. Please note: This particular cherub is more than 10 years gone, and he still knows how to use a semicolon.

I'd like to say I receive these testaments all the time. But in the era of e-mail and smart phones, the hastily scratched out note has just about evaporated from my world. What makes this all the more sweet, however, is that this young man - he of the recently awarded Ph.D., no less - took the trouble to visit school late in the afternoon in search of his old English teacher, and left a tribute under her classroom door.

The jury is still out, however, on his handwriting. Wonder if he's considering extending his education and going for an M.D. degree?

The Longest Yards

2012-01-12T00:01:00.000-05:00

Mama Kat's Prompt #1: Write a poem inspired
by the last conversation you had with your child.

When you were six,
you joined a soccer team.
The Red
Hot
Chili Peppers.
You didn't really understand
the game.
You didn't really understand
that soccer is a contact
sport.
You had boundary issues.

When you were seven,
you joined the summer swim
team,
a week after you broke your
jaw.
Remember when Justin
smacked you with the golf
club?
(I think you were trying to kiss him.)
"It was an accident!"
I know.
But your boundaries kept
expanding.

When you were 14,
you joined the high school
field hockey team.
And a ball shot through
the air
at the speed of light.
It ricocheted off your
shin.
That concave scar is still there,
I think.

When you were 18,
you went away to
college.
I didn't cry,
but I cleaned your room,
for weeks.
My sadness lifted only
after I'd made
five
trips to the Salvation Army.
(You always were a pack rat.)

When you were 19,
you dared your friend
Lisa
to swim the most yards
on a winter team
trip.
60,000-plus, all in one
week.

When you were 22,
you entered law school.
"It's hard as hell,"
you muttered.
And came home on break
with a separate suitcase
full of
books.

Now you're almost
25.
You're graduating soon.
You've got a "real"
job,
in the "real"
world.

Your boundaries
disolved.
Just like
many
of my worries
(but never all).

You've covered
the
longest
yards
without help,
but with a lot
of support.

We honor your
journey.

It Takes Two

2012-01-11T08:22:00.002-05:00

Time to Tebow

2012-01-09T19:59:00.003-05:00

Please say a little prayer for me.

Just last week, those in charge of such things added yet another cherub to my already overly stuffed 7th period. This is the Intro to Journalism class. The one with the youngest kids, with the biggest learning curves.

I have 36 of the little buggers in that class now. Did I mention that I only have 34 chairs in Room 215? Before long, I'll be teaching an extension course out in the hallway.

That's not the worst of it, though. My Yearbook class has 41 journalistas in attendance. It takes me 10 minutes to call the roll. Thank goodness the older kids move around - doing interviews, taking photos, wandering the halls aimlessly - or I'd have to throw a few of them out the window.

The 45 kiddos on my school newspaper staff, fortunately, are split up into two different classes. A group of 21 comes in at 9 a.m., followed by a class of 24 at 11 a.m.

And let's not forget the 27 enrolled in my AP English Lang course.

These are all writing-intensive classes. Mentoring, tutoring, teaching and re-teaching are a constant in Room 215. So are hollering (by both the teacher and the students) and excessive giggling (when someone who is sharing a seat falls on the floor).

General mayhem is the rule in my workaday life; never the exception. For those of you who are keeping count, that's 149 of the little buggers cycling through my classroom in an endless parade of adolescence and all its inherent wonderment - and woes.

The good news is that, in my Intro class at least, the 14-year-olds can - and do - often double up, especially when everyone is present. But as it is now, I pray every 7th period that one or two of my students will be absent so that I will have a place for everyone to sit.

The young man who is "Tebowing," above, is one of my seniors. He's been a student of mine since he was one of those scrawny 14-year-olds. At 6-feet-plus and 18 years old, though, I don't think he has the size, nor the inclination, to share anymore. Except, perhaps, his faith - if even in a mocking way.

All Washed Up

2012-01-04T20:28:00.006-05:00

Mama Kat's Prompt #2: Top Trends of 2011 That I Want To Forget

I spent a quiet Christmas - NOT - herding cats, for reals.

La Familia Scribe welcomed one daughter's kitten home for the month, while the other chica - a seasonal volunteer at the local animal shelter - brought her work home with her one afternoon, so to speak. The oldest newest furball is Phoebe, also known as Teen-Teen, an adolescent feline of seven months or so. The baby's name is Susie, also known as Jingles, and she's four months or so. The kittens join our Old Lady, Pepper the Cat, who is nine years young.

I spent Tuesday morning running interference between three bowls, three cats and three competing breakfast agendas. The youngest flitted between bowls, unsure of her place in the kibble hierarchy. The oldest took her time, rumbling a throaty warning every time one of the other two interlopers came too close. The middle one was just right - consuming her ration and allowing me to lock her up in the basement so the others could finish their crunchy repast.

As a woman who now is House Mom to more animals than children, I'm hardly in a position to construct a Top 10 List for 2011, while I'm probably an expert on what I don't want to see again in 2012.

But right now I have to get my beauty rest. I'll be up again tomorrow morning, herding cats - for reals.

Xmas Tree Redux

2011-12-31T21:20:00.005-05:00

Time to take our tree down, but first wanted to put this one up.
Courtesy of a FB friend in Denver.

"Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual." ~ Mark Twain

Here's to a Happy 2012!

These are a Few of My Favorite Things

2011-12-29T08:14:00.005-05:00

Mama Kat's Assignment: Choose a favorite post from each month
of 2011 and share.

Although I'll be celebrating a rather prolific four years of blogging in March, those of you who've popped in here from time to time in twenty-eleven know that I've dialed back my ruminations this calendar year.

I reckon we could delve into the psychological murk that is moi to determine cause and effect, but I'm pretty sure work, family and other pressing obligations wedged their way into my life, causing what we in DC term a "loss of creative output." Herein, however, are a few of my favorite things from my own personal bloggy airwaves of 2011:

January: A bald eagle literally swept into my life and carried me away - metaphorically, at any rate.

February: My chicas raised a ruckus at the Wisconsin State Capitol in Madison. They joined tens of thousands of like-minded Americans protesting on behalf of teachers like their Mom. And even though they are peaceful, law-abiding young women, they got into a tussle with an individual from what we can only characterize as "the other side."

March: Wherein procrastination allowed me to uncover a delicious piece of history from the archives of La Familia Scribe.

April: Kids say the darnedest things. And so do their teachers, on occasion.

May: Come to find out that quite a few of my favorite posts originate with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, today's venue as well. Wherein I exercise my poetic chops on a recent phone call.

June: Yes, it's true. Nachos are my life. Another Mama Kat offering. Why do I blog? You tell me!

July: A day in the life of Pepper the Cat. Like sands through the hour glass...

August: I hail from DC, the Land of Verbal Garbage. New Yorkers, however, do a different kind of Trash Talking.

September: A teacher's retrospective on the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.

October: As we continue to wallow in the backwash of economic detritus, one Denver drycleaner makes a clean sweep of his feelings for his fellow man.

November: As I did a little more than a month ago, I dare you not to cry after watching this touching video, also featured at the top of this post.

December: Not to brag, but some of the best nuggets on this blog are serendipitous. Yes, my jolly colleagues make asses of themselves, from time to time. This post, featuring a snide e-mail, is no exception to that rule.

Thanks to Mama Kat, who has continued to inspire me through both creative flood and famine. Here's to all of us who put ourselves out there,
at the mercy of what one of my colleagues calls, "The Internets."

Feliz Navidad - That's a Wrap

2011-12-25T10:03:00.004-05:00

Greetings of the season from Pepper the Cat and the rest of La Familia Scribe. Wherein our furry critter teaches us all a lesson - when at a loss, put a bow on it!

Crimson Tide

2011-12-19T20:40:00.006-05:00

As I recently decreed, in quite the unoriginal fashion, "There's no place like home." Beyond that, there's no feeling like having the entirety of La Familia Scribe home for Christmas Break.

Yes, I said it. The ecomium, "Christmas Break," has unfortunately gone the way of the chalkboard in our daily schoolhouse lexicon. In a forever-PC world, we commemorate "Winter Break," "Holiday Break," or just plain "Break." Some day I do believe I'll wake up, Rumpelstiltskin-style, and find out that the Powers That Be have done away with all that holiday crapola and instituted the celebration of Festivus, for the rest of us.

Or Christmahanakwanzika, if you prefer.

At any rate, these festive baubles, shining bright in San Francisco's Ghiradelli Square, put me in mind of those near and dear. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, and all that jazz.

Here's my Christmas wish for you: That you suffer no lines at the mall and that you don't have to circle for a parking space. For too long, at least. Amen to that!

There's No Place Like Home

2011-12-16T21:10:00.003-05:00

Seeing Red

2011-12-12T17:27:00.007-05:00

What with the stress of the upcoming holidays and all, it's no wonder some of us feel out of sorts. In a high school, any tiny thing could make one's temperature soar, from the cranky heating system that recently decided to blow frigid air on a cold winter's day to the AP Lang cherub who just scored a whopping 18.5 on a 100-point test.

But I don't often get flack from my colleagues. They're a pleasant bunch, for the most part. Yes, we have the random bad apple (Get it? A teacher?), but I generally work with a group of mellow fellows. Which is why I was so surprised to receive the following e-mail from a math teacher, regarding a mutual student:

Mrs. Scribe:

1. Was AG with you during my Spartan Time period (emphasis, hers)?
2. And, if she was, why did you allow this?

I really would appreciate my students being with me during my Spartan Time.

Ms. Logic

To explain, briefly. Our school has an enrichment/remediation period every other day. It's called Spartan Time, named for our mascot. Students are free to go to any classroom for help on some days, and are assigned to others. The period in question was first period, last Friday. Since I don't have a first period class, I knew someone was telling a little white lie, and it twern't me.

I guess this gal had a burr under her saddle blanket. The student in question, after all, had told her that Mrs. Scribe had summoned her to Room 215 for Yearbook business, no doubt, causing her to miss her math remediation.

Quick thinker that I am, I diffused the situation thusly:

Ms. Logic:

1. AG was not with me. I do not have a first period, so do not allow students to do Spartan Time with me during this period (emphasis, mine).
2. I'm sad that you would believe an unreliable source like AG and assume that I would encroach on another teacher's Spartan Time.
3. Smile. It's almost Winter Break!:)

Mrs. Scribe

When I get stressed, I tend not to lash out at colleagues, except perhaps in this space. I go to my happy place, which in this case is the lovely landscaping around Ghiradelli Square in San Francisco, where I wandered the day after Thanksgiving.

So much for seeing red.

Please don't forget to vote for Mrs. Scribe as Best Individual Blog in the 2011 Edublog Awards Contest. You may vote once a day, so please vote early ~ and often!
Thank you for your support.

Well, This is Awkward

2011-12-11T19:52:00.005-05:00

Not sure if this superior Victorian snap qualifies for a site like Awkward Family Photos, but the tale I'm about to relate most certainly does.

After a difficult day in the salt mines, I've been known to seek the solace of a well-known local coffee emporium. On days like this, I look forward to purchasing a Decaf Grande Nonfat Latte. You know, the almost-$4 beverage, which may or may not be steaming hot, and comes in a regular-sized cup that masquerades as one of the large variety.

Last Thursday, dear friends, was one of those days. As the holidays approach, it's not just the parents of small children who stress out. We teachers have been known to blow a gasket or two, what with deadlines, grading, spazzy cherubs and administrators breathing hot flames of recrimination our way.

I departed Room 215 at a relatively early 3:30, and headed on over to my neighborhood Coffee Bux. I pulled into the parking lot, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a mid-sized SUV, covered in a variety of magnets and stickers. A vehicle so familiar to me that I've grown accustomed to automatic reactions of fear and loathing at the mere sight of this four-wheeled conveyance.

Principal Man's car.

Thoughts of retreat flashed through my noggin. Should I go or should I stay? What if he wasn't in getting coffee, but shopping at the local market instead? Or dining at one of the several food emporiums dotting the landscape?

I shut off the engine and pulled the emergency brake tight. All systems were "go" at this point. "I'll be damned," I muttered to myself, "if I'll let that small-minded man get in the way of one of my puny pleasures."

As I walked up the lot, I noticed a colleague stepping off the curb.

"Is he in there?" I queried.

"Yup." She smirked. "I just said 'hello' and split."

I pressed on, across the sidewalk and through the glass door. His back was to me, so I easily maneuvered past, ordered my beverage and waited.

It soon became clear to me that I would have to say "hi" on my way out. My Nana didn't raise a rude child. Plus, he would be facing me straight-on as I engineered my getaway.

Grabbing my hot coffee more as a shield than a comfort, I headed out, stopping at his table near the door.

"Hey there, stranger," I greeted him with false enthusiasm. "How's it going?"

And then I did the strangest thing.

I stuck out my hand. He looked at my extended appendage, unsure at first, I think, about who I was and why I wanted to shake. Absence, in this case, hadn't made the heart grow fonder; more like it had made the mind forget.

He eventually closed the gap, granting me a lukewarm handshake (instead of a kiss?) and a salutation, of sorts. He made the tiniest of small-talk, mentioning his new duties and how he was learning so much.

I wished him a happy holiday, then slithered on out, wiping the imagined grease from my clammy palm.

On the Awkwardly Silly Scale (yes, I like the acronymn, too) of "1-10," I'd say this encounter was right up there.

At about a "25-plus."

Please don't forget to vote for Mrs. Scribe as Best Individual Blog in the 2011 Edublog Awards Contest. You may vote once a day, so please vote early ~ and often!
Thank you for your support.

Deck the Halls, or Hit the Deck?

2011-12-08T17:03:00.003-05:00

The Virginia Tech campus was under siege again. We did what all good Hokies do: We turned on the TV, fired up the Facebook, tweaked the Twitter on our smartphones and laptops in Room 215.

No, we're not all Virginia Tech grads at the suburban DC high school where I teach. But we're all Hokies. In any given year, 250 or more of our graduates are attending school five hours south of here on the Blacksburg campus.

Leslie Sherman, one of the VA Tech massacre victims of '07, was one of ours. Our last three principals have been Hokies. We sent more than three dozen cherubs down to Tech last year.

Virginia Tech is a big ~ and good ~ state school. Except, I guess, when a crazy person lets loose with a gun.

Facebook and Twitter were buzzing all of Thursday. Yes, these social networks can sometimes be annoying, but they're great for keeping us connected. We didn't have that immediacy in the wake of 9/11.

It was heartening to receive a Tweet from a Tech freshman Thursday after the lunatic had killed two people and the campus was on lockdown. Last year's Sports Editor ~ a cherub for three years ~ from thanked me for my concern, and added a comforting PS: "Me and D. are safe...A. and S.are safe, too. It's a scary situation."

He knew I'd want to know about his other friends, also former students. He later Tweeted to his followers, "No longer on lockdown. Prayers go out to the victims, though."

And his last Tweet before I posted this? "Psalm 18. #lookitup"

Well, I did look it up. And I learned something. This particular Biblical gem is quite long, and a tad violent in parts. But this nugget spoke to me:

"I will call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised:
so shall I be saved from mine enemies."

From the mouth of babes, correctamundo?

PS: Sam Dean, a photographer who lives near the Virginia Tech campus, posted this snap yesterday. Notice the reflection of the sky and the idyllic campus next to the left arm of the SWAT team officer. Prescient.

PPS: Please vote for Mrs. Scribe (that's me!) in the 2011 Edublog contest. Nominated for Best Individual Blogger. You can vote every day, so I say go all the way!

What Goes Around Comes Around

2011-12-08T08:00:00.000-05:00

Mama Kat's Prompt #4. Blast from the Past: What were you writing about last year at this time? Tell us what has changed (if anything) since then.

This time last year I was taking a class at a local elementary school. It's not uncommon to hold professional development in local schools, but they don't often make us sit in teeny-tiny chairs at midget-sized library tables.

Having to squat to sit down and also to pee (pint-sized toilets, too!) put me in mind of my daughter's friend, who teaches 5th grade. She often posts brilliant kid-type observations on her Facebook page.

Last year I quoted quite a few of these aphorisms. Today, I'll do the same. Oh, and the snap above is from that self-same 5th-grade classroom. Scribbles courtesy of a 10-year-old, I reckon!
Kid Moment of the Day: I have been telling the kids that if they don't put their names on their papers they'd owe me cheesecake. Today a girl presented me with a huge slice and said, "I always put my name on my paper but I thought you could use some cheesecake."

Today a girl in my class asked me to "besparkle" her project. I'm pretty sure I can just retire now on this accomplishment.

Kid Moment of the Day: While walking back to my room from dropping my kids off at lunch, I ran across a group of fifth-graders. I asked them what they were doing and they replied that they were supposed to have special lunch but it got canceled. The only boy in the group asked if they could eat with me. I replied yes. Then he turned to his friends and exclaimed, "See?! I told you I had the moves like Jagger!!"

Today I threatened my chatty children that if they didn't finish their poem they'd have to have lunch with me and finish it. Then a flurry of children asked if they could purposely not finish to eat with me. Guess I have to change my consequence.

Please vote for Mrs. Scribe (that's me!) in the 2011 Edublog Awards. I'm up for Best Individual Blogger. Only lost by nine votes last year. Please...Vote early ~ and often!

Good, Clean Fun

2011-12-06T16:45:00.002-05:00

And kids, please remember to vote for Mrs. Scribe in the 2011 Edublog Awards!
Only lost by nine votes last year. Let's make this a year to remember, OK?

Blood, Sweat and Tears?

2011-12-05T09:21:00.003-05:00

I'm in my 18th year of teaching high school at a suburban DC venue. I've seen quite a bit during my tenure here: The principal who grew overly concerned when he started learning about nefarious doings on his watch by reading the student newspaper; the librarian who prefered to imbibe on the job and had to one day be escorted home by this self-same principal; the cherubs who became burrito bandits and placed their bets with the guidance counselor.

But I've never seen a student massacre an assignment quite like this.

I was calmly grading AP Lang journals last week when I came upon the scene of the crime. Three consecutive pages of brownish-redish smears. Since students often eat when they do their homework, I assumed the culprit was a drippy chocolate concoction of some variety, possibly Frappachino in origin.

Until, that is, I saw the notation pictured above. My comment, scribbled in blue grading pen, did no justice to the feelings percolating inside of me. This child, I believe, took her assignment way beyond the boundaries of decency. And gave new meaning to the Churchillian statement, "I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat."

BTW, I do have something more to offer to you. Voting for the 2011 Edublogs is underway. As you may recall, I've come in second-best in this contest by a mere handful of votes for the last two years. Please vote early - and often! I'm up for Best Individual Blog, and you're allowed to cast one vote per day until the stroke of midnight on December 14. I guess we'll all turn into pumpkins then, correctamundo?

It's a Long, and Complicated, Tale

2011-12-03T10:23:00.003-05:00

There's Gold in Them There Hills!

2011-12-01T19:17:00.004-05:00

As I reminded y'all here, it's that time of year again. Nominations for the 2011 Edublog Awards close Friday, and I've received another nod, this time from Ella Numera Dos.

"Melissa B. has been out there since 2008," my Youngest writes, "sharing her wisdom, and ignorance, on education subjects large and small. She's taking responsibility for helping to get rid of Principal Man, and for showing her cherubs their way in this crazy world."

Thanks, kiddo! Not to brag or anything, but the child does have a way with words. She also knows that her Mom needs nominations from several bloggers to get into the running this year.

OK, I'm really not begging, but if you are so inclined, please post a little something favoring my candidacy, and follow the instructions here.

And you're not seeing double. Dos shot this Superior Snap in Wisconsin's Fox River Valley, and shared it in her nominating post.

As always, thank you for your support!

Teach Your Children Well

2011-11-30T23:44:00.001-05:00

Mama Kat's Prompt #4: Kids say the darndest things
…describe a time a child’s honesty made you think.

Those of you who know me know that my cherubs ~ aka the journalistas of Room 215 ~ are an extension of my immediate family. The same interpersonal interactions are at play in this environment, only on a muchly magnified ~ and slightly loud and smelly ~ scale.

We love, we hate, we yell; we come as close to kissing and making up as the law will allow.

So, I don't know why I'm always so surprised when one of them ~ especially one of the seasoned veterans, long removed from the highs and lows of secondary education, spills in a simply sentimental way.

I'm really the luckiest educator, as they say, in the world. Please enjoy this homage to a high school journalism profesora, written by Valerina, the mistress at In the Wonderful World of Oz. She penned this missive as part of the nominating process for the 2011 Edublog Awards.

Mrs. Scribe’s blog is an all-encompassing account of her life: from school, to home, cooking, family and travels you get a snapshot into the seemingly ordinary life of this high school teacher, which is spiced up with her extraordinarily hilarious witticisms and anecdotes. She details her trials and tribulations as a mother, educator, baker and oppressed creative soul under the regime of her evil nemesis-Principal Man. Occasionally she will cameo the critters in her home, or students of years past, always tying it in with something current or timely while keeping it fresh and funny. She has a talent for creating perfectly descriptive and biting nicknames for the evil doers in her life, and you can be sure that a mention of #nachos will sneak its way in somehow. I nominate Mrs. Scribe for Best Teacher Blog and Best Individual Blog!

FYI, nominations are open until tomorrow ~ Friday, December 2. This year, they're considering how many nominations a blogger receives before putting them into the actual competition. Sooooooo...If you have a blog and are interested in putting me in the running for the third year in a row, please do a gal a favor and click here.

As I always say, it's a great idea to vote early ~ and often. This goes for the nomination process, too! And thank you for your support.