Brunch

There are those who love to have people over and those who love to be had over. I am of the second breed. But now that I own a house and it's time to enter into that first category, I fear I lack the skills that make me qualified to make such a move. I also lack the dishware, but that's really a separate issue. So after inviting people over for brunch, anxiety set in to the point that I've been dreaming all week about Bridget Jones and the blue soup she served for Christmas dinner.

You'll be glad to learn things went better than that. Thank goodness.

I'm at a point in my life where it's easier to admit my insecurities than pretend they don't exist, so I called the appropriate experts for recipes and back up. When guests asked what they could bring, I appointed side dishes and beverages. Jodi vowed to arrive an hour early to help with preparation, and of course, she thought to bring flowers. As the main dish was still up to me, there was extensive room for error, but I surprised myself with just one easily remedied mistake. I even managed to stop sweating before we sat down to eat.

The guests talked, laughed and left with full stomachs. And even though my hosting turn won't come up again for another nine to twelve weeks, I'm looking forward to it. Now that's progress.

The Brothers

If someone asked me which of my former students I would most like to walk into my classroom today, I’d say, without hesitation, the Lopez brothers. They came to us the last year my former school was open, and at first, they were just sort of there. They were the kind of students who could easily be overlooked and forgotten. Isaac was in 8th grade; David and Daniel, twins, were in 7th. I had them in separate classes, and while I could get Isaac to speak, albeit softly, David and Daniel said nothing. Even when asked a question directly, they’d smirk and look down. Spanish was the language spoken in their home, and I assumed that their silence was their way of coping with their lack of understanding. I was wrong. They understood more than I knew.

Daniel was in my advisor group, and on more than one occasion I caught him, and only him, chuckling at my sarcastic and often lame jokes. David and Isaac, although quiet, were engaged and interested in class too. Soon, they began to stick around after school, even though missing the bus meant an hour’s walk home. “Would you like to see a trick?” Isaac asked on one of these days. David and Daniel giggled behind him. “It’s very tricky,” Isaac continued. Soon, I was the one giggling as Isaac shared his card tricks with me. “Can you do this too?” I asked the twins. They looked at each other, and Isaac responded, “They can.”

Day after day the three of them stuck around for at least an hour after school. Some days they sat in my room. Some days in Greg’s room next door. When they’d leave, Greg and I would share stories about the afternoon. “Have you noticed how Isaac uses the word ‘rapidly’ over and over?” I shared one afternoon. “He says it’s his favorite word.” Rapidly, rapidly, rapidly. He liked the sound of it. Soon, I did too. Slowly, Daniel and David began to talk, usually to make fun of Isaac or one another. Their gibes never turned harsh, but demonstrated their absolute love and respect for their big brother and for each other. They let me in on a few of their inside jokes, but most of them they saved for themselves. Their card playing and giggling became one of the best parts of my week.

At conference time, their mother came to talk about their progress. The Lopez brothers weren’t stellar students, but their character could not be matched. I was eager to tell Mrs. Lopez how much I enjoyed her boys, and that I admired how she had raised them to be such good people. She arrived for conferences with Isaac, David, Daniel, and at least three of her other nine children in tow. She had taken off time from work to be there. I told her how lucky I was to have her sons in my classroom. She thanked me for my compliments and then told her boys their academic performance mattered as much as their kindness. She was right, and they listened. That night, I gained a new level of respect for this single mother, and found a new mission as a teacher. Our after school time gained a new focus, and by the end of year, the Lopez brothers turned in work more consistently and confidently.

Over the years, Greg and I have often recalled stories about these boys, and Greg keeps a picture of the three of them in his closet. So today after school when I turned around to respond to my name, there wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. Despite five years distance, I knew immediately who was standing in front of me. “Isaac Lopez!" I said. "What a pleasure to see you here.” Next to him stood David, although I admit I had to ask. I never could tell him apart from Daniel. They had come to say hello. Greg was as excited as I was, and the two of us bombarded them with questions and memories about the three of them. Isaac did most of the talking, still, but let David speak for himself as well. Isaac is enrolled in culinary school. Daniel and David will graduate from high school this year. Their mom is doing well, and has adopted their cousins. All three joined the army last year. They are happy, articulate, and confident men. And they promised to come back again soon -- with Daniel.

This is, in all likelihood, my last year teaching middle school, and I can’t help but feel that today’s visit was a scene from my very own episode of “This is Your Life.” As I contemplate my upcoming transition, I’ve wondered what impact I’ve had in this job and whether or not I’ve done enough before moving on. Today, my answer walked through the door.

Accepting My Earth Day Challenge

My yard has gotten to be quite an eyesore. Once it was just overgrown and chaotic. Now it's overgrown, chaotic, and dead, like the former yard molted and left its skin strewn about. Since Earth Day's greatest cheerleader happens to be my sister, I decided I had better get out there today to do something about the mess.

From what I can tell by talking with the neighbors, the previous owner of my house was a little bit crazy, sort of a pagan version of Tom Cruise, if you will. Three neighbors and the postman stopped to chat with me today as I pulled the unidentifiable foliage from the ground. Each one looked me the eye, shook his or her head, and sighed, "I don't know what he was thinking." One joked about the dead bodies that must be buried under the mounds of dirt where two green posts hold up these ridiculous swarms of dead vines. I've actually wondered about that myself.

Since I don't really know how to improve the yard, I appreciated the advice that each one offered, even if I didn't always understand it. "Just put down some sod." "What about wood chips?" "Maybe some ground growth would look nice." I get sod and wood chips, but does ground growth actually mean something other than what's already there? I mean, isn't it all ground growth?

I worked for two hours in the yard today and I can't say that it looks much better than it did before. I will say, however, the day was successful if only to show the neighbors that I'm at least trying to do something about this blot on our otherwise lovely block. And I'm beginning to think that my roommate, Julie, is right. Just moving in was improvement enough in their eyes.

I like to pretend that I have a life outside of work. . .

so I try not to write about the seventh graders too often. But when you just want to put some words down before dragging your tired ass to bed at 8:30, I think it's okay that the one blog-worthy thing that stands out from your day is the boy who shouted, "There is a God!" when you told him he'd have to sit in the girls' locker room during the tornado drill.

Just What She Ought

When I complained to best pal Jodi about being sick again, this time with some laryngitis/fever/cough thing, she knew just what to say: "Yeah, but you look so cute with your rosy cheeks. Like how someone with tuberculosis might look."

I tried to laugh at this, but I only managed a tortured wheeze.

Wanted

I'm in search of a new roommate. Nothing wrong with my current roommate, she's just moving out of the country. I've had an ad posted for a few weeks touting the fabulous amenities of my house. You know. Clean. Quiet. Free wireless. What's not to love? So far I've had four or five inquiries and four or five rejections. Each one feels a little bit like a break up -- especially the rejection by the woman who actually came over to see the house. I even had her number programmed into my cell phone already. I cried a little when I erased it. Okay, not really, but my point here is that I'm trying not to take this personally and I'm not doing so hot. Perhaps it's time to tweak the ad a bit. I do have ten channels if you count the Spanish one.

7th Grade Poetry

He wanted her like a kid wants candy.
Unfortunately, she wanted him
like a vegetarian wants meat.

Gearing Up

It's time for the ritual Sunday night get-ready-for-the-week self-pep-talk. (There are so many ways to hyphenate that sentence that the only ridiculous option is not to.) I'm sitting on the couch reviewing what needs to get done between now and 10 pm so that I might be ready for the week. As usual, there's more than I can possibly tackle and I am working on a successful attempt to convince myself that I might as well call the evening a wash and cuddle up with a book until Grey's Anatomy begins at 9. Skipping any sort of preparation over the weekend always sits a bit uneasily in the conscience, though, and this is made particularly heavy by the fact that last week was, without a doubt, the best week of the entire school year. My days were enjoyable and stress-free, five in a row, one right after the other. So now I am convinced that could only have been the calm before a very big spring storm. Some sort of clipper is surely on its way. Which, as I write this, seems all the more reason to relax this evening so that I'm rested up for the tempest. Yep. The pep-talk is going pretty well.

Confessions of a Miser

Every now and then I have this gig where I take care of a dog named Sam in a suburb named Edina. Sam is pretty easy going, except when he relieves himself in the house, which happens more and more as he gets older, and when he follows you around bumping his soggy nose against your thigh, whimpering so you know he wants food or a walk or just plain love, and when he saunters off to sniff what the neighbors have got going on. Okay, so Sam's a bit of a handful, but I can't really complain because he mostly sits at my feet while I watch free cable, looks at me when I sing to him, and generally brings my heart rate down. Plus, I find I really love living in someone else's house. I am, I admit, a snoop, but that's only part of it. Not only do Sam's owners pay a nice rate for his care, but I save a fair sum eating their food too. They encourage me to eat whatever I'd like while here, so I don't feel too badly about the rows of thin mints I've eaten, even if they did have one of the kid's names on them. What they may not realize, however, is that I also borrow their products. Those who know me well know that I am a bit of a penny pincher. So every time I use their toothpaste, floss, soap, shampoo, lotion, laundry detergent, or whatever, I think about the pennies I'm saving. And I really do think about it every time. I know this confession won't get me any dog sitting gigs soon, but come on, truth be told, wouldn't we all do the same thing? Maybe it's just weird how much I enjoy it.

A Bit of Maturity to Begin the New Quarter

The sevens were particularly somber today after their returns from Spring Break. I was okay with their sleepy states because I lived in one myself all day, but that didn't mean I could let them outright snooze through the lesson. So, I had to nudge at least one student awake each hour, and the last one proved well-worth a blog mention.

As we began work on the assignment last hour, I stopped over to wake one dreaming beauty. She didn't sit up or move upon receiving my tap; instead, after a brief pause, she spoke, head still down.

"Oh my god." Her tone was neither surprised nor shaken. "There's a puddle of drool on the table." Calm and collected, her words muffled through her arm, she asked, "Um. Can someone please get me a tissue?"

Not all sevens would handle this so cooly, so I couldn't deny her request. As I walked over to retrieve the tissue, no one else moved or spoke, but each began to tune into the situation.

The drooling daisy sensed this, and when I handed her the tissue, she replied with a kind "thank you," but still didn't move. Finally, she asked, "They're all looking at me, aren't they?" her tone now muffled and defeated.

"Well. Yeah," I confessed. She had, after all, announced that she had created a puddle of drool. What seventh grader doesn't want to see that?

"Oh," she stated, drew herself up gracefully, wiped up the drool in one swift motion, and took up her pencil to begin work. I like this girl, I thought.

And miracle of all miracles, no one laughed. They simply looked back at their own papers and resumed writing.

A Shameless "Feel Sorry for Me" Request

Spring Break 2006 ends today. I successfully put off doing any work until this last day, but now I find myself with the stomach flu. Thinking the symptoms had been brought on by the moderate sum of wine I consumed Friday night, I held off giving my ailment a name until today. Gatorade and club crackers have been my only companions, and whenever I think I feel well enough to get out of bed, I find myself stopping to rest part way across the house. I mustered up the verve to shower at one point, but had to sit down for a spell mid-lather. If I keep myself on bedrest all day, this thing should run its course and I'll probably be fine to teach tomorrow. Of course, I will have nothing to teach because I have not yet planned any lessons for our new unit. Poor me. Why does the end of Spring Break always have to suck so hard?