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?