Games normal kids DON'T play

My husband's teaching nightmares have subsided to maybe once every couple of weeks. I know when they occur before he tells me; he tosses and turns, talks in his sleep, awakens haggard with his brow furrowed.

I understand. My nightmares are limited to maybe twice a week; they're vague and leave me weary with nonspecific anxiety. I work half the hours he did and only see his particular batch of inbred future criminals once a week for a scant forty-five minutes, yet they manage to lock my jaw and knot my shoulders in the first ten minutes. They are far and away the worst class in the school. It is no accident, but that's another post. During his last week there, he saw something that sort of epitomized his entire experience. After dropping his kids off at recess, he ducked back inside, only to realize that he had forgotten to keep one in to finish something. He went back outside--less than a minute had elapsed-- and caught one of his boys guiltily chucking something around the corner to hide it. Of course he investigated...only to discover that several of the boys in his class had been tossing around a dead bird.

This is not sanitary. This is not normal. This is Beavis and Butthead redux. Don't pretend you do not know what I'm talking about.

Another eye-opening moment came last week when I was teaching an unruly group of kindergarteners and caught one licking another on his (jacketed) shoulder. "Oh, they've been doing that all day," said their teacher. "I can't convince them it's not good. They were licking the bathroom door earlier."

You call it pranking, I call it ARSON.

A group of callow youths broke into the school (fairly easy, I guess, as it happens about three times a semester) and set fire to the main office. They did it last year around this time, too, but in typical inbred fashion they set the fire inside the filing cabinets and then shut the drawer. Good thing they skipped so many science classes, I guess. This year they proved their mettle and learned from their mistakes. They set about a dozen small fires in various parts of the office, including the filing cabinet (open this time), and split. The resulting blaze caused over $150,000 worth of damage and was minutes away from igniting the roof. I heard about it over a week after the fact, because the administration wants to avoid negative press and the locals don't want to rat anyone out, because as I've mentioned they are all related and I guess laws just don't apply to 'kin'.

There are no suspects as of yet because everyone's so hush-hush, though the school boasts massive graduating classes of 25-30 students. That's fewer than 120 students, tops. It's likely not a girl, as most of the girls are busy getting pregnant or feigning illness to get out of anything they possibly can. They lack the ambition to light a stick of incense, let alone a bunch of well-planned fires. Let's slash that number in half. 60 boys. Of those, there are some that are too terrified, too connected, too religious, or too lazy and thus are above suspicion. Let's say half again. 30 suspects. Of these, there are actually about a dozen really nice boys there. 18 boys. If we could not rule out anyone else at all, we still have the field narrowed considerably. But let's take into account the fact that the catchment area for the school covers the town 15 miles north and the town 9 miles west. It's feasible to say that a third of these kids live too far out, and most have no vehicle access. So we're down to a dozen, conservatively. Is no one capable of leaning on these remaining shitheads to get some answers? These are not kids who are particularly bright or sly or anything, really. The only consideration as of late is to raise a reward to offer. Yes, that's right, the only way anyone will take action is through bribery.

I'm actually not as horrified as I should be. I am becoming desensitized to this madness to some extent and try to focus on my own little block of lunacy so it's in bite-sized chunks, if you will. My husband split the profession after the first semester and is a struggling salesman whose biggest source of stress is city traffic. My anxiety levels rose exponentially for a few weeks then leveled off as my brain's sanity adaptors kicked in. I am in what is commonly known as "survival mode" and will be for the rest of the year. Don't care. When I really lose my shit, I revert into some sort of surrealistic '50s June Cleaver mode, baking cookies and polishing silver, all the while hearing a soundtrack that sounds uncannily like ice cream truck music. It could be madness. I choose to call it 'character-building'. It's a building I can't wait to ignite myself.

capitalism runs deep...sympathy from a stranger

The current behavioral wisdom endorses rewarding improvements in behavior; with that in mind, our school offers a schoolwide reward day for bringing the number of serious infractions ("pink slips") down from the same month last year. It is a method of group contingency I cannot endorse, because 1) there are different students from year to year; 2) the under-10 set are notoriously bad about giving a shit about anything beyond 'tomorrow'; and 3) it is the same dozen kids who ruin things for everyone, every damn time.

The kids shot this month's reward to hell in the first week.

The deciding factor in canceling the "Hay Day", as it's called, was the decision of a 10-year old to bring in porn magazines & DVDs to sell to his classmates. In his defense, I figure he was trying to raise bail for his dad, who was incarcerated for the umpteeth time for theft. The kid's been wearing Pop's "#1 Dad" ballcap for a week now. Anyway, it's doubtless that #1 Dad was the source for the goodies; every kid has found a stash of something illicit at some point or another, but to have the cajones to bring stuff in to sell in an elementary school...that's an entrepreneur.

I realize the entries are sparse. It's not due to a lack of material, I can assure you; rather, I am overwhelmed and burnt out on the topic. I met a woman on my flight back from my hometown and we struck up a conversation; she blanched slightly when she heard me mention where I taught. She was a counselor here half a dozen years ago for a couple of years. With thirty-four years of educational counseling under her belt, she told me what I already knew: this place is messed up. She shook her head and gave me her sympathies. I guess people gave her a hard time, too, and were mean and catty and gossipy. Good to know it's not just me being harangued. She asked me about some people she knew. Turns out we have been through a minimum of three high school principals, three elementary school principals, two superintendents, and half a dozen counselors since she was here in the 1999-2000 school year. This is far from normal. This is the turnover rate for your typical McJob, not professional positions held by people with advanced degrees. How many people has this place driven from careers in education? Does anyone care?

too much

There is too much bullshit going on to even describe. My rock-solid husband and I are slowly having respective meltdowns. He figured out that about 20% of his gross pay goes to insurance, which explains one reason we are living paycheck to paycheck. We are tapped emotionally, physically, and financially. We can't give any more, which is why when my husband was told he was supposed to work four extra hours without pay to put on a Halloween Festival--I mean Fall Festival (no Halloween for us here. Satanic, you know)-- he balked. After his class made a substitute cry and four students got into a fistfight when he took a sick day when our son was ill, he just flat-out refused to participate. He left on time and didn't come back. No doubt we will feel the repercussions of this decision ripple through the community. This is the type of thing that will get your tires slashed here. Hell, a riot nearly broke out during the Fall Festival bingo over the way the numbers were being called.
For my part, I mustered up a bit of chutzpah and did a mad-scientist-dissects-a-corpse activity. For those who are interested, a large peeled plum makes a convincing kidney when squished properly and coated in cellulose paste mixed with stage blood. I may hear little snarls of contempt from disgruntled adults, but the kids went nuts. This was especially so because I wouldn't let anyone under fourth grade in, and we went in groups of eight and locked the door behind us. My mad scientist, Dr. Furioso, was a cool geeky home-schooled kid that no one knew. I had black lights, a strobe light, and free barf bags. I made a killing ($60 in the two hours alloted), to be distributed to the classroom activity fund. It wasn't worth the time & energy expended by a long shot, but I come from a long and distinguished line of Halloween junkies, and it was my homage to the elaborate parties of my youth.

I am homesick and lonely and tired and my favorite cat got hit by a car. I am taking care of her kittens, my son, my husband, and a hundred and seventy needy kids. I want to sleep for twelve hours and have people bring me ginger ale and cinnamon toast, but I am coming to realize that will not happen ever again. I'd settle for a good night's sleep and a new Brita filter in the pitcher. If anyone has anything positive to tell me, now is a good time, because I'm teetering.

Indigo Children...

...can bite my chubby white ass. This appears to be a term invented by hippies to describe their whacked-out offspring. If you're unenlightened (yes, that is a dig), read on:

INDIGO CHILDREN

• Have strong self esteem, connection to source

• Know they belong here until they are told otherwise

• Have an obvious sense of self

• Have difficulty with discipline and authority

• Refuse to follow orders or directions

• Find it torture to waiting in lines, lack patience

• Get frustrated by ritual-oriented systems that require little creativity

• Often see better ways of doing thing at home and at school

• Are mostly nonconformists

• Do not respond to guilt trips, want good reasons

• Get bored rather easily with assigned tasks

• Are rather creative

• Are easily distractible, can do many things at once

• Display strong intuition

• Have strong empathy for others or NO empathy

• Develop abstract thinking very young

• Are gifted and/or talented, highly intelligent

• Are often identified or suspected of having ADD or ADHD, but can focus when they want to

• Are talented daydreamers and visionaries

• Have very old, deep, wise looking eyes

• Have spiritual intelligence and/or psychic skills

• Often express anger outwardly rather than inwardly and may have trouble with rage

• Need our support to discover themselves

• Are here to change the world - to help us live in greater harmony and peace with one another and to raise the vibration of the planet

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Yes, that's right. All of those kids with anger issues and ADHD who are needy and unempathetic, easily bored and distractible, are impatient and have problems with authority--they're SPECIAL. They are teaching us to live in harmony by driving us up the fucking wall. I can only assume "oneness" in this sense means my head will live in oneness with the brick wall next to my desk at least once a day. If they're special, why are there so goddamn many of them?

Look, folks. I had a label or two slapped on me in my day, and I've had the dubious pleasure of having met a whole lot of people in my travels across this country. I have met some amazing people, some very memorable people. I have friends who could or have taken human lives. (You know who you are.) I have friends who are so rocket-science brilliant that they couldn't hold a real conversation with mere mortals. (You are oblivious and don't know who you are.) I know people with the strangest job titles ever: leather armor maker, brewster, gemologist, lithographer. We all went to school, we got through in our various ways. If we were Indigo Children, we damn sure didn't know it. And this is doubtless a bias from being a teacher, but I'm much more prepared to reward a child who treats me with respect and makes an effort to do the project than one who is bored, impatient, and defiant. I can tell you without a doubt that the oppositional-defiant, mean, and rage-filled children that fill my days with stress and woe are NOT gifted little Buddhas-to-be; they are unstructured, chemically imbalanced kids with crack-addled parents who watch South Park and play extremely violent video games.

The irritating part is that I stumbled across this dreck while I was looking for age-appropriate creativity exercises for my (non-indigo) students to do when they finish their projects. According to the website, as many of 95% of children born after 1999 are considered "indigo". I would say that's an environmental problem, not the dawning of an age of enlightenment. It's something in the Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee or the dozens of inoculations routinely pumped into most infants (gee, about 95% of them).

apparently, I hate myself

I will not do the after-school program. It's too much work for no payoff, the kids are just whacked, and I'd have to deal with the Sociopath. Besides, the logistics of speeding from one school to another with no prep time in a borrowed room...it makes me cringe. Plus, I write a brilliant curriculum every time--no, really!--only to watch my lessons fall apart because attendance is spotty, I can't assign homework, and the kids who are there only show up because they're made to. They eat their free snack, socialize, ignore the lesson and ask me to give them things. Anything. They want art supplies, they want books, they want my drawings, as long as they don't have to pay for it. I am a softie in that department, because although I grew up poor, my dad would always make sure we had paper to draw on and some decent markers/ pastels/ watercolor pencils. I have shelled out no end of my own cash to buy kids sketchbooks, paints, brushes, you name it. I gave these kids everything I could for the last three semesters...then I realized they were playing me. There's one girl who sketches independently, and she comes from a family with nine kids. She uses what I give her, so I keep her well-supplied. All the rest of 'em just take what they can because it's free. They won't sketch, they won't write, they won't even do the assignments. Screw that.

So what happened? I got roped into doing two days a week of the afterschool program, because they're lacking art people. Hmm, I wonder why. (Why are there no emoticons for syrupy sarcasm? O yes, that's right, emoticons are wretched and awful.) I thought I had hardened myself sufficiently to call the shots in this area of my life. Yes, I would do almost anything for my grant coordinator, who was my first friend in this shithole, but I thought that "almost" meant "but not that lousy afterschool nightmare".

True, I'm in a rough place financially, and this would take a little pressure off, but the added stress is really not something I need. They really buttered me up, too, telling me how kids are asking for me as a teacher, what a great rapport I have, no one else can do it...actually, it's that no one else WANTS to do it. The Sociopath sees herself as an instrumental part in this program, and just keeps micromanaging more and more, and she's utterly clueless. Thus, the great teachers are being driven away, and the decent pay is attracting the townsfolk, thus we wind up with classes on Scrapbooking and Acrylic Nails. This is just blissful to the Sociopath, as she feels that the kids need something they can relate to, taught by people they can relate to (read: people like her).

Why, then? This is a new zenith of self-loathing. Damn this rainy weather.

I succumbed to utter ridiculousness.

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

I don't know how to interpret this, but the moustache is dead on.

So I'm not Mother Theresa. Is anyone *really* that shocked?

Wings of Hypocrisy

This is a catchy title, but it's actually a recipe in honor of my friend Hippie Killer.

Sister Morpheme's HotWings of Hypocrisy

Baked, not fried, so rationalize at will. They are still horribly, horribly bad for you.

Liberally coat two half sheet pans with vegetable oil. Spread 3lbs. of frozen wings (sectioned, not whole) on pans in a single layer. Bake at 375 degrees for an hour, turning once. Crank up to 425 for an additional 10 min. or so to crisp. Toss with Going to Hell Sauce (see recipe below). Note: Wings should have an internal temperature of 165 degrees.

Going to Hell Sauce
1/2 stick butter or margarine
2 Tbsp olive oil
3-6 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 c. Red Hot (original, please)
juice & zest of one orange
1/3-1/2 c. honey

Melt butter over low heat. Add olive oil and allow to heat for 30 seconds. Add garlic and sautee until fragrant and starting to soften, approx. 2 minutes. Add Red Hot, orange juice, zest, and honey and simmer for 10-15 minutes over low heat, stirring occasionally.

Best enjoyed while drunk to alleviate any guilt over caloric intake. While you're binge-ing (that word just doesn't look right unhyphenated), chow some celery & carrot sticks to further the illusion that you're not doing anything bad. Serve with bleu cheese dip (recipe upon request).

All measurements are approximate. I don't measure anything.

Welcome Back: a comment on nutrition

I would like to begin with a disclaimer: I am *not* a health-food nut.

I eat healthily, for the most part, but acknowledge the existence of coffee, beer, and chocolate as the missing food groups.

That said, I need to scream it to the world that I am sick and tired of watching kids eat nothing but crap. (Should have typed it in caps, no?) It is well-documented: the vast majority of behavioral problems and attention deficit can be traced to nutrition, or more accurately the lack thereof. Did you know that school lunch systems are not held to the same levels of accountability as other institutions? I distinctly recall the time I was in my former district, idly checking out the middle school lunch menu (which evidently must list the federal requirements). It mentioned something about x servings of fruit & vegetables, milk as an offered beverage, and x amount of servings from the MEAT AND STARCH GROUP. Whazzzah? Since when does squishy nasty white bread with sawdust in it (ester of wood rosin--look it up) become the nutritional equivalent of 3 oz. of lean meat?

While you ponder that, I'll hit you with this next one: the lunches students bring from home are CONSIDERABLY worse than any starch-laden school meal. Have you ever heard of Lunchables? They are insanely popular in the under-12 set thanks to copious marketing. They are also the nutritional equivalent of a salt lick and a slab of lard. Yes, children's nutrition is so abysmal that they are marketing shakelike nutritional substitutes for kids who won't eat fruits, vegetables, and healthy protein sources. Since when do kids get to choose their menu? If left to eight-year-olds, foodstuffs would invariably be limited to ice cream, cold cereal, and all things blue.

Where is this going? Well, I see the effects of poor nutrition file in every day, act out, struggle to focus and learn, then go home to even worse nutrition. Student behavior is markedly worse on Mondays and after holidays, because of poor eating & sleep patterns. This is a communtiy problem. When we first moved here two years ago, students were allowed to buy soda from a machine right there in the school. The whole school is permitted free breakfast & lunch, but the lunch ladies sold Hot Fries, Funyons, and those giant three-foot Pixie Stix that double as a weapon. The Kindergarteners bought them daily and their post-lunch trek back to class was like the presentation of the color guard in a parade. After a heated debate spurred by my Bitter Half, the soda machine was changed over to a water and Powerade machine and unplugged during the school day. After many complaints, the Pixie Stix went by the wayside, much to the dismay of the bullies, who would beat the tar out of anyone in a three-foot range with them. Last year saw the end of the rest of the junk food at lunch, but the lunch ladies started up again in the winter months with selling cheap powdered hot cocoa, which the older kids would buy at the last minute & bring back to class with them. I would then appear for my scant 40 minutes of art time to find my 6th graders sipping cocoa (which they would nurse through the whole class) , which they kept on their tiny writing desks, which were sub-optimal art surfaces to begin with. I had to be the heavy and override their classroom teacher's decision: "Please, no eating or drinking during art class." Horrors! What a meanie!

This year, we lobbied to get the Powerade machine booted. These are not professional athletes; these are seven-year-olds with red moustaches from the 3.5 servings of sugar water they just ingested. There will be no sales of additional snacks at lunchtime. The concessions stands must offer equal amounts of healthy food and crap. There will be no more strawberry milk given at lunch. There will be no candy sales for fundraisers and the like. Lastly, the teachers are being highly encouraged to follow my hubby's lead and have "healthy-snack" parties, in lieu of the sugar-shock-o-ramas of the past. If this sounds like a joykill, envision chips & salsa instead of cupcakes, fruit & veggie trays rather than lollipops...the possibilities are limitless. Hell, I brought grapes, popcorn, and dry cereal (amazingly popular) for a movie party for some fifth graders & they loved it.

I know...many of you are thinking that *we* lived on Tang and Happy Meals and turned out just fine...right? Yes, many of us did, and we're close to okay, but the additives in the foods are increasing exponentially, much less unprocessed food is being consumed (how many kids come home & eat an apple for a snack?), and yes, this generation is mostly sedentary. Truth be told, I don't think the obesity "epidemic" is the real problem--just the most visible aspect. Most of these kids will be less fat once they realize upon hitting dating age that excess poundage is not easily forgiven by the opposite sex. They may not be able to shake the nutritional habits, though, and the toxins that accrue may poison their bodies and minds into adulthood. In the meantime, I am condemned to another year of fighting battles beyond my control. Welcome to the new school year.

Redneck Magnetism, or Yet More MagPo

Sister languishes with ennui
She ain't reached for her chicken fingers
The smell of the bug zapper gilds the trailer
I endeavor to understand

It is an obdurate din in this domicile
Would this here woman
love that fish tattoo on his back?
My kin married a cheat


*********************
Rumor has it my readership is up to 3.
Yippee.

Anxiety redux

Never have I felt such anxiety about going back to school. I dread it. Usually I'm feeling unrealistically optimistic by this time, and it's not shattered until the first or second week. Granted, I am not feeling particularly productive as of late; a little structure would certainly behoove me...but I almost wish my Bitter Half would receive word that they're expediting his application and we'll have to move ASAP. I'd like to settle in somewhere and just act like I never was a teacher, maybe get a job in a totally unrelated field or just do art full time. No one would ever have to know that I taught and thus wouldn't bug me to Get Involved with the youth of the community. Hell, if I move, I could just make up a background. I'm sure people do it all the time, but I never had the desire (or the chutzpah) to attempt it.

Mmm, think of it...I wouldn't have to look conservative to be considered upstanding enough to teach...I could be seen walking into a bar and no one would flinch...I could be heard uttering an obscenity and it wouldn't make the local gossip rounds...I could get a visible tattoo. Bliss.

the fun never stops

I spent two weeks in my hometown recently, which was just enough time to make me realize how astoundingly warped my current sitch is. I received this forward from my friend with the sense to leave the profession promptly. It seems some of her former students tracked her down on MySpace and sent this lovely message:
********************************************

ur a bitch and i knew u would punk out but why the fuck did you get (another teacher) to quit????hu ???? and(other teacher) wazz better teach because she dint punk out on her 1st year no mattr how bad she wantd 2 fuck her man or go bac 2 skool. but itz fine cause im not going 2 skool in (this town) ne more and i hav ur playn cards, i dint take em (student) did but a week l8ter i stole em fr: (student) i hate u and i hope ur horny

ass will rott in hell "Must be this tall to ride." wat the hell u got a boyfriend...and i learnd something fr u..... dont bacstabb peers or people who try to b ur friend and .... not to b like u , u no give ^ . datz not me and just b cause u wer my teach dont mean u no who i really am . and i cant say dat i no u cause whos fault iz dat????hu., urzbut hav a great life hav kids,nevermind about the kids, you might giv ^ on them 2. and im not da only 1 who sayz dis, all of dis but we r da only 1's who aint afraid of u so if u do bcome a teach again den get rid of ur myspace account or blockit ooohhhh and why did we work on the "why the internet isnt safe." myspace accounts, they blocked, but u had 1 and u wer a teach. oh and you smoke and drink. well i smok and drink but im not gonna b come a teacher!!!!

well like i said have a great life have fun and dont make ur my space account seem so desperate to get attention. u sound like a whore. no affence but i dont think it soundz so great 4 being a teacher-k-.
*************************************************
Her reply? "I guess those grammar lessons didn't help much." It was signed by three of her eighth-grade girls who are destined to become baby factories before the age of twenty.

I took a few things away from the essay: 1.) Teachers must live Highly Moral lives and not indulge in the legal activities of drinking, smoking, or blogging. 2.) Grammar is not valued by anyone under the age of sixteen. 3.) Moral outrage is the perogative of the morally deficient.

Summer School, Week 3

Here are the shanks. The largest one is approx. 5 1/2" long.

shank pics

Still trying to post the shank pics. Flickr is a pain, and I'm trying something else.

Shanks for the memories

I subbed for a welding class yesterday, mostly because I needed the money, and partly because the class has a plasma cutter & I've never used one. I talked to the instructor before he left (he's a friend of mine) and he walked me through what doors to lock, etc. He told me briefly that they shouldn't need to use the grinder, because he'd caught them making shanks. "I didn't really care," he said, "until one of 'em cut another one on Tuesday. Now I gotta watch 'em." Fucking great.

There are actually two grinders: a bench grinder and a 4" angle grinder with a worn-down wheel. I wondered if he meant both grinders, because they were working on boot scrapers and for as crappy as their welds were they needed to grind at least some. It didn't matter, because they immediately started to use the plasma cutter to cut little blade shapes out of the scrap metal. Two of the kids needed to finish welding, so I supervised that. They tend to not wear proper eye protection unless you constantly remind them, and I figure the MIG is where they needed me most.

Long story short: I confiscated three shanks, the longest of which was about 5 1/2 " long. They were just pathetic attempts, and they went through unnecessary pains to create them. There were 6" lengths of one inch flat stock all over which would've worked much better. Plus, they can't grind to save their lives. If I sound unfazed, you must remember that my mother worked in a prison for twenty years, and I know a good shank when I see one. I am coming to understand how to deal with these situations, and I simply asked them to turn over all shanks to me at the end of class. It worked. Had I gone to the Sociopath, her response would've been to blame me for "allowing" such behavior to go on. Plus, I would've put my friend's job at risk. The parents do not believe that such behavior is wrong, because after all, they're not REALLY shanks, and it's just boys being boys; thus, there would be no follow-up at home. In addition, to rat the boys out would cause some animosity towards me, creating a desire to ACTUALLY shank me. If this sounds insane, it absolutely is. I am simply reacting to a crazy situation in a way that preserves my well-being and shards of sanity.