Marlboro Lights, Budweiser, and Turkey

I missed my little kindergarteners over the 9 day Thanksgiving holiday. And when I say "missed," what I really mean is, "was so glad I didn't have to tie shoes, listen to whining/crying/tattling, or deal with pee." But I think that is just understood, isn't it?

It is my firm belief that one of the best decisions my school district ever made was to grant teachers a week-long holiday for Thanksgiving. Many districts in Texas do this and it is just pure genius. I fear that the break was granted by superintendents across the state of Texas to avoid newspaper headlines such as, "Teacher Gouges Eyes out with Turkey Wishbone in Tragic Suicide."

I'm here to tell you that it could happen. I once considered sharpening my pinky in the electric pencil sharpener just so an ambulance could pick me up, I could go to the emergency room, and enjoy and afternoon of adult conversation. The wishbone-suicide fiasco is not far-fetched, my friends.

But let me tell you about a little conversation I had this morning with a student. I was so happy to see and hear the kids at 7:40am this morning. We got to the classroom, unpacked and completed our morning duties, and then had share time. We told all about our week-long, blessed, food-and-family-filled holiday.

Miss Rose: "What did you do for Thanksgiving, K?"
K: "Momma and dad made the turkey. Then dad went to get some cigarettes and beer. That's it."

That is why I missed my kindergarteners.

Oh the Horror

I did not hit my goal of blogging thrice last week. I'm so ashamed that I don't want to discuss it.


Except that I am a woman, and therefore feel the need to talk about everything in excessive and mindnumbing detail. So I will tell you that I did not blog because there was a national "milestone" in the presidential election (notice that I use quotation marks because others described it as such but NOT ME), there was an evening with wine and so much girlish banter that I could not blog about more girlish banter, there was a small-town German festival in which I consumed beer and sausage and fried potatoes and got home well past a decent hour, and there was a road trip beginning at 4pm on Friday. I was a busy girl.


But I must share with you something that embarasses me even more than not doing something I promised to do. It is this, my friends:




My Wednesday morning breakfast.


God bless Shipley's Donuts. I don't know where the urge came from, but I decided that I HAD TO HAVE a donut for breakfast last Wednesday morning. I went in, ordered a sausage kolache (for health purposes) and then my eye spied that delicous treat. I think it was called the Bullseye or Blazer or something like that. I whispered my order over the counter, because I didn't want the other donut patrons to judge me. The server didn't hear me so I had to say it a little louder. I hung my head in shame. Then he said, "Sprinkles or no sprinkles?" and I almost walked out of the door to escape my guilt. I didn't utter a word, only closed my eyes, bit my bottom lip, and nodded. He understood that I was a woman in need of a glazed, chocolate iced, white icing-topped, sprinkled DONUT.


I took a picture before I consumed my "breakfast" because I needed to remind myself that there are people who concoct such an item.


And then there are people like me that savor every morsel. I was wired until I sugar-crashed at about 8:30. My kindergarteners didn't stand a chance that day.

My name means "Full of Grace"

I got a little nervous a while ago thinking about what I'm going to write in my blog. As if I've never done this before. As if I've never graced you with an eyeful of mindless chatter before. Heck no. I'm a pro at mindless chatter. I blogged yesterday afternoon and set a measly goal of 3 blogs this week. I used to do this every day, for Pete's sake! And I thought I'd have nothing to write about...or no structure...or nothing witty to say. But that's not what you've ever expected before, so why start now?

And so I must tell you this story. I went on an 11 mile run yesterday. Because I'm stupid. The first three miles were a breeze and I was thinking about good topics for blogging. I came up with only a few good things until...

Until.

1. The toenail on my big toe on my left foot fell off. To be completely honest (and a smidge gruesome) the entire nail did not fall off. Just about 5/8 of the top. It's from running far distances, such as 11 miles. This made me curse running.
2. About 4 miles into the run, I had to Potty with a capital P. Several scenarios ran through my head of how I could remedy this issue. My best choices were to pray for the urge to pass or Potty in the corner and then wipe my bum on the grass like a 7 pound dog. This made me curse running more.
3. I managed to finish the run, albeit cursing running. I felt ill and attributed the weak feeling to having just RUN 11 MILES. I got home, drank a smoothie, showered. Then my body shook and my stomach wretched and I saw my green smoothie once more.

I managed to make it to the Potty for both occasions. My body curses running.

Ah yes. You missed my grace and tact, no? I aim to please.

A New Me

Ah the sweet smell of fall. Or whatever season it's supposed to be seeing that it's 84 degrees on November 2nd. "November" (and I use quotation marks because I've been told we are in that month, but am not personally convinced for the aforementioned reasons) makes me feel spry and remember that it was a year ago I started blogging. "November" has made me set a new goal. And the collective youth of America (none of whom read this, let's be honest) just let out a sigh of irritation that I, an adult, am talking about setting goals. Or more precisely, one goal.

My goal is to blog three days a week this month. Check back tomorrow.

PS. For all you OCD folks out there (if you just asked yourself, "Do I have OCD?", the answer is "YES.") this blog does not count as one of the three this week.

My Eyes Adore Them...

I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be highly intoxicated, pass out, and wake up on Saturday morning right now.

Today was my second day of teaching Kindergarten this year. Last night, I got home at 7:45. It's a miracle I got out of that school before 5 today. And truly, the only reason I got out of there as soon as I did was to come home and drink a glass of wine at the appropriate time of 5pm. It took me 4 minutes to finish off the glass. I kid you not.

So much for being a wine connoisseur. Or graceful.

I don't have much brain power to write anything clever or witty or charming. So I'll just share these few thoughts.

This year might be my most challenging. And by the true overseeing of God, it has started off very well. I have laughed and marveled and hugged and sighed and made good progress in just two days. Considering. Considering that I am teaching my normal class of 5-year-olds...with their novice eyes and impulsive hands and quick mouths...along with a few students with special needs. Two autistic boys and one girl with a chromosome disorder, to be exact.

Over the last two days I have wanted to pull my hair out. And cry. And then scoop those three up and just hug them enough to fix them. But I can't. It is amazing how one questions "normalcy" when you are inundated with "abnormal." I think about children in my family, children that I see out, my friends' kids, my friends' nieces and nephews. I'm reminded how blessed we are to be of "normal" development. I start to think about my future children. And I pray they are "normal," all the while wondering what that is. I pray that if they are not, there is someone in the school who knows how to reach them. Who doesn't want to cry, doesn't want to give up, and doesn't want to pull their hair out when my child walks through the door. What if that happens? Will I be able to give my child what he or she needs? I'm a certified professional in this exact field and I just don't know the answer.

But I tell you what. These kids make the world go round and I constantly learn that I'm not in charge here. I can't hand-pick my class. I can't hand-pick my children when I have them. But I can do my very best every day. And I can love them.

Even when Marcelo (he's "normal") hops around one too many times and I grab him by the shirt, get in his face and gripe at him to stop and his response is, "I love you, Miss Rose." Today, I said, "I love you too, Marcelo." I think I meant it.

Feel the Love...

I went to lunch today at a restaurant and then I went to the mall and then I went to the grocery store. I saw A LOT of people out and about. On more than one occasion, I thought, "Do you people have a job? Why are you not at work?" I said this out loud only once.

My least favorite thing this time of year is knowing that I must return to work in a few short days. It is very bittersweet. I can't wait to get back to what I love doing, I can't wait to meet the little people that I'll spend months and months with, I can't wait to organize and decorate my classroom, I can't wait to become a better teacher. But these excited feelings are conflicted with feelings of busyness, ineptness, and the loss of my lazy summer.

My favorite thing this time of year is watching mothers at the restaurants, malls, and grocery stores that I visit. They have a look of derangement in their eyes and I catch them pleading with their children through clenched teeth, "STOP IT! DO YOU HEAR WHAT I'M SAYING TO YOU? I JUST TOLD YOU TO...!!!!!!!!!!!!"

All is right in the world. Mothers cannot wait for school to begin so they can send their precious little terrors back to the teacher for the bulk of the day. And I cannot wait to receive these precious brains into my classroom. Quite the stark reversal from the end of May: mothers couldn't wait to recieve their children and begin the summer, and I (the teacher) was the one pleading with the child through clenched teeth and with eyes as wide as the horizon, "BECAUSE I SAID SO! JUST STOP IT!"

I can't wait!

It Has Begun...

The school year is almost underway. This brings feelings of excitement, anxiety, and sadness. I also feel frustration that I didn't do more with my time or make any notable gains toward my kindergarten classroom or curriculum over the summer. I basically just went to the pool, traveled, read, and hung out.

And so I found myself thinking that I need to tackle the yearly and seemingly insurmountable task of "organizing my classroom." For the first time in years, I did not move classrooms and this proved to be a serious timesaver. In both packing my room in June, and unpacking my room in August. Because teachers are maniacal freaks (well, for many reasons) and highly controlling and competitive, we find it necessary to have our rooms look the best and be the first one "finished." So I went to elementary school today and this is what I saw in my room.



Yes, that is all of my furniture stacked and huddled in the corner. I did not leave it that way in June. I put in two good hours of work (read: heavy lifting, sweating, panting, pushing) and this is my result.



My room is pretty well "set up," so now I have the task of cleaning out files, puting more posters on the wall, buying supplies, planning the curriculum, and writing 22 precious little names on things. Not an easy task, but one I enjoy! Whew!