What do teachers do....

When you google "what do teachers do," the search engine auto completes the question for you:

You'll notice that two of the top ten completions wonder about what teachers do in the summer. Thus, I surmised that you're sitting at home just DYING to know my summer plans. Before I reveal them, let me take you a little further down the Google rabbit hole where internet users answer the aforementioned query.

"buy more sweaters with prints on them and denim skirts and bad perfume."

"They drink a lot."

Note the teacher under her said, "Read yahoo answers saying what horrible people we are and how overpaid and underworked."

HILARIOUS, internet-ers.  On to my summer plans. I could do something definitively useful like enrolling in grad school classes or tutoring children. But, I'm going to fulfill a lifelong dream instead. I'm going to turn my converted garage into my own personal home library.

It's so Sherlock Holmes. So Virginia Woolf. So Jo March. So Ms. P. And I'm thrilled.

Right now my garage serves as a holding pen for the dogs when I'm at work. They have a doggie door that lets them out and dirt, gravel, and sticks in. 

It looks a lot like this, but with more dirt, which is why you aren't seeing the real thing:

But, I have a vision! It is going to be divine. 

MY MASTER PLAN:

1) All white surfaces....

....except for one chalkboard wall for recording memorable lines from favorite books:

2) Classic Persian rug

3) A black and white striped couch with good bones

4) A tweed chair - the professor's blazer of furniture

5) A side-table that looks like I chopped it down myself

6) Literary-themed throw pillows...in case I run out of reading material

7) A wall of letters - being careful not to situate the wrong ones together...yikes!

8) Floating shelves that look like an art-collector with full hands just happened by them - so casual.

9) On those shelves will be (and this is my favorite part) black and white photos of people reading framed in black frames with white mats.

10) And, of course, books. Tall books. Small books. Musty books. Fresh books. Dearly beloved books.

END OF MASTER PLAN. TAH DAHHH.

Basically what I'm saying is, I'll buy a Kindle just as soon as I can figure out how to design a room around it. Nothing inspires me like scores of lovely, bound stories. But don't worry, I'm not a total elitist. I'll let you lounge in my garage/library with your eReader. I'll even serve you eCoffee.

Watching Craigslist like a hawk,

Ms. P

QUESTION:

1) What is your dream room? A home gym? A chef's kitchen? A meth lab?

Leftovers, Part II

(Student-written similes in italics)

CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY....

On the way through the cafeteria's back doors, I spied a calendar menu. Faced with the endless, wretched possibilities, I was as nervous as a pre-shaven sheep. Saying a silent prayer, “Please not chili. Please not tetrazzini. Please not beef tips,” I scanned the month looking for the date.

And though it’s not mentioned specifically on the list, let me tell you that there was also strawberry milk. Lots and lots of strawberry milk. The silver lining? Today was Friday and not Wednesday...Mexican Pizza day.

Once in the kitchen, I relayed my sad tale to the cafeteria workers. They, who truly understand how revolting middle school lunch leftovers can be, offered moral support and latex gloves. One of the few men among their ranks showed me the way to the dumpster and grabbed a milk crate. 

Now, this is the part of the story where I REALLY wish I had personal pictures to illustrate. However, as you know, my phone was somewhere in the depths of the dumpster, so you’ll just have to know that the next part went a little bit like this:

And my view was a little bit like this:

And afterwards, I looked a little bit like this:

But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Before my hands were covered in flecks of chewed corn and mayonnaise, I decided to introduce myself to the kind stranger with the milk crate.

Me: You really don’t have to do this. My name is Ms. P.

Him: It’s no problem! 

Me: What’s your name? I’d like to bring you brownies to thank you on Monday.

Him: They call me BeBop.

Me: (Thinking to myself) Well if I wasn’t going to write this story up for my blog before, your name just sealed the deal, sir.

BeBop faithfully passed each black bag down to me below, and I dove in past melted sherbert, defrosted pear halves, Thursday night’s leftovers, and slobbery chicken sandwiches in search of the elusive Kroger bag.

Bag 1. Bag 2. Bag 3. Bag 4. Nothing.

Finally, at the bottom of Bag 5 was....

I spied it, red light blinking and smeared with a thick, unidentifiable substance. I slowly removed it from the filth, as carefully as a zookeeper handling an ostrich’s egg. Wiping it on my oversized t-shirt, I felt for the power button. Miraculously, it lit up! In fact, it had received both text messages and emails at some point in its journey from my classroom to the trash bag.

After a thorough bath in hand sanitizer, it is now in working order. In fact, one would never know of its sordid past, except for a faint hint of strawberry milk. The Epic is proving to be as loyal as a California King, I tell you.

Considering writing a love letter to BeBop AND Samsung,

Ms. P

Homework Assignment:
What material possession, if any, would drive you to dumpster dive?

Leftovers, Part 1

Remember when I guaranteed more student similes here? Some of those promised treasures are sprinkled throughout this entry and the next in italics.

Until now, my entries have focused mainly on student blunders - misspellings, grammatical errors, and whatnot. And if I didn’t believe in the old, “You reap what you sow,” principle before, I certainly do now. Because, folks, yesterday I blundered big time.  Perhaps it was karma. Perhaps it’s because the end of the semester has me as distracted as a dog catching a scent in the wind. Who knows? Yet in the interest of full disclosure and in providing you with a little entertainment, I’ll share my humdinger. This particular goof had an immediate consequence, just like any classroom management plan worth it’s salt.

A bit of backstory: Until about 2 months ago, I was the proud owner of a GoPhone. Nothing fancy for this public servant. Having a $25 phone bill and only being able to check Facebook the old-fashioned way made me feel like I was part some elite, ascetic club - choosing to deny myself the pleasures of multiple apps and endless portable procrastination. Then, I met the Samsung Epic. Living up to it’s name, it has Swype texting, a touchscreen, a slide-out keyboard, and all the apps a girl could desire. I bought in and, in turn, joined the more populated, hedonistic club of smartphone users. From day one, I was glued to my Epic like a newborn baby to its mom. 

Which is why, on Friday, it accompanied me to the cafeteria for lunch. Fast forward half an hour. I sat in my red, teacher’s chair traipsing through the midterm review, when it suddenly occurred to me that I was missing my Epic. I flashed back to carelessly tossing my Kroger bag of leftovers into one of the 3 industrial-sized trashcans in the cafeteria.  

Horrified, I recalled that I had carried the Epic to lunch in that very same bag and had never removed it. My shoulders dropped like the rain after a long drought, defeated. 

I instructed my students to attempt the next 5 questions on the study guide and shot across the hall to the neighboring social studies’ teacher’s room. He and the other coaches have a deal with the cafeteria ladies that they will take the trash to the dumpsters after each lunch period if they are provided with all the food growing boys could ever need. 

Me: “Coach P! I think I threw my phone away!

Chuckles flew out of him like milk out of a cow.

Me: It’s NOT funny! It’s new, and I’m on a teacher’s salary, and OF ALL THE MONTHS, I just bought all these Christmas presents!

Clearly realizing the seriousness of the situation, his laughter slowed, and he wiped the tears of joy from his eyes.

Coach P: Watch my class.

Then, he left the room and pushed through the exit door at the end of our hall, headed for the dumpster. Five minutes later, he returned without my phone and coated in unidentifiable substances from the elbows down. I was as disappointed as a farmer whose cows had been struck by lightning. That’s when we put together the following timetable. 

11:58 - Lunch ended and students went out to courtyard with teachers on duty.

12:00 - He took the trash out to the dumpster.

12:05 - I threw my bag away in the fresh bags in the cafeteria trashcans.

12:06 - I escorted my kids back to class.

12:15 - I realized my fatal error and leapt into action.

12:18 - While Coach P was searching through the 7th grade’s leftovers, the 8th grade coach threw the 8th grade’s trash (including MY bag) in the dumpster.

Therefore, MY phone was not in the bags Coach P searched through, but was in one of the three bags Coach S, the 8th grade coach, had just deposited. Perfect! (I like to think that we weren’t wasting class time, merely modeling critical thinking skills for our students.)

Realizing that I would be pushing it to beg Coach P to return to the dumpster, I informed him that I would ask another teacher to watch my class and go search myself. Armed with nothing more than fierce determination and an oversized t-shirt to wear over my work clothes, I throttled myself towards the cafeteria. At that point, I truly wished that I would have had the foresight to put “Inflatable Hazmat Suit” on last year’s Christmas list for times such as this. Hindsight is truly 20/20, dear readers.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Jealous of that guy in the green gloves,

Ms. P