Hail to the Teachers!

It's 5:37 p.m. and the cats and I are nodding off. The sun is barely beginning to set.
I take a sip of "adult grape juice" and my thoughts ricochet from "Did I say the 'right' thing to the speech teacher?" to "We haven't done reading fluency this week in grade 2" to finally, "I have to get up in 12 hours." And then, of course, there's a hundred others thoughts bouncing from wall to wall in my brain.

You know, when you teach, the word "multi-task" is no longer current. It's like a Gilligan's Island episode; a telling, interestingly descriptive adjective, but hugely out-dated. I used to use it, the word 'multi-task', when I was applying for teaching positions:
"I have many strengths, but one that stands out in my mind is I'm excellent at multi-tasking."
It could be my age. It could be the broken, out of touch, ridiculous system. It could be the kids.
But whatever the fuck it is, multitasking doesn't come close to what this job requires.
Try SUPER-HUMAN, EXTRATERRESTRIAL, GOD-LIKE POWERS. That'll work.

When you're swimming for your life in the sea of public education, it's the little things that get in the way; leaving your papers by the copier, leaving your lunchbox in the supply room, not locking the bathroom door, turning your key the wrong way 50 times, calling Angel Alex and Alex Angel at least a dozen times in a day and searching for crap you need. Where did I put my water bottle? What about the notes from the office, the homework packets, my keys?  It's spacey, menopausal amnesia times 1,000.  And you what? Every minute of your break time is precious, so when you waste it on the 'little things', the big things suffer and your day ultimately sucks.
I wasted at least 10 minutes scouring the classroom for my purple fork.
I finally located an old white one at the bottom of a large tub. I'm finally able to sit down, relax
and graze.

I'm teaching them yoga.  Did I mention that? It's not really for them, but I tell them it is. I tell them it will help them think better. I tell them it will help them remain calm. I tell them it is good for their muscles. I tell them whatever the hell I can think of, in a split second, that will shut them up and get them engaged and silent.
"Silence" is like the coveted, golden Oscar when you're trapped in a classroom of 30, especially on a rainy day.
When six and seven-year olds enter the classroom on a rainy, stormy morning, its like a stampede of bulls down the narrow streets of Spain.  Only louder.
Katie: "God made the rain because he knows that all living things need water. I learned that in church."
Nick: "Nuh uh."
Katie: "Yes, sir."

I'm with Nick, but I move on.  Because nothing says rain quite like poetry. And Nick is a poet, an artist and just about the coolest kid alive, under his beanie and baggie Transformer tee-shirt.

First and second graders love poetry and their ability to capture life, in a few lines, is nothing short of refreshing. It tastes of fulfillment.
Nick also lives in an imaginary world in his head. I spent a good 15-20 minutes teaching a lesson on base words and endings with my group of 1st graders. I was quite animated up at the white board.
I gave example after example. I had students come up and underline the base words and circle the endings with dry eraser pens. I did page 237 with them. Then we checked it together. Then they did page 238 on their own. Then we corrected it together.  "Give me a thumbs up if you understand what we're talking about, friends!"  All thumbs go up. I sigh a penny-size breath of accomplishment.
Then Nick raises his hand.
"Nick, do you have a question or comment about base words and endings?"
Nick doesn't pause, "My mom just got a new dog."  

Nick also was in the center of a large crowd at morning recess that gathered around a small mountain of dirt near the climbing structures. Being the yard duty aficionado, I moseyed on over to survey the situation...
"It's a mole in there, teacher!"
"No, it's a gopher!"
"No, it's not! It's a mole."

"Okay, boys and girls. It's a gopher-mole and we need to just go play and let it alone because it's in its own habitat just digging tunnels and minding his own business."  Nick lingers with his recess pal who looks up at me and says, "I know where his wife is."  
"Really. Where?"
"She lives in my backyard. My dad and I saw her."
Nick and his pal are serious as a heart attack and I hold back the burst of laughter that forming in my throat.
"That's cool." I say. "All families are different and some live in separate homes."

Kids are cool. But they're weird too.
I was in a restaurant recently with my partner and a kid, who was too old to make a decision like this, walked in waving a large purple balloon as he walked in between tables toward his booth.
Since I took this teaching assignment, I can't stand to be around kids when I'm not at school. I sit away from them in the theater, I ask for a booth at the other side of the restaurant, I change lines at the grocery store.
Listening to them whine and listening to their weird, inappropriate parents deal with them (or not) is almost too much to bear.
I watched this immature kid, waving his fake sword in his sibling's face and all I could see was a large, purple penis.

Obviously, I'm exhausted. Or have penis envy.  Or both.
Actually, I'm losing it.
That's what teachers really do, you know.  After a long day of holding it together, biting your tongue with the principal, smiling at jerk colleagues, teaching every subject over and over because nobody's listening, tying a shoe, cleaning up a dropped bottle of glitter, making copies, getting a key sucked in a laminator, reteaching, reteaching, writing lesson plans, introducing a new concept, addressing the needs of the parents...After all that and much more, teachers fucking lose it in the privacy of their own homes.
And they lose it in the confines of their own minds, imagining a large purple penis, while dining in a restaurant on their day off.

I saw Sweet Pea and The Cousin the other night at a basketball game. It took awhile for The Cousin to warm up to me. (Her punishment for choosing to make bank over her) But soon, she took my hand and we were outside the gym dancing and running through rain puddles just like old times.
I look forward to getting back to the "easy life".

Have a good week, pals. And hail to the teachers!
~tpg


.

I Stroll P.G.

7:05 a.m.

I can't find my f@#king glasses. I have retraced my steps from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen. I have looked under the bed covers, in bottom drawers of cabinets, on the floor. I have dumped my entire purse out twice.

7:26 a.m.

I still can't find my glasses and I'm going to be late if I don't get in the car and drive.
Funny how life looks when it's blurry. Well, funny for the first hour, but after 2 or 3 hours, a slight headache will begin to set in. Nausea too.
Not to mention I can't see the center divider line clearly.
Or the children or the children for that matter.  What about the children!!!!

7:55 a.m.

"Good morning girls!"
Silence.
"Hi! How are you two this morning?"

"Wallery, where are your glasses?"
"I can't find them."
Silence.

"You look weird, Wallery."

"I have an idea, Wallery!"
I could use a good idea right about now.

The Cousin runs to the back bedroom and then returns with bells on.
"You can wear these glasses, Wallery!"

                                    Sweet Pea wants to show me her new tee: I stroll P.G. 

"Baa Bee, I gotta a new shirt!"

PG, for those who aren't local, stands for Pacific Grove, the butterfly capital of the world.

Also the town that has a f#@king parade for everything. Dog parade, butterfly parade, lantern parade, Fourth of July, Wild West, hug your neighbor parade, it's a sunny day in our town so let's have a parade parade.

We do stroll the streets of Pacific Grove. We hit the pavement early. We know every alleyway, dead end, broken piece of sidewalk, storefront, and yes, bakery in this fog bank of a town.

"Can we go to the coffeeshop, Wallery?"

The reason The Cousin wants to hit the coffeeshop is that they have these amazing cinnamon, gluten-free, corn syrup-free cookies. I taught her how to dip there. What would a childhood memory be without the reflections of cookies dipped in a cup of milk?

Aww...childhood memories. Dare I go there? I have some good ones and some not so good ones, but one of my best ones is that of my brother and I closing all the bedroom doors and shooting marbles down the carpeted hallway.  Another is he and I in front of the console stereo, him on the "air drums" and me with my hairbrush as a microphone, singing Creedence Clearwater songs at the top of our lungs.  Other include mom and me shopping, running with our shaggy dog in the open field by our house, baking cookies with my best friend, Linda Herrick...

I want these two muchkins to have the best childhood memories and a handful of them will be with me.  The park. Project time. Building forts inside the house. Dancing and spinning until we all fall down. And yes, going to the coffeeshop for cinnamon cookies.

Look who we hooked up with yesterday! This cute girl!

"How the hell do you do this nanny thing?"

The Cousin is eyeing Sweet Pea's cookie because you see, she already finished hers. I know that kid like I know my own shadow and y'all probably know that I go to the coffeeshop for an afternoon jolt of caffeine not  a cookie.

I have a plethora of reasons why I take these two to el parque. We actually went twice yesterday. I go for the fresh air, the escape from the four walls. I go for the exercise. God knows I need it! I go to hang out with cool parents and to learn how to breathe deeply when I observe not-so-cool parents.  I go to wear their asses out. Because 99% of the time, they crash in the stroller on the way home and I can head for the coffeeshop without them knowing.
Slideshow:

I don't know why but I always think there's gotta be creeps that hang out at a park. Yesterday there was this guy. He was sitting alone and watching all the kids, then jotting shit down in his little notebook. 

At first I thought he was a grandpa/writer, more attentive to his writing than his grandkids. After an hour or so passed, I realized that no kids were coming even remotely close to him. Suddenly I find myself in the middle of a CSI episode and I convince myself he's a stalker/pedophile. I plan out his entire demise, the details of his arrest, how I will use force and succeed at cuffing him, how I will haul him downtown to the police and how Pacific Grove will hail me a heroine and host one of their damn parades in my honor. All the while, I am playing with Sweet Pea and The Cousin.

He spots me and I'm sure he knows I'm onto him. He then vanishes into thin air, much like my crime thriller, and I'm jolted back into reality. One of the girls is having a meltdown near the swings.

"Load 'em up, ladies! It's time to say bye bye to the park."

"NOOOOOOOOO! Five more minutes, Wallery!"

"Let's bargain. Two more minutes, friends."

This "no-thing" is becoming my nemesis.  I see it as assertion of their power, expressing their independence, having control over their world; a world in which every single thing is dictated to them by grown-ups.

And I see it as a pain in my ass.

"Let's go!"

And I win.  

Always the goal is to have them both fall asleep simultaneously. That's critical. But when just one does, that's joyful too.

Have an awesome weekend, pals!

~tpg

Buddha Buddha and Other Necessary Emotions

"I'm just really thinking about it, Wallery."   

"Are you angry? Is that why you bit your cousin?"

"Wallery, I'm thinking."

"When you're mad, you say Buddha, Buddha, don't you?"

"Stop talking, Wallery."

And so begins our Wednesday.
She does say, "Buddha, Buddha" when she's angry.  I've always thought it to be significant and appropriate in a Zen sorta way.  I figure, if she's calling out to the Great Spirit of the Universe, while her teeth are clinched and steam is pouring out her ears, then that Great Spirit will certainly miraculously intervene.
We converse about feelings a lot, The Cousin and I.  We converse about many things.
I always acknowledge her plethora of feelings, reassuring her that they are all okay to have, but that some of them, especially anger, has to be funneled and expressed in such a way that we don't send others to the hospital.

                                                       "Show me your sad face."

                                                     "Show me your happy face!"

"Show me your surprised face."

"Show me your angry face."

" I am woman hear me roar."

She and I do have great conversations about the world in general.

"Wallery, do you like bees?"

"Yes, I love bees. We need bees to make our honey."

"Do you like spiders?"

"Yes, I like spiders too."

"Do you like all the animals?"

"I love the animals."

"Wallery, do you like ants?"

(Now this is a moment of truth for me, as I'm currently battling an army of the bastards at my house, yet I don't want to lie to the child.)

"Ummm...I like ants if they live outside, but not inside my house."

"Grandma doesn't like ants."

"She doesn't?"

"She has ants in her house."

"What does she do with the ants?"

"She calls the ant man."

"Oh." 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Oh, the places Sweet Pea goes (and climbs) when we are not paying attention.

"Anybody noticing me?"

Sweet Pea is a carb-aholic. She goes ballistic over the word "cracker" or "cookie" and yesterday, while The Cousin was sleeping, I indulged her in one of her favorite entrees: Macaroni and cheese with minced broccoli.

"Kraft, I'm your girl!"

"It's the same crap you had when you were a kid, Baa Bee"

"Bring on the carbs, baby!"

"Is that all there is?"

True. Kraft Parmesan has been around since I was a kid. The stuff never loses it's popularity. Generation after generation, especially those that can't afford Chevre or aged Gouda, have shaken this container on their noodles. Hell, it's good shit!

Sweet Pea had 3 outfit changes yesterday, due to the massive carb party, a spitting of blueberry coconut smoothie and a diaper leakage of 'poop puree'.
The final outfit was a tribute to President Obama and his beloved dog, Bo.

Sweet Pea is a "hands-on" girl, as you know.  She loves dirt, rocks and anything she can climb. 

Put a harness, seatbelt or even a sweatshirt hood on her though, and she breaks loose like a caged bird. She digs her freedom. She's a real explorer and a shadow-kisser too.

There's a little bit of Sweet Pea in all of us.  But there's a little bit of The Cousin in all of us as well.

She's the thinker, the artist, the dreamer...

"Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yes, Wallery."

"Did you have a dream?"

"Yes."

"What did you dream about?"

"I dream about birdies."

"Oh! What were the birdies doing?"

"They were dancing!"

The dreamers:

The 'jump head first into a wall' explorers:

"You gotta an ouchie too, Baa Bee?"

When we look at our own selves, our own personalities and the components that make each of us the unique individuals that we are...

Isn't it such a glorious world of so many colorful hues?!

Keep being yourselves y'all!
~tpg

Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Day

Sweet Pea called in sick today. I think, though her parentals reported a 102.8 fever, she was faking it in order to have a day home with mom. Who can blame her really? Her mom is close to perfect, beyond attentive and drop-dead gorgeous.  I would have faked sick habitually had she been my mom.

The Cousin was higher than a kite on a summer day, when she heard the news.  I arrived and hadn't even put my things down, when she came skipping out of the back room, on her tippy toes no less, to greet me. As y'all know, sharing the nanny, or any adult for that matter, leaves a sour taste in The Cousin's mouth. Today's her lucky day. A pair of Aces.
The Lottery. And her way of showing it? She hands me every damn toy she owns: the cash register, the tower blocks,
2 baby dolls and several books.
"Let's play, Wallerey."  Her pronunciation of my name is changing; taking on a new sound-form.  Lots about her is changing. Her hair's getting longer, her speech more defined.  She questions everything.  The first time she asks the question, it's cute.  By the 6th or 7th time, it's borderline annoying!
"What are you doing, Wallerey?"
"I'm pushing you in the swings."
"What am I doing?"
"You're swinging."
5 minutes later...
"What are you doing, Wallerey?"
"I'm still pushing you in the swings."
"What am I doing?"
"You're swinging."
12 minutes later...
"What are you doing, Wallerey?'
"I'm drawing with chalk."
"What am I doing?"
"You're drawing with chalk also."
5 minutes later...

You get the picture.
So, today's just The Cousin, me and the phenomenal sunshine that rarely shows itself in Pacific Grove, CA.
We're in the buggy and out the door by 9:00 a.m.

"Sweet Pea! You can call in sick anytime!"

Kitty goes everywhere with us these days.  I end up holding her paw while The Cousin plays in the wood-chips or eats her crackers.  She doesn't want Kitty to be left alone on a bench or in the stroller.

Kitty is a pain in the ass on the changing table. Seriously, I have enough trouble maneuvering The Cousin, the diaper, the Wet Wipes without worrying if I get the excrements on Kitty.

"Wood-chips are The Bomb."

The park becomes our mutual Nirvana. It's so much easier with one. I can't drive this home enough. As much as I love that little shit, Sweet Pea, it's a piece of cake with just The Cousin. After a couple hours, we load up and head to the library for Toddler Storytime. We make our way through a crowd of about 20; moms, toddlers, toy dinosaurs, carpet squares. We find our place near the facilitator woman who has a tee shirt on that says, "Reading is Delicious." The shirt has a picture of cartoon-like children eating big slices of pizza with books sprawled around the kitchen table.
I find the shirt a bit odd, and quite frankly, ridiculous, but whatever.  When it's time to begin, the lady grabs a bumble bee hand-puppet and starts singing a jubilant rendition of "If You're Happy and You Know It" and The Cousin and I chime in.  I look around the room and see lots happy kids and lots of runny noses. After 2 very long stories (this lady hasn't a clue as to the attention span of a 2-year-old) The Cousin can't sit any longer and heads to the book crates.

During her "book safari", a woman looks at me and says, "Your daughter is so cute."
MY DAUGHTER!?  Love that.  Especially after multiple comments regarding my possible "grandmother status".
I must admit it felt just fine.
"Thank-you." I hear myself saying. These types of lies boost my ego in some superficial way.  Soon, The Cousin is starting to lose it. This becomes apparent when I tell her we need to go to the bathroom to change her diaper, and she yells "NOOOOO!!" in her "not-so-proper-library-voice" then goes sprinting down the non-fiction aisle.  I know it's quickly approaching nap time, but I don't lose my cool.
A quick diaper change and we're on our way.

It's difficult to make time for naps. We're busy girls.  We really don't want lunch either.
There's no time for it.
We are artists and artists need to express themselves. Period.

"Wallery, I'm painting sunshine."

And then come the questions...
"Wallery, can I touch this?'
"Yes."
"Can I eat this?"
"No."
"Can I paint the table?"
"No."
"Can I paint the paper?"
"Yes."
Our afternoons, like our mornings, are rich.
And then, as unpopular as it may be, we cram down some lunch-grub and head to the crib with some books.
I'm on my knees, praying,  for 45-50 minutes. I can almost taste the delicious silence that will soon be mine.

Like her, it was my lucky day.  The Cousin slept from 2:00 p.m.- 4:15 p.m.
Can I hear a SAH-WEEEEEEET!??!

And me? I'm feeling the luck and the love today.  Feeling the beautiful gift of having one kid, not two, and thinkin I just might have enough energy in reserves to stay awake long enough to watch Jeopardy when I get home.
Peace y'all!
~tpg