I sort of feel like I'm in the Gilded Age of teaching...ya know, a super crappy time coated in all the feels I have toward educating the children; at this point, it's the only thing that keeps me getting up every day. It's the Gilded Age because I am actually happy, not stressed, that we've missed three days in a row and will probably miss a fourth on Monday because of blizzard-like conditions that swooped in overnight. I literally have sat on the same couch cushion for three days straight with minimal moving. I've managed to make it to the gym once, go for a snowy walk, break out the Wii for Just Dance 3, and get myself inordinate amounts of food and La Croix waters from the kitchen (luckily in the same room as the couch). A year ago, I would have cheered, then jeered, at the thought of so many snow days in a row, and now? Now, I'm jaded. Having that 20-something moment of needing to "find myself" career wise. On top of that, you can only sit on the same piece of furniture with your cat while talking to your boyfriend on the phone without thinking, "wow, I'm literally snowed in with a furry man cat. I am sort of a cat lady." Le sigh.
I haven't worn real clothes in three days. THREE DAYS. And no, gym clothes don't count. Spandex in public is really only acceptable if you're going to or coming from the gym. Take note, ladies.
So, after fighting with a spaghetti squash for 15 minutes, I'm sitting here smelling the yummies bake in the oven while I formulate a million 'what ifs' in my head for the near future. Instead of divulging too much, I'll just tell you more about me from the perspective of the children:
I am an idiot. I know nothing about college, student loans (or how to avoid them), ACT scores, or scholarships. As a matter of fact, I should just stop trying to tell them things because I just sound stupid when I "lecture" about having a plan for the future.
I still have no idea how to be a good teacher. I certainly know nothing about Shakespeare or English, and I really should stop with all this history stuff about Rome because what in the world does that have to do with reading and writing about Julius Caesar?
White girls can cook? ANNNNNDDDD bake?
Apparently I'm the most generous person ever: one child literally takes my water every day and guzzles it after lunch. "Thanks, Ms. Freeman!" You're welcome, I guess. I mean, is it couth to say "thank you" when you didn't ask in the first place?
I don't understand the difference in late and on time. I mean, I should totally let you in if you're sprinting down the hallway and still around the corner when the bell rings. Shame on me for making you get a note to class. I'll work on that.
I am a social outcast because I don't watch Empire. I can't believe I don't know who pushed pookie or boo boo or bae down the stairs last week.
Sit in chairs? Who sits in chairs? On their bottoms? Looking respectable? I missed the memo where we sprawl across desks and chairs because we're 'tired' and just don't feel like learning today. Next visitor to my room should expect me face down on the lectern. I can totally teach that way.
Whoever came up with putting things away after you use them should be placed in front of a firing squad. How dare I ask the children to push in their chairs and put away the borrowed pencils at the end of class. And stack textbooks? No. That's doin' too much.
Leave school at 3pm when I'm allowed to walk out the door? Well, if judgmental looks and mumbles from the permanent fixtures are all I have to worry about as I grab my belongings at 2:59, I'll surely shake them off at the slam of the heavy metal door. Some people, for their own sanity, get their crap done strategically during planning, before school, and while the children are working. Some of us are over the times where taking work home is the norm. If I took work home at this point, I'd cry all the time, have no boyfriend, and really be a cat lady. No bueno.
So, in the spirit of getting to scrape the cool looking (and super stubborn) spaghetti squash, I'll spare you any further weirdness or insights into my soul. I'll probably watch You've Got Mail for the third time in three days and continue to sit on my couch cushion. C'est la vie, people.
Showing posts with label perspective. Show all posts
Showing posts with label perspective. Show all posts
Friday, January 22, 2016
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Life is a like a box of choc...aphorisms, adages, metaphors...
"When life throws you lemons...," if you're me, you make a helluva lot of lemonade. Strong, independent, grounded -- I think that I resemble these qualities, but man my lemonade stand is overrun right now. I'm squeezing the crap outta the little suckers, and I feel like I'm just getting seeds everywhere. Yeesh.
School is always a stressor, especially at the peak of prom season, but for the duration of a couple weeks, I manage to sacrifice Ms. Freeman for a much harsher five-letter name and let the criticism "roll down like a mighty stream" (what up, MLK). Saying what you mean and having people take you seriously is apparently not customary, as it seems to be surprising to many when I actually follow through with what I declare. My froshies keep things interesting (even in the midst of a ridiculously hard research project), sometimes causing me to forget the exorbitant amounts of lemonade filling up my proverbial cup.
Oddly, I recently taught the difference in Romanticism and Realism, and I tell ya, it's amazing how teaching often seeps into real life, reminding me that I'm a real person with real feelings and often times no idea what the crap I'm doing on the daily. So that begs the question of the day regarding the shift from 19th c. Victorian Romanticism to early 20th c. Realism: is your glass half full or half empty?
Half-full vs. Half-empty:
Wouldn't we all like to claim half-full status so as not to be classified as a pessimist or grump? Of course, but it's unrealistic and ultimately fake. It's hard to pretend things are great when they aren't, and while I'm the queen of putting on a happy face for my kiddos even when my personal life is all shaken up, it's not my nature to put on. I'm in your face, blunt, and matter of fact, but sometimes you have to fake it to make it, and there's nothing wrong with that. On the flip side, everyone has a bad day, but people freak out when others unload. Anyone sporting frustration or sadness is automatically a sad sack clearly willing himself into unhappiness. I call BULL. Also, anyone with a legitimate complaint about life or work gets written off as mean or crotchety. People are so afraid of being classified as "empty" that they top off the glass, whether genuine or not, and smile until behind closed doors. Sadly, two transplants have said to me recently that people in the South are the most fake people they've ever met, and all I can do is nod in agreement, as a good majority of Southerners, especially women, aren't truly as accommodating as they appear. That's why people like me (and my friend Caty) are labeled "mean" and "scary": we are genuinely nice people, but we speak the truth. Always.
Life is definitely what you make of it, but holding in a half-empty kind of day doesn't make you a half-full person, and pretending to be half-full doesn't mean people don't see through you. We're not doing one another favors by letting people down easily and sugar-coating what we really mean to say; I'm not advocating outright meanness or kicking folks while they're down, but if more people told the truth without fear of dumping their cup, then clarity would triumph and worry and wonder would be squashed. The truth is, "you can't handle the truth," and people like me will continue to ride their brooms to work, "intentionally" shatter people's dreams, and will get their hearts broken by folks who just can't seem to say what they really feel is necessary to convey.
It's a tough world when you wear your feelings on the outside, but that's ok. The moral of this story is that my glass is full to the brim: it's full of insect-attracting, jaw-puckering lemonade, and I'm gonna keep on drinking the crap out of it until someone comes along and neutralizes all the tart in my life.
School is always a stressor, especially at the peak of prom season, but for the duration of a couple weeks, I manage to sacrifice Ms. Freeman for a much harsher five-letter name and let the criticism "roll down like a mighty stream" (what up, MLK). Saying what you mean and having people take you seriously is apparently not customary, as it seems to be surprising to many when I actually follow through with what I declare. My froshies keep things interesting (even in the midst of a ridiculously hard research project), sometimes causing me to forget the exorbitant amounts of lemonade filling up my proverbial cup.
Oddly, I recently taught the difference in Romanticism and Realism, and I tell ya, it's amazing how teaching often seeps into real life, reminding me that I'm a real person with real feelings and often times no idea what the crap I'm doing on the daily. So that begs the question of the day regarding the shift from 19th c. Victorian Romanticism to early 20th c. Realism: is your glass half full or half empty?
Half-full vs. Half-empty:
Wouldn't we all like to claim half-full status so as not to be classified as a pessimist or grump? Of course, but it's unrealistic and ultimately fake. It's hard to pretend things are great when they aren't, and while I'm the queen of putting on a happy face for my kiddos even when my personal life is all shaken up, it's not my nature to put on. I'm in your face, blunt, and matter of fact, but sometimes you have to fake it to make it, and there's nothing wrong with that. On the flip side, everyone has a bad day, but people freak out when others unload. Anyone sporting frustration or sadness is automatically a sad sack clearly willing himself into unhappiness. I call BULL. Also, anyone with a legitimate complaint about life or work gets written off as mean or crotchety. People are so afraid of being classified as "empty" that they top off the glass, whether genuine or not, and smile until behind closed doors. Sadly, two transplants have said to me recently that people in the South are the most fake people they've ever met, and all I can do is nod in agreement, as a good majority of Southerners, especially women, aren't truly as accommodating as they appear. That's why people like me (and my friend Caty) are labeled "mean" and "scary": we are genuinely nice people, but we speak the truth. Always.
Life is definitely what you make of it, but holding in a half-empty kind of day doesn't make you a half-full person, and pretending to be half-full doesn't mean people don't see through you. We're not doing one another favors by letting people down easily and sugar-coating what we really mean to say; I'm not advocating outright meanness or kicking folks while they're down, but if more people told the truth without fear of dumping their cup, then clarity would triumph and worry and wonder would be squashed. The truth is, "you can't handle the truth," and people like me will continue to ride their brooms to work, "intentionally" shatter people's dreams, and will get their hearts broken by folks who just can't seem to say what they really feel is necessary to convey.
It's a tough world when you wear your feelings on the outside, but that's ok. The moral of this story is that my glass is full to the brim: it's full of insect-attracting, jaw-puckering lemonade, and I'm gonna keep on drinking the crap out of it until someone comes along and neutralizes all the tart in my life.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Written vs. Spoken Language
Man. If this discussion isn't every English teacher's mantra, then I don't know what is. Each day we stand before the minds of tomorrow and stress the importance of written and spoken language. There's an art to choosing words and phrases correctly so that one may reach the chosen audience appropriately. Sometimes, even the best of us struggle to make the right choices, and in a world where the spoken word is falling through the cracks, it's vital that we begin paying more attention to what we "say" in the written form.
Anyone who knows me knows that I sometimes struggle to convey the appropriate tone in the spoken sense. The delivery is a bit off, but being there with the audience, I have the opportunity to revamp and explain myself. In addition, how I really feel is written all over my face, so when the tone and the facial expression don't match, my viewers notice. Know me well enough, and you know I always mean well. On "paper," explaining yourself is just not in the cards; word choice is vital, and even then, sometimes the best wording can't solidify tone, often resulting in a misinterpretation at no fault of the audience. Yeesh. So frustrating.
Tone = Attitude
Too bad tone is relative in written language. Unless it's super obvious, based on genre or circumstance, that someone is trying to be funny, depressing, scathing, etc., sometimes it's impossible to interpret tone in an email or text message. With a million synonyms, some sentences just can't be made to "sound" a certain way. If word choice were as simple as replacing 'wrong' with 'incorrect,' then the world would be filled with puppies and rainbows, but not all synonyms are that obviously different in tone and I've yet to poop any puppies or rainbows.
Mood = Feeling
Tone sets the mood, so when you have a diction blunder, it's safe to say the mood of the conversation will avalanche into negativity. The worst part -- trying to dig yourself out of a text message hole is like trying to walk in quicksand. It's frustrating, especially when you realize you've not conveyed yourself correctly, and it's even worse when everything you "say" is just as emotionless as the original problem.
The Unique Qualities of Spoken Language
Ears will ignore things that eyes just can't allow. It's so true. In conversation, mechanics essentially go out the window. We tend to pause naturally where appropriate, and, like breathing, we don't think about it. Combined sentences flow freely from our mouths where on paper we'd have to make decisions about commas and conjunctions or consider rules about semi colons to combine thoughts.
One thing vital to spoken language is inflection, but most of us don't struggle so much with emotion in our voices. Poor souls who speak in the monotone or who overuse the verbal exclamation point are fewer and further between than "normal" talkers. It's actually not uncommon for great public speakers to be terrible writers: spelling doesn't matter in speaking; however, put that on paper, and BAM!...gotta get out a dictionary (or use a computer with spell check and avoid misspelling words so badly that you create new words). Smooth talkers with poor writing abilities aren't so smooth if they can't hook an audience with gun fingers and a wink.
I could ramble on for hours about this topic. Every day I remind the AP students that what they say on paper has to speak for itself because they won't be sitting there to explain what they meant if a reader gets confused. I say that, but I also know that it's not always easy to get things arranged in the written form. We're all guilty, especially me. The best solution is to save all important conversations for the face-to-face, but when it's not possible, choose your words carefully...or at least hope that the recipient knows you well enough to interpret appropriately your intent.
Anyone who knows me knows that I sometimes struggle to convey the appropriate tone in the spoken sense. The delivery is a bit off, but being there with the audience, I have the opportunity to revamp and explain myself. In addition, how I really feel is written all over my face, so when the tone and the facial expression don't match, my viewers notice. Know me well enough, and you know I always mean well. On "paper," explaining yourself is just not in the cards; word choice is vital, and even then, sometimes the best wording can't solidify tone, often resulting in a misinterpretation at no fault of the audience. Yeesh. So frustrating.
Tone = Attitude
Too bad tone is relative in written language. Unless it's super obvious, based on genre or circumstance, that someone is trying to be funny, depressing, scathing, etc., sometimes it's impossible to interpret tone in an email or text message. With a million synonyms, some sentences just can't be made to "sound" a certain way. If word choice were as simple as replacing 'wrong' with 'incorrect,' then the world would be filled with puppies and rainbows, but not all synonyms are that obviously different in tone and I've yet to poop any puppies or rainbows.
Mood = Feeling
Tone sets the mood, so when you have a diction blunder, it's safe to say the mood of the conversation will avalanche into negativity. The worst part -- trying to dig yourself out of a text message hole is like trying to walk in quicksand. It's frustrating, especially when you realize you've not conveyed yourself correctly, and it's even worse when everything you "say" is just as emotionless as the original problem.
The Unique Qualities of Spoken Language
Ears will ignore things that eyes just can't allow. It's so true. In conversation, mechanics essentially go out the window. We tend to pause naturally where appropriate, and, like breathing, we don't think about it. Combined sentences flow freely from our mouths where on paper we'd have to make decisions about commas and conjunctions or consider rules about semi colons to combine thoughts.
One thing vital to spoken language is inflection, but most of us don't struggle so much with emotion in our voices. Poor souls who speak in the monotone or who overuse the verbal exclamation point are fewer and further between than "normal" talkers. It's actually not uncommon for great public speakers to be terrible writers: spelling doesn't matter in speaking; however, put that on paper, and BAM!...gotta get out a dictionary (or use a computer with spell check and avoid misspelling words so badly that you create new words). Smooth talkers with poor writing abilities aren't so smooth if they can't hook an audience with gun fingers and a wink.
I could ramble on for hours about this topic. Every day I remind the AP students that what they say on paper has to speak for itself because they won't be sitting there to explain what they meant if a reader gets confused. I say that, but I also know that it's not always easy to get things arranged in the written form. We're all guilty, especially me. The best solution is to save all important conversations for the face-to-face, but when it's not possible, choose your words carefully...or at least hope that the recipient knows you well enough to interpret appropriately your intent.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Mind over matter
If I've learned anything in the last several months, it's that life requires a great deal of determination and persistence. The interesting part of this equation is that the person I'm most trying to outdo is myself. If you've been reading my ramblings, running has become an important part of the weekly routine around here, and it's sometimes a struggle not to get bogged down with the same trails, twists and turns that are my regular routes. Yesterday, I decided to venture out and risk real people seeing me in all my huffing glory. I parked the car at a local library and set out on a journey where life and society, not the "end," was in sight. The conclusion: an audience makes all the difference.
Yesterday saw me running 4.19 miles more easily than before, and there was something about SC students waving me down to keep me moving. This tiny voice inside my head (between life conversations and situations I was working through) was actually saying, "don't stop. you can do it. keep moving. you've got this." Weird. Myself talks to myself, but that's the great part! I am in control of me. Hot. Tired. Sweating profusely. The run was successful and satisfying, and being among others of like mind was refreshing.
Today...well, today was a test of will and determination; today, I set out to prove something. This time, I parked the car at the outdoor mall -- back corner in a lonely space. After hopping around the sidewalk and getting the music all situated (I was super disappointed because the running playlist I created didn't sync to the phone), the sidewalk was my open road. From the mall to the bypass, a little over two miles. Back to the library, another mile. Onto the greenway with a loop around to the fancy entrance, another mile. Up to the car, a mile. Right when my feet were about to stop, the tiny voice took over, and I flew by the car and around the mall in full force. Mouthing the music and bopping my head around, I realized these feet weren't stopping, and when the voice on my app interrupted to say I'd gone 6 miles, the corners of my mouth almost made it to my ear lobes. I looped around the mall and thought, "I can do this...one more mile." CRAZY... 6-6.5 was a breeze; it was almost as though the running got easier the more distance was tacked on, and then it hit me...the tendons in the back of my right knee started to get sore, and my calves and left hip had had enough. My little brother once told me that half the battle is running through the pain, and I could sense that this wasn't injury pain, so I toughed it out. Seven miles later, and I was horse trotting around the parking lot to cool down after a 71 minute run...71 minutes without stopping! Yay me!!! Proud and a little sore, I wanted to shout at the tops of my lungs that I did it -- I made myself persevere despite the fact that things got tough and uncomfortable.
To many of you, this is nothing, but to me, it's everything. The last six months have been mentally, emotionally, and physically challenging, and running has become my escape. September saw me struggling to run for 90 seconds at a time, and now I can run for over an hour. Time really does tell. Life's too short not to celebrate the little victories!
What's your success story?
Yesterday saw me running 4.19 miles more easily than before, and there was something about SC students waving me down to keep me moving. This tiny voice inside my head (between life conversations and situations I was working through) was actually saying, "don't stop. you can do it. keep moving. you've got this." Weird. Myself talks to myself, but that's the great part! I am in control of me. Hot. Tired. Sweating profusely. The run was successful and satisfying, and being among others of like mind was refreshing.
Today...well, today was a test of will and determination; today, I set out to prove something. This time, I parked the car at the outdoor mall -- back corner in a lonely space. After hopping around the sidewalk and getting the music all situated (I was super disappointed because the running playlist I created didn't sync to the phone), the sidewalk was my open road. From the mall to the bypass, a little over two miles. Back to the library, another mile. Onto the greenway with a loop around to the fancy entrance, another mile. Up to the car, a mile. Right when my feet were about to stop, the tiny voice took over, and I flew by the car and around the mall in full force. Mouthing the music and bopping my head around, I realized these feet weren't stopping, and when the voice on my app interrupted to say I'd gone 6 miles, the corners of my mouth almost made it to my ear lobes. I looped around the mall and thought, "I can do this...one more mile." CRAZY... 6-6.5 was a breeze; it was almost as though the running got easier the more distance was tacked on, and then it hit me...the tendons in the back of my right knee started to get sore, and my calves and left hip had had enough. My little brother once told me that half the battle is running through the pain, and I could sense that this wasn't injury pain, so I toughed it out. Seven miles later, and I was horse trotting around the parking lot to cool down after a 71 minute run...71 minutes without stopping! Yay me!!! Proud and a little sore, I wanted to shout at the tops of my lungs that I did it -- I made myself persevere despite the fact that things got tough and uncomfortable.
To many of you, this is nothing, but to me, it's everything. The last six months have been mentally, emotionally, and physically challenging, and running has become my escape. September saw me struggling to run for 90 seconds at a time, and now I can run for over an hour. Time really does tell. Life's too short not to celebrate the little victories!
What's your success story?
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Commercialized Love Day
Valentine's Day: the one day of the year when lovers and not lovers feel the pressure to impress one another with chocolates, stuffed animals, expensive jewelry, and love notes. Valentine's Day: Commercialized Love Day.
Before anyone tags me a V-day hater, I'm still a girl, and I still love all of these things...I just don't necessarily think they are reserved for February 14th. Now, onto my breakdown of Commercialized Love Day...
Before anyone tags me a V-day hater, I'm still a girl, and I still love all of these things...I just don't necessarily think they are reserved for February 14th. Now, onto my breakdown of Commercialized Love Day...
Sunday, January 12, 2014
On Being Left Handed
Right handers can just put away their judgments on the front end. I'm sure you're thinking this post is just going to be a fuss-fest about how "handicapped" left handers are in today's world, but it's more than that. Right handers, being the catered-to majority, can't understand left handers' frustrations with everyday tasks and materials. Something as simple as using scissors becomes a massive undertaking, and honestly, we south paws spend a lot of time learning to do things right handed because there's no good way to make it happen with ole lefty. It has been said that we're more creative, but recent research doesn't really support that claim 100% these days. Below, I'll outline a few things that a good majority of people don't realize create daily frustrations for south paws.
Printed drinkware with handles:
Oh! How lovely. You got me a coffee mug with a cute design or my name on it...too bad it faces me when I hold it. This is one of those trivial things that's not truly a bother, but let's be honest, if you're going to print something on a cup, it's meant to be seen. Either print the image on both sides, double handle the mugs, or create dominant hand specific designs.
3-ring binders and spiral notebooks:
Oh. My. Word. Trying to write in something that's bound with rings or spirals is impossible because we can't get our hands level to the paper thanks to the ginormous contraption in the way. Everyone's alternative is to turn it backward and open notebooks from right to left. That might be ok if we lived in Japan; however, I learned to read left to right, so writing on my papers in reverse order is not really an option. Talk about defying everything we've been taught since preschool.
Unlined paper and writing utensils:
Right handers have the luxury of the writing hand being to the side of text. As you write, your hand scrolls ahead to create room; thus, you write in straight lines and typically with nice penmanship. Not us. Lefties put a hand down and start writing, but it's not until the second line rainbows into the first that we realize we've been writing at a slant that's quickly becoming an inefficient use of the paper. Our hands follow along as we write, so we can't see what's happening. Because we tend to bear down on writing utensils, lefties' grips are lower (closer to the paper) and also make it hard to see the text. And, I can't tell you how many pencils I've destroyed, either by breaking lead or snapping in half. Ugh. Ball-point pens...beautiful, until you realize you're bearing down so hard the ball isn't rolling. Double ugh.
Scissors:
Left-handed scissors are a joke and a waste of money. They, like "normal" scissors, bend the paper without actually cutting anything. If you're like me, you learned early in life that cutting right handed is the best option. Because scissors have circular handles, we can steady old righty enough to cut semi-straight lines. If all else fails, ask a right hander to cut for you. That way, you'll save a lot of grooves and painful indentions from plaguing hands.
Desks:
Preferential seating for standardized tests doesn't mean you're special; it means you're left handed. And, if they have enough (if any) lefty desks to accommodate everyone, it's amazing. Try writing on something that stems from the opposite side with nowhere to rest your arm while you write. Yeah. Not fun.
Table seating:
The majority of the world is right handed, so when a large group of folks sits down for anything (a meal, a meeting, etc.) it's in everyone's best interest to seat the lefty on a corner. Otherwise, we spend the entire time half paying attention or profusely apologizing because we're trying not to elbow the person next seat over.
Instructional booklets and videos:
Ever tried to knit, crochet, etc.? Good luck if you're left handed. Most people won't even try to teach you because it's "backward," and most manuals with diagrams are written from the right hander's perspective. Talk about frustrating. I've cried over simple things because my right-handed friends pick up so quickly, and I can't even get things going for a decent start. Sometimes, I get started only to realize I've done it the wrong way or inside out. Thanks, left hand. Thanks.
The computer mouse:
Like scissors, we all learn to use the mouse right handed, but it is frustrating that it's designed for the right hand exclusively. Cradle the mouse in your hand and Mr. Index Finger nicely sits on the clickers. Oh, you say move it to the left side of the computer? Sure. I love accidentally right clicking everything, don't you?
All of these things are just a drop in the bucket of things that cause us trouble. Some buttons, zippers, light/lamp switches, doors, video game controllers, tv remotes, etc. are also easier for right handers to use. Some musical instruments are solely right handed...I learned to have great dexterity in my right pointer, middle, and ring fingers so that I could become a trumpet player. My parents offered to buy me a left-handed trumpet, but I refused because I had to prove to myself that I could do the intended way. Regardless, we get on in the world just as well, if not better, than many right handers. Just remember that sometimes we have to stop to think before we embark on daily activities because much of the time, we're processing "backward." Maybe the world should be more accommodating to lefties. We're more numerous than people realize, and it's hard to live in a world that's built for others. The upside is that the left side of the body is controlled by the right side of the brain, so lefties are always in their right minds!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)