November 15/0 words
It's 9A and I'm already behind.
But first, my favorite photo from WFC.
Yeah. So not the hotel or the actual convention. Sue me.
Life has been busy around here. Too busy. Most of my attention is on school (Halloween! Thanksgiving! Prepping Christmas stuff now! Report cards! Parent conferences! Oh, and by the way, work out those inschool interventions for the kids who aren't making it. Like right now! And please go to this workshop next week from 3:30-7P) with a little attention spared to the house (*considers house's condition* Okay, so maybe not) and balancing the car juggling act we have with two cars and three drivers. Planning the family reunion at Asilomar has subsided, now that we've put the money down and roughed in some of the details.
Writing. Well, I'd like to write. Really. But by the time I'm home these days (5P or later) it's just not happening. Reading, yes. At least a bit more than I'd been doing before.
The kids are all busy--with work mostly, although the Slug is working on her acquisition of money to pay for Colorado in January. She's getting excited, and we're discussing what she'll need in terms of clothing--because, face it. Colorado doesn't burn like California in the winter.
My personal dare devil showed up this morning with two popped tendons in his hand. He was about to set routes at Boulderdash, and grabbed the first two handholds to swing his knee up and--pop! the left hand was done for.
In terms of horror? He won't be able to climb for three weeks.
Yeah, if it were me, I'd be just fine. But nightmares are made of this stuff for this particular child.
Luckily, he can crack eggs one-handed, but I had to manipulate the can opener for him.
I've got about half the next issue together for Ideomancer and there'll be more progress tonight when I can't clean any longer. The original goal was to finish by tomorrow night, but I don't think that's going to happen. Maybe next weekend--because, doom-de-doom, those parent conferences.
And in the area of wish list stuff, I'd love to make an rss feed for this journal. Anyone who reads this and knows, you probably also know how to find me.
November 22/0 words
I spent most of yesterday tearing around the classroom, totally pissed off by the note I'd found in my box first thing.
First, the skinny slip of paper telling me of my classroom account balance: $51.37. (That wasn't what pissed me off, though. I'd been shepherding my spending, so I'd only used a little less than half of my classroom account balance so far. And if you do the math, yes, that $100/year for supplies is accurate.)
The half-sheet note, however? Yeah, that.
Our classroom accounts have been frozen. My district has to reduce spending by another $1.2-1.6 million dollars by JUNE. This is after we cut $1 million the first half of last year. So yes, they are starting with the nickels and the dimes. I don't quite know what they'll cut to make up that amount--I suggested coaches, mostly because the local populace would scream at the thought, where they might let the arts and music programs disappear without a complaint.
The state of California and its inability to balance a budget stinks.
So, in addition to everything new I must balance in my classroom and professional life (RtI, PLCs, piloting the new math programs) with the children I have under my care (five of which have or will be diagnosed with learning and/or speech disabilities of some sort in the next five years) I must make do with whatever I have currently. No more construction paper. No more paint. And here we are in the midst of Major Craft Season which runs between Halloween and February in most kindergarten classrooms.
Oh, but of course, I can always buy it out of my own funds, and I most likely will. I refuse to limit my kindergarten program due to monetary considerations.
Enough with the complaining, but seriously? I want people who can manage money in our state assembly and governmental offices. Whoever we've gotten so far, can't.
I'm cranky after all the parent conferences ended--my final one went until 6P last night. I came home and collapsed.
Monday is pumpkin pie day. I finally extracted enough parent help to make a go of it, now all I need are the other half of the supplies for the event. I'm cooking Thanksgiving in Fresno with my sister, so we'll leave Wednesday afternoon for that. We'll be back home on Friday, have a concert on Saturday night to attend (Men in kilts! Yay!! Celtic Thunder!), and Sunday will be the final touches on Ideo, while Monday begins Christmas at school.
Note that I have not mentioned anything about the two songs my group is doing for our Advent concert. One is a rehash of a song we did several years back, the other we have not SEEN yet.
Why yes, I do well under pressure.
Unless you count the part where I tear my hair out.
Personally, I refuse to count the hairs I find on the keyboard or in the sink.
November 25/0 words
I am living only for tomorrow.
Tomorrow, when I can sleep in a bit longer, wrap up the Ideo issue, finally get to some dusting, and, oh heck, go all hog--drive four hours to Fresno so I can start on cooking the Thanksgiving feast.
My only salvation is that I'm not cooking for three days like the original Pilgrims.
I bet that idea went down really well with the womenfolk of the time. "You want us to what while you play games with Indians?!"
At least the pumpkin pie making is over. With the added bonus of a transformer at school that blew, so there was no power in most classrooms and the kitchens. Luckily, the district fired up the stoves via generators, and the pies got baked. I am ever so thankful. And done. Overdone, actually.
However, before I can lay back and drink copiously peel potatoes for twenty, I must first survive my own day with wild Indians.
Tradition at my site requires that we have my little charges make macaroni necklaces, turn a brown paper bag into a costume, add a headband with limp paper feathers, and then, the coup de grâce, a drum made from an oatmeal container.
Let the whooping and banging begin!
I'm pretty sure the first Thanksgiving was a bit quieter.
I would podcast our classroom Thanksgiving, except there'd be a fair amount of repetition: "Do you want me to take that drum from you?" "Stop choking him. Let go of the necklace." and "Being an Indian is a privilege not a right. So yes, I will and can take everything away. Try me."
*heavy sigh*
One more day until tomorrow.
