Tag: locked in a classroom for days and days


Don’t talk to me, I’m cranky.

2
February

Or as the Eldest Child says, “D’oh.”

Kindergarten celebrates everything. We celebrate birthdays–there was one yesterday. We celebrate Groundhog Day (Six more weeks of winter. Boo hiss.) Tomorrow we celebrate Chinese New Year–go, rabbits!–and Friday is the 100th Day.

Crafts for today and over the next two days:

Groundhog on a stick in a styrofoam cup colored green. (My kids would have even colored the inside of the cup if I’d let them. I’ll have to think about that for next year. Five more minutes of blessed silence.)

Chinese dragon mask–Ready except for the headbands

Chinese lanterns–Done and hanging.

Groundhog War (Just like War but with perky little groundhogs to count and compare.)–almost done. They’re playing it tomorrow. Shush.

100 headbands–Not prepped, let alone finished. I still have a day.

100 collections–uh… yeah. Not there yet.

100 necklaces–see 100 stuff above.

I’m sure there’s something I’ve forgotten, but that’s all my brain can think of at the moment. I already hate February and we aren’t even close to Valentine’s Day or Washington’s and Lincoln’s birthdays.

July’s a good month. No holiday crafts. For that matter, no school.

And, shock of all shocks, no writing tonight. Choir practice where we prepped singing Festival Sanctus–my favorite piece–for Sunday. And now I am tired and cranky and morning will come too soon.

Also, my car will not be ready until Friday. Good thing I missed the coyote with a death wish that darted across the road on the way to practice.

And finally, Tor.com is breaking free of its backlog of submissions. Mine’s at 263 days. The latest reject at Duotrope is 270, so it should be any time now. Which, of course, means I have to find another market for it. Since Chizine liked it at one point, I’m thinking I might check out horror markets. Taking a stab at horror will be a novelty.

I blame the dark stuff on kindergarten. M. Rickert taught kindergarten, too, and if you haven’t read Mary’s “Was She Wicked? Was She Good?” in her collection Holiday you’re missing out.

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Ho ho h–aren’t we done yet?

10
December

Crafts killed–7
Crafts remaining-3
Non-crafts turned into crafts with a scissors app-1

Swear to god, I’m taking all the sharp implements away today. They want more crafts, they can use their frigging teeth.

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Still twitching

9
December

But hey, the kindergarten Christmas program is over. And they were practically perfect in every way. (Meaning no one did anything rude on stage or chatted with their neighbor. They were also dressed up to the nines. So cute.)

I don’t have a Christmas present for my mom. Last year I found opera CDs for her and counted myself lucky. She has everything she needs and/or buys it for herself–now that she’s learned how to shop online. She doesn’t actually do the buying; she has my sister or me do it for her. But she can surf! Woo! Go, Mom!

But. No present. No real ideas. I thought I’d buy opera tickets for us and I’d go with her, but Fresno has no opera in the spring. Suggestions?

Crafts killed: 5
Crafts alive and kicking my butt: 5
Non-crafts turned into crafts by the judicious application of scissors: 1

Allergic reaction to crafts: 1. All day yesterday. Or maybe I was allergic to the Christmas program. Hard to tell, but I’m definitely not so sneezy today. (Of course, I just said that and my nose went all Oh Rlly? on me.

For the record: The number of reindeer antlers requiring surgical reattachment was significantly higher than normal this year. WTH?

Making tamales next week is not considered a craft. No glue.

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It’s Friday.

19
November

Just in the nick of time, I might add.

Seventeen conferences down, three yet to go. Those would be for this morning and afternoon. Once I’m done with those, then I can focus on gearing up for pumpkin pies and the Turkey Trot run that happens Tuesday.

Then five days off. Three spent with Mom, and then I focus on Christmas. Not that I’m not doing that already. Two out of three children have already mentioned gift lists (which is astonishing because one typically wants world peace, but is settling for a portable hard drive this year, while the other gives me suggestions on Christmas Eve. The Slug has not said a word, and this is the girl who talks about birthdays and Christmas three months in advance. Graduation and wrapping up her senior year are messing with her brain.)

But after all this, it’s a downhill sled smashing into the Colorado trip for that very graduation. I’m actually looking forward to hitting 2011. Because it will mean I’ve survived yet one more Christmas.

Someday I won’t be in charge of Christmas in any part of my life and I’m kind of looking forward to it.

Writing? No time. Two choir rehearsals so far this week. And I’ll have another next week for the Advent prayer service. I have to find out what I’ll miss on Wednesday night next week, if they’re even having one, and get the music if I can. I’ve downloaded Magnum Mysterium (by Lauritsen; I’m disappointed. I thought it was the one by Victoria which I’d sung in college.) and Handel’s And the Glory of the Lord to practice. At least I have great music playing in my head.

I’m stuck in the car for 8 hours next week, though, and writing might happen. You see, I have to finish a short in order to send it to the mini group–or I have to send them the opening pages of the novel. The novel is backup, just in case I can’t get the fingernail mooon story to cooperate over the next few weeks. Or they might get the buttons story, in case the market that has had for the last six months finally rejects it. Either way, I’m going to be okay–except I’d really like to get the novel rewrite going again.

Well, I’d really like to, up to the point where I have to stick my butt in the chair and actually write. It’s never a good sign where I willing substitute housework for writing.

And off I go. First conference at 7:30A. I hope I’m awake.

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The snail’s progress

10
August

So I headed out to meet up with Dru last night and pondered the entire time, getting no where.

What was I trying to say when I wrote the first draft of this short?

Yeah, it’s about escaping male dominance. I couldn’t miss that one even if I tried. And yeah, I had set the penultimate scene in the wrong place.

Bless Dru. We sat and generated possibilities. (Oh, I say we… she generated. I took note on my two 3×3″ sticky notes.) The very first words out of her mouth was that Beryl had to reject Jasper–not the other way around.

OH. D’OH.

So now I’ve got to decide if the Baron succeeds in his attempt to collect her–briefly? Or not? And since he’s got a very cool home filled with clockwork and automatons, I’m thinking hell yes.

Gotta trust that hind brain who is slathering (as much as it ever does) over that image.

Back to school this morning for more organizing. Laminated everything in the world yesterday and then cut the bits all apart. Early this morning–before I had to get up by a significant period of time, so that I couldn’t drop off easily back to sleep–I remembered the crayons. Paper crayons of eleven various colors that I slap color word stickers on and send home each week when we hit that color.

Guess what I’m doing today.

I may have a class list by the end of today. We’re up to 24 kids, and one more will add a K-1 class, so I’m really really hoping we get that one child. So I’m holding off printing labels until Friday or so–there are always changes. Always.

Kind of like that first draft of mine.

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Ripping along

6
August

…or perhaps that should be tripping.

No writing the past day or two. Why?

School head. Kind of like bed head, except the brain is mussed rather than your hair. I’m really here a week earlier than I need to be, but I’ve been enjoying the classroom slowly taking shape. I have one set of bulletin boards to go in terms of walls, toys to put out, and some closet organization.

Oh, and lamination–which is now running through my head like a Tom Lehrer song: Laminate, laminate, laminate. (I also just lost thirty minutes because it reminded me I still wanted the paper crayons I’ve used every year and I had to run off and search them out. Bad brain.)

And in between gluing/prep my head is pinging me on the short story I’m trying to unmuddle or reminding me of the next chore in my Take Back the House world domination scheme.

There are reasons why I limit my creative activities. Too many and the brain is a ping-pong ball.

For the record, I have wrestled the dining room table away from the clutchy fingers of the Spousling and shoved his possessions back into the office. Day 2 of a completely cleared tabletop. Side benefit–he is invisibly slowly working on organizing the office. If I could do it, I would throw everything out. (Unlike my mother who gives things to children–I am now the proud possessor of a 50′s vintage whiskey bottle with a little Scotsman who dances to a tune when you wind him up. How do you say no to your mother? I don’t even care that it belonged to my grandfather. I do believe it’s going on eBay.)

Also, I have moved the dog brush within grabbing range so I can swipe at Zoey as she runs past. In the past two days I’ve removed several hamsters-sized fists of fur, which are in the trash versus, say, on my floor.

Pwogwess. In vewwy tiny incwements.

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The good thing is that there are no

4
August

kids.

Erm. Not exactly. We’re running a two-week kindergarten boot camp and I am the only one not teaching. They only needed two classes, and really, summers are for playing. And prepping. For hours.

The house is slowly sliding into the acceptable range. This is what happens when I leave for the better part of a week. Zoey (the husky) took on the job to develop multiple layers of hair everywhere, the better for me to rake. I managed to remove 1/4 cup of fur this morning as I scritched her ears. That’s 1/4 cup that won’t be joining its brothers and sisters.

Today, school involves painting. Just a top coat on a bookcase. I’m debating about painting the backside of another, and whether it should be white or blue. I refuse to buy any more paint. I’m thinking it’s going to be blue if I do flip that bookcase over, because I won’t have to wash the roller twice.

(Yes, I’m lazy. Although I prefer to call it prudent.)

Writing last night was more about beginning the rearrangement of the short story parts, rather than actually accomplishing it. I did cut the sections needing moving out, and I’m currently working on hiding the holes. I do wish that I could figure out the correct plot order before I write, rather than say, in the middle of the process.

But hey. I’m grateful that I figured out I planted the climactic scene too soon. On my own. Without the Posse telling me. Some day I will be able to plot my way out of a paper bag.

But for now it’s all about shower, vacuum, and school. I want to be back on this side of the valley by 3ish–so I can add exercise and more vacuuming into my day.

(Like there’s not enough of that around here. If the dogs weren’t terrified of the vacuum-it’s on the lines of small children being fascinated/terrified by water swirling down the drain or the toilet–swear to god, I’d deal with the cause rather than the effect and start by vacuuming them.)

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Hi ho, hi ho

2
August

It’s back to school I go…

Yeah. Bulletin boards, today. And rehanging everything I took down so that walls could be washed. (Not too sure that actually happened, you know? Never has before in 24+ years.) Maybe some cabinet organizing, too. I never seem to have enough time for that.

And I’m putting away everything I bought in the past couple of weeks. There’s been no money for toys in forever (back years ago, I had $250 a year, but that’s a nice memory) and the building things–Legos, beads, other stuff needed some augmenting.

(*woosh* That’s the sound of money whizzing right past you.)

Actually my favorite purchase were paint brushes. Haven’t had those in forever either, but I found them online in a Canadian office supply place. Thirty-six flat, size 20 brushes for $25, including shipping. I ordered them last Wednesday; they were on my doorstep Friday. And the shipping was only $7.50 or so for that delivery.

I’m only there five hours today. Yeah, it’s early, but I’m breaking myself in slowly. Frex, I didn’t drag myself out of bed until 7:40A. That’s not going to fly in a couple of weeks. I’m going to have to shift my day around, and I’m sure that not being able to sleep on unfamiliar beds (ah, the joys of travel) had something to do with it. (Well, that and accidental caffeinated coffee consumption at 4 in the afternoon.)

And we return to the novel tonight. As KellyM mentioned yesterday, we only have 88 87 days left before WFC.

I should be able to rewrite the other 2/3 of the novel in that time.

Huh. Maybe I should do the math before I make that claim.

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Oh, Saturdays, how I love thee.

6
February

I got to sleep in this morning–until 7A. Saturday mornings are the one day a week when I can, so I whapped the Spousling gently when Harley landed on me at 6, and he dutifully trudged downstairs to deal with the ravening beast.

Unfortunately, Harley only has Saturdays in his weekly repertoire, so by 7, he was alarmed that I was Not Up, and arrived at my bedside to make certain I was alive.

His call to life begins with snuffling around my available hands. If I do not twitch, he snuggles close with his own head on my pillow, and snuffles at my hair. Should I ignore that sign, he moves on to snuffle my face, and if by some miracle I still do not shift to an upright position, there is the tongue on my nose or cheek.

I hate having my face licked, so my immediate response is thrashing as I pull myself from the protection of my blankets, and Harley, with an excited yip, is already on the floor, trying to tell me that no, no, the Spousling did not feed him, he hasn’t touched anything remotely resembling food in the last fourteen hours, and please Mom, would you hurry it up?

He is such a liar.

A thundering of paws after I release Zoey from her prison box, and the mealtime wars begin, wherein Zoey gets to eat and Harley attempts to steal her food.

Then everyone except me goes back to bed. And I am wide-awake and wishing I could bury my head under the covers again.

The only good news this weekend is that I get Monday off, so woo! One more Saturday this week!

I’ve tinkered with the paper crane tale some more, lost a few more words, and now I’m letting it sit. The short story draft is almost done, and I’ve got to rewrite the next chunk of novel for the Posse and get that out today so they can shred it. My crit group–how I love them, too.

In addition, the children and dogs arrive this afternoon to spend the night and tomorrow, and we will have football and people in for dinner.

Which means I am cleaning today, instead of recovering from Groundhog Day and the 100th day of school and a quick brush at Abraham Lincoln. Next week I get to face Chinese New Year and Valentine’s Day, and another fly-by of George Washington.

I don’t know which deranged idiot mapped out the February holidays, but I’m pretty sure they used a shotgun blast at the calendar.

And now onward. Although my resentment is rising; Harley is snoring–quite comfortably!–at my feet.

In my next life, I wanna be a dog. Saturdays for all, every day!

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Bummer.

30
January

School has taken a downturn. Not so much with my little rascals–they’re still rascally as ever. My best weapon is keeping them busy. Think of an anthill, and you’ll get the picture.

I think my favorite image this week was everyone crawling on the floor to retrieve the tissue paper bits from their snowflake cutting–making life easier for Mr. Nelson, our custodian. They will do anything for Mr. Nelson, and half of them think Mr. Ron–the other custodian–is Mr. Nelson. The 12-inch height discrepancy and shock of white hair versus black has made little impression. All custodians are named Mr. Nelson.

But what is really kicking me at the moment is the news that our district will have to cut another 8% of our budget this coming year. That’s another 2.1 million. In addition to the 12% we cut the past two years. We have cut everything except personnel.

So guess what’s on the chopping block now?

Well, not quite. If–and that’s a big if–the union gets their act together and actively negotiates, then there’s a possibility we could transfer our medical to an HMO as a temporary measure and take five furlough days. If nothing happens, or happens in a timely enough manner by March 15, then whoops–a third of our district staff will get a pink slip.

I am safe. But class-size reduction is not. So it’s a good chance that I’ll be back to where I was ten or so years ago, with 32 kids in my class. Although now, it’s full day kinder, not two half-day sessions. And it’ll be without the aide I had then.

As I told one of the other long-time teachers, the only good news in that scenario is that we’ll not have to teach Spanish language arts in addition; our district went to English-only instruction about the same time we reduced class size.

So, yeah.

I’m not holding out much hope for the union negotiations. The current leadership has moved to a confrontational style in negotiating, and our district is the poorer for it. And let’s not even mention the drama-trauma of the charter school application here. Not parent organized. Unsupported by much of the district, parents and personnel alike, and rejected by the county board of education.

So they’re taking it to the state.

Yeah. It’s a very good thing I’ve got kids in the classroom to focus my attention. Little things–besides my worms on the floor–like pairs of missing glasses which turn up a week later under a corner table behind my plastic tubs of listening center books and tapes.

Writing is in a depressive trough right now, too. Blech.

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