A little warm, eh?

Here where I live, the the glorious South, we are currently under a heat advisory. Basically that means temps are in the mid to upper 90's, humidity is high, and the heat index is running around 105. (Still, considering what Minneapolis and Pierre, SD are going through, we're lucky - at least most of us have air conditioning.)

Notice I said, "most of us", not "all of us"?

The new air conditioning unit for the part of the building where my classroom is has not been turned on because they aren't finished installing it. We were told it would be on by 9:00 am, then "by the end of the day." I cleared out at 3:00 and there was no relief in sight.

So, I've spent the day working in my room with sweat pouring down my nose. I'm having flashbacks to last year when I had to teach in an upstairs room without a functioning air conditioning unit for the first few months of school.

The good news is that I'm one of the 8 teachers who is getting the bells and whistles high tech LCD projector/DVD player/VCR/Document reader system in my room. (Mrs. Eagle and Mr. Social Studies are as well). This means I can show everything on a big screen, larger than life, and no more kids whining that "I can't see the T.V.!" I've been wanting something like this for three years and I am ecstatic that I finally have it.

However.

They installed it so I had to rearrange my entire room so that all the kids can see it. I've moved my desk, all the kids tables and chairs, elminated two work station tables, and moved the remaining stations to different walls. Apparently because the rooms in this part of the building aren't square (think of pieces of pie and you get a slight idea of what they look like), it was a bit of a challenge installing these things, so we get what they gave us.

Did I mention that it was 94 degrees in my room while I was moving all this furniture?

Fortunately tomorrow we have a science department in-service to be held in the science lab. It's in the new part of the building that has air conditioning.

Thank goodness. I'm going to go have some sweet tea and cool down.

See ya later summer

Today is my last day of summer vacation.

Oh yeah, school doesn't start for a little over a week, but between now and the first day with students I have a full schedule of working in my classroom, as well as in-service offerings to gear us up for the school year. Part of me is screaming that I need at least two more weeks of nothing, but another part of me is wanting to get it all started and over with so I can get back into the groove.

And you would be amazed how much work goes into getting your room ready for the beginning of the year. However, this year we're doing the happy dance because for the first time in four years I am not changing classrooms. Long time readers may recall that last year I started out in a temporary upstairs room (without any functioning air conditioning in August, in the South) due to a construction project that was behind schedule. In October I finally moved into my "real" room, which is where I'll be again this year. So, in a three year period I had four different classrooms. What a pain that was.

However, I have been informed by the Guidance Goddess (who Mrs. Eagle and I rain into last night at a free "jazz on the lawn" concert) that the new air conditioning unit in that part of the building is not on. Tomorrow is supposed to be in the upper 90's and it's incredibly humid. I may have flashbacks to last year if someone doesn't get that chiller going.

The best part about school starting here shortly is that I'll get to see my kids and I'll get a whole crop of new ones. I really miss some of my kids from last year. Okay, I don't really miss Poop Boy or Kelpto Boy, but most of them I enjoyed having in my life. Face it, middle school is nothing if not entertaining.

So Mrs. Eagle, Mr. Music and I are done, done, done with graduate school. The comp exams weren't that bad, considering how much we all studied for them, they shouldn't have been. We treated ourselves to a wonderful lunch (with adult beverages) at a very cool and funky restaurant where we toasted our perserverance in finishing the program without completely losing our minds. Mr. Music treated us both with CD's which he made (the man is an incredibly talented musician as well as a fantastic teacher) which was a treat. However, for me the highlight was after lunch when we wandered through the mall into a music store and he treated us to an impromtu concert on guitar and mandolin. It was a very nice end to the afternoon.

I'm going to go enjoy my last day.

Down to the Wire

Tomorrow at 6:00 am Mrs. Eagle and I will depart from my house and head off to take our comprehensive exams for our Master's Degrees at a University several hours away. We've been working on our degrees for two years now, along with Mr. Music who teachers in a nearby city, via a distance learning program. The distance learning thing worked out well for us because, let's be honest, after spending nearly ten hours a day in my own classroom, I really didn't want to sit in another classroom listening to someone talk in the evenings. I'm dead tired by 8:00 pm anyway and the chances of either one of us staying awake were pretty slim. So, we did the distance learning thing and it worked out okay for the most part.


We're just all so ready to have this thing done and over with. I'm ready to have weekends back where I can do novel things like clean my house, read a book of my choice, or just sit and knit or do nothing. The fact that I'll have this freedom to do what I want is just enough to nearly make me giddy with joy.

However, I can say that I am totally studied out. I have Blooms and Gardners booming around my brain, along with stuff on motivation, law, action research, and learning styles and teaching styles and so much other stuff.

And all I want to do is curl up, watch HGTV and knit.

But tomorrow, Mr. Music, Mrs. Eagle and I are going to go out to lunch and celebrate. We all chose not to walk in the graduation ceremonies (we didn't see the point and I can think of a lot of other things to spend money on outside of a cap and gown rental fee), so we're treating ourselves to something besides fast food. That was our usual mode of attack - go to the University, take finals, do orientation for the next classes, go to lunch, and then spend the next semester emailing and calling each other. Mrs. Eagle and I, obviously, were able to do a lot of our work together, but we didn't get many chances to work, in person, with Mr. Music. That being said, we've all become quite good friends through the experience, and I'm glad we did it.

I just want that diploma and the pay raise. I am, at heart, a truly simple girl.

Slobber Slobber Drool

My friend Supermom and her son Squirt took a well deserved quick trip to Texas to visit some friends for a few days. Since SuperDad is currently in Iraq, that trip involved having the dogs boarded. The dogs, by the way, are Abby (a slightly deranged Rottweiler a little over a year old) and Buster, a Catahoula Leopard Dog, who is calm, mellow and the exact opposite of Abby. Unfortunately Supermom was having trouble getting cheap flights at convenient times, which meant she either had to pay an additional day of boarding, or get a friend to pick up the dogs.

I was the friend who picked up the dogs.

Since Abby and Buster both know me, I figured this wouldn't be too much of a challenge, as long as Abby didn't go completely berserk, which she has been known to do. So I drove my little Saturn down to the vet, and got the dog beds, the toys, the extra food, the bowls, and two big dogs. Buster was a breeze. I snapped the collar on him, opened the car door, and in he went. He blinked at me, and laid down and prepared to take a nap.

I really really like Buster.

I asked for help with Abby because when we practiced getting her into my car (yes, we practiced this, she's used to an SUV), she wasn't very agreeable. She's equates getting into a car with going to the vet, so she tends to sit down and refuses to move. However, apparently she finally figured out that this car trip meant she was going home, so after jerking me all over the parking lot, she hopped in next to Buster and we were off.

So I'm driving along, AC on high, radio on, back windows cracked slightly, and the only thing I can hear is the panting of two big dogs breathing down my neck. I look down and Buster has his head in between my seats, and is gazing up at me with big happy Buster eyes. Abby, however, has her mouth right by my ear and her tongue is hanging out about a foot and she's just having the time of her life.

And then she started drooling on my arm.

And I just laughed all the way to Supermom's house!

Check 'em out!

I finally had time to sit down and update my links. Actually I should be studying for my comprehensive exams (this Saturday) but obviously updating my blog is a bit more entertaining.

In any case, check these folks out some time. They write good stuff!

Sneeze

I am finally back from my two weeks up north visiting friends and teaching summer camp and having a delightful time back in my old neck of the woods. Every year things change a little bit and every year it's nice to go up and see what's going on. I just wish my friends' kids would stop getting taller than I am.

I did, however, end up catching an absolutely dreadful cold while I was up there.

And I mean absolutely dreadful. It started with that achey sinus dripping feeling in the back of my throat late Monday night and by Friday I could barely talk. I managed to finish up camp, help my friend with her teenaged daughter's boy-girl party, and crashed Friday night before getting up, having breakfast with another dear friend, and heading back south. I was dead tired, achy, cranky, and just miserable by the time I got home.

I am thrilled to be home. I am thrilled to have my four delightful cats with me. The only improvement would be if Mr. Bluebird was here, but he's gone on business. In the meantime we're having these really interesting phone conversations because I can't talk. My voice has basically gone away and all I can manage are whisperings and various croaking noises that don't resemble human speech.

It's bad enough having a cold in the first place, but having one in the middle of July when it's hot and humid out makes it worse.


I am sleeping in, reading mystery novels, and getting rid of this cold before I tackle the dozen or so projects that need my attention.

School starts in two weeks.

All tied up in knots - not!

Every summer for the past six years I have had the privilege of teaching for a few weeks at a summer camp for gifted children. Even now that I'm living in the Glorious South I make the trek up north for at least two weeks every summer. I stay with my girlfriend and her family (ranging in age from 10 months to 14 years so that's an experience in itself), and get to visit my friends, and even get paid.

What a deal!

However, because I'm incredibly mercenary, I make it a point to try to work the last two weeks of camp because that way I can help the camp director eliminate her storage problem over the school year by taking the gently used supplies (crayons, colored pencils, glue, markers, etc.) off her hands. Heck I teach in a school with 52% free and reduced lunch and believe me, I have a use for slightly used school supplies. I'm afraid the camp director has actually started to depend on me to help reduce her storage as there always seems to be boxes with my name on it in the camp office that start getting loaded up as people turn in their materials.

However, this also means that I end up teaching kids going into 2nd, 3rd and 4th grades. Granted, they are gifted (supposedly, we're wondering about a few of them) but there's still a huge difference between the age group I usually teach (7th) and these kids.

And it really becomes apparent when you're talking about knots.

One of the classes I teach is a kite building class and it requires lots and lots and lots of knots. And these kids, with their tiny little hands, have a heck of a time with knots. I'm starting to think we need to ban velcro on tennis shoes until kids learn how to tie a decent knot. So I spend a lot of time helping 15 little ones tie their kites together. And usually I get one kid who just dissolves into tears of frustration because he/she just can't tie knots. However, since the goals of the camp include challenging these kids who usually aren't challenged enough, it's not a big deal. We talk about dealing with challenges and taking the time to learn something that's hard, and it all works out in the end. They get their kites built, they want their picture taken with you on the last day and the hug you and tell you that you're the coolest and funnest teacher ever.

But by the end of the week, although I'm having an absolute ball, I really appreciate the independence that my seventh graders have.

I know people look at those of us who teach middle school as people who are either completely insane or people who are incredibly brave to wade in and try to ride herd on a bunch of hormones on feet. However, I think those teachers who spend their careers teaching the little ones, and tying knots, and wiping noses and generally being mommie and teacher all in one are the ones who really are impressive. I don't think I could do it for an entire year.

Cyborgs?

You know how there are things that just kind of drive you crazy for no real reason outside of they drive you crazy?

I'm standing in line at the super big box store (buying a Bissell steam cleaner for my carpet, long story) and for the umpteenth time I see someone in line ahead of me, apparently a young mom, with one of those stupid phone things stuck in her ear. And it occurs to me, not for the first time, just how darn stupid that looks. For the life of me, everytime I see someone with one of those phone things clipped around their ear I think they're a refugee from a really bad Star Trek episode. It looks, well, stupid.

And really, just how many of us really, really need to be so attached to our telephone that we have to walk around with some goofy little metal contraption hanging off our ear? Are there really that many people out there that these people have to talk to that they have to hang a phone off their ear just so they won't miss a single phone call? Not to mention the fact that when they're talking, they look like they're missing a couple of sandwiches out of the picnic basket.

I don't know about you, but even though I do carry my phone with me (I'm paranoid about vehicle breakdowns) I actually enjoy the fact that I can get away from people simply by turning it off (which I've been known to do). I like my solitude at times, and I certainly don't want to be tied to a telephone.

And goodness knows, I have enough bad hair days without having to hang a stupid metal gadget from my head....

Independence Day

It's Independence Day, one of my favorite holidays. And not because it's summer, or you get to blow off fireworks, or you get to eat a bunch of good food cooked outside. I love this holiday because of what it stands for.

I know we tend to take it for granted, but it really just blows my mind when you think of the daring, the bravery and the intelligence that our Founding Fathers had. They did something that no one ever did before...they told the mother country that they were Independent. They put EVERYTHING on the line for this idea. All the members of the Continental Congress - people like John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, John Hancock and more - knew that what they were doing was, at the time, treason.

And that meant a death sentence.

When they signed the Declaration of Independence, they risked their lives, their fortunes, and their families for the idea of freedom. The idea of a government of the people and by the people and for the people. The idea that we have a voice in how our country is run. That we can worship the religion of our choice. That we can associate with whom we want. That we can become anything we want to be.

As Americans we tend to take our freedoms for granted. I have a good friend, Marina, who grew up in Soviet Russia. And I remember asking her what was the one thing that she really thought was different here in the U.S. than Russia. And without hesitating, she said that here, she could sit in a cafe with her friends and talk about anything they wanted to, and not be threatened with harrassment or arrest. In the Soviet Union, you couldn't do that.

We are so very lucky we live where we do.

So today, when you're chowing down on the hot dogs, and blowing up the fireworks, take a minute to say a quiet thank you to the men (and women) who made it possible. They dserve nothing less.

What's the point of crabgrass?

I'm in the middle of a battle with my yard and I think the yard is winning.

I have dreams of a perfect yard, the kind you see photographed in Southern Living, and the kind that just look perfect, no matter what. And both hubby and I have worked and worked at the perfect yard and truth be told, it's better than it was when we bought the place.

However, the grass, and especially the crabgrass is going to drive me insane.

There are flower beds where we were able to use a weed barrier before we laid down the mulch (newspaper, to be honest, I'm cheap and its organic). Those parts of the yard are looking pretty okay. The mulch is nice and dark, there's no weeds or grass, the flowers and shrubs look happy.

Then there's the flower beds where we really couldn't do that due to the bulbs in them, as well as some of the seeds and stuff I tossed out. These beds can go from clean to a jungle in twenty-four horus. We go away for a few days, and I come back and I have grass well over a foot high waving in the breeze in my flower beds, plus crabgrass creeping around everywhere.

So I've spent the past two mornings yanking the stuff out. I am a sweaty, filhty mess. Because it's absolutely flipping hot out there, and even if I get a good start in the morning, it's still hot.

And it doesn't look like I've made a dent. I did do a walk around with round up this morning and discovered some weed in a back portion of the side yard which was taller than me.

Now that's scary.

I've come to the conclusion that all these weeds have some weird genetic growth spurt thing going. I swear they could grow on a rock with no rain.

I really need a glass of wine.

It is 10:30 at night and it's 80 degrees on my front porch.

Tomorrow the heat index is supposed to reach 100 degrees.

Welcome to summer in the South.

I absolutely hate, hate, hate, hate, heat and humidity. I grew up in the arid West, and although I now consider myself a Southerner (American by birth, Southern because I damn well chose to be), I have never, ever gotten used to the heat and humdity. It's been 15 years since I left the West and I'm still not used to the humdity. I seriously doubt I will ever get used to the humdity.

So, in order to get my walk in, I'm leaving at 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning and it's already hot and muggy. My yard needs to be mowed and the crabgrass and weeds are taking over my flower beds. And it's too flipping hot to go out there and do anything about it, even at 10:30 at night.

I suppose this is why Southerners invented Sweet Tea.

Dads

Father's Day was this past weekend, and hubby and I are driving home from our weekend, listening to talk radio and callers are calling in telling the hosts about the best advice their father ever gave them, and how it impacted their lives.

My father isn't one to give advice, but I certainly listened when he told me to get my oil changed every 3,000 miles.

Anyway.

So most of these stories are heartwarming tear-jerkers about how dad taught them integrity, the value of hard work, honesty, respect, love, and all that wonderful, necessary, character building stuff that parents, and especially Dad's need to teach their kids. And the host of the show makes a comment that anyone can father a child, but it takes a real man to be a dad.

And he's right.

I know this because I see every year dozens and dozens of kids who don't have a Dad. They have fathers, some of them, but they don't have a Dad.

Dads come home from work and instead of plopping down in from of the idiot tube with a beer, they spend time with their kids playing, reading, doing homework, just hanging out.

Dads realize that their kids come first. That you have to make sacrifices in life to be a Dad. That even if you're tired, you've had a bad day, and you just want some peace and quiet, that taking five minutes to watch your kid do a new trick on a skateboard is more important than anything else in life.

I worked with a gentleman once who never, ever, missed one of his boy's baseball games. Never. He got criticized for this up in the higher levels of the corporation we worked for because he wasn't "dedicated to the company", or "focused on results." Ironically, these same people who made the sneering nasty comments about his dedication to his family would bring their kids out on business trips (I was living in California at the time) and then have a company employee take their kids to Disneyland while their Father sat in business meetings all day. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who's going to have the good, well-adjusted kids and who's going to have the drug-adled serial killers.

Children are just starving for Dads in their lives. Mr. Bluebird made it a habit of coming down to my school and playing the game of Risk with the kids in our chess and boardgame club, and it was amazing how those kids just flocked around him. They all wanted to play with him, they all wanted to sit by him, they all wanted his attention and his approval. And when I looked at the kids who were hanging around him, I noticed that most of them didn't have Dads in their lives.

Our kids, and especially boys, need Dads. They need the guidance, attention, and love that a Dad can give. And it's tragic how many of our children are growing up without a Dad in their lives. My Dad was always, always, always there for me when I was growing up and even now that I'm older and married. I can't imagine how my life would be different if it wasn't for my Dad.


We need more Dads.

Walk Like an Egyptian

First off, isn't life boring when there's no kids to talk about?

However, it is much more relaxing. And it gives you a chance to do something I rarely get to do much during the school year.

Travel.

So this past week Mrs. Eagle, myself, and Mr. Bluebird went up to Chicago for a quick visit. Our primary objective was to go to the Field Museum and see the traveling King Tut exhibit. Mrs. Eagle actually has seen it before, in Egypt, when she was stationed there courtesy of the U.S. Army. She's also a confirmed Egypt nut, so obviously a fun person to do something like this with. Then again, Hubby and I love museums and Chicago, so what more of an incentive do we need to go there.

We had a fantastic time. The Field Museum is just spectacular and there's no way you can see the whole thing in a day (they need to sell multi-day passes). We saw as much as we could until it closed and then we had to revive ourselves with good Italian food at a little restaurant that hubby and I have been patronizing for 20 years or so. It's one of those neighborhood places where everyone knows the owners, and they know everyone, and the food is fresh and good and wonderful and filling.

The next day we spent just knocking around book stores, a winery, and touring some historic sites in the outlying suburbs. And eating Italian food again.

Things to remember...next time we go, take a bigger vehicle. We took my Saturn because it gets fantastic gas mileage. However, by the time we finished with the museum shops, the bookstores, and the winery, we were wondering where we were going to put it all.

It was fun, and just what Mrs. Eagle and I needed.

Stupid Pet Owners

Maybe I was naive in thinking that my two months away from school meant I was free from dealing with idiots. Only now, instead of idiot parents, I'm dealing with idiot pet owners.

This past Saturday was a gorgeous, cool, sunny day - just the right day to get the lawn mowed, and some mulch laid down and needed yard work done. So, hubby gets out the riding mower and starts working on the yard. After a bit, he notices a pair of big goofy dogs running around the neighborhood, which isn't good because we live right off a fairly busy street with a high speed limit. One misstep and these dogs are goners. Fortunately, the dogs were hot, saw our garage was open and came in and plopped down in the shade.

We gave them a big bowl of water, which they lapped up, and discovered they had collars and tags on them. Since the house they belonged to was down the block, hubby walked down to knock on the door to let the owners know we had their pets. No answer. Well, we didn't want them to continue running loose in the neighborhood, and we needed to work in the back yard, so we took them back there, put the bowl of water under a shady tree, and basically locked them in our yard so they would get loose.

These are two really nice, friendly dogs. They wrestled, played fetch with a ball and water bottle, ran around, and generally were a lot of fun. In other words, some pretty nice animals to have in your life.

Finally, about six hours later we see another vehicle at the house the dogs belong to and I go ring the doorbell. After about 5 minutes, a lady answers the door, looking beyond confused. She explains that she works nights and just got up (It is 4:30 in the afternoon, and when my dad worked nights, he was up by about 2:00). Honestly, I'm not sure if she just has trouble waking up or if she was stoned.

I introduced myself and told her that I had her dogs, Lucky and Star, in my yard.

She blinked.

I explained how they were running loose in the neighborhood and that we had given them water and put them in the backyard so they were safe and not dead on the street.

"Oh." she says.

I see that I'm not getting very far with this beacon of stupidity so I kind of decided to nudge her along and suggest that she get their leashes or something and come get her dogs since we had to go somewhere and they probably should be back in their yard.

"Oh," she says, finally perking up, "I don't touch animals."

What the ???? You have two dogs and you don't touch animals?

"They are your dogs, right?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, but I don't touch animals," she insists again.

"You do want them back, right?" I ask. At this time I'm beginning to think that these dogs would have been better off if I'd never found their idiot owner.

"Oh yeah, but I don't touch animals." Okay, I get it lady. You don't freaking touch animals, so what's your plan B?

Finally she mutters something about calling her husband and telling him to go get the dogs. Hubby is apparently not home at the time. I again tell her where I live, tell her we're leaving for a prior engagement, and it really would be a good idea to fetch her pets.

She closes the door.

We wait around for a while, hoping her husband (who I suspect had these dogs before he married Miss I Don't Touch Animals, in which case, he'd have been better off with the dogs, and ditching her). He doesn't show and we decided we have to get going.

When we return later that night, the dogs are gone and we assume (our gate wasn't locked) that the husband came and got them.

No note, no thank you, no nothing.

Idiots. Those dogs deserve better.

Saying Farewell

I said farewell to Philipp today.

I'm not going to be able to make the funeral due to a workshop I'm presenting at (that dratted in-service stuff), but I was able to swing by the funeral home for visitation today.

I'm really glad I did.

It was sad, true, but it gave me the opportunity to do something I really wanted to do.

That was to thank his mother for letting me borrow her son for a year or so.

Because, truth be told, that's what parents do. They let us borrow their most precious possession for seven hours a day, 180 days a year. And at times that just blows my mind. I remember once, when I was subbing, I was sitting there in a Kindergarten class (of all things) and it struck me that I was in there - all alone - with 22 five year olds and that people were trusting me to take care of them. Not only to take care of them, but to teach them. And that realization, when it hits you, is absolutely mind-blowing.

Philipp's mother and I had a nice chat and I told her some of my favorite things about Philipp and how I remembered exactly where he sat in my room, in my fourth period class, and what it was like walking to and from lunch every day and how he made me laugh. And how you never, ever could stay mad at him.

She seemed surprised, in some respect, that a teacher from a few years ago when come say goodbye, but I don't think parents sometimes realize how we fall in love with their children.

Every year during the first few weeks of school I have a student ask me how many kids I have. And every year my answer is along the lines of "Oh, about 125." And they laugh and say that's silly, but then towards the last week of school, and especially the last day when they're hugging and crying and saying goodbye, one of them will say, "I know what you mean about us being your kids," and I realize that they get it.

That we do more than teach them. We love them. And then we let them go become the people they're meant to be.

And every night I thank God that he told me to become a teacher.

Because it's the Philipps that you meet in your life that make it rich.

A Truly Good Kid

As a teacher, one of the things that as always been in the back of my mind is the fear that one day I'll open the paper and see one of my former students on the front page. Granted, I would love to see one of them on the front page for doing heroic and wonderful things, but let's be honest...that's usually not the kind of story you see first thing in the morning over your cup of very strong black coffee. The media loves death and destruction (sort of like most seventh graders) and that's what you get.

And unfortunately, that's what I got this morning when I checked the online version of the local paper and read about two teenaged boys who had gone missing last night while swimming in a local creek and were fear drowned.

And since I know where that creek is (right smack in the middle of our school zone) I had this horrible feeling that I'd recognize at least one of the names.

And I did.

It was Philipp.

Philipp isn't going to get a nickname from me because, quite honesty, I couldn't come up with one that truly encompasses all that Philipp was as a kid and a person. And I say was, sadly, because his body was recovered around midnight last night, so Philipp is gone.

And I can't tell you how awful that makes me feel.

Philipp was in my first crop of seventh graders when I started my first year down here. My first year as a real, full-time, seventh grade teacher in my very own room. I had 135 kids that year and out of all of them, Philipp was probably the one that stood out the most. He was funny, extremely funny, and witty and bright although he'd rather play sports and video games than study.

Every day I'd walk my fourth period to lunch and every single day Philipp would jump up and try to touch the ceiling as we walked through the portal to the cafeteria. And every day I would tell him to stop doing that because it was dangerous, and he'd just smile at me and laugh.

We loved to get Philipp to talk because his stories were always interesting and funny. He was actually German and didn't move to the U.S. until he was about ten or so, when his mother married an American soldier. He had wonderful stories about what it was like to go to school in Europe and vacation in places like Spain. The other reason we liked to have him talk was because he spoke with a slight German accent laced with a little touch of Southern (you had to hear this to appreciate it!)

When he was in eighth grade he was having some major problems with his language arts class and I volunteered to tutor him because I had a good relationship with Philipp - don't get me wrong, he could be a handful and drive you up a wall, but he still had a good heart. He was pretty good at math so I'd tutor him in Language Arts and he'd help my seventh graders in math which they just loved because he made it fun.

He was, in short, a kid I would have taken home in a minute and would have been proud to call my own. He was everything you'd want your own kids to be.

I will, truly, miss him.

Bless you Philipp. You touched many hearts.

Hollywood Morons

Yesterday I went, along with a bunch of other teacher friends, including Mrs. Reading, Mrs. Math and Mrs. Language, to go see the movie, An American Haunting.

If you haven't seen the movie, and plan on it, and don't want to know something vital about it, stop reading this right now and go do something else.

For those of you who may not have heard, the movie is based (very loosely as we shall see) on a true haunting of the Bell family from Robertson County, Tennessee. And around here, folks take the Bell Witch (or Kate as she's more familiarly known) quite seriously. After all, the true incidents didn't take place too far from here and it's still a big deal to go see the Bell Witch cave and nearly everyone has a family story about Kate and her haunting of John Bell's family in the early 1800's.

So the idea we had was to go see the movie, then head on down to Mrs. Chicken's house, to see some of the Bell Witch sites. Mrs. Chicken, after all, is a life-long resident of the area and has stories beyond stories about local lore. After all, it's not often that Hollywood makes a movie about a local legend.

But Hollywood did make a movie about a local legend.

And then proceeded to totally blow it.

On the surface, the movie is okay. It's dark, it's creepy, and it's pretty scary. However, if you know a lot about the actual Bell Witch story you're going to be very, very disappointed. And we all knew a lot about the actual story.

And none of us had ever heard that the reason the Bell family was haunted was because John Bell raped his daughter Betsey and he was killed by his wife when the ghost told her this.

Or, as Mrs. Chicken said at the end of the movie, "Good Lord, I've lived here all my life and I've never, ever heard such garbage as this."

So Hollywood had to add incest and sex to "jazz up" what is, on its own, a pretty fantastic story. The silly thing is, if they'd actually included a bit more of the real legend that has been recorded in book after book and article after article, they would have had a better movie. After all, this haunting was known to talk and talk and talk (which it doesn't do in the movie outside of a few stray whispers) to anyone and everyone who would come to the Bell House to hear her - including, of all people, Andrew Jackson. Hundreds of people came to hear her and she never disappointed them.

Unlike Hollywood who seems to always disappoint.

One Contented Kitty

It's summer.

And I'm free, sorta.

It seems like I've pretty much scheduled out my summer already. I've got about 5 days of an inservice to go to on water education, then up North to do two weeks of summer camp, and then finals and the end (at freaking last) of my grad school experience, and then back to school.

And in between all that I have to figure out some way to get a zillion and one home remodeling/repair projects done.

But I can sleep in (which, for me, is 6:30 am, considering that I'm up at 4:45 during the school year), take long walks for exercise (which I actually like), read, knit, do sudoku, and hang out with huppy and my adorable felines.

I've had a number of you ask if I plan to continue blogging over the summer and I suppose I will, although, in all honesty, summer is a lot less entertaining! No crazy kids to yabber about, no wack job parents, no insanity. I guess you'll be subject to tales of me and my yardwork.

Go ahead and yawn.

Whoooo-Hooooo!

We all survived the last half day of school.

And truth be told, it was kind of fun. Then again, my homeroom this year has been the best group of kids I've had and I enjoy them. Which makes it a lot easier. A whole lot easier. If you can't stand your homeroom being trapped with them for a half day can be pure torture.

By 7:30 they'd raided my game closet and had games of Risk, Monopoly, Stratego and Life going. By 8:15 we had the team head outside to play a mini kickball tournament and returned to the rooms by 10:00 so we could eat junk food, sign yearbooks, and hand out report cards.

I was surprised, to be honest, at all the 8th graders that came by for hugs and signatures in their yearbooks. They are making a big step into high school and it's downright scary for some of them to leave the safety of middle school. They're good kids for the most part so they'll be fine.

By 10:45 the kids had their report cards, had cleaned the room, put up the chairs and were ready for The Principal to release them to their buses. With a cheer they just went pouring into the halls, screaming, yelling, hugging and dashing off to the buses.

And then my favorite part of the last day of school where all the employees and the students who walk home, go outside and wave and yell the buses off as they drive off and their final trek of the year. The buses honk their horns, the kids scream and wave back and it's just something you have to be there to really understand. It's fun. It's really fun when a special kid catches your eye as the bus drives by and waves and smiles at you.

And you know you made a difference.

And that, my friends is why I do this.

Go Fly a Kite

Every year, the last week of school, Mrs. Eagle and I (and this year Mrs. Robin joined us) have the kids make tetrahedron kites. Tetrahedrons, for those of us who don't remember our geometry, are four sided pyramids. You basically make them out of yarn and straws and cover them with tissue paper, stack four of them into a larger pyramid and you have a kite.

So today, the last full day of school and the last day I have the classes outside of my homeroom, was the day that we targeted to finish our kites and, weather and time permitting, we went outside to fly them. Only two periods, second and fourth, managed to get flying time, but part of that was because third and fifth (The Class From The Very Depths of Hell Itself) actually had one less day to work on their kites because they had to do "jerk werk" one day as payback for bad behavior. (It is wonderful to have a huge class set of very cool science magazines that you can make the kid read and answer questions in.)

The weather was pefect. Bright blue sky and fluffy clouds and a good breeze. I walked the kids out to the grassy area behind the school and turned them loose. I'm not sure who had more fun, me or them.

So I'm standing there on a slight hill, looking down at the field and at my kids, running around with their kites bobbing in the air. They're running. They're laughing. They are acting like little kids and not the teenagers they're gradually becoming. It was like I was watching the last gasp of childhood before they left me and became teenagers and 8th graders.

And I stood there and realized how much I truly love them all.