the difference is, prison smells better

F-U-G

One of the interesting things about working with little kids is that though they know a lot of things they probably shouldn't, there are many things of which they still are unfamiliar with.

It's hard not to giggle when a student puts together f-u-g as a nonsense word and is blissfully unaware that in two years time they will be using that same word to refer to his or her peers. Working with the first graders is truly bipolar. Sure, when you have them one on one or even one on two or three it's fine and one's education training is being put to use. Put them together for story time and all hell breaks loose.

I've often wondered, on countless hours of frustration, why children just cannot sit still and behave for an extended period of time. When they feed off the energy of their peers, the turn into mass hysteria packed into little 12-year old bodies. I don't know if it was my parents, my school or just the way I was, but I could not fathom ever acting out. I'm wondering if I was in the minority there. Are most kids rambunctious, semi-moral beings that desire to act out? Are they merely a product of the community from which they came?

It's such a shame that at first grade, they're already on the path to becoming nightmares. I can't help but feel powerless to curb this direction, but f-u-g, at least they can insult each other with the correct short 'u' sound.

Christmastime is most definitely NOT here

WLIT the light, aka the station that usually plays Delilah, has now been transformed into the all Christmas network. Sure you have your mix of Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas and N'SYNC's Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, but also Mel Torme schmaltzfests that elicits images of an LCD fire burning through the night.

It most definitely is not Christmas. My halloween jack 'o' lantern is still freshly decaying on my stoop. My pumpkin fragranced wall-plugin is firmly jacked into the kitchen socket. Leaves still cling to the frigid limbs of trees lining my street.

What happened to fall? It seems like it was just a small pitstop from sweltering heat to holly jolly. At risk of sounding like a whiny anti-commercialist, seasons are now dictated by the biggest financial returns -- which makes sense considering our economy shares much in common with that last trembling leaf, hanging precariously, ready to plummet.

That being said, it did begin to snow here in Chicago. It caught me very much off guard. I froze in my tracks unsure if I should dash out to my car or back into the house for a jacket. I discovered, however, that it didn't really matter when making the short trip to KFC down the street.

But to the weather, the world and life, I say bring it on, bitch. I'm going to keep going, keep moving forward and nothing, not snow or a bunch of snot-nosed little brats will make me cave.

it felt okay

Today was the first day back teaching in a week.

And I guess it felt okay.

It by all means was not perfect, but I think at this point perfection is out of the question. Of course I yelled and screamed and sent kids packing, but it didn't affect me like it normally would.

To add to that, the weather is a balmy 50 degrees.

Tonight, I attended another Teach for America session to continually increase my effectiveness. Unfortunately, I didn't think the information really fit my particular situation, but the time did fly by quite quickly.

It's interesting that I'm trying to be positive in this post and all my thoughts are choppy and less than three sentences. It's tough with the days growing shorter and the nights getting colder. I find, sometimes that I'm too busy or stressed or angry to really feel lonely, but here, maybe more than ever, it would be nice to have a solid post of support. Ah, but not I'm lapsing into sentimental which is probably no better than ranting about lowered academic expectations.

Tomorrow's another day! -- that's for damn sure.

The trough of a sine wave

I meant to update with all the positive or non-school related aspects but never brought myself to do so. I sit here now, in my room at school, having 15 or so sixth graders just exit my room -- and me here, on the brink of yet another emotional breakdown.

I've come to the point where I spent the past 80 minutes yelling and screaming and doing everything in my power to get these kids to be quiet, maybe not even quiet, but just respectful. The behavior in this class is atrocious. Nothing short of feral. I'm almost at my wit's end -- one can only scream themselves into comas so many times before I really do land in the hospital.

I find myself wishing a lot. I wish these kids could be quiet. I wish these kids would stop throwing things. I wish I could jump across the table and strangle someone. Above all, I wish these kids knew the emotional and physical turmoil they put their teachers through.

Wishing, unfortunately, is not very productive. But then again, neither are my classes and I keep showing up.

I find myself so physically exhausted that I can barely stay awake past 9. I end up falling asleep with nothing accomplished, having planned next to nothing, and the next day I pay for it because the kids have nothing to do. It's a vicious cycle.

I know it's bad, but I take solace in my anger, my frustration and my desire to scream and yell at the end of the day. It's a feeling that has become so routine to me, I wouldn't know what it was like to feel content.

It's bad that I look forward to days where I don't see these kids -- but sometimes the damage they do is worse.