Do you ever have those moments that seem so surreal or so completely trite, or such an odd combination of the two that you can't help but thinking they have been pulled directly from a movie script?
I had one of those today. Our semester ends next week and all make-up work and test retakes were due today, so of course my classroom was buzzing with activity after the bell rang. It ended up being a late day (Guh, what day isn't a late day anymore?) but some of my kids (my students- yep, I call them "my kids") were hanging around and it was one of those lovely moments in which I am reminded that I do actually love my job.
The kids stood around my desk, talking about World War II, as I was gathering my things to finally leave after a ridiculously long day (ha, 15 year old nerds, talking about history after school...love it!) We laughed at some joke as I followed them out of the room, and after the enthusiastic chorus of "Goodnight, Ms. E," I turned to scan the room for forgotten items before shutting the door. I was suddenly filled with a sense of complete happiness and I could literally feel my heart swell with pride as I glanced over the student art that adorned the walls around my desk, the stack of graded tests on my desk (so much improvement!) and the remnants of the epic Rome vs. Greece competition. I stood for a moment, eyes sweeping the room and I smiled, I couldn't help myself really. The smile continued to dance across my lips as I flipped the light switch and slowly closed the door.
Fade to black.
Scene.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
January 7, 2010
Okay, so I have been having some internet issues (and some other issues as well, but that's whole other story...) so I have had to write my moments in my journal and will try to catch up with transcribing them from there to here over the next day or two. I apologize to my two "followers" (haha, thanks kids! You guys are the best!) that I did not really take internet issues and the stress of the semester end into consideration when I started this blog. I will post everyday... one day. (Though I really have been writing everyday!)
"Fatty, fatty, two-by-four,
Couldn't fit through the kitchen door."
I have no idea where my mom learned this, but I know that we learned it from her.
We were sharing a Klondike bar ("What would you do-oo-oo, for a Klondike bar?"), joking about Kayla's love for food, when she began to sing the catchy little chant we had picked up from my mom when we were kids. I chanted along with her and we reminded my annoyed mom that she was the one who had taught it to us; am not sure the transition took place, but we soon began asserting that she used to sing it to us. It was entirely untrue, and my mom immediately took to defending herself. Her words were pointless, as Key and I were already on a roll.
She was sitting in the living room at this point, and I was standing in the kitchen, leaning over the sink, not wanting to make a mess with my ice cream. I soon abandoned this idea, however, and laughing, claiming that I had to "eat the pain away," I shoved the remaining chocolate-covered bite into my mouth, making a point to have the melting vanilla ice cream dribble out the sides of my mouth and down my chin. Kayla, who still surprises me at times with her acute sense of humor, stood up and took a small bag of wrapped chocoloates into her hand. She leaned her head back, opened her mouth, and dumped the contents in- one or two of the foil-wrapped chocolates made it into her intended target, the rest spilled out over her cheeks and chin, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
It was too much. I could feel my face grow red, my body shaking, eyes welling with tears, gasping for breath in the wakes of my uncontrollable laughter. Kayla joined me in the kitchen and we laughed for minutes, making small comments that did nothing to help quell our irrepressible giggles. I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time, and without even thinking about it, this moment became one of the moments- the infinite ones.
Still dressed in my work clothes, my shoddy attempt to look professional, I was nothing beside my stunning, stylish sister. She's a little taller than me, skinny, chic, and looking very adult, especially next to my short, stockier self, complete with my crazy Helena Bonham-Carterish hair and a round baby face that often leads people to assume that I attend classes at my school, not teach them.
Our differences do not end at our physical appearances, but rather are equally present in our personalities and personal choices. She is only 15 months older than I am, beautiful and loving, married, owns a home, ready to start having children. I am a college graduate; focused on traveling, my teaching career, and my desire to keep others out of my life. We both admired each other for their choices, though we knew that were not choices we would have made for ourselves.
Worlds apart in our present and plans for the future, we stood in this moment, red-faced, clutching our sides, connected in life by a shared past and gene pool, and more specifically in this magnificent moment, by the flourescent lif kitchen, one silly, singular joke, and our similar laughs echoing both within and beyond us.
"Fatty, fatty, two-by-four,
Couldn't fit through the kitchen door."
"Fatty, fatty, two-by-four,
Couldn't fit through the kitchen door."
I have no idea where my mom learned this, but I know that we learned it from her.
We were sharing a Klondike bar ("What would you do-oo-oo, for a Klondike bar?"), joking about Kayla's love for food, when she began to sing the catchy little chant we had picked up from my mom when we were kids. I chanted along with her and we reminded my annoyed mom that she was the one who had taught it to us; am not sure the transition took place, but we soon began asserting that she used to sing it to us. It was entirely untrue, and my mom immediately took to defending herself. Her words were pointless, as Key and I were already on a roll.
She was sitting in the living room at this point, and I was standing in the kitchen, leaning over the sink, not wanting to make a mess with my ice cream. I soon abandoned this idea, however, and laughing, claiming that I had to "eat the pain away," I shoved the remaining chocolate-covered bite into my mouth, making a point to have the melting vanilla ice cream dribble out the sides of my mouth and down my chin. Kayla, who still surprises me at times with her acute sense of humor, stood up and took a small bag of wrapped chocoloates into her hand. She leaned her head back, opened her mouth, and dumped the contents in- one or two of the foil-wrapped chocolates made it into her intended target, the rest spilled out over her cheeks and chin, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
It was too much. I could feel my face grow red, my body shaking, eyes welling with tears, gasping for breath in the wakes of my uncontrollable laughter. Kayla joined me in the kitchen and we laughed for minutes, making small comments that did nothing to help quell our irrepressible giggles. I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time, and without even thinking about it, this moment became one of the moments- the infinite ones.
Still dressed in my work clothes, my shoddy attempt to look professional, I was nothing beside my stunning, stylish sister. She's a little taller than me, skinny, chic, and looking very adult, especially next to my short, stockier self, complete with my crazy Helena Bonham-Carterish hair and a round baby face that often leads people to assume that I attend classes at my school, not teach them.
Our differences do not end at our physical appearances, but rather are equally present in our personalities and personal choices. She is only 15 months older than I am, beautiful and loving, married, owns a home, ready to start having children. I am a college graduate; focused on traveling, my teaching career, and my desire to keep others out of my life. We both admired each other for their choices, though we knew that were not choices we would have made for ourselves.
Worlds apart in our present and plans for the future, we stood in this moment, red-faced, clutching our sides, connected in life by a shared past and gene pool, and more specifically in this magnificent moment, by the flourescent lif kitchen, one silly, singular joke, and our similar laughs echoing both within and beyond us.
"Fatty, fatty, two-by-four,
Couldn't fit through the kitchen door."
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
January 6th, 2010
We were talking about Russia. I had no idea that he had any interest, but he raised his hand to answer nearly every question. Nearly everyone in class was participating today and I thought about how wonderful it was to be standing in front of a class of 16 year olds, silhouetted by the projector hanging from the ceiling of my classroom, my classroom, actually engaging in discussion about Ghengis Khan and the instability of Ivan the Terrible and having my students, well most of them atleast, be so present in the moment. Not staring into space or doodling in the margins, but actually making comments, and waiting, impatiently at times, to share something that they once read about the Golden Horde or Greek Fire. I recognized the moment while I laughed as one student stretched his arm and stood on his toes as he waited to be called on. I felt proud in a way, not for myself really, but for the kids; for allowing themselves to be a part of the class, which kids often seem to reject on principle alone, and amused by their dark yet silly sense of humor; I felt amazed at their ability to wonder and to ask questions and express their opinions. I was completely intrigued by them and excited at the infinite possibilities that lay in ahead for them. I loved that moment and feeling even for one split second that I was a part of those possibilities and in someway intertwined with their futures; whether they loved me or hated me; remembered me forever or forgot my name the first day of summer break; majored in history or never took another history class for the remainder of their life, I was always going to be atleast some small part of their past, and consequently, atleast some minuscule part of their future.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
January 5th, 2010
Frustration. He said those words to me and I learned that apparently 60 hours of work a week when you are being paid for 40 does not actually mean "dedication." Huh, who knew? Apparently I didn't because when he said those words, those "need to make sure you are being a dedicated employee" words I felt that blood boiling, gut-wrenching, teeth-clenching, muscles solid with tension, may just bite through my own tongue, please don't scream right now frustration.
I know that many of those have become trite hyperboles, but I had never taken the time to notice how appropriate they are. I felt the heat rush through my body, felt the tiny ripples of anger reverberate between my twitching muscles and my prickling skin. It was intense to notice the way that my body responded to this anger, a little terrifying, actually. I knew it was impossible but I could feel the long-building pressure and frustration churn within me and for half of a second I feared that in some disturbingly cartoonish way the energy I could feel rush within me would soon be too much and soon the composure that I was struggling to maintain would rip through my exterior, melting and disfiguring my face revealing a screaming distorted Medusa-like monster who would turn him into stone and shatter him to pieces.
Or maybe I could just turn into the Hulk. Green is my favorite color, after all.
I know that many of those have become trite hyperboles, but I had never taken the time to notice how appropriate they are. I felt the heat rush through my body, felt the tiny ripples of anger reverberate between my twitching muscles and my prickling skin. It was intense to notice the way that my body responded to this anger, a little terrifying, actually. I knew it was impossible but I could feel the long-building pressure and frustration churn within me and for half of a second I feared that in some disturbingly cartoonish way the energy I could feel rush within me would soon be too much and soon the composure that I was struggling to maintain would rip through my exterior, melting and disfiguring my face revealing a screaming distorted Medusa-like monster who would turn him into stone and shatter him to pieces.
Or maybe I could just turn into the Hulk. Green is my favorite color, after all.
Monday, January 4, 2010
January 4th, 2010
You know those moments of self discovery that you have every once in a while, not the nice, "Wow, I have pretty eyes" kinds of moments, but the ones where you think, "Oh my god! I can't believe I did/said that!"? Yeah, those moments. Fess up, you know that you have had them.
I mostly have my moments like that in the foot-in-the-mouth category. Or, even more often, the I-wish-I-could-literally-put-my-foot-in-my-mouth-so-that-I-could-shut-the-fuck-up category. Seriously, I know that I talk a lot and if you know me at all you also know that I talk a lot, but sometimes, I don't know how it happens, I just carried away.
Venting with another teacher after a staff meeting today I had a moment like that. We are both stressed about some things that are going down at the school, hell, as far as I know most teachers are stressed about things at the school, but once I started running my mouth it was like I couldn't turn the engine off I was just going on and on about how frustrated I was and about all the shit that has gone down and it wasn't like I didn't want the other teacher to get to express his concerns (complain) or that I felt that mine were any more important or valid than his were or that I even cared so much to be saying the things that I was saying but I could not stop myself and I kept thinking "Just shut up!" and yet for some reason my brain would not send the proper signals to my mouth and it just kept going and going and I wonder if it is some type of disorder or maybe the result of a brain tumor or a stroke and I know that it is ridiculous and those of you who know me know what it is like when I get like this.
For those of you who don't, imagine hearing those last 165 rambling words spoken in 24 seconds in a high-pitched, breathless voice. Are you doing it? Yep, that irritating image in your head is my moment for the day.
I mostly have my moments like that in the foot-in-the-mouth category. Or, even more often, the I-wish-I-could-literally-put-my-foot-in-my-mouth-so-that-I-could-shut-the-fuck-up category. Seriously, I know that I talk a lot and if you know me at all you also know that I talk a lot, but sometimes, I don't know how it happens, I just carried away.
Venting with another teacher after a staff meeting today I had a moment like that. We are both stressed about some things that are going down at the school, hell, as far as I know most teachers are stressed about things at the school, but once I started running my mouth it was like I couldn't turn the engine off I was just going on and on about how frustrated I was and about all the shit that has gone down and it wasn't like I didn't want the other teacher to get to express his concerns (complain) or that I felt that mine were any more important or valid than his were or that I even cared so much to be saying the things that I was saying but I could not stop myself and I kept thinking "Just shut up!" and yet for some reason my brain would not send the proper signals to my mouth and it just kept going and going and I wonder if it is some type of disorder or maybe the result of a brain tumor or a stroke and I know that it is ridiculous and those of you who know me know what it is like when I get like this.
For those of you who don't, imagine hearing those last 165 rambling words spoken in 24 seconds in a high-pitched, breathless voice. Are you doing it? Yep, that irritating image in your head is my moment for the day.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
January 3, 2010
I was sitting at a coffee shop, laptop open and ready to write about the days moment, when I unexpectedly encountered a situation that gave me a new moment to write about.
He was cute and had a big laugh that I noticed when I first sat down and heard it echo from the other side of the shop. I was surprised when he crossed the room and sat down next to me on the couch. I laughed when he asked if I had stolen the teacher's edition of the World History book I had on the table in front of me; I clarified the situation and we talked for a few minutes about teaching and about Utah- he had just moved here and was interested in what exactly there was to do around here.
He then asked if I was meeting someone here, "a boyfriend, maybe?" I told him I was just doing some work and he smiled softly. Then, being the moron that I am at times, I told him that I was meeting my boyfriend afterward. This might not be too strange a response, if I actually had a boyfriend. I don't. I don't know if he was going to ask for my number, or if he was perhaps just curious, but as our conversation wrapped up, I laughed at my complete fear of social interaction. It is so complete a fear, so deeply ingrained in my head, that it exists almost solely in my subconscious and springs into action instinctively when I am confronted. There was no need to lie, but I panicked at the possibility of, oh I don't know, engaging with someone, and put up my ready-to-use walls, with this stranger on the outside. I didn't even know I was doing it until this cute guy with a big laugh said "It was nice meeting you," walked out the doors, got into his car, and drove away. For all those people in my life who have told me to follow my instincts, I thank you, because I have recently (as in, within the last ten minutes) decided to follow my self-reliant-I-am-always-right instinct to ignore your advice. Thanks again.
He was cute and had a big laugh that I noticed when I first sat down and heard it echo from the other side of the shop. I was surprised when he crossed the room and sat down next to me on the couch. I laughed when he asked if I had stolen the teacher's edition of the World History book I had on the table in front of me; I clarified the situation and we talked for a few minutes about teaching and about Utah- he had just moved here and was interested in what exactly there was to do around here.
He then asked if I was meeting someone here, "a boyfriend, maybe?" I told him I was just doing some work and he smiled softly. Then, being the moron that I am at times, I told him that I was meeting my boyfriend afterward. This might not be too strange a response, if I actually had a boyfriend. I don't. I don't know if he was going to ask for my number, or if he was perhaps just curious, but as our conversation wrapped up, I laughed at my complete fear of social interaction. It is so complete a fear, so deeply ingrained in my head, that it exists almost solely in my subconscious and springs into action instinctively when I am confronted. There was no need to lie, but I panicked at the possibility of, oh I don't know, engaging with someone, and put up my ready-to-use walls, with this stranger on the outside. I didn't even know I was doing it until this cute guy with a big laugh said "It was nice meeting you," walked out the doors, got into his car, and drove away. For all those people in my life who have told me to follow my instincts, I thank you, because I have recently (as in, within the last ten minutes) decided to follow my self-reliant-I-am-always-right instinct to ignore your advice. Thanks again.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
January 2, 2010
I got to sleep in this morning, which I thought was going to be the best part of a day full of correcting papers and lesson planning before returning to school on Monday, so I was pleasantly surprised that the best part of my day actually came after I got out of bed. I suppose that these days are the type that days that we life for.
I sipped my coffee, bittersweet, and feeling the warmth of the cup in my hand, I noticed bright sunlight streaming through the glass doors to the balcony. I braced myself for the cold; the last few days of sunlight had been accompanied by a biting chill and I wasn't about to be tricked by the facade of sunlight yet again. I gasped as I pulled the door open, feeling not the breathtaking cold, but beautiful warm sunlight. It was almost as if I was not feeling the heat from the sun, but rather as though I was feeling the light itself. It warmed by cheeks, quickly and intensely, almost as if I was blushing with embarrassment and confusion at the sun, who, after spending so long hiding behind the veneer of clouds and coldness, had decided to show its face with such brazen audacity.
I basked in the warmth and light for a few minutes, and then being called back to reality by the nagging knowledge of work to be done, I went inside, pulling the balcony door shut behind me.
I sipped my coffee, bittersweet, and feeling the warmth of the cup in my hand, I noticed bright sunlight streaming through the glass doors to the balcony. I braced myself for the cold; the last few days of sunlight had been accompanied by a biting chill and I wasn't about to be tricked by the facade of sunlight yet again. I gasped as I pulled the door open, feeling not the breathtaking cold, but beautiful warm sunlight. It was almost as if I was not feeling the heat from the sun, but rather as though I was feeling the light itself. It warmed by cheeks, quickly and intensely, almost as if I was blushing with embarrassment and confusion at the sun, who, after spending so long hiding behind the veneer of clouds and coldness, had decided to show its face with such brazen audacity.
I basked in the warmth and light for a few minutes, and then being called back to reality by the nagging knowledge of work to be done, I went inside, pulling the balcony door shut behind me.
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