I hate my job.

No. I just want to hold up my hand to anyone, to whatever question is asked, to whatever request, to whatever administrator. I want to hold up my hand: Stop. No.

Have still been in a bit of a fog, memories of Gramma care still so fresh on my mind, "are you warm enough?" she asked me about 700 times, the thank you's, the "I love you kids." Warm water from a straw in a certain glass, morphine patches and funny stories and middle of the night adjustments. Blankets and pillows to prop, hand holding, so much hand holding, wafer thin hands in mine that I would rub hand lotion into and up her arms, bone and loose skin. Funeral and family and bagpipes at the church, at the cemetery. Tears and stark awarenesses that I can't, I won't hear her voice again, ever. The tape I took from the player next to her bed, Ernie Tennesee Ford, spirituals; I played them on my way home from work today. Not necessarily what I would choose to hear, but my Gramma, I wanted to hear what she heard, I wanted to be close to her, still.

We had a big IEP meeting for M., my crazy Puerto Rican boy who speaks no English, who does no work, who wreaks havoc and writes foreign letters that have little resemblance to anything legible. I brought writing samples and stories of behavior, and 15 pages of documented incidents. The SPED teacher was 1/2 hour late, and brought little with her herself but stories of non-compliance. The principal sat in on the meeting as well, who I later had a meeting with about her observing in my classroom, standard, as everyone has done the last two weeks that I was absence.

"You and Ms. H (Sped teacher) were not prepared at all for the IEP meeting," she tells me. "It was an embarassment."

WTF? "I never had SPED kids in my class. I don't know how these meetings go. I'm three days back in school after being out for two weeks. What was I supposed to bring? He does nothing. I have nothing to show. You saw his writing. You saw the documented incidents."

"You should have counted the number of times he's run out of the room. You should have had a running tally."

Are you fucking kidding me?

"Next time talk to J. the SPED facilitator person and get a better idea how to be prepared. Don't worry about it for now."

Right. I'm not going to.

The meeting goes on. I don't know what the fuck she's talking about. MCAS's and FBA's and how many peace days have you had? and we have to get our attendance up, how are you documenting that?

D. continued to hide again today, J. was laying across tables, G. was found in the back of the classroom humping C. A. was pissed that he couldn't color all day long and sat in a corner banging his head saying "I'm stupid. I'm stupid." One of the children broke the pencil sharpener yesterday so there were no sharpened pencils. Fuck you.

"And you need to document every PD ... every team time, every mentor meeting - you can keep a notebook. I also need a portfolio of your lesson plans, attendence, FBA's, incentive plans..."

"uh huh, uh huh, right, sure, uh huh"

"And where are you in your licensure?"

I am a Montessori teacher, not fully trained, working on a temporary license. I'm supposed to take some teacher tests to get licensed, three hour long tests of general curriculum for public school that I have no fucking clue about. I'm still in training and have a shit ton of work to catch up and revise for my Montessori course.

"Well I'm still in training so I thought that would cover it."

"You have to take your licensure exam."

Fuck you. I go to work early every day. I leave late every day. I do the best I fucking can and now I need to put together portfolios and FBA's and write a note every single day to M.'s mother to let her know how he is doing, and have my para translate it to Spanish. Every day. I need FBA's on 6 of my kids, some behavior documentation shit. I need to get my third graders up to snuff to pass the MCAS exams coming up in the spring. And, apparently, I need to study and prepare for teacher licensure exams.

Blah and blah and blah and by this time I am so overwhelmed and already put in ample time not even including the hours over the weekend or the cutting out laminated materials or the creating my own materials. Not even including the hour and a half I spend in the car commuting every day.

Waitressing is looking real good right now. Being a check out girl at Shop and Stop is looking really good right now. Hell hole of a fucking school, "This school is a joke," my colleague said today, and you want me to do more work? Prepare for another exam so I can secure my license to stay here? What makes you think I want to stay here? Why would I want to?

was it always this exhausting?

Feel like I'm gonna drop to the floor. My classroom is still a mess from my hiatus, so much to organize and put back together. I stayed an extra hour yesterday and thought I would today and then thought "F it. I'll just come in early tomorrow" (and we all know how that goes, right? ... snooze button, snooze button, snooze button, oh shit I'm late...).

I feel so behind. My lesson plans are leftovers from what I didn't get done three weeks ago, the assessments are still on my desk that I never gave, my first graders have grown accustomed to the handwriting practice busy work... argh.

Kids are the same. M. is still bolting, despite his medication. My female M. - well she's not so much the same - must be on some new medication because she has totally mellowed to the point I don't even recognize that she's there when it used to be she was the most blatant presence in the class. But I still struggle - medication? Mind altering drugs? What do they do to a developing brain? Is it really good for the child, or just for the adults around him/her?
Def makes life easier, but .... uggg.

Work after death... I mean I'm not busting out into tears in the classroom (that only seems to happen in the evening, when it's time to call Gramma time and I remember with some kind of jolt that she's not there anymore), but something has shifted. My love, my patience, sure, I feel more mellow and appreciative, but I also feel more... tired. Exhausted. Just exhausted. Not just exhausted, but lethargic. Depression? Maybe it's that. Maybe.

I'm not quite as interested. Is that awful? A. was reported to DSS, not by the school but a neighbor? His hygiene is awful (E. told him once "you smell like garbage," which, really, is sometimes true). He's totally immature and is often in trouble for not listening, etc, and then sits around and says "I'm bad. I'm bad. I'm so bad." ... His father is in jail for I don't know what, so I often intervene with "you're not bad, you just don't always make the best choices" or something like this, though lately, as in the last couple days, I don't. Intervene, that is. Maybe it's a flavor of the month thing because now my eye is on D., the boy who hides and puts on this mean face and dodges and ducks and bursts into yelps for attention. I've been singling him out. Having him read to me, putting my arm around him, sitting next to him and I feel him mellow. I feel him ease. These kids, collectively and individually, need SOOOO much attention...

Maybe I feel a bit like D. I'd like to hide, to observe from behind a shelf, to bark to make sure that I'm still there.

I had an IEP meeting today for one of my SPED kids, S. Last year she was such a royal pain in the ass, but to a scary degree screaming about how she wanted to kill herself, she hates herself, choking herself and smacking herself until her face was bright red, slamming her head against the wall... She would throw fits and literally throw materials around the room, chairs, whatever. WE've had to evacuate on her behalf and get the kids away from her for safety. She's a third grader who is on a first grade level. Yet this year... there has been no threats of suicide, there has been no head banging or furniture throwing and I sat in this meeting this morning and thought wow... huge change... she's really coming a long way...

So at least there is that. And it's something.

I'm so behind. I feel so behind. It's exhausting just to think about so I think I'll take a nap.

back to school.

I was bombarded with love this morning. Arms and smiles clamoring for me, "Ms Lowe! Ms Lowe!" (though later one child mused "we don't even call you Ms. Lowe, we call you MihLo!"). It was a love fest reunion... All sympathy and smiles as they asked about my Gramma, questions overtaken by "I missed you!!!" G., one of my first graders, kept saying in this baritone voice for a boy, "Yeah. My teacher's back. Yeah."

Sure it made me feel good.

Everything today was seen through a haze of death and love. The new pencils, the popcorn for snack, the laughing raucous noise, the handwriting practice. It all seemed so precious and somehow fleeting, like I wanted to tell them STOP! Treasure this moment! This one, right now!!! -But I didn't. I just stood back and took it in.

And I gave some lessons. The children were so hungry for work, listing all the contractions in the English language, working on irregular plurals and labeling fractions. It was a good day. Even when it got loud and M. left the room running and A. put on his f-you face and left the room for no apparent reason with his backpack on and D. was back again, hiding in corners and under tables like a feral animal, it was good. It was good to be back.

Even though now I'm home with a mile of laminated materials to cut out and lesson plans that need more detail and meetings to prepare for - I haven't stopped yet and have more to go still - I think I'm okay with this.

I used to call my gramma on my way home from work or right after dinner. I miss her. I miss her badly. But life, indeed, goes on. And the cards I got from colleagues and even a fruit basket... all mean so very much; more than anyone can know.

life after death

And the beat goes on...
Home again after essentially helping my grandmother die... the most profound journey of sorts ever taken... so much to say about that it would take another blog altogether. Huge honor to be there. Life changing. Beautiful and tragic at the same time. Miss her so badly...

But back to school tomorrow, the subject of this blog. Yet my past couple weeks will undoubtedly weave it's way into new fabric and perhaps a way of being... I became so soft, so soft with my Gramma... So in love with everything, everyone - with air, with colors, with birds - all these earthly delights we take so hard for granted... And the children - I'm hoping all that love will extend and my temper will be just that much longer and my words will be just that much kinder and my patience will be noticably extended...

I have new stories to share with the children. I can't wait to go back, and I dread going back.
Will keep ya posted...

death does not come easy

I've been here with Gramma since Monday. It's now Friday. And I've actually left the house to come shower at my stepmothers and write this blog. It might just keep me sane.

Congestive heart failure and a strong diuretic is not ridding the water which means the kidneys will eventually shut down and we will all say goodbye. In the meantime it's a long, slow downhill battle and I am savoring every minute.

I've been sleeping with her in her bed, her propped up on five pillows, holding hands while she sleeps and I listen for every breath. I"m exhausted and I would stay up and will stay up for more days if I have to. We've moved to the living room now, to a lounge chair that she's propped up in with many pillows and blankets, oxygen hanging out of her nose and paper thin hands that reach for mine and I hold; fragile, delicate, silken, cold.

I've gone into her bedroom alone which likely she will never see again and I've wept. I look at the walls, the trinkets on her dresser, the old clothes hanging in her closet and I remember my whole life. I weep and I weep. But who gets to have their grandmother until they're 40? Me.

She opens her eyes and I"m right there. "What do you need? Are you okay?"
My brother has stayed with me the last two nights. We sleep on the uncomfortable couch and get her up at 2am, 4am, when she needs to use the bathroom. She can't walk anymore though so now we're just pulling away the lounge chair and replacing it with a commode in one moment's time so she can just stand up and sit back down. It exhausts her.

She's told me my whole life of her show business days in the 1920's as a young girl, dazzling Alfred E. Smith, some politician I think? It was only today that I found the bag of 1926 newspaper clippings of her and her sisters dancing on stages and rave reviews of the Dimond sisters and their grace. I'm still learning about her and she is almost gone. I will learn more, I know, when she goes.

I've been praying to my Pop; come take her, come take her. Her four sisters and brothers who have come before; come take her, come take her. She's ready although I may never be but I am but i"m not but I am.

My sister, my brother, my cousin, my stepmother, my father - we have all been there in shifts and I, for this is not my home anymore, this town, I park myself with her, next to her.

I called her every night for the past year. She's been living alone for the 25 years since my grandfather has passed. In moments I glimpse the intense loneliness she must have been feeling for so many so many years.

This has nothing to do with my school or my kids or other hard lives. Everyone's life is hard. In my readings of the past week I came across some snippet about a culture long ago that celebrated death more than life, for they knew when a baby was born that life was hard and full of trials, and peace comes only consistently in death.

She is a treasure, this woman, my grandmother. I have been blessed.

I called the teacher who works in the next pod last night. She said my class has risen, has risen to the occasion and things have been so smooth and I want to hug and kiss Ms. N, my para, who is a miracle worker in this intense time. She wants me to be here, knows how special it is, has not a shred of resentment in my absence.

I will stay as long as I am needed here. I will return to my life at my school, my work, my home, changed.

Chris is coming tonight, thank God. I've missed him and I miss my kids and I am so proud of them, who they are and how they live. I hear that M. is on medication now that has made him so much calmer, he's not running out of the room anymore. I can't wait to see him.

And A., my science boy. My neighbor teacher told me of a conversation I had of where I am, what I"m doing. He was excited, going to see his own grandmother and Ms. E told him that when she gets older, he can do the same thing for her. He nodded, he got it.

So much love. SO much love. Really, it's all that matters.

another movie

I'm in another movie altogether right now.

I knew my grandmother was in rough shape, so I came down Monday so my brother and I could pick up my dad to bring him down to see her which was really the best medicine we could offer.  But since then I haven't been able to leave.

Grandma will be 90 in January, if she makes it.  She's in the last stages of congestive heart failure, her legs are swollen like balloons and it's hard for her to walk.  She lives alone.  She has someone come over in the evening to get her dinner and get her to bed, and now she'll be coming in the morning as well but she can't start the morning until Saturday.  In the meantime, my gramma can't walk.  She can't get herself to the bathroom.  She can't do anything.  She hasn't been eating, she's been taking pills that are supposed to make her pee so the swelling goes down, but so far this hasn't done the trick.

Last night I stayed with her, slept over, got up four times in the middle of the night to take her to the bathroom, painstakingly shuffling the six feet it takes to get there which takes about ten minutes.  It sucks.  I looked at her last night, she was glazed and babbling about "take my necklace" etc.  I started crying.  She perked up.  "Don't cry! Don't cry!  I'll bounce back, I always do!" 

"But Gramma, you're tired.  You're so tired," I said.

She doesn't even watch tv, and she hasn't even had a cup of tea which is the major blaring red flag.

So what do I do? My father is in his own situation, her only son, he can't really do much from his chair in Huntington.  My sister and brother work (oh, right, so do I) and can't do much.

My class?  Ms. N just called me a little while ago, bless her heart.  She told me everything is fine there with the class and to take my time down here, I'm doing the right thing, this is more important, etc.  Yesterday I worried about my class.  I thought I'd go home last night and be back there today but now it looks like I won't be back til Monday.  And today I'm not worried about my class.  Fuck em.  This is my real life here, my family.  This is what's more important.  This is my reality right now.

and it pretty much sucks and I'd rather be with my kids but what am I gonna do?

field trip

It was okay. Exhausting. A. flipped out and kicked the wall for a few minutes, M. told T. that she doesn't brush her teeth and her mouth stinks, general running problems and antics, but we all survived. There was a little push and tumble before lunch when three children fell on top of each other and a couple parents gasped.

But to hear the kids - the gasps and squeals and "ooohh's!!!" during the planetarium show and the dinosaur exhibits... it was really very cool. As exhausted as I'm feeling right now, I might say it was worth it. It also might be true that there's several kids I'd much rather leave at school next time however....

I did leave M. and another A. Was really bummed about leaving A. since he is probably the smartest kid in my class and obsessed with science. What could I do though? After giving him ten warnings I finally had to make good on the threat. It sucks being a meanie but at the same time that ODD shit is serious.

When I got home there was a call from my school district. One of those recorded messages that goes out to every family. We get them every night before an open house or when something else significant is happening at school. The one tonight addressed "a couple of recent incidents." One being about my girl T. and the inappropriate man by the school doors. Apparently it wasn't the first time and they are "so proud of the student who reported it to her teacher." ... Right. Except when they accused her of making it up I guess?

And "there was another incident where a student brought a bb gun to school." But "I assure you the safety of our school is in tact and we are hiring another security guard by the end of next week" blah blah blah... "Thank you and have a wonderful weekend."

What's funny is that every single time we get these automated messages they are conveyed first in English and then in Spanish. This time, however, it was not translated. Which means that the 75% of our school population that doesn't speak English have no idea what was said.

Ask me if I'm surprised.

Gotta sleep. Thank God for a three day weekend.

bum computer and so much to say...

No internet service so at the "internet express" counter in the library. This will not suffice but it will have to do for now. I have ten minutes.

Yesterday was fabulous. Really. I needed a great day and it happened. Why? Well it could have been the six children who were absent. MC., A., S., J. ... heavy hitters... and three more. Oh, it was so peaceful! So blissful!!! No complaining, no fighting, no whining - work work work, it was everywhere, even though I was barely available because I was doing individual reading assessments (and what a pain in the ass that is. Teach, parole, counsel, notate, AND do individual reading assessment tests. It's a blast.) So I can't say enough about yesterday. 19 children. I loved my job yesterday.

Today? They were all back. And MC. was running down the stair, pulling a lollipop out of his pocket and threatening to eat it despite my thousand "no's", ran from me when I tried to take it, I mean, when the hell is this kid gonna be in a class that suits him?

AD, , brilliant boy, brilliant questions he asks, and so manipulative and defiant... Five phonecalls later and I finally talked to his mother this afternoon, to tell her he could not come on the field trip with us tomorrow. Crossed too many lines, too many warnings. She said he's an ODD suspect and I wish it just meant odd, but it's that oppositional defiant disorder. And yeah, tell the kid stop and he goes, work and he plays, I mean while he looks you right in the eye. If he weren't so brilliant it might not seem to matter as much but the boy is SO smart and SO talented and I just don't get it. Total emotional meltdowns going on at home; dad leaving, staying, leaving, staying, home, gone, home, gone...

Oh, I just stand here over the library computer that I have about 5 minutes left on and SIGH. Big freaking sigh. And a rather satisfying one, I'd have to say, having just spent an hour at the gym. Hoping it helps my sleep.

But there is other news. The sexual perp nasty crap that happened a couple weeks ago - T., my dear 3rd grade T. who came to school a little late and was asked by some stranger if she wanted to see something, and that she did. But if you scroll back for a review, you'll see my agony that day when she told me, and I reported it, and an interrogation of sorts ensued, a male cop grilling her in a small room with a completely insensitive counselor. This counselor told me she "kept changing her story and they think she just made the whole thing up." I fumed. "I know this girl," I said. "she is NOT lying."

Well. I'd heard the rumor yesterday, but today my principal called me to her office to talk to me about this incident and they'd reviewed the security tape. Not only was the guy exposing himself, but he was masturbating. Beautiful.

And, it seems he was back, or another guy? a couple days ago. This was reported as well but the next day parents stormed the office because despite this report, there was no security at the door the next morning.
Typical. What can I say.

If this isn't enough, there was another incident yesterday that isn't quite clear to me, but apparently a couple children "found" a gun. A BB gun mind you, but a big one. A child picked it up and pointed it at a security guard. He was suspended, of course.

Suspended. Whatever.

Last year and two years before that we had a Montessori Mentor who was also in training for administration. She was a master of non-violent communication, and had the presence of a sage. She had an automatic calming affect on everyone, and when concerns were expressed to her, you knew they were going to be addressed and handled. When there was a crisis, she was there. All of her. Her entire being was present and these children, no matter what the crisis was, were respected and honored as human beings.

She was my rock. As long as she was in the building, I could breathe. Everyone could breathe.
However, she took over an asst. principal position sometime toward the end of last year, and was not offered a position again for the fall. I have my suspicions about this, for peace is power, and other people of power are easily threatened by such humane and divine power such as she possessed. It broke her heart into ten thousand pieces and shocked everyone, I mean everyone, in the building (except, perhaps, administration).

She wasn't just my rock, but she was the rock. She was the foundation. She's gone, and the foundation is crumbling so fast into little bits. There might be some teachers that thrive on this kind of challenge, and what is true is that there is a greater satisfaction in touching the life of a child from this neighborhood than that of a typical suburban peachy neighborhood, but I haven't heard one who isn't burnt out and it's only October. And I know of several who have no interest in coming back next year.

It's a rollercoaster. It's madness.

But then there is B. and BE., two girls in my class, and I. and J., a couple boys, who rarely fail to tell me at some point in the day "I love you, Ms. Lowe."

So what is one to do? What is one to do?

The librarian must be glaring at me by now.
Field trip tomorrow. Should be interesting. Hopefully the home computer will be back to status quo and I'll get to tell you all about it. MC. and AD. are not going. And maybe I should have left a couple others behind as well due to behaviors, but I want to believe they can rise up. I do believe they can rise up. Which I suppose is why at least for this year, I haven't left yet.

sleepless

This is the part where I wonder if I can even hold out the year.

This is the part I wake up riddled with anxiety.

Did I mention we are going on a field trip Friday? I know; crazy. One of my colleagues arranged it and I thought it would make the children step it up and get on board. Behave, is what I mean.

D. is one of my new first graders. He hides behind shelves and under tables. He makes noises and complains about everything. He hardly does any work. I have called his parents five times already this year. I don't know what to do with him.

J. started a new medication which has mellowed him out a little. But yesterday he swung at a third grader because he was "bothering him."
"You bother me sometimes," I told him. "What do you think I should do about that?"
"Noooooo," he whines. "Ms. Lowwwwwwe!!"

I have used this trip as leverage. "We don't have to go," I tell them. "We could easily stay in the classroom. I don't know if you are ready to go out in public."

But it becomes an empty threat. The two dollar bus fee is a precious amount to most of these parents. And the bus gets paid no matter what.

My para uses it all the time. "No field trip for you," she says. Or, "no recess." And there are times that we do stay in from recess, but then my para and I suffer because we need to sit outside and breathe as much as the children do. I need to call parents tomorrow of some of my hard kids and tell them they can't come unless you, the parent, comes with. Which ones? There are so many.

A. is a second grader who is frankly, a crybaby. "It's not fair," he whines, CONSTANTLY. It could be about someone getting one more pretzel for snack than he did, or not getting to be first in line. He came in last year with NO schooling behind him - never any preschool or kindergarten - not knowing one letter sound. He is still so far behind. And his behavior SUCKS. Constantly fooling around. Constantly disturbing other children.

And I., who is so musical and sweet, who has better rhythm than anyone else in my class, but has rocks in his head when it comes to remembering anything I told him four seconds ago. What about him? How do I teach him? These aren't even my heavy hitters. There is S. and A. and MC., my chair throwers from last year. I mean, can you imagine? I remember last year at this time there had already been like 87 suspensions in the school. It was my first year in this madness and I was just dumbfounded - first and second graders? suspended? .....but it happens all the time.

I hate this. I made five phone calls to parents Monday afternoon for behavior issues. Yesterday I could have made several more but I was so tapped by the end of the day I couldn't spend another minute in that room, couldn't make one. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to go home.

And now I can't sleep.

Did I mention at all that I'm wanting/trying to get pregnant? I had a miscarriage last year, after just about 12 weeks. I can damn bet it had something to do with my job.
And now? I feel like I'm carrying so much stress in my body, despite the coming home and walking my dog, despite processing and letting go by writing about it, despite my Monday evening sojourns into town for lovely dinners alone or with friends, despite the balance I thought I was creating.

Bad day, I know. It was a bad day yesterday.

But is this worth it? Is not sleeping worth it? The risk of holding too much stress so that I can't conceive or maintain a pregnancy? If my school wasn't in such distress as it is, would I quit? Could I quit? What would I do? It would leave my kids, my school, my colleagues, in such turmoil that I can't. I won't. I wouldn't. The year has begun. I can't just up and quit.

My asst. principal called me yesterday to tell me that MC.'s SPED evaluation meeting is scheduled for Oct. 27 and there's not much she can do until then as far as him being in my classroom. That's, what, at least another three weeks. I don't know if I can stand it.

I don't know if I can stand any of it.

We had a survey to fill out yesterday, about the school, admin, etc. "Be totally honest." They were bubble letter answers. No names.

The question was something like "The main goal as a teacher is to simply survive the school year." I checked STRONGLY AGREE.

I hope I do. Survive, that is.

ug

Today was one of those "I hate my job" days. It didn't start out so horribly. There were kids working all over the place; lots of language lessons today; antonyms, adjectives, matching words to category cards... few kids checking out the timeline of life, creating maps, etc etc. I mean, really, it wasn't too bad.

Tho my para Ms. N was busy with MC. who was, of course, running out of the room creating havoc, same ole same ole. This might and I mean might be fine if he weren't the only child in my class who has "issues" shall we say. A. did his whole tough punk ass routine of throwing his book and pencil across the room, two of my first graders run around the classroom and slide on their knees like it's some kind of game, cat fights erupt between T. and S. ...

It was my para who snapped. "I'm taking a break!!" she said, and stormed out of the classroom with her cigarettes. I totally get it - I know - it's crazy - and she's out the door.
She told me she's called her Union to report this crap - the babysitting MC - that she's supposed to be a teacher support person for a class, not a one on one special education teacher. Which is totally true. She tells me she could easily get a transfer to another school. And now I am on alert. Wait a minute, you can't leave, please don't leave...

And then I am stressed. And then all the things I can let slide in my periphery and still act calmly as I walk across the room are no longer tolerable. The whining child who can't find a pencil sharpener, the other whining child who will absolutely die if he doesn't have snack RIGHT NOW, the child who wants his 58th trip to the water fountain this morning .... We have a system for getting help from the teacher which on some days is forgotten. And then I have five children in front of me, needy whining children "Ms Lowwwe can I go to the bathroom? Ms Lowwwe I need help. Ms. Lowe S. is bothering me. Ms Lowwwe T said she's not my friend. Ms Lowwwe you said you'd give me a new lesson."

I put my hands over my ears. I really did this. I put my hands over my ears and said "Please, all of you, just go away!!! Get away from me!!!"

There are moments as a teacher in this school that I cannot stand myself. I say things and do things that I have never done before as a teacher. I am mean and insolent and harsh - I cut kids with a word, a look, I tell them I don't care, I tell them to leave me alone, I tell them no before I even know what they're going to ask. I am a caged animal, I am trapped, I am surrounded by annoying bugs biting and itching me and I just want to get out.

I can't stand my job on days like today. I can't stand myself. I turn into a monster and just want it all to stop. I just want to leave. I just don't care.

S. took a book out of the library that when he showed me, I knew was way over his head. Still he'd sit around and pretend to read it, and tell me he is on, like, page 147. Today we did leveled reading and he whined and complained that what I gave him was too hard. I helped him tough it out. Then he picked up this novel and told me he was going to read. I opened to a random page and said "Oh yeah? Read this to me. Just this page. Read this." He said "Aw, Ms Lowe!" I said "You know what? You CAN"T read this. You can't read it. Put it away."

Dammit, I'm really a asshole. That really sucked. Today really sucked. If I could even remember all of my infractions today, I would easily owe ten apologies.

I hate days like today.

I try not to be cynical.

My asst. principal calls me Friday afternoon, the second day she's spent with my dear student MC., and says "We have to do something about this student." And I want to say NO SHIT what do you think I've been telling you for the last five weeks?

"Have you tried telling him 'no'?" she asks me.

I start laughing.

"No, I'm serious," she says.

"Of course I have, are you kidding me?"

This is my support. After five weeks and a little personal experience, she finally gets it. Maybe she should spend the day with J and MD and A and D and have a little taste of them, too.

Not that there aren't bigger issues in other classrooms. I heard that one student allegedly peed on the other asst. principal. He was suspended for two days. And E. who used to be in my class is apparently wreaking havoc in his new class, possibly worse than he did in mine. I was passing the music room the other day and glanced in. A child was in there alone with the music teacher.

"E? Is that you?"

"Hi Ms. Lowe."

"How are you?" he comes and hugs me.

"Look, I got this big coin." He shows me a silver Big Y coin, the supermarket token that allows you discounts, if you remember to carry them in your purse which I sometimes do.

"Oh yeah! I know those coins! I use them at the grocery store."

"Here." He gives it to me.

"You keep that," I tell him.

"No. Take it," he says.

"Thank you so much!" I put it in my back pocket.

I went grocery shopping Friday night and bought myself a bouquet of flowers, using the coin as a discount. I'll have to tell him about that.

I've pretty much decided I won't be going back there next year, though I said that last year too.
It's Sunday now and beautiful out and I'm so cranky b/c I have to do lesson plans and go to work tomorrow. Of course I have to go to work tomorrow.

I try not to be cynical.

I watched the movie "Freedom Writers" the other day. Erin Gruewell (sp?) teaching post Rodney King in massive gang afflicted part of LA. Very moving. Amazing. And she, as a teacher, the sacrifices - getting two extra jobs to buy the student books, all the after school and weekend time. I read the book as well.

I'm good, but I'm not that good. Her marriage suffered (and ended in divorce). But what a difference she made. Two books and movie later, still inspiring people everywhere. She taught high school. Ms. N my para keeps telling me I should be teaching high school, but I'm not certified for that. More school? More training? Don't I have enough already, two Masters and two Montessori certifications? And my second masters is barely paid off.

I taught pre-school for ten years and moved up to elementary because I was really tired of the limited conversations during the day. "Oh, you're daddy gave you a new teddy bear?" "Wow, you had a hot dog for breakfast? Yes, that IS so funny!" You know... delightful, sure, and sometimes hysterical, but I was aching for intelligent conversation by the time ten years was up.

I also worked with babies for a year in an infant center. Talk about feeling self indulgent!!! I talked to them constantly, and never had to stop very long to listen what they were saying to me. I loved working with babies, though that too, got old. Imagine all the diapers. And there were days that there were only two of us adults and sometimes 8 to 10 babies. Those were not the best days.

Elementary is definately more satisfying - there is a wonderful curiosity and developing sense of humor - there is a gigantic step in social development - yes, I'm happy to have moved up a few years, but again, sometimes, "She said your mother smells like dookie? C'mon, are you kidding me? Do you really have to talk to each other like this?"

Maybe high school is the next best thing. Or maybe it would be better to skip straight to college. Or hell, can I just pass Go and teach graduate students?

nowhere meeting

My dear MC, the boy who can't contain himself, the boy who is like a two year old inside a (large) seven year old body, who can write his own name but that's about it, is at it again. He's run from my classroom a thousand times already, and lately he's taken to running down stairwells (and where he's gone, nobody knows) which is when I generally have to call the office, which is when nobody responds anyway. Yesterday half of my class went outside with Ms. N, my para, and half stayed in with me, including M (who peed behind a bush last time we were outside). He left, ran down the stairs, I had ten kids with me, couldn't chase him (which becomes a cat and mouse game to him anyway). I called the office. It turns out he ran all the way down stairs, down the open public space hallway and to the exit where Ms. N was coming in with the rest of the class. He told her in Spanish that he was looking for her. Yet he didn't get in line with her, simply ran back, went up another flight of stairs, and met her on the floor of classrooms. Super dangerous of him.

I went to the asst. principal at the end of the day, who said "Oh, did your student come back?" ... ummm yeah but not because anyone from administration responded.

"I can't do it anymore with him. He doesn't stay in my room. He's running down stairwells."

She says my para should be working one on one with him. I burn.

"I have 24 other students, about 6 of whom need serious attention. There is no way that's going to happen."

She says, "Well what do you want me to do?"

I don't know, I want to say, that's you're freaking job, isn't it.

I told her what happened when he left, going to public spaces, running, etc and she tells me to send him down with work tomorrow and he can stay in her office for the next two days as a consequence.

I think Yeah, This should be good. He doesn't work. He doesn't write anything other than his own name. He doesn't read, he doesn't count, he does nothing. Good luck with that.

I get a message at 10am that his mother is coming in and we're having a meeting about him.

Ha. Bet he's run out of her room a few times. Bet he's rolling around the floor in her office. Good.

So at 1pm I go for the meeting. Nobody is there. I go to Ms. asst Principals office. She is manning the door of the solitary confinement room, a child screaming his head off, "I DON"T CARE!!!!" I ache with compassion for this stranger boy and ask if I can go talk to him.
"yeah," she says. "Go for it."

So I go into this large closet sized room with the red carpeted walls (sound buffers) and not a single other thing in there except the chair he is sitting on. I kneel down with this boy and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry you're having a hard day. Are you okay?"

Mean face, no answer.

"My name is Ms. Lowe. It must suck being in here by yourself. I hate this room."

He's still looking down, but I see I have his attention.

I ramble on, I ask his name, his teacher, he doesn't answer me but I keep talking anyway, keep my hand on his shoulder.

"Life can be hard. Life can be really hard," I tell him. He nods.

"I'm so sorry it's hard for you. It can get easier, but you have to try. I know how hard it is."

He is fighting tears so hard, he is looking up as high as he can to avoid them spilling.

"Adults can be stupid," I say. "Adults don't always know the right thing to say or do. I think maybe you just need some kindness."

He keeps looking up, trying so hard, so hard not to show me his tears.

"You can cry, you know. I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Tears start dripping. I wipe them away with my scarf.

"I'm so sorry it's hard for you. I wish I could do something to help."

I wipe more tears.

"Have you eaten?" I ask. He shakes his head no. "Sometimes things feel better when you have something in your stomach. Did you eat breakfast?" he shakes his head no.

The kid hasn't eaten. Well, hello.

"Yesterday I hadn't eaten and I went home and was such a brat to my husband. I was so cranky. Then I ate dinner, and I was like Ahhhhhh... I felt so much better."

(this didn't really happen last night, but it certainly has happened).

The counselor comes to the door just then with his lunch tray.

"You gonna eat this or what?" she says. She, too, is menacing. I want to hit her.

WHY ARE THESE ADULTS SO MEAN? WHY CAN'T THEY TURN AROUND AND TRY SOME OTHER TACTIC?

I say "C'mon," and tug his arm to get up. He gets up and goes into her office to eat.

Then I look around for the principal. She is still busy. The meeting hasn't started. I go to the office. The mother is there, I say hello, and the SPED teacher is waiting.

"We're going to need an interpreter," I say.

One of the office women pages someone to translate.

I am edgy, it's been 20 minutes and the meeting still hasn't started. My class is alone with my para. This mother has been waiting all this time. C'mon, can't we at least try to be professional here? I hate my school.

I go back again to see if the principal is coming. I check in the counselors office and my new little friend has eaten everything on the tray.

Finally, at 130, the meeting starts.

MC was the same in Puerto Rico. His mother was so honest about how hard he is, how he doesn't listen, etc etc etc. On and on and on... therapists and psychiatrists and doctors... plans and appointments and strategies... I know this mother is as frustrated as we are, is as worn and discouraged.

The principal says he's in her office as a consequence for the next two days.

I pipe up. "I don't think he understands what a consequence is. I don't think it matters to him."

This is translated. His mother agrees. It's the same at home.

The meeting ends with appointments and evaluations forthcoming and going to the doctors next week to get a prescription, hopefully, to contain the hyperactive part.

"He'll be back in Ms. Lowe's class on Monday."

What does this solve? What did we even meet for? Where is this going? Another meeting in a few weeks to see how it's changed? As if it will change one bit? Are you kidding me?

What is wrong with this school?

BTW, this school is at the very bottom of the achievement list in the state. IN THE STATE. The state tests? not ONE CHILD not ONE was proficient in math last year according to the state exams. Not one. FOUR, only FOUR were proficient in ELA.

Is that our fault, the teachers fault? Are you kidding me? When we're dealing with disabilites and sexual perps and angry children and crack heads and poverty and violence?

I wish I could save the world. I wish I could save these kids. I wish I could make a difference but I have to believe that I do, at least a little, at least a little.