Please Don't Take My English Degree Away

I've been in a tantrum-y mood lately. Yesterday I found out that Google is killing Reader. I pitched a toddler-like fit. Yes, I know there are other readers. Blah blah blah I DON'T LIKE CHANGE. And I like that with Google I have everything--email, calendar, blogging, reading blogs, creating documents, getting driving directions, making dinner...but now that's OVER. Waaaaaa. My first world problems are SO HARD.

Today my tantrum is birthed of righteous indignation. It's about grammar. And before you get all judge-y, you should know that no one is as hard core about the preservation of our sacred (hybrid, ever-changing, bastardized) English language. I fly into fits of rage when people misuse homophones, and the switching of verb tenses within narratives makes me die inside. And when people say things like "Me and my mom went to the mall," I may or may not unfriend them.

So here's how today went down. I was reading Beowulf with my students. I was sitting in my rocking chair, the students were sprawled out on the floor, and we were just reading. It was delicious. Occasionally we'd pause and talk about Robert Nye's need to use a simile or alliteration twice per sentence, or talk about something meaningful like character or theme or symbolism or seriously how gross is Unferth. Our current grammar unit is verbals. So when I came across "jutting jaw," I paused to roll my eyes at the 986th use of alliteration in that paragraph, and to do a quick grammar tie-in. So I asked them what "jutting" was in that sentence. Blank stares. Like I just grew an extra head. A green one. I mentioned something about a verb ending in -ing acting like an adjective. "Ummmm....an adverb?" Sigh. No, guys. It's a participle. Remember? We've been talking about them for a week? Murmurs of "oooooh" and we moved on.

Then I was thinking about it on my way home. Thinking about participles and how teaching them is like beating my head against a wall, and why is that? That's when it occurred to me. Because they're hard. They're kind of confusing. And you know what else? So are transitive and intransitive verbs. And adverbial phrases.

Now, look. I'm really good at grammar. When I took Advanced Grammar as an English major in college (which, by the by, was when I learned about transitive and intransitive verbs) I was everyone's tutor. I'm a big dork. Grammar is the math of English, and I totally geek out over it. I have no problem understanding participles. But I'm 33, and I have a degree in English. My students are 12. They struggle with remembering to write their name on their papers. They write "u" for "you" in their essays (damn internet). So it's really hard for them. And you know what? I couldn't think of a single reason why they would need to know what a participle is. Or transitive and intransitive verbs. (I'm going to take a wild guess and say that unless you, too, have a degree in English and teach it, you probably don't know what they are either. It's okay. I forgive you.) But seriously. There is a heck of a lot of grammar in our textbook that is wholly unnecessary for seventh graders. So why the frick are we torturing them with it?

I say we focus on the necessities (which, if you're curious, start at chapter 8 in our textbook). Subject/verb agreement. Proper punctuation. Verb tense consistency. Homophones. You know, grammar skills that are vital in being an affective writer and actually not getting laughed out of freshman comp (or looking stupid on facebook). Let's save appositives for high school.

Who's with me?!?!?!?

March Madness

Before you judge me for constantly promising you that I will catch up with blogging but never do it, you should know that I have so little free time it's ridiculous, and when I do finally get a few minutes, Husband is on the computer. This is why I only blog when I'm at home with sick children. It's the only day wherein I have enough time to parent, keep up with my sewing job, and watch "Dawson's Creek". (I'm using my iPad right now, so you're going to have to let the improper punctuation go.) It's also the only time I have computer access. I'll go ahead and tell you that that's also the reason I never respond to Facebook messages. Yes, I just said that after saying I have an iPad, and that I'm currently using it. I want you to know that I hate typing on my iDevices. Hate it. The pad isn't as bad as the phone. But still. Torture. So this post should be very meaningful to you. And before you tell me I can get the keyboard that goes it the iPad, let me just interrupt to tell you that no, I can't. Knowing they exist and having the money to purchase one are two different things. And if I had $100 to spend on a keyboard for my iPad, I would rather spend it on yarn. Or a vacation. Dang, I need a vacation.

Which leads me to the body of this little post. We have been very busy bees. So busy I will probably be crawling in a hole soon. But for now I'm staying afloat. I coach Ben's AYSO soccer team now. (Yes, you read that right. Stop laughing. Seriously, shut up.) So Monday evenings and Saturday mornings we can be found on the soccer field. If you come by to watch and you want to know which one is Ben, he's the one kicking the ball in the other team's goal. Or picking up the ball and taking it some place where there aren't so many people trying to kick it. He's got a really good coach.

Work has been getting a little out of hand. In the last couple of weeks I had a student writing contest at a local university (my student won!), the jog-a-thon, the talent show, the end of the trimester, and other stressful things. This week I have open house, report cards, the book fair, and a committee meeting at the district office. Next week is conferences. To top it off, Emma seems to get sick every Friday. But while it's been busy and stressful, a lot of it has been fun. The writing contest was a great experience (even if I did have to leave early because Emma was barfing at daycare). The jog-a-thon was fun (even though I'm on meds that apparently make me allergic to the sun and crave human blood...maybe not last very last part...). At least I didn't pee my pants. And I always love the talent show. This one was particularly fun because the staff surprised the kids with the Harlem Shake.

Home life has been fun. Despite the back to back illnesses, we've managed to squeeze in some good times.

Now I have to go because Emma is up. Remind me to tell you about how one of you should have reminded me that the Terrible Twos are a myth, and that the Terrible One and a Halfs are much worse.

How to Grade Essays during Vacation

Right now it's "ski week". I'm not entirely sure when Ski Week was officially birthed. I think Newport Mesa School District may have started it. You know how there's Presidents Day and Lincoln's Birthday in February? Well, some districts took a four-day weekend. Some took two three-day weekends. Some (like mine) got to vote on what they wanted. Back when I was working in an after-school program at NM, the quandry was solved with a full week off. I think the justification was that families just took the opportunity to go on vacation or whatever, and with all the absences the school lost a lot of money, so it made more sense to just take the week off. I think it was called President's Week or something. Since we're in Orange County, Land of Privilege and Disposable Income, a lot of people took that week to go skiing (which is probably why the vacation was forced anyway). I honestly thought it was just the one district, because when I started sub-ing at multiple districts, that was the only one that took "ski week" (which became it's unofficial nickname). I chalked it up to rich Newport folk who neeeeeded to go skiing. For a whole week. Of course the flip side to that was that three days were added on to the end of the year, so that district always got out later. But that was how it goes. You want to go skiing, you lose three beach days.

Anyway, eventually I landed my gig, where I've been for six years. We've never had ski week. We've always had either the four-day or two three-day weekends. This year we ended up with five furlough days. They tossed three of them amongst the Presidents, and now we have ski week. But unpaid, so....there's that.

At any rate, that means I'm home with my littles this week. Which is fantastic, because I love them so much. So I lined up nine days of adventures and playdates and all kinds of riotous fun. So obviously both felt a little warm to the touch yesterday. Happy and playful and acting normal. But warm. I finally took their temps at the end of the day, and sure enough, both had fevers. F#@$(@*%($@#. When will this end?!?!?!?!? Whatever. At least I don't have to get up before God and make sub plans. And they honestly don't even seem sick--they just have fevers. So maybe this will be mild and quick.

But that's not what this post is about. This post is to tell you about grading essays. See, I'm an English teacher. I teach history too, but that's just all fun and games. The English...that's a different beast. Because I hate myself, I got a credential in Spending All of your Life Grading Essays. I could, of course, assign very few essays. But then my kids would take the writing exam and fail because you can't achieve in something you don't practice. But this Being a Good Teacher thing is a double-edged sword. I take one for the team so that they can do well. This means I spend a lot of time grading.

(side note: to those who say, "It must be nice to be a teacher and have all that time off." That's so cute.)

So I just thought I'd let you peek into a typical essay-grading day. I usually beg and bribe Matt to hang out with the kids for several hours on a Saturday so I can go to Barnes and Noble and do it. First, I need coffee and treats and books to get me through. Second, I can't grade at home. There are too many shiny things to distract me. TV! The sewing machine! Knitting! I need to clean my bathroom! Hey, when was the last time I scrubbed the baseboards? You know, that kind of thing. So I hunker down at a table in the cafe with a) coffee, b) a treat, and c) reward books. Then it goes like this. I count the essays, and I break them up into chunks. And I'll make a deal with myself, like every ten essays I get to take a couple of bites of my treat then check facebook. After every class set I get to take a ten-minute break to read a chapter of a book or peruse a knitting or sewing pattern book. Then I dive in.

The state writing test is a week after we get back. So my kids have been writing a lot, and I have a lot to grade. I want to get them done so that the week we get back we can spend time going over all of their work and working out plans to improve. That means spending six hours of ski week grading essays. I wanted to get it done right away so I could focus on the fun-having. Since Matt was going to be gone most of the weekend playing guitar at church, I had a bargaining chip. Also, bridesmaid #2 had a baby on Friday, so I had a hospital visit I needed to do. My Saturday was all planned out. First, grade a little. Second, take a baby break. Third, more grading.

Me and my, I mean Melissa's, new baby man.

 So I went to Starbucks and knocked out almost a whole class set before my friend got there. We went to the hospital together to snuggle. Then I went to Barnes and Noble, which is where my story really begins.

This is how a round of essays goes:

The first set of ten, maybe even the first class set, goes pretty well. I'm going at a good pace, smiling at the good ones and shaking my head (with a smile) at the not-so-good ones. I take my breaks, but brief ones.

Somewhere around essay 30, things start to get fuzzy. I have to do some re-reading because I'm getting distracted thinking about my treat or the next chapter in my reward book, or "has anyone commented on my status in the last thirty seconds". But then I come across a great one that has me riveted. I remember that I love my job and my students. I come across a not-so-great one, and I think about how I can't wait to get back to work and show my students how to cite sources...again.

Then I do some refinancing on my pile. I change it to seven essays before I get to take a break. I start going faster through the essays. I start to hate my students, both the good ones (why are you making me suffer through several pages?) and the not-so-good ones (why are you wasting my time with one paragraph?). Don't worry, I have a rubric and anchor papers (examples), so the grades are fair. But Self-loathing sets in, usually around essay 75. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why do I keep assigning essays? Why didn't I become a math teacher? I could have. I'm really good at math. When is the next math CSET? I could probably pass it if I took it cold. But then I'd have to teach math. I hate my life. And oh my gosh, do you seriously not know that you have to capitalize the first letter of every sentence?!?!

I breathe. I take a break, get another treat, and read two chapters. I start a new pile. On top is a really good essay that makes me think and I learn something new. I'm smiling again.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

(In case you were dying to know, I did not finish my pile. I got through about 1/3, then I had to go home because it was Matt's turn to leave. Which means I need to find three more hours during my break without my children. Please, don't all volunteer at once.)

Love Bugs

Today is Valentine's Day. I used to think Valentine's Day was about love, but it's not. It's like a Pinterest-off. So for my winning Awesome Valentine's Craft submission, I give you this:

For just a couple of dollars at Target, I made Ben's Valentine's Day magical. Because he's a dude. A four-year-old dude. And I learned a lot from last year (I just went to link to my Valentine's post from last year, but it's not there, because apparently I only wrote it inside my head. I assure you it was quite good.). Like the fact that a) little boys could care less about giving their friends amazing crafts, and b) I suck at crafts. Sewing, yes. Knitting, yes. Crafts, no. Fake chemical light sabers? Yes. And my little guy wrote his name on every. single. one.

Anyway, someone just placed an order of 24 diapers (woo hoo!). I've spent the last two weeks treating a one-year-old through a double ear infection and pneumonia. And I have a sinus infection. So overachieving is not really my deal right now. I was pretty impressed with my decision to go small this year.

So you can imagine my excitement when Emma's babysitter presented me with a list of names yesterday morning. You know, so my one-year-old can give her friends Valentines. Thankfully I'd purchased a bag of Valentine's play dough to divide between my children, so I re-purposed those as Valentines for Emma's friends. But the look on Matt's face this morning when he saw them on the desk was priceless. "Ummm...Shannon...do you really think Emma needs to give her friends Valentines?" No. No I don't. But I can't be that mom.

 Whatever. Now I don't have to deal with a bunch of pink play dough in my own house.

Because it is not in my nature to be a total underachiever, I did a few things to make the day special for my littles. I made Emma a little outfit. I gave them books and monkeys and candy. And I allowed them to go to school and get all doped up on sugar and colored frosting, so they can get diabetes and cancer just like all their friends.

This took a dark turn. Let's back-track.

Cute kids! Candy!

 

 

Don't worry, I didn't leave Matthew out of the day. But that's none of your business.

Happy Day!

Things

I just finished reading a book that was so divine. I'm pretty sure it's the only book in existence that contains both lines from "Prufrock" and the word douchebag. It is called The Fault in our Stars, and I think you should read it. Now. Seriously, why are you still here?

Anyway, it got me thinking and reflecting and whatnot. I often feel like I'm stuck in adolescence. In my head I am forever an insecure 13 year old. But the other day when I was driving and thinking about teenage-ness and growing up (a train of thought launched by aforementioned amazing book), it occurred to me that I am not, in fact, 13. I'm a grown-up. I have a career. And I'm actually not horrible at it. I'm on Important Committees, and I'm a leader of a few things. I'm even on an official Task Force. I'm responsible for the education of a couple hundred hormonal pre-teens. I'm also responsible for keeping two humans alive. Two humans that I grew inside of my belly. I mean, this is all serious business. And while I make mistakes, I don't totally suck. At some point, while I wasn't paying attention, I grew up.

Sometimes this grown-up life of mine is hard and stressful and even painful. Reading this book made me terrified of parenting. Because loving someone infinitely can mean extraordinary pain. That's a hefty responsibility and commitment.

But this grown-up life...it's beautiful. Every day I get to watch a couple hundred hormonal adolescents change and learn and grow right in front of me. And I get to be a part of it. The other day my students were doing an activity, and they did the whole thing with British accents. Just because. Yesterday I laughed until I cried with the girls in my knitting club. Sure, sometimes they drive me nuts, and grading mountains of essays sometimes saps my will to live. But when the mountain is good--that's pretty satisfying. And those little humans I grew in my belly? The greatest joy I have ever known. We have dance parties and tea parties and play dress-up. Last night Emma ran through the house butt naked roaring and saying "I tiger." When Matt and the kids came home from the mall, Ben handed me a bag with a cookie in it. He made me close my eyes and reach my hand in the bag to get it. He lit up with joy when I got it. Those two--they light up my life. And Matthew...he's the best man a girl could ever ask for. He makes me laugh and think. He turned me into a liberal. I mean--he changed me. Seriously changed me.

This life of mine is pretty good. I'm not the insecure 13 year old I used to be.

Growth, baby.

Hot Mess

Remember that time I took a mental health day because I was sleep-deprived and a little crazy? Me too. It was last year, right? Oh wait...

Now I'm receiving my punishment.

Thursday night Ben was up for hours coughing. Blerg. Poor guy. Emma woke up with a couple of coughs here and there, but nothing like Ben. So I decided to stay home with him so he could get some rest. I wasn't sure about Emma because she didn't seem that sick, but she could probably benefit from a day off. On the other hand, it would be easier for Ben and I if she wasn't there. But our problem was solved when she slept in late and was stupid cranky, which is usually a sign she'll be getting sick soon. So I kept them both home. Both had a lot of energy, which meant I spent most of my hours either trying to ease their coughing fits or trying to get them to settle down so they wouldn't start coughing. They both barely napped because they woke up coughing. Earlier in the day I'd made an appointment for both in the evening. So after Matt got home we got some dinner then went to kaiser.

The moment we walked in Emma went down hard. She went from totally fine to scaring-the-crap-out of-me ill in minutes. She felt like she was on fire, she struggled to breathe, and her heart was pounding. All through the wait (which thankfully wasn't long), the nurse's station, and the exam room she progressively worsened. Her pulse was off the charts, and her temp had gone up three degrees IN MINUTES. Yikes. She eventually fell asleep in my arms and calmed a bit, and they gave her Tylenol  to get the fever down. It's a nasty virus. But we had a rough night. Both kids got breathing treatments before bed. Ben ended up sleeping great (finally!), but Emma had a nasty night fighting that fever, which stayed about 103 despite alternating Tylenol and Motrin all night. In the morning she woke up happy and acting great. All day she was just a slightly lower-energy version of her self. Somewhere around dinner time The Fever returned, hard, and higher at 104.8. We stripped her, we drugged her, we administered cool cloths. Alas, alack, last night was worse. It's down a little now, but steadfastly refusing to dip below 100.

This thing is mean.

But it hasn't all been bad. Ben is doing much better. He even played with the neighbor kids for a bit yesterday. I sewed a little during Emma's morning naps, and I got a lot of laundry done. There has been lots of cuddling, and I am happy to be able to stay home with them and take care of them.This morning Ben crawled into bed with us and wrapped his arms around his sister. Swoon. Now they're cuddled up on the couch watching Alice in Wonderland.

Coffee. Mama needs coffee.

4th Annual Miller/Gibbs Pumpkin Patchin'

Every year we go back, more numerous that the last. (As far as we know, we're probably done growing.) We love our friends, and our tradition.

(for previous years, see here and here; apparently I never posted pictures of year two)

October in Review

Now I'm only three months behind! Woo hoo! Soon I can just do regular posts and not feel weird.

This is about the time when Ben decided he has done having his picture taken. Ever. So from this point forward, all photos of Benjamin are forced and therefore awkward.

Nana bought the littles a rocking chair at her house. I had one like this when I was little, so it's sweet to see my little girl sit in a tiny rocker too. 

Loving the slide she got for her birthday.

This is the face she makes when the neighbor's dog barks. Hilarious.

The neighbors got a slide too. So now we have a veritable playground.

We made our annual trek to the pumpkin patch.

This is also the point at which I apparently stopped taking pictures. From here on out I really don't have much to show for our daily lives. Sad.

We did a lot of other things in October. But I don't remember them because I didn't take pictures. See? Tragic.