Getting back into the thick of it

I've enjoyed my little vacation-- and little is the mot juste, as our school district calendar keeps sliding staff development days in near holidays so that now there's basically only two months off, which no doubt is based on some half-baked study from probably Iceland (No offense to any Icelanders out there. Hvernig gengur? Mer likur vio Sigur Ros!) that this lack of down time as a bloc will somehow double our test scores or at least our sports teams.

Yesterday, it was announced that John Hughes had passed away. I am spending the weekend watching his films again. Yesterday was Sixteen Candles. Today, I think I'll do Planes, Trains, and Automobiles and of course Ferris Buhler. God bless that man.

My students' AP scores arrived. I must say, they exceeded my expectations! Yay, kids! You really WERE studying! And the kid who told me the Gettysburg Address was 1511 Gettysburg Avenue- you are forgiven. Almost.

The homework controversy rages on. Homework in kindergarten? Yeah, that's a bit much. However, I shudder to think what happens to high school kids who don't do homework when they get to college. Wait. I know what happens, because I had a dorm-mate for one semester who had never done homework in her life after she graduated from some hippy-dippy private school. Note that I said, "one semester," too. She got to spend two thousand bucks to learn that she wasn't prepared for college. Tough lesson. You get that for which you work (see how homework taught me not to end my sentences with a preposition? Thank you Mrs. B Smith, my 9th grade English teacher....).

Oh, and on July 28, A Shrewdness of Apes turned four! Thanks for hanging out with me during this time, and I will be a better blogger than I have been lately, I promise.

So. How are YOU doing?

Summer's lease hath all too short a date

It's hard to believe how quickly summer break has zipped along-- and we are not even officially IN summer yet. I have been trying to get serious about fitness this summer, now that it has become common knowledge that I am the reason why Pluto was downgraded from full-sized planet status- really, how can Pluto compete with my keister? Answer: It can't. I mean, I am afraid of going waterskiing on the Mississippi for fear that, if I fall in, another levee will be breached and I will be solely responsible for yet another town to have sandbagged for nothing. I am here to tell you that I once met Sir Mix-a-Lot and Freddie Mercury, and yes, those three songs are MY FAULT, and if Nelly had met me first, he would have been rapping about "Boulder Bottoms," not "Apple Bottoms."

And let's face it: teaching is NOT conducive to fitness. The stress makes you exhausted, so you're too tired to work out. You have a hard time sleeping, which numerous studies have implicated in the inability to lose weight. If you forget your lunch, you have to eat starch-crammed cafeteria food. You get ten minutes to eat. And now I have to take cholesterol medicine, and my blood-pressure is creeping up toward normal-- which, for me, is high. And my knees are beginning to hurt. So I need to get going.

So I have decided to get back into biking (new bike!), and the Hubster decided that perhaps a personal trainer might also be a good thing to get me in shape for the biking-- and, doubtless, to spare him from the whining about agonizing muscle pain. We are members at the YMCA, and so I contacted a personal trainer who seemed to be a good fit from her description, avoiding the personal trainer WHO IS THE FATHER OF A STUDENT, because, really, can you work out when you're freaked out about whether a parent is going to be thinking about your cottage-cheese thighs blossoming out of work-out clothes as you strain away at a Nautilus machine the next time parent-teacher conference time comes up?

Nonononononono. Getting my fat arse going is hard enough without adding in layers of psychological trauma, thankyewverrymuch.

So I called this gal. And then I waited. And walked on the treadmill and tried to get myself started anyway.

After several days, I gave up, and called another gal. And I waited. And played tennis with the kids while listening to two half-nekkid foul-mouthed macho men curse at each other on the next court over. IKYN. Including the frequent use of a word, that, if you love Bull Durham like I do, you will recall is one of the few words that will immediately get one tossed from a ballgame if one uses it to refer to an umpire. Explaining that word to my middle child was LOADS of fun.

I thought about calling the Y and simply asking for the number of a personal trainer who actually WANTED a new client, but I had been assured that they were ALL open for new clients. So apparently, there is TIME, and there is "Y TIME." It's like the Caribbean concept of "Mañana."

So just now? Within hours of each other? They BOTH called back. The annoyance is that the one who called first seems to be the least certain already that she can fit her schedule into mine, even though I am OFF FOR THE SUMMER, so what does that mean? Thus, I may end up with the second one.

But all I want is for there to be less of me.

UPDATE: Yes, while out on the golf course I got a phone call from gal number one needing to reschedule. NOT a surprise. So I told her to "never mind" and I'll try gal number two. I have so far spent THREE WEEKS trying to get to see a personal trainer. I could have knitted one by now.

My Own Thursday Thirteen: Thankfulness

As the school year winds down, I like to take stock of the year and list all my many blessings. I even like to take some of my banes and try to view them as blessings. To wit:

1. I am grateful for the assistant principal calling the one insane parent who didn't believe me the previous times I told her her daughter was in danger of failing--- until she actually did, and then the waterworks started and the dealmaking was attempted. The phone calls were coming about every hour, until I thought I would lose my mind. He told her the subject was closed, and actually knew that I had tried everything to get this girl to take her grade seriously. The phone calls blessedly stopped.

2. I am grateful that that principal was with us-- because now he's among the leaving.

3. I am grateful my husband could stay home with the kids and work from home while I finished off the school year. If they ever figure out a way for teachers to telecommute, I will be all over that.

4. I am grateful that it finally stopped raining, and that the sun is shining-- for now, according to the weather man. Drat.

5. I am grateful I don't have to spend any more time with Redneck Mother-- who elevated being a Neanderthal to an art form lately.

6. I am grateful I get to watch my son carry sticks around and make all kinds of cool architectural marvels in the back yard-- until the dogs run through them at Mach 3. I am also grateful he just shrugs his shoulders and starts over again.

7. I am grateful for my friend Little Flower as she retires. I don't think the middle school has figured out what they will be missing next year-- but they will.

8. I am grateful that i got to meet one of the foreign exchange student's parents. What a wonderful surprise! It wasn't a surprise that they were wonderful people, just as their daughter is.

9. I am grateful for discovering the band Vampire Weekend. If any music screams out "Summer!", then this is it. I believe I shall crank it as I work in my room. I love "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa."

10. I am grateful that the computerized grading system only froze once this week. Of course, it was right when senior grades were due, and I had to stay an hour after school waiting for it to get fixed, but let's not nitpick.

11. I am grateful that my most emotionally disabled student managed to really turn it on, get himself together, be an absolute angel, AND score a solid B on the final exam. My second most afflicted student actually managed to pass by a hair again. Whoo-hoo!

12. Did I mention that the sun is shining?

13. I am grateful I found this shirt. It says, "The beatings will continue until morale improves." Doesn't that just sum up life in education?

What are you feeling grateful for?

Mommy, I'm SCARED.

More than fifty percent of our principals leaving. Five English teachers are leaving, and maybe more, and not all of them are going to be replaced.

I was accosted in the hallway by the English dept. chairperson who had an insane gleam in the eye as she suddenly pounced,"Hey! You're dual certified in English, aren't you?" It was actually more of an accusation than a query.

When I stuttered in the affirmative, she snapped, "How'd you like to teach English?"

Why, since you asked so nicely....

I mumbled something noncommittal, and she stalked off, muttering to herself. I was left standing rooted to the spot, mouth agape. I believe she was just kidding. I think.

Ohmigawd. The year can't end soon enough.

I feel for her-- I do. Someone higher up the food chain needs to realize that they are making us crazy down here with the vibes that are being sent out. We are howling like animals that sense an earthquake coming.

Vacation, plus church youth group, equals unChristian thoughts

What IS it about the Cornelius family that our vacations always seem to bisect some strange part of the universe where we are swallowed up by a riptide of youthgroup punks dedicated to running wild? And it seems the more strict the denomination from whence they hail, the wilder they run?

Example 1: We have a spot where we love to go camping for a week at a time. The first two days we were there, we had Wild-Turkey-swillin', Hank Jr-blastin', deer-guttin'-in-the-campsite capital-R Rednecks as our neighbors, and I can't describe the relief we felt as they announced that they had to git back to town to check in with their probation officers. As they were leaving, along comes two of those giant vans with crosses painted on the side disgorging an unending stream of gangly teens like a mama wolf feeding her pups. They are obviously pretty fundamentalist, since the girls are wearing completely modest attire and have not cut their hair. They cheerfully begin setting up two camps-- the boys across the creek and on our left, and the girls to the campsite on our right. They are so gosh-darn clean and shiny and cheerful, singing old-timey hymns as they worked, the boys playing in the creek and gathering firewood while the girls prepare lunch, I felt like I needed to check my blood sugar.

Until the sun set.

We turned in at about 11:30, after being asked if we were saved, telling them we are Episcopalians, and having that information inspire them in their zeal to save us, and finally being accepted that we are never going to abandon our heathen ways after we began a little scriptural discussion that did not go to well for the kids but was way amusing for us. Anyway, once their chaperones began to nod off, the kids waited a decent interval, and then began tramping THROUGH our campsite to "sneak" off to the campsite of the opposite sex. Non-stop. Boys to the girls' camp. Girls to the boys' camp. Lots of giggling. Lots of tripping over long skirts. Until about 2 am, when I finally stick my head toward the tent flap and ask my husband where I put my gun. I heard kids scramble off into the brush frantically-- right where the poison ivy was, because, yes, there IS a God--and finally be still.

They then actually had the nerve the knock on our tent flap at SIX ACK EMMA to join in their sunrise worship service on the sand bar in the creek directly behind our tent. When my husband profanely told them what to do with that suggestion, they went to the sandbar, pulled out the guitars, and proceeded to pray for our souls for the next hour. They then hurriedly left when I got out my guitar and began playing "Smoke on the Water" and "Stairway to Heaven"-- all eleven pages worth.

So now fast forward to our current trip. We are moving our way up the Atlantic coast from Georgia to Virginia, and just settled into a nice hotel, when we walk down into the lobby to go out to dinner and see about three hundred teenagers milling around with wet sleeping bags and smelling of wet dog. It was a youth group campout that had gotten rained out, and so the sponsors decided to put them into a hotel or something. So guess where most of the boys were placed? On our floor, right next door and moving down the hallway. They were kicking a soccer ball outside our door against the wall until 11:30, when a wrathful and terribly sunburned Ms. Cornelius opened the door in her jammies, saw the idiotic chaperone standing there with them while they shouted and shoved and fell into walls, cryptically said "Ten seconds," and then firmly shut the door. Very quickly, I heard the doors slam and silence descend like a peaceful little cloud over the hallway, and got to enjoy everything 100 bucks a night ought to provide.

Meaning: I'll control my kids, and you control yours.