An English Teacher, An English Teacher, If Only I'd Been An English Teacher
Friday, February 27, 2009
The other night at ESL class, we were discussing some vocabulary when one of my students slipped out and returned with some paper towels, handed them to me, and started motioning to her face. I looked at her, and then down at my dry-erase-marker-dust-covered hands, and realized why my students had been fidgeting while I was obliviously going on about A Visit to the State Fair.
I made my best attempts to clean up, but she soon took the towel, grabbed my chin, and started rubbing my cheeks vigorously. The other students helpfully pointed out other smudges, while one ran to grab a mirror to show me the extent of my Pig-Pen-ness and another checked out the ingredients on the bottle of whiteboard cleaner to see if it was safe for skin.
Totally not embarrassing, because this was not a new experience. It reminded me of how I turn into the absent-minded professor (well, at least the klutzy-uncoordinated professor) every time I get enthusiastic about a topic. Whenever I get up in front of a classroom and try to use a writing tool, I get it allllll over myself. Student teaching? Overhead markers. Teaching college English? Chalk dust (oh, did I pay for my all-black wardrobe). ESL? Dry-erase marker dust.
A few days later, I received another email from a journal I admire asking me to do a book review for them. I've obviously not been in good touch, as it listed my current occupation as an instructor at the college where I used to teach.
And it got me thinking...about what might have been.
I was totally going to be a teacher, from my elementary days when I taught my poor brothers how to spell using discarded textbooks to my senior year when I applied to the Faculty of Education because, well, What Else? Student teaching in a junior high led to swift abandonment of public school ambitions, but I simply swapped out the classroom location from public school to ivory tower and headed myself over to the Faculty of Arts.
We planned our family around my Ph.D. It made perfect sense to have the munchkins between my M.A. and the Ph.D. as I would have more time to concentrate on my career once they were toddlers. (Ah yes, the sweet and dense fog that is the understanding of childless people about Life After Babies.)
If you would have asked me five years ago where I would be today, I would have said without hesitation, "grad school." I'd be slogging through my dissertation, teaching intro English on the side, and madly trying to publish and present at conferences in the in-between-times.
Life looks very different from that today. Not a grad school application in sight. I haven't read a scholarly article in over a year. Heck, my literary intake has been stuck on the "All Prachett, All the Time" channel for some time now.
You know what, though? I'm okay with that. Sure, I'd like to be "Dr. Peitricia Mae." But having traded in the prepping until 2 a.m., circling a comma splice on a student paper for the umpteenth time, and feeling woefully unprepared every time I stepped in front of that chalkboard, I don't feel the pressure to return to school anytime soon. Plus, I'm still paying the student loans for my bachelor's degree.
Beyond that, I really, really like my job right now. It's certainly not where I thought I'd ever be. I don't fit the profile. When people find out what I do they say, "really? Um, that's great. Wow...that sounds...difficult." (Apparently I look like I would do something easy.)
Nevertheless, it's a great fit: in my current job there's still plenty of anal-retentive editing (with the bonus of no surly students on the other end), lots to learn without feeling like I'll never get a handle on all the information (ever tried teaching Shakespeare?), and above all it's 6:30-3:00 with only the extremely occasional late night.
Plus, I never use a whiteboard. So it's win-win for everyone!
The Winter of Our Discontent
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Stupid winter. Stupid recession. And is it just me or does their simultaneity exacerbate the stupidity of each of them? The sum is greater than the parts, indeed.
Spring needs to come, like now. It feels like I've been either trudging through snow or mincing along icy sidewalks for about 800 years now. I'm sick of my winter coat. I'm sick of all my winter clothes, in fact; they are, of course, equally sick of me and the hibernation diet of the past months that has led to their being unfairly abused in their seam regions. I'm sick of stinky, steamy moist kids mittens. I'm sick of a salty car. I'm sick of indoor playtime.
I'm sick of economic doom and gloom. I'm sick of bailouts. I'm sick of owing income taxes - why can't things just get calculated correctly in the first place so I don't have to send back money that never should have seen my bank account. I'm sick of worrying about layoffs. I'm sick of getting into the housing market after the credit crisis so that now I'll have to put down 50% as well as my first-born as collateral when two years ago all I needed was a pulse.
Stupid February.
Ah well. There's always this:
See? Less sick already.
Read more...Social Butterflies
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
PRO: My kids have something to do other than vegetate in front of the television.
CON: I must give up similar relaxing (although with a good book, so at least I get some brain points) to drive them thither and yon.
PRO: They are doing their part in building community.
CON: I am obligated to do likewise as invitations cannot go long unreciprocated before they stop arriving.
PRO: They're obviously fitting in well.
CON: [...]
And really, there the inner grumbling that accompanies the frequent invitations for play-dayts, parties, and other dance-a-ca-chucas stops.
We get a lot of invites. Probably not as many as lots of other kids, but it does seem that we get our fair share. We've had four birthday parties in as many weekends. Today we received two invites within ten minutes (fortunately, one for each child), so I spent my usual supper prep time finding my way to unfamiliar houses and then asking The Husband to come home early when I realized that one child was due to be dropped off at home at the same time as I was due to pick the other one up.
I was complaining about this the other month to my mom. When did they grow up? Just yesterday, it seems, they were plump little toddlers whose social calendar was decidedly under my control and consisted primarily of walks to the park and Dora three times a day. Suddenly the phone is ringing and soft voices ask, "Is The Girl home?" Or other moms tell me again how their child can't stop talking about my son and could he come over to play.
But my mom stopped my griping in its tracks.
"Be glad they're being asked. It would be far worse if they received no invitations."
For true, that is. And really, it warms my heart whenever the phone rings or another invite comes in the mail. It shows that my Littles, relative newcomers who marched bravely into yet another school filled with unknown faces not six months ago, have Made Friends.
Which is worth every GoogleMaps visit to print out directions to yet another strange house.
We Made It
Friday, February 20, 2009
Aaaaaand we come crawling across the finish line. Our week of "guys, I'm this close to yelling - can you help me out a bit, here?" is almost done. The Husband emailed from his final layover and should be getting onto his last flight soon. He arrives in our fair city at around 5:00 am; if he's extremely lucky, he'll get an "mmmph" from his Sleeping Beauty when he slips into bed.
(Mental note: sweep all of the crumbs out of the bed. Best part of The Husband's business trips? Eating Old Dutch whilst between the sheets. Shhhh, don't tell.)
Actually, it's been a decent week. The Littles were ah-may-zing on Tuesday and Wednesday, when I had to drag them to church small group and ESL class respectively. Armed with movies and snacks, they were quiet little meeces. So they were rewarded with a trip to Target and some little treats yesterday.
(Grody. They talked me into doughnuts and popcorn twists. I've had neither for a couple of years, I think. My stomach is still protesting yesterday's assault-by-sprinkles.)
And today, treat of all treats, I got to go out for supper with one of my BFFs and it was simply divine. Her SAINT of a husband watched my brood while we went out for a good old-fashioned girl chat. The Littles were simply crushed when we rescued him came home because they had had such a good time. Their ad hoc guardian? Well, another jewel in his crown for Mr. Mary Poppins, methinks. When I got home I had to physically remove The Boy, who was fiercely kicking his caretaker and exultantly exclaiming something about damage points.
So, a much better non-Husband week than usual. Here's hoping we don't have the opportunity to try this again anytime soon.
And Then There Were Three...
Monday, February 16, 2009
Whenever The Husband travels, it's always the missing toothbrush that gets me. There's just something about that empty place in the ol' toothbrush holder that declares This Household Is Incomplete.
And we're incomplete for awhile around here - The Husband left for the wintery wastes of Alaska on Saturday morning and won't return until next Saturday. That's seven whooooole days of solo-Little-ing, attempting to escape the evil clutches of the ever-lurking Crazy.
But I'm determined to a) stay sane and b) stay (moderately) happy and un-harpy while c) not requiring ill-advised amounts of wine and/or Old Dutch Plain Ripple Chips to do so.
(I did pick up four new Terry Prachett books on Friday, though. I'm finished 1.5 so far, so there's a good chance they'll last until The Husband returns.)
Yesterday we livened things up a bit with a picnic, complete with weiner roasting and s'mores:
(Sorry for the camera shakes - I was laughing.)
Today is President's Day - which is wonderfully more lovely when you're actually happy with the sitting President - so I'm home with the kids all day again. Pro: only four days of work this week that I have to fit into the time when the kids are at school or sleeping. Con: I've already had to complete two worlds in Super Mario Bros. (pronounced "Brose") and the Barbies are waiting for me.
And there's the "Moo-oom - are you done yet?" Gotta go!
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