and for the record... I was making more money per hour when I worked retail at a bead store, and that's not even taking into consideration the many, many hours of planning and set-up outside of the actual school day. How can I help but feel disrespected?

Just got my check for the month of September... and after paying for my credentialing classes, I basically break even. What about rent? What about bills? Good thing I have some money saved up. Why do I sometimes feel that I'm paying to teach?

Ninjas in my pocket, another week passed.

Throughout the course of my day, I accumulate an assortment of random objects- the playground treasures that my kids manage to find while playing and that either end up in their mouths or endlessly rubbed between their restless little fingers until they become a distraction to their work and dropped in my pocket as temporary hostages for the day. Some of them I just throw away, like JGT's many, many creatures made out of paper or like the orphan tooth that M. found and promptly put in his mouth, announcing loudly and repeatedly that he had lost a tooth. Others I hold on to, meaning to return them at the end of the day, like the ninja that I rediscovered today while hanging up yesterday's work pants. It's a sign of a busy week when a ninja pops out of your pocket...

God Awmidee

My students are so dramatic.

Sometimes it's surprising and totally unecessary like when JGT was not chosen to be the snack helper this afternoon. We had made a deal right as recess was ending that if he could make it all the way upstairs to our classroom without talking (one of the cardinal rules at our school), he would have an automatic in on one of the most coveted jobs in room 201: snack helper. Snack helper does nothing more than pass out our afternoon snack to kids who are sitting quietly at their desks, but it is so desirable to my students, that it makes a good carrot for getting them to achieve pretty much any behavior. Unfortunately for JGT though, there was a disconnect between his behavior and its consequences. This was clear because even though he wanted so badly to pass out snack, he didn't stop talking and laughing the whole way back to our classroom in spite of reminders and warnings. So, someone else got the job and man, did JGT take it hard. He ran to his desk and began sobbing deep whole body sobs of despair. I reminded him that he could do better tomorrow and would get to help, but nothin doin. He continued to cry and cry and cry.... until, he lifted his head up and the bottom half was covered in blood. JGT had cried so hard that he had given himself a nose-bleed. On his desk was a pool, yes a pool, of blood. Drama.

Sometimes the drama is funny like N. who has taken to exclaiming "Oh, God Awmidee, God Awmidee!" in any random situation. When he saw that he had forgotten to do a page in his math workbook today, he exclaimed, "Oh, God Awmidee! This whole other page! So many problems. God Awmidee!" shaking his head and getting right to work. It's hard to keep a straight face when he does it...
God Awmidee....

The nurse at my school is amazing- always going above and beyond providing kids with uniforms if they don't have them, running a food pantry, hooking families up with services that they need, teaching health classes for our students, and bandaging the various school yard mishaps, amongst other things. Today, she brought a little kindergarten girl from the pod downstairs to our classroom. This little girl has Leukemia and is undergoing chemo. She talked to our nurse about the fact that kids were teasing her on the playground about the hat that she wears and that some kids tried to yank it off her head. So, with her parent's consent, they decided to educate our students by going to every classroom and discussing her condition candidly.

The response from my students made my heart melt. They sat quietly with looks of concern on their faces when our nurse explained the disease. As she talked about the teasing, little hands sprang up. L said, "You can just come play with our class... we go out in the lower yard, you know... down the stairs," and several others said, "You can just come and be in our class." JGT told her he liked her hat. My kids were attentive and kind. I was very proud of them. At the end of the talk, the nurse opened it up for questions. JGT raised his hand and when called said, "I'm JGT, I'm a loving boy. When I'm at home I like to play video games. Do you like snakes? I like snakes a little. I only like King Cobras, except you have to be careful where you step..." We had to cut him off: "Thank you JGT." Other kids asked questions about her hair and whether she was in pain. She talked about having to get a lot of shots, which they could all relate to. Our nurse asked what they could do to make her feel welcome at recess and what they could do if they saw other people teasing her. L. raised his hand. His face was flushed, "If we see other people teasing, me, C., and JJ, we're going to go over there and tell them to stop..." (sideways glance at me), " and we'll tell the teacher so that they'll stop." I'm pretty sure what he was actually thinking was that he would pound whoever was teasing our guest student to the ground... ha, but "telling a teacher" is often the right answer. At the end of the day, they made her "Thank You" cards for coming to our class and I was struck by how sincere and innocent all of them still are. How many of us could benefit from a dose of that?

I also want to say that I am on a cooking streak as have made not one, but two apple tarts this week and wanted to share my feat, show and tell style....

mama said, mama said

there'd be days like..... this. Days that make me want to come home and unwind with a little orange drink. Days where the reaches of my patience are palpable and where even Friday seems like an impossibly wide canyon to hurdle in order to land in the sanctity of Saturday. Maybe it was the constant rat-at-at-ing and "piu, piu" of gunfire shooting from JJ's mouth. This child plays an endless game that no one else understands. It faintly resembles war and pencils in his hands are often turned into tools of destruction, which he animates with sound effects and phrases like,"I'll get you," followed by a series of "ha, ha has," which other kids inevitable perceive as teasing. Teasing is a big thing in elementary, which either gets settled by a verbal spat or by "telling"- another big thing in elementary (neither of which are conducive to a good learning environment). The thing about JJ is that no one is actually playing with him or knows what he is really doing, but he thinks that everyone, including me, is in on his game. The only clear thing today was that his rat-tat-tat-ting was boring a hole in my patience and sanity.
Or maybe it was N., who likes to throw chairs when he's angry. He got angry today and a chair went flying, for the second time this week. Maybe it was C, a child from the classroom next door who was sent to my class and who sat down on the floor, gripping and rattling the bars of the chair like it was a jail cell door and screaming, "Somebody help me! Somebody help me!" while I was trying to read with JJ during his moments of ceasefire while simultaneously helping M. revise his friendly letter. Maybe it was because when I called the counselor for assistance with this child (who isn't in my class), she told me to call his mother. I mean, clearly I am not teaching or anything and have plenty of extra time to call the home of children who aren't even in my class.

So now I am unwinding and hoping that tomorrow is a better day... and already, J.J.'s ceaseless gun fire noises are receding into the more distant folds of my memory.

It's time for the percolator

Props to those who remember the song from the 90s.... bigger props to those who can pull off the dance without looking like a fool. Well, this post is not actually in reference to the song or the dance. I have not mastered that long-buried dance move (if I couldn't do it then.... ) although I'm confident that it'll make a comeback at 90s parties in our not-so-distant future so maybe I should practice....

anyways, what I am writing about is my brand new, shiny, hour-glass shaped, wonder of design and invention, italian coffee maker. I bought it in an effort to kick my habit of buying coffee at the shop down the street, since I know that now that school has started, my caffeine habit isn't going anywhere. I brewed my first school-day cup today and wow! I was productive and perky: made small-talk with half the staff while making all my copies for most of the week, ran the three-ring circus that I operate daily in my classroom without skipping a beat, knocked off some calls that I've been meaning to take care of for a few weeks, settled the playground squabbles that came up with ease... I was on. And the best part was that I didn't even need a refill. I wonder how long this magical drink will be effective... something this good can't last forever, just like the dance move, I guess.

One of my kids today at recess tied his own shoe laces together. He was sitting on the bench and from who knows by what inspiration, decided to tightly join the straps of his shoes. I saw it early on and asked him about it, asked him to undo them. Tying shoelaces together is usually an activity saved for people or animals living in a cartoon realm, and usually then someone does it to someone else for a laugh. I was very baffled by the idea that tying ones own shoelaces together could be fun. Needless to say that my urging him to untie his laces did not work...he was getting the attention that he wanted and began to show me that he could still walk, penguin style. So, I ignored it, hoping that by the time we lined up he would have given in and untied his own laces. However, as we were lining up, he made one last desperate attempt to go play (laces still tied) while everyone else lined up. To my horror, he climbed up to the top of the jungle gym (god knows how). By this time, the rest of the line was ready to go back inside and watching him, as he struggled to come back down and having difficulty with the fact that he couldn't spread his feet far enough apart to reach the next rung down. At this point he began shaking his head and repeating: "I should have listened to my teacha, should have listened to my teacha" (he doesn't have his "r"s quite down yet). I waited calmly, along with the rest of the class, for him to come back down and get in line. He walked all the way back up the stairs and to the classroom with his laces locked together. While everyone came back inside and settled into their work routine, he stayed oustide and gnawed (yes, with his teeth) at his laces until they came apart. A day in the life...as cooky as he is though, I have to admit I really like this kid.

I am flanked by extremes. On the one side of my apartment is the mortuary, which makes for very silent neighbors. On the other side of me is an apartment, an almost eerie reflection of my own, which is occupied by way more 20 somethings than it is meant to hold. Although I don't know these neighbors, I have become acquainted with the intimate details and patterns of their lives. I smell what's on their dinner menu, as I am making my own dinner just 10 feet away. I hear their explosive laughter and whispers of nightly conversations, while I sit and read in bed. My room is illuminated by the glow of their TV and penetrated by the sporadic laughing track of the sitcoms they watch. Their bathroom light shines brightly on my pillow and the moans of occasional romances drift into my room as if we were not only sharing the air around us, but also our beds.

We are packed so tightly in these containers that our lives spill out. Our windows stare each other in the eye and it is hard to resist the temptation to stare into their habitat like a visitor at the zoo. A real-world sitcom saga unfolding each night. While I sometimes like to feel that I am part of the lively threads of this city tapestry with its noises and smells, I also find myself wishing for an 'off' switch, a way to pull the plug on the commotion and retreat into silence... and because there is not way to do this, I find myself thinking about Sartre's quote, that in fact hell, is other people.

Today was a hard day for room 201. I must say that I've been suprised and pleased at how fast my students are adapting to the classroom routines. They are malleable, although not quite putty in my hands, but it's a far cry from my first day of school last year (granted, it was the middle of the year and they had already had 4 or more substitutes before I came) when one kid spontaneously covered his ears and began yelling as loudly as he could while looking around the room with big bulging eyes. Other students who thought this was hillarious started immitating him and within seconds, most of my class was yelling at the top of their lungs, while the rest were either crying because it was too loud or yelling that it was too loud. I remember standing at the front of this chaos and my mind simultaneously checking for the exits (had I really signed a contract?), laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and feeling completely at a loss about how to put a lid on the screamers, who were having the time of their lives. I'm not quite sure how the screaming stopped- I think I made a couple of phone calls to parents and put their kids on the line- but I remember the neighboring teacher coming in to check if everything was 'ok,' and wishing I could back track my steps, get in my car, and forget that I ever had the silly notion of becoming a teacher.

Still, although they aren't challenging me as much this year, they are not sparing the "specialty" teachers. These teachers come to our school to teach the wonderful classes that often get cut from many public schools like music, PE, computers, library, and hopefully (there's been a rumor) art. Last week, they were paired up with another class for music and as I was leaving the cafeteria where the class was taking place, I heard the teacher yell: "DO NOT CHEW THE BOOK!" I fought the urge to go back into the room and instead went to my planning meeting.

Today, we have been temporarily banned from the PE schedule. Since my class is small, we were placed in the schedule with another class, which made the class size about 25 students, supervised by two adults. I'm not sure exactly what happened in the next 45 minutes of PE, but when I came back to pick them up, I heard stories of punching, cussing, fighting. JGT had gotten into two or more fights where he (surprise) almost broke his glasses when a kid that he insulted snatched them off of his face. He punched people in the face, he swears "by accident," while other kids were also involved in their own physical fights. I don't really know what went down during PE exactly, but I imagine that the PE teacher feels a little bit like what I felt during my first day last year and that we are, as of now, no longer on the schedule.

It was a rough day for room 201.

It has been a hard transition from the city with no cars to the state where car is king. Sitting in traffic yesterday on a 4-lane highway on my way to San Jose State University (a 45 minute drive on a day with no traffic), I began to day-dream about just a week ago when I was shifting my weight to find my balance on the vaporetto that zig-zagged across the canal. How spoiled was I, that I could take a short boat-ride and easily walk to work while taking in a marvelous view on the way? I must say that I am not enjoying the jump back into car commuting. The fact is that driving makes so much more sense than any alternative. Going to my school by public transportation would require taking 2 buses and would take about 45 minute, whereas driving takes me less than 15 minutes. If I were to make it there at the same time as I do now, it means that I would have to take the bus at 6:00am, meaning that I would have to get up that much earlier. As guilty as I feel for being another polluting car on the road, I can't see myself taking the 2-bus route....

JGT

JGT is a student of mine. He has three names and is called by every single one every time he is called. Partly, this is due to the fact that there is another student who shares his first name. But it is mostly in hopes that by the time you get to the third name, you can respond more calmly and rationally to any number of things that he could have done for you to call his name in the first place. JGT wears glasses and I don't think he's gone through two consecutive weeks without breaking a pair, usually by pulling another child off of the monkey bars onto his face or by wrestling on the playground. JGT is the kid who while everyone else calmly walks in line, can't resist jumping through the hopscotch grid frantically before running back to his spot. JGT has stretched the boundaries of my patience more than any other child. JGT talks in a cartoon voice and makes "creatures" with long wispy tails out of paper, which he swoops around the room in skittish trotting rhythms to see their tails sway. Today I found out that by some fluke, JGT is in my class again this year.

JGT is also my neighbor and I bump into him while at the laundromat, while waiting for a table at a local restaurant... and I just saw him today, riding his scooter down the street, his mother and brother trying to keep up . It should be an interesting year.

Pluto, demoted

While waiting to get on the plane yesterday, I read an article about Pluto's recent change in status from planet to dwarf planet, its exile from the planet club. Most of the people who were upset about it felt this way because of nostalgia it seemed: in school, they had memorized the names of 9 planets, had learned the mnemonic device (My Very Excellent Mother Just Sent Us Nine Pizzas) that they were rather fond of, they liked the name. Well, back when I first hear about Pluto's disinvitation to the planetary party, I couldn't help but think of my own class and the impact that this would have there.

Last year, we studied the planets like many other classes. The unit was inspired by M, a student of mine whose passion for the solar system bordered on obsession. He consumed books on space and could recite facts and traits about each planet. While on the playground, I overheard him ask other students if they wanted to "play planets" afterwhich they would spin around and around. Other students soon became intrigued by the solar system. Whenever they got in line, M would assign them names of planets based on how far away they were from me- head of the line and therefore, the sun. He would say things like: "You're Mercury, the moon-like planet" or "Jupiter, King of Planets," "Mars, the Red Planet," "Uranus, the Topsy Turvy Planet." When the last student was called to line (I had nine students for a time- special ed classes are kept small), M would say, "You're Pluto, the coldest planet." I didn't think that this was such a big deal, until another student JGT who was often last in line, started whining loudly when called to line: "I don't want to be Pluto! It's the coldest, farthest planet!" Other students soon began to have their favorite spots in line, based on what planets they represented. M even wrote about it in his morning jounal: "Today, I want to be Earth," with a picture of the planets in a row and an arrow pointing to Earth with the words "Me." On a different day, I called him to be 3rd in line (Earth) and thought he would be happy, but instead he had a meltdown because he wanted to be Mercury. The student who was Mercury let him have his spot, but M was inconsolable. My kids were hooked by the time we started our unit and learned more about each planet, including Pluto, which many of them called "Poodle."

I wonder if M. found out about Pluto's demotion and how he's taking it. Maybe I will find out tomorrow on my first day of school.

hyperventilation

I am back in the states and already, reality is hitting me like a ton of bricks. While waiting to get off the plane, I decided to listen to my messages, since I haven't been able to use my phone the entire month. What a way to shatter the lingering dreaminess leftover from Venice. The first couple of messages were from my vice principal who wanted to know my exact date of return back to school. I am a week late in coming back, and although I do feel guilty about it as a teacher, I had arranged it with my principal prior to leaving for the summer. Then, I got a message from the credentialing office at San Francisco Unified. The woman said that she had gotten a call from my school saying that they wanted to rehire me, but that her records (correctly) show that I am still uncredentialed. She will need proof that I am credentialed in order for the district to rehire me. Clearly, I cannot provide proof that I am credentialed, so I am crossing my fingers and hoping that I can still obtain an emergency credential from the district while I finish up my credentialing courses. The next call was from the head of Special Education at San Jose State University-I am signed up for a student teaching class next semester (which should be my last class if I can get another one waived). However, it seems that instead of it being a class where I am supervised by a San Jose State professor who comes and observes me etc while I teach, this is a class where I'm supposed to be working with a veteran teacher (and essentially not getting paid). So now I am afraid that I will not be able to work in my classroom at all and I will probably not have time to search for a school with a veteran sped teacher to take me in her classroom before this class starts. SO, what will happen this year?? I have no idea. Will I ever earn a credential? Will I be able to work at my school, that I liked so much? The endless frustration with the special education credential makes me want to just drop everything and run for the hills... or back to Venice. The bureaucratic narture behind of all this makes me anything but sure that this will all work out and instead, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that I am moving back to California only to find out that I have no job and that I will not be able to finish my credential.

And I was worried about my classroom not being set up for the first weeks of school...

Things I will miss about Venice....

1. Being a train ride away from family and childhood friends
2. Taking the vaporetto across the Giudecca canal every morning, taking in the view as I’m waking up.
3. Leaning campanili
4. Bulbous domes, sitting on the skyline like ripe pomegranates waiting to be picked
5. Candy store displays with their long,thick intertwined ebony ropes of licorice
6. Chance meeting of cute backpackers in the guardaroba (just one, really).
7. Amaretto gelato
8. The surrealist room at the Guggenheim and Kandinsky’s “Landscape with Red Spots No. 2”
9. Spritz a L’Aperol
10. Pizza al Volo (on the go)
11. The daily possibility of adventure in a new place
12. Narrow streets opening up to small intimate campi, each with a unique well in the middle
13. The occasional feeling that I am bobbing around in water when I am hanging out in my apartment
14. The amazing people that I’ve met here and nights in Rialto and Campo Sta Margherita
15. Speaking four languages daily
16. Picking up British English words like “bins” … as in “I didn’t know I’d come all the way to Venice to empty bins,” (quote from a fellow intern) or “mad”… as in “the party last night was mad!”
Mostly, I feel lucky to have been able to live in Venice for a month, to take in the city bit by bit, and as always, it feels too soon to leave.

Last night was the farewell, end of the month dinner held on the rooftop of the museum. The view was stunning, overlooking the Grand Canal with an amazing sunset and a faraway thunderstorm illuminating the sky with lightning to rival the 4th of July fireworks. I’m not very good at ending things or saying goodbye, but this was a nice way of celebrating the end of the month and each other. The intern heads presented each of us with a limerick and a glass of champagne as a send-off.
Here’s mine:

“One of the best teachers on the West Coast, this chap has been put to the test
But she’s definitely succeeded as a team player, in fact, as one of the best
Meeting people in Guardaroba is one skill as an intern she has gained
She can even pull an all-nighter in Verona and guard without being drained!
Aside from being a good sport, this intern is fascinating for a chat
Her interests and knowledge are intriguing
She is especially better than just for ‘chewing the fat’
Before you go back, Emilie, we do want you to know
We have all valued your work and friendship
For that, no more prosecco, but let’s get out the Bordeaux”

Canal Cowboys and Lassoed Landings

Coming home from the beach (happily becoming a staple on my days off), while I stood on the deck of the vaporetto, dreamily gazing out at the fast-approaching landscape of Venice, drenched in golden light, I saw one. Like a marine rodeo star riding a leaping orca, a lone man riding a speedboat over waves like he was holding onto a wild bull instead of a speedboat motor. The boat skipped on the water in elegant arcs, getting several feet of air every time. He gripped the motor and his hair wisped behind him, while he literally rode off into the sunset. Several people around me also turned to look and smile at the passing canal cowboy.

It was a stark contrast to the commuter boat that we were riding, packed with a mix of well-dressed people coming home for the dinner hour and sand-dusted tourists returning glazed in red from hours under the hot sun. This slow, bulky boat, weighed down by its human cargo, packed in every inch of space, the image of daily conformity juxtaposed with the unleashed freedom of the smaller boat. It steadily pursued its plotted route until while approaching its stop, it awkwardly slammed several times into the cement boat stop dock, jostling all of its passengers, elbows flying, exposed toes getting stepped on. When I found my balance and looked up, I saw the vaporetto attendant slinging the rope to join us with the dock, an act I’ve seen dozens of times since being here in Venice. It took a couple of times, but he finally lassoed us in and drew the boat close enough that it was safe to dismount. I smiled inwardly as I stepped off the boat and brushed past the subtler, quieter, unpretentious canal commuter cowboy.