I need a hug

Today was one of those weird days. It may have had order to it, as most of my overly-organized days have to it but it got to a point where it was hard to tell if I was hormonal or just having one of those days.

It was one of those days that started off pretty well, didn’t suck for most of it, laughed until I cried at one point, hid from my students and cried but not from laughter at another point and then enjoyed backwards dinner with my kids. Now I am looking at my computer with one eyebrow raised trying to make sense of it all. Not a bad day. No tornadoes, world didn’t end. Didn’t run anyone over with my car, didn’t eat anything ridiculously fattening that I would regret. Not a terrible day; just a weird day. Just a day that made me need a fucking hug.

(I rarely swear in my blog, so you can sense what kind of a day it was)

5am woke up to Pink singing “Raise Your Glass”. Good way to start the day. I like to wake up to the part that says “Five am turn the radio up/where’s the rock and roll?” Puts me in a feisty mood. In a good way.

I actually went to bed early last night and got like, seven hours of sleep. In a row. Yep, I know! That is weird. Sleeping more than five hours makes me dizzy and groggy. I should just stick to five hours, seriously. Plus, I had weird dreams about school. One of my students (pay attention here, he shows up later) who has super long and curly hair got a buzz cut because he was joining the army. One of my fellow teachers was wearing a suit, which was weird because he was the PE teacher. An old boyfriend showed up to school but wouldn’t talk to me. He stopped talking to me in real life, so it kind of made sense. Dreamy weirdness. I get that a lot.

5:15am I saw on line that I had a message from some OKCupid weirdo asking me if I would like to help him lose his virginity. He was thirty-six years old. I have never met this person nor even had a messagy conversation with him and now think I need to quit the online dating scene for awhile because I am attracting nothing but the strange and unusual. Which can be nice, considering I am strange and unusual, but this message was just too surreal. I tried to tell my mom about it and it took me five minutes to get out the story because I was laughing too hard to actually get the words out to tell her that not only was her daughter considered a cougar but a male-flower-stealer as well.

7am arrived at school for my early morning SAT prep class where no students prepping for the SAT’s showed up.

7:30 was a quick meeting with the director where I discovered I had actually been offered my job back for next year. So, that was good. I guess.

8am continued teaching “The Hero’s Journey” and had my 9th graders watch a documentary on Joseph Campbell. I was then able to grade papers. See how I do that? Hey, you watch a documentary; I will be over here making sure you don’t fall asleep while grading some essays. I sat in the middle of the classroom as to make sure no one slept. I hate when they fall asleep. I like to throw balled up paper at their heads and then shout, “Good morning, Sunshine!” really loudly.

9am I had to sub for the science teacher, who left no lesson plan for a teacher who knows nothing about science except for what she learned from science documentaries in high school which she slept through. Nice irony.

Noon I regaled the virgin story to another co-worker and we discussed if I should message him back just to have a really good story to write about for my blog. Laughed until we cried. She thought I shouldn’t meet him because he sounded weird. Well, duh. I explained it would make a really fun blog and perhaps she should come with me to meet him. We read his profile on my phone and when she found out he was British, she said, “Well, alright, that makes sense.” Well, I’m glad she figured it out.

2pm My dreaded and beloved 11th graders came in and so did the excuses as to why they did not finish their papers. “My computer was down.” “But you emailed me,” I said. “It crashed after I emailed you.

“I sent it to your email!” “Well, resend it using my computer and if it’s there, I won’t mark you down for being late.” “Oh, well, I don’t think I can get to my email using your computer.” Yep. Uh huh, thought so.

Then the one I dreamt about (with the hair) gave me his excuse. I told him if he wanted an extension he should have come to me before the paper was actually due. We then, at the end of class, got into an argument. It wasn’t pretty. I care about this kid. He is actually a retired drug dealer at the ripe old age of sixteen. I had noticed that ever since his dad got out of prison a few months ago, he had let his homework slide. As I re-read that, it sounds like I am kidding, but I am not. He is seriously one of the smartest kids I have and one of the biggest slackers who always tells me he will give me a dollar if he can hand in the assignment tomorrow. So we argued and I got pissed. I actually yelled at one point, “Will you just shut up! I’m actually listening to you!” It made sense then. He is planning on dropping out and it breaks my heart. I yelled, he yelled, we both said a few things we shouldn’t have and then I had to let him go. He left; I went into the bathroom and cried. When I came out, several of his classmates were waiting for me. They hadn’t seen me cry since last year.

I know I’m not Hillary Swank in “Freedom Writers” or Edward James Olmos in “Stand and Deliver” but I try. I try my best and care my hardest and yet, I seem to lose some sometimes. I yell, I have no patience, but I think I’m a good teacher. I don’t feel the need to “save” my students. I just want them to graduate high school. Actually, I just want them to be happy and safe and not in prison.

4pm I left to go to the YMCA to work off my failure as a teacher on the treadmill while listening to Greenday. It seemed fitting. No Christina Aguilera, no Madonna, not even Pink would make me feel better. I needed some angry screaming in my head that wasn’t my own. I went to lift weights as a preamble to the sugar I planned on eating later. There was this really cute guy working out next to me. I realized then what I really needed. No, not sex. I really needed a hug. No, seriously. Not a sweet and cute hug from one of my children who would then ask for a cookie, but a grownup sized hug where I could have someone’s head higher than mine.

After I picked up the kids, we went to Whole Foods, cuz momma wasn’t planning on cooking tonight, and my favorite pastry chef gave me a grownup hug. And a cookie.

Yep, that's it. No point. Just that...I really need a hug.

Please read before Saturday. Ya know, in case the world ends.

My eleventh graders told me that they didn’t think they should have to finish their essays by Monday because the world was going to end on Saturday.

I told them to finish the paper just in case the world didn’t end on Saturday. Just in case. And hey, if it did end then the last thoughts they would have would be about Maya Angelou. Nice way to go. Of course the last thoughts might be a bit of profanity with my name attached to it too. I told them it was a risk I was willing to take.

Then I started thinking about all of the things I really didn’t need to do in case the world did end on Saturday. Hmmm…I probably don’t need to return my DVDs, pay any bills nor go grocery shopping until Sunday. Then again if it’s an earthquake and not everyone dies, it would be good to have some granola bars and turkey bacon around in case we get hungry. Although, the radiation from all of the nuclear reactors tipping over after the earthquakes will turn us into zombies anyway. We all know that will happen and ya never know what your tastes will be as a zombie. Do you? One day you may want brains for breakfast and then the next you may want a nice chocolate chip granola bar from Trader Joes. It’s nice to have the option. Of course I’m not sure what my vegan friends will do if they become zombies. I am sure there is no soy substitute for brains. Vegan vampires must have the same issue…

So what else don’t I need to do now…I guess I could cancel my doctor appointments? Won’t really need a stress test now, huh? I can put off doing laundry, emptying the dishwasher and cleaning out the cat box. If Henry survives, I am sure he will be happy to become an outdoor cat. I’m sure he’ll become a zombie at some point too so I guess I should let him sleep next to me and scratch his belly a little more so he won’t exact revenge on my brains.

I should probably have some cash on hand, line my roof with lead and maybe put more gas in my car before the gas rationing begins. I think Mel Gibson doesn’t live too far from me but I think he is too old to be a true road warrior any more. Plus, he really hasn’t had the cute Australian accent since the 80’s. Although it sounds like he would be great to have on my side in a street fight nowadays.

Seriously, I am starting to realize I may have watched way too many apocalyptic and horror movies in high school and college and well, last week, and they may have affected my judgment about Saturday’s possible catastrophic events.

Let’s look at this from a positive and pragmatic approach. Perhaps I am just super prepared now. Hey, if aliens attack, I am so not going near the green light no matter how pretty it is and how safe the president thinks we are. Same with toxic waste (don’t go near a swamp), comets (lead lined potting shed will keep you safe), large alien worms that live underground (stay far away from Kevin Bacon), and axe wielding maniacs (don’t offer to babysit). I am ready; bring it on.

However, I don't think it is a good idea to surprise anyone by telling them I have feelings for them. Love or hate feelings. Either way, probably not a really good idea. Ya know, just in case. But if we do implode or explode on Saturday…you know who you are…or do you? It really wouldn't matter anyway. We'll all be zombies or dead. Like I'm going to be embarrassed if I run into them in the afterlife or feel badly about eating their brains or granola bars. Seriously, now that would just be silly.

Oh hey! I just thought of one more thing. I wouldn’t have to pay back my student loans either! Cool.

Fast cars, stupid tests.

Ah, CST week in California; where young students are pigeon-holed for the next year of their education. Nothin’ more fun than that! My son is in second grade and this is his first year of Standards testing. Did you know you do have the option as parents to not have your children take the test? Now, if the entire state of California refused to have their children take the tests…hmmm…just a thought. I had Max take the test. He will eventually have to take multiple choice/standardized tests for the important stuff, like college. Yep, in …let me count…nine years, he has to take the SAT and ACT tests so it’s good to start prepping him now. (Okay, all those who think I am not being sarcastic, raise your hand.)

Now, I don’t want to get all soap-boxy, but education should be number one on most politicos’ agendas. It seems to me that most people who control silly things like budgets, seem to forget today’s students are OUR future. These are the people who will be taking care of us when we are old and feeble and can no longer take care of ourselves. Do we really want a society of lazy, apathetic morons taking care of us and deciding our elderly fate? Seriously. Again, just sayin’.

When you are a graduating senior, you no longer have to take the CST’s because, let’s face it, they would screw up the API scores just because they have already gotten into college and no longer care if they are pigeon-holed or not. It no longer matters if they are an EL or have an IEP or a GATE student. Man, educators really love their pedagogic acronyms. They just care about prom and graduation and seriously, who could blame them? So, now what the heck do you do with your seniors for five days? You can’t let them just stay home because the state gives schools money based on daily attendance. So it is time for CST Senior Week! Woot.

Let me back up and give you the back story. On the first day of school this year, a few of the seniors cornered me and asked me to be the senior class advisor for them. I guess the look of fear on my face was rather daunting so they did what they had to do to make me accept the gig.

“Ms. Levine,” they leaned in and said it almost in a whisper to entice me. “You’d get to plan prom.”

Damn. They knew my weakness for pretty ball gowns, sparkly tiaras and very high heels. Damn students. So, yes, I was the stupid teacher to agree to this. And yes, the prom is going to be seriously amazing. Wait til you see my dress…

The year for the seniors was challenging. The year for their fabulous senior advisor who had never been a senior advisor before was even more challenging. There were tears, yelling, slamming of doors, hiding in the bathroom. And that was just in the first semester. And that wasn’t the students either. No one on the administrative staff told me what the senior class needed for any part of the year. Prom, CST week, graduation, nothing. No one even told me specifically what I was in charge of and who to contact and the rules of fund raising and what permits you needed for beach day. Nothin. Nada. Nope-a-roo.

It was baptism by fire which let’s face it, I am Jewish so baptism of any kind isn’t really my favorite sport. By the way, when I asked the senior advisor from last year what I needed to do and for phone numbers and lists and stuff, she basically said I was on my own. Now, I understand when someone gets fired from their job they may not want to help the school who fired them, but I didn’t fire her. Seriously…

The first semester, I helped proof their personal statements for college applications. Then I wrote twenty-six letters of recommendation, which seriously was fun to do. Writing what you actually like about your students is a good thing. When you are writing about all of their positive attributes, it balances out the crappy students who give you a headache.

They took my role as their advisor seriously. They came to me with academic and personal issues. Relationships, drug problems, family problems, money issues. I kept reminding them I was not a therapist, but they just wanted someone to hold their hand and tell them that it was going to be alright. They hid out in my room when they were frightened and upset. They retook the SATs and ACTs. I watched them change and grow and get ready to move on to their futures.

With that said, may I just say that when thirty-three out of thirty-eight students get into four year universities, it’s kind of rewarding to be their advisor.

So, CST week was super awesome and fun and exhausting. Oh my god, was it exhausting. I just didn’t want to lose any of them. I was the only chaperone for most of it. I have no voice left. Seriously, try counting students who don’t stand still in a crowded train station. I told them I couldn’t lose them because they would totally dock my pay if I did. I think it’s like, $4 per student lost, or something like that.

We did have a full week. We did a beach cleanup, the Grammy museum, movies and bowling, senior lunch and our beach party. They forced me to see “Fast Five” and if you have never experienced a movie with teenagers who think they need to talk back to the screen, well, actually, yell back at the screen…oy. When I drove home after the movie, man, I wanted to race. Vroom. I do have flames on my car and flames do make the car go faster. But it is hard to race in a minivan and I don’t think Vin Diesel would take me seriously if I offered to race his Charger. They are now making me see the rest of the fast, furious and bald guy movies. Did you know there were four other ones? Seriously, was that really necessary?

I did have fun this week. I got to hang out with them and relax (well, I relaxed after I repeatedly counted them). I even let them give me ghetto braids. They are great kids and I love being a part of their senior year. Next up is grad night at Disneyland, Prom and graduation. Almost done fund raising and almost done planning.

Then I have Dash’s preschool graduation, but that one might be a little easier…

Mother is NOT half of a word

Ah, Mother’s Day. The one day a year where your children must stand up and say, “Mom, you are awesome and although I do not say it nearly enough, I appreciate all that you do.” It’s a federally mandated compliment, but is still nice to hear. You know they mean it too. When you have little kids, they don’t know how to be sarcastic yet. Although my children are already well versed in sarcasm but they are advanced and well, they are my children. The other day Max looked at Dash and said, “No Dash, you can totally play with my DS because you won’t break it.” And then he added, “That, my dear brother was sarcasm.” Dash had an odd expression on his face like someone had just taken his cookie away. But then he nodded with complete and total understanding and went back to chasing the cat. I like that my children are sarcastic. Seriously, it makes my role as their mother much easier. Soon I will teach them irony.

Mother’s Day is a day when we reflect upon our past year and think, “Dear god, did I really do all THAT?!?!” Then you realize that yes, indeed you did. You took off work when they were sick, you were puked on, peed on, pooped on and held on to really tightly when they were scared that Transformers were real. You gave up your bed, your space, your dinner, your free time. You went to play dates and birthday parties and caught children falling out of bounce houses. You made cupcakes, you made doctor appointments, and you made mistakes. You cried when they were hurt, you yelled when they didn’t listen, you smiled when they looked at you as only your own child could. You were hugged and kissed and kicked. You gave time outs, to both them and yourself. You helped with homework, you tried to do their math, and you prayed you were doing it right. You tried to keep them safe, keep them clean, and keep them in the backyard away from traffic. You fought for them, with them, on behalf of them and you, my dear mothers, have had a full year. And let’s face it; you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Mother’s Day is also a chance to thank your own mother. To look at all of the things she did and still does for you. To compare your mothering styles and know that although she was not perfect she was the best role model you ever had. I was and still am lucky to have my mom. My mother, Ruth, taught me most things in life. The important stuff, not just how to sniff out a sale on shoes or how to apply lip liner without looking, but how to be there for your children no matter what age you or they are. She has never given me an expiration date for advice giving or getting. I will always be my mother’s baby and I am thankful for that. The other day when I was sick and cranky I think I actually called her “mommy”. She has taught me how to put yourself second to those you love but not lose yourself in them. She taught me how to cook matzo balls better than anyone, brisket better than anyone and do it all without even breaking a nail.

She gave my sister and me a true childhood filled with love, laughter, emotion and fun. She showed us what true love was and is (well, my dad showed us that too but his Father’s Day tribute will be in June) how to be a true friend, a true beauty and a true mother. She is honest but in a good way, she makes us crazy but in a good way and well, she hasn’t stopped being there for me, and that is in the best way.

And she is a damn good grammy too.

So, to all of my mommy-friends, be you on your own, married happily or somewhere in between; for all you do for your children, families and friends, have a happy and wonderful Mother’s Day.