Shopping can be so much fun!

I love to go shopping.  Especially when there isn't anything in particular that I am looking for - I can just look at stuff and decide if I like it well enough to buy it or if I think someone I know would love to have it as much as I want to buy it for them.  That's when shopping is really fun.

I'm not crazy about shopping with a detailed list, though.  "Mission shopping" is torture.  How much was it at that store?  I'm always second-guessing myself when I'm on a budget.  Fortunately, I don't really have a budget like I used to.  Now, if I see it and it's reasonably affordable, I just buy it and be done with it.  If it's for me, I bring it home to try on or unwrap it and put it in it's place or move it around and rearrange stuff to make it just so.  If it's a gift, such as for Christmas, I just stack all the stuff up on the bed in the guest room with post-its as to who the gifts are for and continue on my merry buying spree.  The bag and the receipt are under the gift just in case I find something I would rather give to that person.

It's especially fun to shop for my sister and my mom because I know them just about better than anyone else in my life.  I feel victorious when I find Judy's size or something I know Mom is going to love.  They are both desperate for good looking clothes, and I really try hard to find them things they can wear every day - as well as the fun items - cute jammies or jewelry that will put a smile on their face. 

I remember one year, maybe on Dec. 23, Judy was upset because she lost one of her favorite ladybug pins that she wears on the lapel of her uniform everyday.  I said "Wait.  Hold on.  Just a minute!"  Then I went under the tree and found this little package and I had a new one for her to open on Christmas morning, but she needed it right then.  The LOOK on her face when she opened that ladybug pin that I found sometime in July was more special at that moment than it would have been on Christmas morning.  It might have been lost in the shuffle of gifts on Dec. 25, but on that day, she needed a lift and I had it to give.  She almost forgot about the lost ladybug pin, but I found the lost one after she left for work and wrapped it up in the box from Dec. 23 - so on Christmas, it was in her stocking.  These are the random, priceless gifts that I truly love to give.

Shopping for my Dad is another story.  Sometimes he asks for a specific thing - like last year.  He wanted these two Howland family tiles framed in a shadow box, and he told me this at Thanksgiving time.  Getting things framed is a challenge when places like Ben Franklin have a sign up that say "next available delivery for custom frames:  December 24 at 7:30 pm."  That was a killer gift item.  Fortunately, I got it before that date and time, but I really was sweating that gift.  That wasn't shopping.  That was a mission item and as much as I loved the look on his face when he opened it, I sweated the arrival of an acceptable framing job before I left for NN.

Today was fun.  I had to run to Walmart for some club picture day stuff and other groceries, but I had an extra hour or so on my hands, so I meandered through Walmart willy-nilly and looked at Christmas decorations and prepackaged gift isles with abandon - and giggled.  I picked up a few things today that will make some little people happy - well, if it's not lost in the shuffle or the "stuck-uppityness" of their parents.  Buying things for my nieces and nephews (and great nieces and nephews) lost its luster a long time ago because none of them appreciated squat and I never ONCE got a thank you - much less a note from Indiana, Georgia or Utah. Tim and Tres have ALWAYS been appreciative, but the alphabet side of my family, not so much.

Now that I think about it, I might just have to give those cute gifts to Christmas Mother or Angel Tree so someone who can appreciate them will have them on Christmas morning. 

I wish I could talk my parents into going to Disney World for Christmas this year.  No gifts, just one great family blowout trip and shoot a wad of cash in Florida.  No cooking, cleaning, decorating.  Just meandering through a beautifully decorated happy place and watch Judy's face light up when she sees Mickey and Minnie, Goofy and Daffy, and Cinderella.  It doesn't matter that Judy is 62 years old - she still loves everything Disney and is such a happy human being - no matter what is happening in her world (unless the clocks aren't right).

Yes, shopping can be so much fun.  I love buying gifts for people who appreciate them - and it has nothing to do with the price.  It's the element of surprise, the thought that counted, the pleasure in the buying and the perfect wrapping of a beautiful package - whether it is under the tree or on the Christmas dinner table.

I wish more people in my family appreciated that concept - but they don't.  At least I know that my Mom, Dad and my Judy do, and that really is all that matters.

Weeding the garden

When they are gone, everything looks so much better.

This is why I chose the "handle" for my blog:  weeding a garden is much like improvement in one's world.  It is time to write about my extended metaphor for my life, my career, my world.

Each day in my classroom, it is my goal to improve how we write, how we speak, how we think, and ultimately, how we present ourselves to the world around us.  In English, that is done through words.  In Journalism (newspaper) and Photojournalism (yearbook), that is done through words AND presentation.

As the marking period ends, a good teacher must explain these concepts yet again - while we do it every day bit by bit, piece by piece, at some point we need to review the reasons, the method and the outcomes so that kids understand it.  I did that today with all of my classes, and I think they really understand that it's more than a numeric grade.  They have to learn how to weed their own garden - whichever one they are focused upon at the moment - and the weeds can get in the way of the beauty (or perfection) of it all.

Vision is really what it's all about.  One must define it (the beautiful garden, for example) before one can make it happen. 

I have so many gardens to weed right now, and like the gardener, I can only focus on one at a time.  In the classroom, blocks of time are set aside for each "garden" and one weeds that garden for that period of time.  But to truly make it beautiful, one may need a flashlight.

tbc.  (sorry, readers.  I am too tired to develop my metaphor tonight.  More later.)

Misery loves company

Whoever came up with that expression was really sick.  I am miserable right now and I don't want any company.  I don't want to talk to anybody.  I don't want to be around another human being.  And I certainly don't want to share my pain.

So why am I writing about it?  I keep hoping that something cathartic will come of it - the words that stream from my fingers might find some solace, peace, a more positive vibe to help me get through the night.  It hasn't arrived yet, but I am confident that something good will come of this meandering through cyberspace to make me feel - happy, better, ready to face another day, positive about this deadline lifestyle I've chosen for myself. 

It was a good day as far as days go... Lots of good feedback from senior parents who were called yesterday by yearbookers about the senior ad deadline on Nov. 22 (happy, positive messages and MONEY from parents - and I loved that); another productive day in Yearbook - fixing spreads that needed fixing; Newspaper kids turned in their final drafts and I got most of them - double YAY; and I think I love my 6th block English class - that's really weird.  30 kids at the end of the day and I love them.  They like me, and they like to be complimented - which is easy when they do good work - which most of them do.  A few of them are extremely immature, but what can one expect from sophomores?  At least they are really trying to be good students, which is stellar behavior from college prep sophomores.

So, why is it that I am miserable?  I hate grades.  Bottom line:  I think grades put a quantitative factor on creativity and stifles the spirit.  Every time the end of the marking period comes around, I have to put a numeric value on a student's creative spirit, and ultimately, someone's feeling get hurt.  That is NOT why I wanted to become a teacher.  I can look at a kid and tell you what grade they deserve in my class by their effort - and I don't need a rubric to justify it.  My whole being knows that a kid who has only been in the United States for a year or two doesn't have the same skills as someone who was born here, but they have LEARNED and that deserves a passing grade.  The numbers may not justify it, but the attitude does.  Likewise, a kid (or their parents) who connives and questions every point and hasn't lived up to their ability and can do MUCH more doesn't deserve the extra points or higher grade really gets on my nerves.

I also don't care much for the scheduling of grades.  The nine weeks ended officially today.  Grades are due tomorrow by 3:45.  THAT is outrageous.  Just because the marking period ends doesn't mean that grades can be ready in 24 hours.  Absurd.  Stupid.  Unrealistic. 

Some of us actually teach up to the last possible moment and accept work until the deadline.  Then we have to quantify it. 

Get real, world.  It is to everyone's advantage that a teacher has time to evaluate the numbers once they are in the system.  But first the numbers have to be there, and when exactly is that supposed to happen?  Last time I checked, I don't have a secretary or an accounting executive to put them in for me.  Oh.  That's right.  I have to do that myself. 

Like I said.  I don't want or need any company.  By profession, I am a teacher; by my other hours I am  a homeowner, a sister, a daughter, aunt, and a friend.  I just need TIME to do my other jobs:  receptionist; attendance supervisor; behavioral management specialist; subject researcher of English, Journalism, Photojournalism; design manager; child study reporter; parent notification coordinator;  lesson planner; personal secretary to students, parents and administration (and others as requested); and now, grader and data input specialist.

Catch my drift?  I don't have time to be all of these, and I most certainly don't have time for company.

Glee

I love this show.  Mostly.  I enjoy the singing, but I have to say, I think Sue is a hoot.  She really knows how to stick it to Will and just about everybody she encounters.  Got that principal wrapped around her thumb - not just her little finger.  Love it.  He's not far from the norm of ultra stupid, and that's how principals usually are.  (NOT mine, mind you.  He's not stupid, nor have most of my principals been, but they do think differently when they move from classroom teachers to administrators, and I don't know why that is.  They generally become forgetful about how it was to be a classroom teacher when they make that transition to admin - and I wish it weren't so.  I only know ONE person who remembered his roots as a classroom teacher and he is the perfect administrator.  If he saw this, he would know who I am talking about - Dr. Aaron Spence.  If he googles his name he will see this and know who I am - and that's okay.  If I were just 20 years younger...)

Back to GLEE.  My favorite episode was the Madonna segment of Vogue.  Way too cool to co-mingle a silly unrealistic show about high school with something from the - what was it - late 80s?  Bridging the gap of 20+ years via a dumb sitcom is, well, from my generationally challenged point of view, sheer genius.  And to do it in black and white, duh.  Perfect.  The irony of a 40ish teacher thinking she could "be" Madonna is too funny for words.  But she pulled it off in high style.

Now, as for the students at that school, it's time for some of the Rachel's and the Finn's to graduate and let some new flunkies take their place.  Three years as juniors is a bit much.  Let 'em go, find replacements.  The teachers?  Well, they can stick around because that's what teachers do, but the kids have got to go.  Surely there are some new wanna-be singers out there - younger that Rachel & Finn who can pull off a mature immaturity with good voices. 

We shall see.  In just 25 minutes. 

Impatience

I have learned something new about myself that I really dislike, and that is I am an impatient person.  I don't like stupid, repetitive nonsense or demanding people who just need to be told "no." 

And right now, I am so mad at myself for being impatient with my mother today, I can't even write a coherent thought - though I know it would be very healthy for me to just write it down.

On a more postive note, my Dad is incredibly patient - sometimes too much so.  I wish I could be more like him.  But I am not and that isn't going to change any time soon.

So much to do, so little time

It always happens this time of year.  November swoops in and the brain over-engages.  Thanksgiving, Christmas, gifts to shop for, wrap and deliver, decorating to do, leaves to rake and dispose of, company coming and going and all the cleaning and bed making, washing and remaking, cooking and all that is required - the planning, the grocery shopping, the schedule - what can be done ahead and what must wait till the last.  And that's just the fun stuff.

It's also hugely busy at work.  End of the nine weeks and grading, entering, smoozing, negotiating, make up work, parent conferences, phone calls, the revolving door.  Yearbook deadlines on top of newspaper deadlines, club picture day and more yearbook deadlines.  It's all too much sometimes.  I don't know how to keep up with it all anymore.

Determining what's most important is such a challenge.

At least we have an extra hour to ponder it all on Sunday night.  Yippee!