Teacher of the year

Yeah, that's me. I just spent a good 10 minutes of my class explaining the linguistic differences between the words force and fart to one of my students. He was adamant that 'force' was the word used to describe a fart. Fist shakingly secure in his belief that he was right, he announced it to the class. The kids were cracking up. I almost died. I was laughing so hard, I was almost crying. It's a good thing this kid has a good sense of humor. He even went on to make up a little song for himself so that he could remember the difference between the two words. I couldn't make out all his lyrics, but there was mention of a bathroom, so maybe I'm glad I missed them.
This is, however, the same kid that told me an amphibian is a girl who likes to kiss other girls, so I'm not sure I should have been surprised by today's conversation.
Most days I really like my job, but some days, I love it.

Snackage and Random Musings

I'm gonna whine a little.
I'm on a restricted diet. It sucks. I have been since the beginning of the 7th month of my pregnancy. My eldest son has pretty severe food allergies, and because of this, the doctors suggested I restrict my diet during pregnancy and while nursing to try to prevent Oscar from developing them, or lessen their severity should they develop. It still sucks. I can't eat anything with milk or eggs in it. No real bread, no milk chocolate, no ice cream, no cheese or yogurt. I can't even eat scrambled eggs for breakfast or have belgian waffles. Pfft. It isn't as bad as it was with Victor. I can at least eat a little bit of a variety because in the last 3 years, I've assembled a nice little list of allergen free foods and alternatives, but they just aren't the same. No matter what the label says, a vegan waffle just does not taste the same as a regular one. It just doesn't, but with enough syrup, they are palatable, and they do satisfy my carb cravings.
While I was in Target the other day, spending more money I don't have on a secret pal I've never met, I stumbled across a treasure trove of snackage that made my heart skip a beat. Chocolate. Honest to Goddess real chocolate that has no milk in it! It's semi-dark and has fruit and nuts in it and I am in HEAVEN! I haven't had real chocolate in 6 months. 6 months people. Do you know how homicidal I was about to become? Extremely. It's bliss. And it has poetry in the wrapper, which I consider to be a bonus. I was good and only bought two bars. The first had cherries and almonds in it. It was gloriously delicious. I stretched that puppy out over 3 days. The one I busted into today has freeze dried raspberries in it. It is also delicious. I like just looking at it too. The brilliant redish fuscia color of the dried raspberries against the dark, dark brown of the chocolate is beautiful. It really is, and not just because it tastes good!
Speaking of my homicidal tendencies, what the fluck is the deal with soccer moms? I'm not talking about every mother of every child who has ever played soccer. I'm talking about the 'soccer moms'. You know, the perfect little bitches with one child who is involved in every conceivable activity, who drives an SUV because she can, even though she only has one kid to cart around, and feels the need to inform everyone she meets that she owns every gadget known to man and so does her kid. I don't get it. It's just stuff lady. Now I'll explain my random rant. There's a new kid in V's karate class (which could lead to a whole other rant all by itself, but I'll save that for another day.) He has been there twice. Both times, he's been a total spaz, which is ok because he's young and new and still learning the ropes. His mother is a nice enough lady. The first day he was in class, she sat right next to me and about in my lap and talked the whole time about how our two boys were just too cute and needed to be friends. She went on and on about how we should do play dates and how they'd love it and yada, yada, yada. I'm cool with that. V needs friends his own age who live around here. But class ends that day and they leave without saying a word. Sweet. Whatever. So we're talking after class yesterday, and she brings up the playdate thing again, only this time, she goes off about all of the things her son has that mine could play with. He's got a car that drives and a motorcylce too, and all the Star Wars movies, and...............for five minutes while I sat there staring at her. My social retardation came into play here, because I totally didn't know what to say to her. Your kids a spoiled brat? Why don't we just go to the park? My kid has toys too? So I pussed out and just said we could talk about a playdate next week, scooped up my midgets and tore ass to the car before she could talk anymore. Maybe it's just where I live, but this happens all the time. This is the reason I don't associate with any other moms around here. They are ALL like this. Or at least, they appear to be. I don't get it. Is it me? Has my retardation reached such a level that I've just completely lost the ability to behave appropriately in social situations? Or are they really the status hungry money-mongers I think they are?
Moving on, I ordered something for my secret pal and it was supposed to be here yesterday. I procrastinate, so of course I ordered it late and then paid an exorbitant shipping charge for 1 day Air. It didn't show up when it was supposed to. I need to mail her package off tonight so that she will get it before April 1st. Yes, I've waited THAT long. If there is not a package on my doorstep before the post office closes tonight, I'm gonna hurt me a UPS guy.
I am so ready for spring break, it isn't even funny anymore.
And on that note, I'm off to do some more dishes before yoga.
Later peeps.

Gratitude with Grace

A friend of mine posted this on myspace saying that this is how she likes to view the world. It struck me that I agreed, and yet I have difficulty with parts of it.
Here is what she posted.

The Law of Giving (adapted from Deepak Chopra)
1. Wherever I go, and whoever I encounter, I will bring them a gift. The gift may be a compliment, a flower, or a prayer. Today, I will give something to everyone I come into contact with, and so I will begin the process of circulating joy, wealth and affluence in my life and in the lives of others.
2. Today I will gratefully receive all the gifts that life has to offer me. I will receive the gifts of nature: sunlight and the sound of birds singing, or spring showers. I will also be open to receiving from others, whether it be in the form of a material gift, smile, or a compliment.
3. I will make a commitment to keep wealth circulating in my life by giving and receiving life's most precious gifts: the gifts of caring, affection, appreciation, and love. Each time I meet someone, I will silently wish them happiness, joy, and laughter.

I do this, to a degree. I am the consumate gift giver. I am always giving someone something, a compliment, a smile, encouragement, a pencil, advice, an actual gift, whatever. I like to give things to the people around me.
What I don't do is receive. It isn't that the 'gifts' aren't offered. It's that I don't know how to take them. I cannot take a compliment. I don't know what to do with them. It has been pointed out to me before that I am more comfortable taking criticism than compliments. This is true. I know what to do with criticism. I evaluate it, and either dismiss it or act on it to make improvements or corrections. But with compliments, I can't do that. It's almost as though I don't feel worthy of them. They make me extremely uncomfortable. It isn't that my self esteem is so low that I think there is nothing in or of me to compliment. I know that there are things I do well and good parts of me. I just rarely feel that compliments are sincere. I guess it's more of an issue of trust. I don't trust many people, and as such, I don't trust that what they are telling me is true or well-intentioned. I usually feel as if there is an ulterior motive. Yes, I'm a jaded little bastard. My inability to simply trust that a compliment is nothing more than a compliment causes problems. Some people take it as arrogance or aloofness on my part, when really it's just my emotional and social retardation rearing its ugly little head. It's just one more thing I need to work on.
Oddly enough, having children has helped lessen my retardation just a touch. When I first had Victor, three years ago, people would tell me how adorable he was and I would just smile and stare, not sure how to respond, and afraid that agreeing with them might encourage them to try to keep talking to me. So retarded. I'm sure that all the little grandma types who ran into me that first year and gushed about my baby thought I was the consumate a-hole for the way I responded to their compliments. But over time, it's become easier to just say thank you when someone compliments my child (or children.) Maybe that's what I need to do when someone compliments me, just say thanks and move on instead of sitting there, red faced and mute, internally analyzing all of the possible motivations for the compliment. Yeah, that would be the sane thing for me to do. We'll see if it actually happens.
I want some continuity in my life. I want some peace. I think that the only way for those things to happen is for me to get over this issue I have, heal up some of the more jaded parts of my soul, and learn to receive the things I most like to give from the people in my life who are trying to give them to me, despite my best efforts to thwart them.

Sweet, sweet pain

How I've missed thee. I started back to yoga class tonight. It was blissfully painful. I haven't been since around this time last year, shortly before finding out I was pregnant with Os. I have missed it. It centers me in a way that not many other things do. I feel so much more calm and in control when I have my weekly dose of self inflicted torturous stretching and introspection.

Bittousy

I have issues. The people that know and love me, love me in spite of them. I am having an issue and I don't know how to deal with it.
We threw a baby shower lunch thing for a co-worker of mine today. She's a nice enough lady, having her third child, a girl. She wasn't looking to get pregnant. Things happen though, and she's happy about it. I'm happy for her, mostly.
She's having a girl and I find myself feeling bitter and jealous, bittous.
Oscar was supposed to be a girl. Throughout my entire pregnancy, I swore that all I wanted was a healthy baby, that I didn't care if it was a boy or girl, just healthy. To a degree, that was true. But something in me came alive during the ultrasound when the perinatologist told me we were having a girl. I want a daughter. I have always wanted a daughter. I love my sons more than I love life itself, but I feel incomplete. When Oscar was born and they told me he was a boy, and not the daughter I had planned for, I wanted to cry. I don't know if I can explain this very well. It makes perfect sense in my head, but, like a lot of things in my head, may not translate well into intelligble language. I felt as if I'd gained and lost someone at the same time. From the moment the dr. told me it was a girl, she had a name. I said her name outloud and she became real. She became my daughter, a real, living, thriving human being. I spoke to her. I sang to her. I made plans for her. I knew her. I didn't know him. I felt as if I'd lost her, almost as if she'd died. And I felt like I had been handed a baby I didn't know. There was an instant disconnect-not from my son, but from the situation. I have bonded with my son, but I still have not been able to take apart the nursery we prepared for her so that we can make it boy-friendly.
I find myself feeling bittous toward complete strangers who happen to wander by me with their baby girls. I just had a baby. I should be happy. Everything went really well, and he is the picture of health. He is a great baby and relatively easy. I don't resent him, or blame him for having a penis. But I want her. I want them both.
This whole thing is stupid. I need to get over it and just accept that I don't have a daughter and that I may never have her. But I haven't been able to. My brain just won't let it go.
For the longest time I felt like the worst mother in the world because I was sad. I couldn't just be happy that I had a healthy baby boy. My joy and happiness in his arrival and existence was, and is, tempered by the sadness of not having her. I think that makes me crazy. I don't want my son to grow up thinking that I didn't want him or that he wasn't enough for me. I do want him. He is enough for me in that he is my son, and I love him for who he is and will love him for whatever he becomes.
But there is that empty place inside me waiting for her. I don't know what I'll do with it if she never comes.

Best. Question. Ever.

So, I'm giving a spelling test in my ELD writing class test today.These kids speak some English, but not much. They are amassingvocabulary rapidly though. One of the words on the test today was freedom.They have had and worked with these words all week. I ASSumed that theyknew what they all meant based on the work we had done with themearlier in the week. Back to the test. The test is oral. I sayit,they write it out on their papers. I say the word freedom forthem. I repeat it and enunciate clearly, even breaking the word down intosyllables. One of my brightest and most advanced students raiseshis hand and says "Maestra, why we free the dumb? Aren't they likeidiots or something? How you free dumb people? Where they go?" Myresponse? "Huh? What dumb people? OH! Free-dumb! No honey,freeDOM, not free-dumb like idiots. There's no helping those." The classwas rolling, and so was I. Seriously, the best question ever asked in my class!

A little self loathing never hurt anyone

I kind of hate myself right now. It'll pass. It usually does, but this time is more intense. I lost it yesterday. It could have been worse, much worse, but I still feel like total shit. I'm not sure how to make it better, or if I can.
I had a craptastic afternoon yesterday. After teaching my classes, I had to attend a 2 hour meeting in which I (along with my fellow teachers) was told that I am not good enough. Not only am I not good enough, but that, unbeknownst to me, I am a racist and that by simply showing up to work, I violate the civil rights of every student I come into contact with who is not white. My skin tone is apparently more indicative of my personality, biases, assumptions, values and beliefs than are my practices and the opinion my students hold of me. What. The. Fuck. Ever.
So I leave the meeting, glad to be done, missing my boys and excited to go pick them up and head home for some quality mom time. Yeah. Not so much. I get there and the babysitter looks like she's had her ass kicked three ways from Sunday. I guess all four boys tag teamed her. Vic cried and had a melt down every time something he didn't like happened, refused to take a nap and screamed at the top of his lungs when she put him down for one. Naps are not optional at this point. Os wasn't feeling well because he got his first round of vaccinations on Tuesday. Diarrhea, crankiness, lots of the crying for no reason. The other two boys she watches are still in boot camp-still learning the ropes of the place so they act up all the time because they don't know any better yet. So fun!
I walk in and Vic immediately starts acting up-ignoring me, ignoring the babysitter, pushing his little friend, just being an ass. So I tell him to knock it off and get ready to go. He needs his shoes, back pack, yada, yada. He walks off. I tell him we're leaving and he starts screaming at the top of his lungs, seriously, like he's being beaten. He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to pick up the toys he threw all over. Whatever. He goes into total meltdown mode. Time out doesn't help. He just screams louder. Swat on the pants doesn't help. He just gets pissed and gets louder. So I drag his ass out to the car and tell him he can't get in until he's quiet because I can't drive with him screaming like that. Takes a few, but he finally calms down. I get Os into the car, load Vic, get in myself and head down the road. Vic starts screaming again. He wants his music. No. Ya don't get to dictate what we do or what we listen to in the car if you get in trouble at the babysitters. All privileges go away. He knows this. Meltdown x10. I have never heard my child scream like he did yesterday afternoon. Never. He was out of his ever loving mind. So I pull the car over on the side of the road, screeching tires in the dirt and asphalt and everything. I get out, march over to his side of the car, open the door and lean in to talk to him. He screams louder into my face and won't stop. He just won't stop. I'm yelling and I can't hear myself over his screams. He was that far out of control.
I slapped him.
I didn't hit him hard, just enough to get his attention and get him to stop screaming long enough to breathe.
But I slapped him.
I slapped my baby in the face.
I didn't know what else to do, but I instantly regretted it. I pulled him out of the car and told him to take a few deep breaths to calm down. He just kept wailing. So I pulled him into me for a hug and told him I loved him, that I was sorry I slapped him and that I never wanted to do it again. But I also told him that his behavior was out of control. There was no reason for it. He wasn't hurt, in danger, or sick. There was no reason for it.
He just melted into my shoulder and told me how sorry he was and that he 'wubbed' me too. Then he asked if he could get back in the car because the traffic was scary. So I loaded him back into the car, got in myself and then drove home.
He was the perfect kid for the rest of the night.
As soon as he was in bed, I cried. I cried for a good hour. I feel like the worst mother ever. I know that it probably isn't a big deal. He'll forget it ever happened soon enough.
But I won't. I lost control. I would not tolerate anyone else doing what I did to my son. I can't excuse it in myself either.

Still Grief's Bitch

I woke up in a foul mood this morning. On the surface, there didn't seem to be any reason for my poor humor. I had a good day yesterday, a productive day. Something I hadn't had in a good long while. I went to bed exhausted, but happy. But when I woke up this morning, I was ready to tear someone's face off. I was just pissed at the world. I stayed that way all day. Work was abismal, and it wasn't because my students were poorly behaved or any more obnoxious than normal. I just didn't want to be there. I gave them their work, answered what questions they had, and took refuge in my email inbox. I sent an all call out to my IGs to rescue me from my sour mood, and they rallied, making me laugh with their jokes, stories about their delinquent brothers and the goings on of their day. (Have I said lately how much I adore my IG sistahs? Because I do. I really, really do.) As much as I enjoyed the stories and jokes, I just still couldn't snap out of the funk. I couldn't make myself not be pissed. My classes ended and the kids left. I sat in my room for a bit just trying to center myself and dig through my noodle to figure out what was bugging me. I needed to pump so I locked up and got all set, pulled out my Ipod to block out the noise from the kids in the hall and it hit me. Raymond. His birthday is Sunday, or it would be. He would be 28. I was cleaning last night and found the cds I made to play at his funeral. The music we used to say goodbye. I am still angry. I still don't have answers. I still don't understand how my brother ceased to be. Only now it's been two and a half years, so instead of grief being overt, causing me to fall apart, cry and generally cease to function until it passes, it's become a passive aggressive little whore, stealing my good mood and happy thoughts while I sleep. Even after all this time, I am still its bitch.
I feel a little better for having figured out what's wrong with me, but only just a little. I just want to not be angry anymore. I want to not be sad anymore. But every day there is something new that reminds me he's not here, something he misses I wish he could see. People have told me over and over again that time will make it better. It hasn't. It's just made it different.