Water Fight

I have 10 more days of actual teaching left before a long-awaited summer break. I have Alice Cooper's classic "School's Out For Summer" ready to be played the moment my students take my final exam and exit my classroom.

Despite the difficulties of this year--and there have been many, let me assure you-- it has been a wonderful growing experience for me.

One of the best days ever happened just this last Thursday. We had a school-wide water fight. Yes, you heard me, a teacher planned, school wide water fight. Happens every year at this school.

At some point in the last 6 weeks of school, students will be standing outside on their afternoon break, waiting to go back to the last hour of class when all of the sudden, a teacher starts hosing hem down from the roof of the school. Teachers told me that I'd get completely soaked. They assured me it was great fun. Somehow students (many of whom I cannot stand) pelting me with water balloons and pouring buckets of water over my head didn't sound like much fun.

But, oh, how wrong I was.

I knew the waterfight was coming. I had luckily been forewarned by the lead teacher. SO I dressed in a way that is I was soaking wet (a) no one was getting a show and (b) my clothes would not be ruined. I pumped myself up for it that morning telling myslef it was just one more hoop to jump through. I was no looking forward to it.

But flash forward to when I suddenly had an arm full of water balloons, student were walking around oblivious having no idea what was about to befall them, and lo and behold, my favorite students were right there. I started pelting. I was amazing. Then they poured buckets of water over my head. It was so fun. I was dripping wet for an hour and half. Despite the crazy AZ summer heat, the students never let me get dry. It was amazing.

It broke down barriers. One students who has been DRIVING ME INSANE refused to get wet. In full revenge mode I sent about 15 girls armed with buckets of water after him. I really did feel better. Then he poured a bucket of water over my head. So dripping, I gave him a huge bear hug. Then suddenly, this kid who had legitimately made me want to punch walls and scream profanities was talking to me like I was his aunt, telling me about his health issues and what's going on in his life as we both stood there dripping. I told him about when I got my tonsils out (a procedure he might undergo) and how much it hurt. It was a beautiful moment.

I'll try and post pictures soon.

Sheryl = amazing

PLEASE check out my friends new spot on Mormon.org. I am proud to call her one of my besties.

The Other Night...

Our neighbors were fighting. While I don't like to eavesdrop, the amount of noise and angry swearing made us nervous there may be violence. So I put a cup to the wall and listened.

I know. Bad Erin. Then, when the guy went out the front door (visible from our peep hole) I too had to follow. I saw (through the door peephole) him shirtless, drunk, angry, and trying to take a huge couch down the stairs. It was a sort of I'm-drunk-and-crazed-I'm-leaving-and-taking-the-couch kind of move.

We live on the second floor so as he drug the couch down the stairs (ripping the couch in the process and creating enough noise to ensure that the entire complex was listening) she ran out after him, crying, and begging him to stay.

It was very noisy for a while and then it appeared that he left and she left shortly after. I wasn't quite sure, because the peephole only gave me so much visual information. But I wondered about the couch. There was NO WAY IN HECK that he could get that in a car by himself and leave. So shortly thereafter, I went outside and down the stairs to see if there was a couch in the middle of the parking lot. Instead I found two police cars instead of a couch.

I talked to them. Confessed that I was curious. Got some info. Apparently several people in the complex called the police. Then I went back upstairs.

SO THE NEXT MORNING at 4:30 am we heard the two of them (apparently they made up) trying to get the couch up the stairs. Had it not been spring break, I would have walked outside told them they were insanely rude and that people needed to wake up early to work. But since I wasn't one of those people, I stayed in bed and just got angry to myself instead. When James and I left the next morning for errands, the couch was halfway on the stairs, halfway on the walkway. We had to squeeze to get past. Hours later, it was still there.

So I decided I had had enough and went to the front office to tell on them. I walked in, and Rennee (the manager, whom I adore) comes out somberly from her office.

"So, you probably heard what happened last night."

She nods, still very somberly.

"Well, Mike still has yet to move the couch."

"Mike?" she said confused, "But they said it was YOU!"

Yes, so people in our complex thought the entire ruckus was caused by James and I. Apparently, they didn't look out their peepholes. And apparently, they really don't know my sweet James at all. If anyone was to be shirtless, crazed, and to angrily throw the couch down the stairs, it'd definitely be me.

So our question is: Do we knock on everyone's door and say "It wasn't me. It was THEM!" and point to apartment 232? Send out a flyer?

We have no idea.

Frozen

I think I may have given up on living just a little. Today at the grocery store, instead of the tons of produce I normally buy, I bought a bunch of frozen pizzas and frozen individual dinners. Szechwan chicken, spicy fajitas, and of course, salisbury steak. Sorta gross, but sorta necessary too if I want to feed my husband.

While I felt pathetic, life is just way too crazy to cook these days. I'm at work about 9 hours a day and then come home to plan and work as long as my eyes are open. It doesn't leave much time for cooking. In fact, it doesn't leave much time for anything (except complaining, which I excel at).

I've tried. In fact, I'll call James up and ask him how he'd feel about whole wheat pasta with a creamy homemade tomato garlic sauce, fresh parmesan chicken, and a nice salad with juicy grape tomatoes and my homemade balsamic vinaigrette. He'll get excited, quite naturally.

And then I'll call him up about 15 minutes before he's set to get home and enjoy the above meal and say, "I've just put a frozen pizza in the oven."

He's so sweet about it too. No complaints. He just happily eats whatever I give him (expect tofu pasta-- a mistake I will not repeat). I just hope I feel like cooking again one day.

Please, if you have easy and FAST recipes, please send them my way! erinthornhillreeder@gmail.com

I've Gone Private, Kids

After school a couple days ago a student asked me if I had read his comment on my blog. Jaw dropped and wide eyed, I turned around, ran straight to my computer and made my blog private. Sometimes I hate google. But only sometimes.

Disclaimer: The comment is sweet and full of errors for which I will take VERY LITTLE responsibility because I am, of course, his history teacher and not his English teacher. He may spell things wrong but he can tell you perfectly the causes of the Civel War and give detailed descriptions of the battles of Gettiesberg, Vixberg, and Bool Run. Just ask him.

Car

I got my car back yesterday. I finally feel like it's all over. Mostly.

On Friday, about 11 days ago, a kid (gang member) who I had written up for flagrant disrespect and disrupting my classroom was expelled permantently from the school. He was so angry that the principal called me and told me to keep my classroom door locked all day and not leave the building for a few hours. It was my prep day as school is only M-Th and kids come in Friday for make-up work. This kid showed up for make-up and was told he'd been written up and that it was the last straw. His stack of office refferals was too high and he was already on a behavior contract.

It was all a little intense and crazy. I called James and left a mssage telling him about my exciting mornng and that I had to be locked in the building. By the time he called me back, everything had changed. A couple hours after the incident, I went to my car, and found the handle ripped off & dents ALL OVER. I was stunned. Anger and then the tears. So many emotions. Fear being one of them.

The police came. I filed an insurance claim. I took my car in. Got a rental. Blah blah blah...

The weekend was crazy. I was afraid of what was going to come. Would this kid try anything else? Would my former gang bangers flip out and go shoot him? I was nervous to go back to school on Monday. I even had a dream that my rental had gotten vandalized and that one of my favorite kids was lying dead next to it. A bit scary.

Reality was that nothing happened. Teachers and staff kept it low key and so students dropped it quickly. I have gotten back into the groove of teaching and I really love the vast majority of my students. It's been so wonderful since then, actually. I just am extra careful when I get in and when I leave.

Pantless

My pants actually started coming off in front of my morning American History class on my 9th day of officially being a real life teacher. Needless to say, I've retired the pants. My husband told me after I shared the incident with him that he " always hated those pants" and that they were "way too baggy."

Thanks, James. Information that would have been helpful that very morning while getting dressed.

So I'm in class. By the way, my new job is teaching at a really awesome charter high school. It's a school full of former gang members, kids from crazy sad backgrounds, high poverty, all sorts of crazy business...and these kids are awesome. I love it. Challenging, but I leave everyday feeling like I make a real difference.

Anyways, it was jersey day for spirit week so I wore my Liverpool F.C. jersey, some old baggy trouser pants I've had for years (and loved) and red chuck taylors. These pants had previously given me trouble cause the zipper was starting to not stay up at all and I would constantly find my zipper wide open. A normal person would have retired those pants once this problem started, but clearly "normal" is not in my resume.

Well, I'm in class and all of the sudden my kids start dying. I mean, rolling on the floor laughing.

"Tell her man."

"You tell her."

SOmething no one wanted to tell me. Hmmm....the baggy pants...crap. I look down and not only is the zipper down, but the button is not fastened and me pants are actually falling down. One wrong move, they would have slipped right around my ankles.

I turned around amidst an uproar and zipped up and buttoned the pants realizing that (a) my entire class saw my g's and (b) that I really wasn't embarrassed at all. I was actually a little in awe of how NOT embarrassed I was.

I quickly just drove them on to the lesson and the next thing on the docket.

One student asked why I wore grandma underpants. I told him that I wasn't going to waste my sexy stuff on them.

I love my school!!!!!