Dinosaurs & Cheese

I’ve read this a few times in a few different ways, but regardless it always makes me feel better. I’m proud to be a teacher. I wear my occupation the same way someone would wear a merit badge.  Regardless, some days make me want to jam a pencil in my ear.

Are you sick of high paid teachers? Teachers’ hefty salaries are driving up taxes, and they only work 9 or 10 months a year! It’s time we put things in perspective and pay them for what they do – baby sit! We can get that for less than minimum wage.

That’s right. Let’s give them $3.00 an hour and only the hours they worked; not any of that silly planning time, or any time they spend before or after school. That would be $19.50 a day (7:45 to 3:00 PM

with 45 min. off for lunch and plan — that equals 6 1/2 hours).

Each parent should pay $19.50 a day for these teachers to baby-sit their children.

Now how many do they teach in day…maybe 30? So that’s $19.50 x 30 = $585.00 a day. However, remember they only work 180 days a year!!! I am not going to pay them for any vacations.

LET’S SEE…. That’s $585 X 180= $105,300 peryear. (Hold on! My calculator needs new batteries).

What about those special education teachers and the ones with Master’s degrees? Well, we could pay them minimum wage ($7.75), and just to be fair, round it off to $8.00 an hour. That would be $8 X 6 1/2 hours X 30 children

X 180 days = $280,800 per year.

Wait a minute — there’s something wrong here! There sure is!

The average teacher’s salary (nation wide) is $50,000. $50,000/180 days = $277.77/per day/30 students=$9.25/6.5 hours = $1.42 per hour per student–a very inexpensive baby-sitter and they even EDUCATE your kids!)

WHAT A DEAL!!!!

Click here to watch my FAVORITE pro-teacher video. It is amazing!!

I figured since I only have 3 people reading this, I’ll just word-vomit all the stuff that’s in my mind. That’s the most enjoyable way to write anyway!

I ran tonight and nothing was chasing me.  We have a bayou by our house that we tend to walk. Since “we” is now “I”, I decided to jog some of it. In truth, I did pretty darn well! I’m not built for running (My orthopedic surgeon would probably nod his head), but it certainly does help me look better.  My big motivation for running is the same mantra running through my head, “You will not end up like your dad, you will not end up like your dad.” It’s amazing that even all these years after he died, he can still make a positive change in my life.  My goal is to be there for my kiddos. I will do all that I can to stay healthy so that no one has to deal with the aftermath like I have.

On another odd Dad association… Mirmar Gaddafi…well Muammar first, then Mirmar.  Years upon years ago, I was a lil’ kiddo and acting crazy in my highchair.  Dad was reading a newspaper about something insane that Muammar was doing.  He said that I must be Muammar’s niece, Mirmar.  And, like most of Dad’s nicknames, it stuck.   So naturally, all the news about Muammar has me thinking of my nickname.

And thinking back to the fact that I’ve been Mirmar for more than 23 years, why is anyone surprised at the attrocities that Gaddafi is inciting?  Such a shame.

Whilst watching some t.v, The Boy chuckled.  So I glance at him.  He says, “nevermind.”  Okay, when someone says ‘nevermind’, it becames a new mission of mine to find out what he/she was going to say. I must know. I must!

So, I badger him for a few minutes (momentary break to think of the Youtube video of Badgers. Badgers, badgers,badgers,badgers, MUSHROOM,MUSHROOM.  Eh…if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you should check it out.) and finally he concedes.

“It’s just…. Rockets…Houston.  NASA.  Rockets. I just realized that that’s why they’re named the Rockets.”

I start to chuckle and then stop. I had never connected that before either.  “We’re idiots.”

Click here for the awesomeness that is The Badger Song

I’m an idiot. No, I really am.  Okay, maybe idiocy is not my issue. I am a chronic volunteerer. It’s a big problem that I’ve always had.  In school, I was in every club that didn’t involve athletic ability or musical talent.  In college, I joined clubs and did events..of course, always for the promise that it would help to get me a job.  And now that I’m a big girl? Well, I’m still volunteering.

Currently I’m sitting in a high school cafeteria listening to hundreds of students screaming, yelling, chanting, and giggling. Golly, it was fun for the first hour. Now that our day is steadily moving forward, my ears hurt and I’m wondering what it would take to play ‘the quiet game’ with a few hundred kiddos. 

Why am I hear? Because I’m a damn volunteerer who said, “Sure, I’ll sponsor another group!”  I have to admit that it’s been really neat to see my girls’ progressing from the first practice until today.  After today our group will disbanded, so for now, I’ll put my earplugs in and try to enjoy!

I love him. I really do. But recently we’ve been showing up at a lot of country events.  As mentioned before, I experienced my first Monster Truck show.  Amongst the mullets and cheering, I changed my original thoughts on Monster Trucks.

Flash forward a few weeks and you would find us sitting at Supercross.  Again, I went in with my reservations and left, well… okay Supercross was a bust. It’s not that I disliked it.  It was that I couldn’t figure out what in Hades was going on.   Once the pack leader lapped the slowest guy, I lost track of everyone. And it seemed that no matter where I looked, I never got to see the actual crash…just the aftermath. Just not fair.

So our trifecta will be complete on Saturday. We are going to Nuclear Cowboyz.  Of course, this was an even that The Boy set up about us. In fact, he’s so excited he may have peed a little.  And while I go in not sure what to expect, I imagine I’ll leave being a post-apocalyptic-motorcycle-dancing-choreographing thingy. 

On a totally unrelated note, The Boy and I were going for a walk at the park and both stopped in our tracks as a half naked barefoot man ran up a hill carrying a four foot log.  I just wanted you to have the same visual that we were able to experience.

Truly.  There are many times throughout the week that I look around for the camera. And it’s not just the students.  My colleagues…and the situations we get into feel like we’re living a scripted life.

How about a ‘for example’?

A few days ago, I was working with a student in the library and I happened to lean on the rolly-keyboard-tray-thing (technical term, I’m certain). Well… that ended with the board crashing down and the track popping out. Err..crap!   I was with some fun students who just LOVED the fact that Miss had broken the computer desk.  Ugh, 7th graders 🙂

In any case, I went to my loving I.T guy, who responded with a, “I don’t do furniture.”  Hm… so I went to an admin who is in charge of building problems.  I told him I had done something bad. After confirming that I hadn’t done anything illegal, he assured me that a broken computer desk wasn’t a big deal. Then he told me to tell the I.T guy.  So, I relayed the message. Working with two of the wittiest guys in the school, there was an amusing dialogue about what fell into the realm of which job title.  Our I.T guy was willing to move his computers off the desk if that helped 🙂 He said that the main reason was that he didn’t have any tools in order to fix anything.  I have to admit that I assumed that they came standard issue. Ultimately we all stood around as our spectacular maintence guy came and saved the day.  Though we all mentioned using duct tape a few times.  How many educators does it take to fix a computer desk?

Then there are the little things that I find while teaching.  A student could not stop giggling because he’ll looks like hell.  Of course, he couldn’t say ‘hell’ outloud so he did the h-e-double-hockey-sticks thing. I couldn’t even come up with a response. Middle schoolers are amazing. This kid is over six feet tall, but he couldn’t contain his amusement at he’ll.  Again, I say it all with a smile. The day that I stop finding the humor in this is the day I need to quit.

On that same day, I was working with a student about verb tenses. He could not figure out why “lifes” would be wrong.  I guided him through it, then started to get stumped. How to explain without giving the answer? 

“Okay, what’s the past tense of ‘life’?”

“Death?”

Afterward, I was on the bus ramp waiting for the kids to load when one comes by SCREAMING incoherently. We all start to figure out what’s wrong with her. “Oh, I was just talkin’ to my friend.” We just look at one another. What’s there to say at 5:30?  We know we’ll be back there tomorrow working on everything from reading to social skills. 

There are days when I want to look around for the camera.  Ultimately I find I have to laugh in order to keep from being frustrated or saddened. I swear we weren’t like this when I was a kid. I swears it!

“howe eojweo nfoe ruwe ?” 

“I..uh..”

“He said that he was making fun of me for taking pictures of my food. He asked if you do the same.”

“Oh..I..”

This was the extent of the conversation with the two guys in front of us at AMA Supercross this past weekend.  I’m impressed that I met a real life Boomhower.  He looked at me. He spoke.  He needed a translator. 

In fact, I discovered that Supercross was one big communication error after another.  The guy in front of us needed subtitles and The Boy lost all ability to communicate as well.  By the fifth race, and the fifth time The Boy responded with, “there” when I asked him which rider was in first, I was rather annoyed.

Somehow he didn’t see a problem in pointing to a race track to show me the current leader.  I would ask where, he would point again. AGHH!  Could I get up on an adjective or two? Bike color? Helmet color? Maybe a number?

In the end I just pretended to know who won and I cheered with a three second delay.  Perhaps the fumes were causing me the problems, and the boys were just fine. Though, somehow I doubt it.

That was my favorite quote from last night, “So, uh…we put two pitbulls in your backyard.”

:raise eyebrows: Oh?

The Boy and I have been having some issues over the last few months with our neglegent neighbor’s dogs eating our fence.  Pleace note the verb. They are not chewing. They are not clawing. They are, in fact, eating our fence plank by plank.

Last night, they ate a Cujo-sized hole in our fence, then busted through our front gate, where they found freedom on our street.  Our neighbors figured they were our dogs and coaxed them back onto our property.  The neighbor started off by being vaguely angry with us, then slightly concerned when it was confirmed that he had put two very hungry dogs in our backyard… a backyard that was not theirs. 

As I said, this has been happening for months. We’ve called the police, animal control, Mom, neighbors, and our HOA.  Nothing.  Well except for Mom. Moms always know what to do. I’m not sure what The Boy’s mom said to do. My mother mentioned that if their dogs kills my dog, she’s coming down and will wind up in prison. 

(On a side note, when I called Ma this afternoon I stopped rehashing about the dog-escapade  and began telling her a story about school. In the middle of the story, she told me that if I’m going to hit them with a shovel, I need to make sure I get them in the belly and don’t let them grab the shovel in their mouths because I would be done for.  There was a brief silence while I decided that she probably wasn’t talking about obnoxious 12 year olds anymore and may possibly still be thinking about a dog attack.)

Ultimately, the dog owner happened to come by to feed the animals after The Boy screwed a cement board over the giant hole in the fence. (Did I mention the detail that the family has moved out and is living in an apartment? Apparently they can’t have dogs, so they just keep their animals confined in their old backyard. It’s terribly sad overall)  The dog owner is suppose to fix our fence, though we aren’t holding our breath.  Ultimately we’re really hoping that these dogs can have a better life than what they’re getting now.

My second favorite quote of the night was from one of the police officers who said, “Oh, I’m not having any piece of those dogs. Go back there and bring your boyfriend out. I don’t want to deal with those dogs.”   As I walked away from the man in the bulletproof vest, carrying a gun, mace, and club, I giggled to myself. Anything to protect our boys in blue 🙂

I experienced Memorial Park on two different ocassions… once as a walker..once as a bike rider.

As a walker, I felt like I was involved in some sort of bizarre foot race against a much stronger force.  As I concentrated on not breaking my face, bikes would come flying around bends and cause me to jump into the brush.  The riders would yell strange codes like, “wiefowefh”. What in the hell am I suppose to gain by some out of breath athlete yelling at me?  I know they’re suppose to be warning me of eminent dangers, but I can’t figure out what they said in time to react. So by the time I’ve figured out that they mumbled that there are 6 riders behind him, I’ve already had to dive back into the woods to avoid being run over.

So today, The Boy and I tried it from the other side.  We got our bikes out and tried the trails ourselves.  I was concerned because I hadn’t learned my mountain bike-ese (though I did spend some time on Google) and since The Boy biffed three times on the same trails…well, yeah… it didn’t look promising.

A paradigm shift is when  you change your initial beliefs because of being able to experience an event from another’s perspective.

On a bike, a walker seems to materialize from the ether.  I was focusing on the gigantic roots when :whomp: pedestrian.  So I veer out of the way, whilst avoiding those tree things.  Then I try to tell them that it’s all clear behind me, but it comes out as “mekfwjl” because I’m out of breath and trying not to break my face on a root. Stress, stress.

I have to say though, if you’ve never gotten the opportunity to truly trail ride, you really need to try it.  It’s an amazing thrill and takes a lot of focus.  Today was my first true mountain biking experience, and it’s one that I’ll definitely be trying again.  I had one true off-the-bike-on-the-ground- sort of tumble, which is better than The Boy and I expected.  In truth, I had my insurance card ready to go.

(On a side note: After I landed in the woods, The Boy came rushing down the washout where my body laid in a heap.  He made it to my side and asked breathlessly, “Are you okay?”.  It’s just…he was picking up the bike, caressing the crossbar and had his back to me. I..um..)

So all’s well that ends well…

Except… after inspecting my legs after our ride, The Boy very quickly pulled his hands away from me.  He then gently asked me if I noticed when I fell if there was any poison ivy hanging about.

Wouldn’t that just beat all?

My students don’t know what oxen are.

Well,  some of them vaguely know what an ox is, but the plural form leaves them befuddled.  Naturally, when I think oxen, my mind goes straight into a time-warp scene of playing Oregon Trail on an old Apple computer. Do you remember real floppy disks??

Well my students don’t. They’ve never felt the joy of surviving a snake bite or the pain of knowing you just lost four sets of clothing. And they never got to learn that oxen set on ‘grueling’ pace are funny to watch, until you see their heads start to sag down due to exhaustion.

They’ve never decided to ford the river or float across.

I have to confess though, and it’s a pain that has haunted me for years… I never made it to Oregon. It didn’t matter if I was the banker and if I left in early spring, I still couldn’t make it.  In fact, I was killed even when I was just a passenger in some else’s trip. 

Most of the time, I would suffer a grueling few months and then the computer would kill me right when Oregon was in sight. I would survive my double broken leg snake bite cholera epidemic, only to be swept away when my wagon was fording the Dalles.  There were times that I, the team leader, was killed before any of my pioneer children.

And so I am left to wonder what sort of lives my students will have being as they did not have Oregon Trail to shape their understanding.  I feel as though I’m a better person because I could prioritize my needs vs. my inability to shoot the damn buffalo that slowly charged at my musketed self.  I was a good leader, darn it…. if you were looking for a slow suicide trek across uncharted America.

After reviewing the amount of memories I have surrounding The Oregon Trail, I’m left to wonder how often my class went to the computer lab and what curriculum was left out.  Now where did I put that thing with all those pages and all the funny little shapes typed on it?