Happenstance

More work-related

2006-03-11T09:50:00.000-05:00

I'm experimenting with this blog thing. Maybe someone out there will read it and start spinning tales about how what Happenstance is thinking about is just oh-so-interesting and you just *have* to read it. Maybe.

I am struggling to figure out how to balance social studies content with the workshop model. I am struggling to figure out how to push kids' thinking (which means editing the content so that they focus on the thinking part), with allowing room for independent inquiry and teaching research skills (which means less possibility for the thinking because the content is all over the place). Maybe the compromise is a spiraled year-- begin with very teacher-controlled content, allowing kids time to gain the thinking skills. And then slowly open up the field, teaching them how to tell if something is worth paying attention to or not.

Hmmm. I'm excited for next year...

Functionality

2005-09-17T11:56:00.000-04:00

This is what it looks like when a school functions:

Exhibit A: After my rug was reclaimed the day before the start of school by the elementary school with which we share a building, my principal told me she'd order more rugs. And did.

Exhibit B: When I asked my principal where I could find an extra table for my room, she walked me over to the storage room, helped me root around and move furniture, and pulled out the table I needed. She then "borrowed" one of the elementary school's rugs (warning me to call the elevator and keep an eye out for the elem. school principal), carried it out of the storage room and into the elevator for me, shouting "Congratulations!" as the door closed.

Exhibit C: My staff developer sent around a memo to teachers asking us what WE'D like help with this year, what we would be working on, and how we would like her to help us (push in to our room, or visit other rooms with us). She then quickly emailed us a tentative schedule.

Exhibit D: The 6th grade teachers discussed having our trip in the winter instead of September, as we've done in the past. One of our principal interns agreed to contact the site to find out about available dates. Within a couple of days, we had a memo with possible dates, and a flyer to send to parents.

Exhibit E: Ah, forget it. I could go on and on, but that would make the rest of you jealous.

Notice from where most of the functionality stems: administrators. Their job is to help me do my job better. In schools that don't function, administrators mostly serve as obstacles to teachers doing their best work. Walking around with clipboards and giving unreasonable directives without any constructive feedback or real support is a recipe for a failing school with an unhappy staff. My principal is very demanding. She expects a lot from us, and so do our parents. But you've seen the evidence--she helps make my job easier.

unsent

2005-09-12T20:51:00.000-04:00

Dear J,
It's now 2 years since that awful year began. September, 2003, so full of promise--a new love, a new school--and it turned out to be so horrid. Shortly after we broke up, I wrote to you that I was already feeling better, and you responded that things worked out that way for a reason--it was the only way to get to that point. At the time, I completely disagreed with you. I was devastated, scared, lonely. I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone who would be right for me.

But in the past two years, my life has changed so completely. I can feel it in the smile I have at the end of a satisfying day at school. I can feel it when I look at the mirror and like what I see, imperfections and all. I can feel it when I can laugh at the frustrations of the day. I can feel it when I don't let a stressful moment ruin my entire day.

I've met someone. His eyes sparkle when he looks at me, and when he puts his arms around me, I feel safe. He makes me laugh, he makes me think, he makes me feel wonderful. He is friendly and warm and sociable and he is a good cook. He is the love of my life.

So now? I'm starting to think you were right. Going through that year was the only way to get to this point. It's not so much that I've forgiven you, but at least I've taken what I needed to take away from the experience.
Fondly,
Happenstance

Just plain dumb

2005-08-10T07:32:00.000-04:00

In addition to city-wide tests in reading and math, New York City students now have to take additional state-wide reading and math tests. The results of those state tests will be available in August and late September 2006, respectively, which means that the city still needs to test kids to find out who has to go to summer school.

What next, bureaucrats!?!

If you're happy and you know it.

2005-08-03T00:19:00.000-04:00

The first time I was depressed it was the spring semester of my junior year of college. I lost my first love, and then I also lost his friendship. And then I lost the friendship of some other people whom I trusted and cared for, including J., who was one of my best friends in high school. I had never felt so alone or unlovable. I cried every day for months. When my mom called me, she would ask, "Is everything ok? You seem so...sad." I was so sad that I couldn't even speak it out loud, even to my mom. There was no one I felt I could talk to about it, and that part made me sadder still.

And then the summer came, and the quiet of a deserted university campus. Me and my journal and the Tao of Pooh (yes, really), and a lush, green Lawn. Pen to paper. Letters heartfelt and cathartic, never sent. Heartbreak and loneliness and heavy shoulders flushed out like the gutter after a particularly heavy rain.

And then I wasn't sad anymore. No drugs, no therapist. Just me, emerging from the sand, brushing it off and running back into the ocean with a newfound spring in my step. And the startling realization of how sad I had actually been. You can only tell that when you aren't so sad anymore.

The second time I was depressed was almost a couple of years ago (has it been that long already?). It was the happiest and saddest time of my whole life. I met a boy. "You are the boy I used to dream about when I was a little girl." I thought about how I would tell him that at our wedding. He told me he loved me first. He told me I enriched his life. He told me he had never felt this way about anyone, including his ex-wife. We spent every day and night together. I imagined our future and how happy we would be. Don't roll your eyes like that; it wasn't really as rosy as it sounds.

And then I went on the pill for the first time. But suddenly, little (and big) stresses that come at us every day seemed insurmountable. I couldn't cope with the job I disliked, the thesis I was writing under tight deadline, the frigid winter we were having, shuttling back and forth between my apartment and his. I felt rootless, neither here nor there. Missing the stop on the train down to his parents' house left me bawling. A Saturday spent in bed, alone, in my pajamas because I just couldn't get myself up. Ten pounds gained, no exercise besides the awful walk from Canal Street at 7:15 am. I retreated from my friends, didn't call or email, because I couldn't ever think of anything happy to say. And why would they want to hear how my life sucked so bad or how I didn't think I could last at my job one more week, much less till the end of the year? But he listened to me. He told me everything would be ok. We sat in front of the fireplace, drinking coffee. He held me and made me feel safe and beautiful. He taught me to love red wine and olives and Joseph Arthur and I loved him more than I've ever loved any other boy. And inside he was slowly and secretly building up resentment and disdain towards me until there was nothing left but that.

I will spare you the details (for now) of the rest of that story. Trust me, it's not pretty. But as I shed both the relationship and the pill (and soon after, the job), I once again emerged from the darkness without the aid of professionals or pills. I don't mean to make light of depression. Certainly mine was mild enough so that I could pull myself out of it. That's how it worked for me, but I don't judge anyone who deals with it differently.

I was reading Dooce's entries about depression, and it made me realize two things: 1) a boy who cannot love you when you are at your worst does not deserve to be with you when you are at your best; and 2) I am happy now, and I know it, and it is wonderful.

She got no game

2005-07-31T22:00:00.000-04:00

I got no game. There, I said it. As much as I like to fancy myself a smooth, with-it, self-assured female, the truth is that when a perfectly perfect opportunity for flirting drops itself in my lap (metaphorically and/or literally speaking), I choke.

Case in point: My mom and I had returned from a shopping jaunt to Home-Depot. Cute little stackable cube furniture--check. Tough girl and bargain huntress that I am, we decided that playing $10 for a cab was a much better deal than $25 or whatever they charge for delivery. We got to my apartment, and I carried the two fairly heavy boxes over to the elevator. A very nice looking young man was waiting by the elevator.

"Do you need some help there?" cute boy asks, all chivalrous-like.
"No, I think I'm OK. They're not that heavy, just a little bulky," replies the Game-less Wonder Girl.
"Are you sure?" So subtle.
"Yeah, I got it, thanks. I haven't been to the gym today, so this is a good workout!"
We rode up the elevator, and he got out on his floor, somewhat awkwardly as he was watching me struggle to keep my boxes from dropping.

My mom nearly slapped me upside the head when we got upstairs.
"What the hell is wrong with you!? Why wouldn't you let him help you?"
"Uh, because I'm a dumbass?" At least now I know why I'm still single.

Hard to read

2005-07-23T09:57:00.000-04:00

Some people say that there's no such thing as a person who is "hard to read," only a person who is "disinterested, but not blatantly so." In other words, if you can't figure out what he is thinking about you, it probably means that he is not thinking much of you at all. It's not that he is hard to read, it's that you don't like what's written on the page. As some would say, if a guy likes you, he will be Dr. Seuss-easy to read.

I've been told that I'm hard to read. Granted, sometimes it's because I'm not interested. But other times, it's because my nervousness and discomfort level around new people lead me to close myself off. I don't say the silly comments that I would if I felt more comfortable. My body language is not as open and relaxed as it should be. I'm stiff and ill at ease. It all comes from a fear of rejection, really. If you don't get to know the real me, you can't reject the real me, right?

Where is all this leading? The other night I had a second date with a (so far) great guy. He's smart, cute, funny, not-short, and we seem to have a bunch of important things in common. But something was holding me back all night. I couldn't tell if he was interested in me, just tolerating me until he could end the date, or looking for an opportunity to get some from a girl he thinks is cute but not very interesting. And of course my insecurity about the situation only made it worse. Am I talking too much? Not enough? Think of something funny to say, Hap, think! At moments like that, my brain literally freezes. By the time I put a coherent thought together, the moment is gone. I'm like George "The jerk store called and they want you back" Costanza: three hours too late. Did he think I was 'hard to read'?

I'm not. I'm just shy. Ok, and maybe just a teensy-weensy bit socially awkward, at least around new people. If you had met any of my grandparents, you would totally get it.

Maybe this writing thing will help exercise my communication muscles so that I'm more articulate and charming in the moment. I need to practice speed-blogging. This post took me three days.

You gonna let some 30 year old beat you?

2005-07-22T11:05:00.000-04:00

R. and I ran a respectable race the other night. I received lots of birthday shout-outs, thanks to the dorky sign I was wearing. (I'll post pictures once I actually figure out how to do it on here.) Considering I've never run that far before, I was proud of myself for finishing strong. I ran with R. most of the way (slowing down to slinky pace when she stopped to walk for a bit), and then sprinted the last 400 m or so. My pace was on the slow side (11:30 min/mile), but there's always next year, right?

High points:

Many birthday shout outs.
Realizing we had only a mile left!
Hearing the Fountains of Wayne play "Radiation Vibe" for about 20 seconds.
Finishing strong.
Seeing one of my former students and running alongside her.
Meeting up with some friends afterwards for a celebratory/birthday drink.

Low points:

Hearing the Fountains of Wayne play "Radiation Vibe" for only about 20 seconds.
The guy who said to his running partner, "You gonna let some 30 year old beat you?" That guy should know that I look and feel better than I ever have. You don't want to mess with this thirty-something, because she really is something.

Off to make sangria for the birthday picnic...

2005-07-19T23:34:00.000-04:00

I used to be a lot more sentimental. I used to get teary-eyed while reading the box full of notes-passed-during-class-in-7th-grade. Yep, for a long time I kept a box of old notes. And every letter I ever received at Sleepaway camp. And the book reports I wrote in 5th grade. Ok, I still have those, even though they are not at all well-written.

Nowadays I don't keep so much stuff. I just don't have the room anymore, for one thing. But maybe it's also because I've become better at just keeping the things that really matter, or remembering things without tangible evidence.

There are 18 minutes left before my 30th birthday. What am I leaving behind in my 20s that I want to remember? When I turned 20, I was in Israel. I was so insecure about myself that I chased after boys who clearly didn't appreciate me. I made bad choices about who I spent my time with. Has that changed? At least a little bit, I think. I think I'm able to recognize more quickly now if a boy doesn't deserve my affections. I'm a lot more confident in myself, and I hope it comes through in my words and actions. I'm realizing that I have a lot to offer the right person, and most of the time I'm ok with the fact that I haven't found him yet.

I want to remember getting my first job. I was so excited to find THE PERFECT FIRST JOB FOR ME. I want to remember moving out of my parent's house, feeling VERY GROWN UP. I want to remember living in Hoboken, those years when it was always fun and full of friends and spontanaeity. I want to remember losing my virginity to someone who showed me patience and care. I want to remember everything about September 11, because even though it was horrible, it's too important to ever forget. I want to remember my first apartment in Manhattan--a dream come true. I want to remember the day I looked at myself in the mirror and really really liked what I saw for the first time. I want to remember completing my Master's Degree. I want to remember being depressed, because even though it was difficult and scary, I want to be able to recognize it if it ever happens again. I want to remember jumping out of an airplane, because it will remind me that I can be brave. I want to remember being in love and giving myself completely to someone, because even though my heart got broken, it was a wonderful feeling for a time and I want to remember how wonderful it was so I will always want it again.

My life is very different from how I thought it would be ten years ago. I never thought I would become a teacher. I'm a TEACHER. It still sounds weird to me, like it's a job for people who are not me. I've been a teacher for the past three years. And I actually kind of like it. But I'm nowhere near where I thought I would be financially or personally. If you told me ten years ago that I would be deeply in debt, living with three roommates and completely single at the age of thirty, I probably would have just cried like a big fat baby. Sometimes I wonder how so many people I know climbed aboard the Get-Married-and-Have-Kids train and I still don't even know where the station's at. Some people make it look so easy: You meet someone, you start dating, you get engaged, you get married. And you live happily ever after. A couple of years ago, I thought I had found that. And when we broke up I was so angry because that dream had been taken away from me. But enough things in my life have happened to make me believe that everything eventually works out the way it's supposed to. I now have a job I really like, an apartment (and roommates) I really enjoy, I like myself more than I ever have in my whole life, and the rest will fall into place.

I'm afraid to look too far into the future, because the truth is that things might not fall into place for a very long time. But the important thing is to find happiness in every day, to try to bring happiness to someone else every day, and to make the most of what you have. I have learned that I cannot look for someone to fill a void in my life. I can only look for someone to give me a turbo-boost, if you will. But the car still has to be able to run boy-less. And it does. I learned that medication or situations can make me very very sad, and if I feel very sad something needs to change. And I learned that I can make a big change and not only be ok, but be great. GREAT. These days, I am feeling great. I can say that honestly. If this is the way being thirty is gonna feel, BRING IT THE FUCK ON.

It's already been brought-en. 12:05 a.m. Happy 30th birthday to me.

Thank goodness I teach 6th grade

2005-07-18T22:52:00.000-04:00

Just when you thought it couldn't get any more difficult to be an adolescent, Mayor Bloomberg announces that he's going to make it harder to get to 8th grade. Again with the tests, as if those really measure how much someone knows and is able to do. Certainly I agree that the quality of teaching in most middle schools needs to be improved. Clearly something is not as it should be. But I think most people really miss the boat when they continue to assume that what works for 8 or 9 year-olds will also work for 12 and 13 year olds.

On the other hand, the way some of my kids respond to the weight of the test, this might actually give them the impetus to focus on their work and do their best, rather than do as little as they can to pass.

Still glad I am not teaching 7th grade, though.

The Alien

2005-07-16T11:05:00.000-04:00

One of the reasons why I like teaching middle school (and why I suspect many other people don't) is because it's such a difficult time in kids' lives. They have so much emotional and social angst going on, sometimes their academic work is simply the last thing on their mind. Other times, it's a welcome respite from all the other drama. Rich or poor, loud or quiet, every kid has issues. Many times being around my students gives me uncomfortable flashbacks to my own difficulties as a child. Other times, I feel relieved at how much more secure I feel about myself now; I survived middle school, and they will, too.

And some days, it all comes screeching back. I was selected to be part of a group of teachers who are writing "interdisciplinary" units for the DOE. Now, I've heard some exciting (to me) things coming out of Tweed-- they want people to move towards using the workshop model and inquiry for social studies. I was feeling very fired up about the opportunity to share some of the things we've been doing with a larger audience, a nod back to my life in ed. reform a few years ago. But, I ended up missing the first day of the project, where topics were decided and groups were formed. As I listened to the explanation of the work my group had done thus far, I felt my face scrunching up and my eyes narrowing in that "What the fuck are you talking about?" kind of way. It was one of those instances where voices inside my head were screaming, "This sucks! Let me show you how we should do it! Let me take control!" It reminded me of my own life in middle school, working in groups on projects where I felt frustrated and powerless. I was such a control freak and had a bit of a superiority complex that I couldn't easily compromise or see the value in another's perspective.

Group work, I realize, doesn't come naturally for many of us. It's a skill that needs to be taught and practiced like any other. I want my kids, even the brilliant ones, to be able to compromise and see the value in another's work. I have to teach them how to do that, and why it's important. But how does one teach something that one is not very good at herself?

Oh, and by the way, when I mentioned to my principal what my group had decided, let's just say that she agreed with me. Wholeheartedly. Hallelujah, the alien has found her mothership.

mixed signals

2005-07-07T18:13:00.000-04:00

Recently, N. and I had an interesting discussion. One of her co-workers has a condition known as synethesia (rhymes with anesthesia). When she reads or hears letters or words, she sees different colors. Every letter has a unique color. Whoah. Eventually N.'s and my conversation turned to how we see calendars in our minds. Apparently (this was news to me), everyone sees the year differently in their heads. For me, it's a clock running counter-clockwise. New Year's Eve is at 12, while June is somewhere around 7, and my birthday is kind of around 6. Labor Day (and the beginning of school) is 5 o'clock-ish. So, like, if you tell me that your wedding is taking place on December 10th, say, in my head I will see a spot about halfway between 12 and 1 o'clock. Though, for me, it's really somewhere between 11 and 12 (because my calendar-clock runs counter-clockwise). Get it? Doesn't matter if you do, 'cuz it's MY calendar, see, and everyone sees it differently.

How do you see your calendar?

First official non-work day

2005-07-05T09:47:00.000-04:00

Two of my summer-job plans fell through. One of those prospects I was really disappointed about. It was a curriculum-writing/proposal reading/workshop-delivering position at the Dept. of Education. All stuff I've done either as a teacher or while at the non-profit I used to work for. The other one was summer school. (I have to admit, I'm secretly very happy the summer school gig didn't work out.)

So, plans for the summer include: training for the Nike Run Hit Wonder, taking on some new hobbies (knitting?), polishing my cooking skills, organizing my files (oh, exciting), writing a kick-ass social studies curriculum, and reading.

First book up: Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World. Those Mongolians kicked some serious ass. As long as you surrendered to them and allowed them to conquer you, you enjoyed religious freedom (nearly unheard of at the time in other places), free trade with the rest of the Mongolian Empire, which was most of Eurasia, and protection. If you resisted, you suffered astonishing defeat. They were merciless. Like I said, they kicked some serious ass.

Wild Wild West

2005-06-30T23:39:00.000-04:00

Here I am, wayyyy over on the West side. What a different world. There's a part of me that misses walking past twelve banks, three Staples, four Starbucks and two Kinko's in a three block radius of my old apartment. But now I've got tons of restaurants that I can't wait to try, and Central Park a 10 minute walk away. And the best part-- two roommates who are social and friendly. It's alllll good, including the view of the river from the kitchen window.

Two out of three ain't enough.

2005-06-06T20:32:00.000-04:00

My dad says there are three major decisions a person needs to make in his or her life: Where you live, what you do for a living, and your partner in life.

I really like my job. (Love is a very strong word which I use conservatively.) Last year, I hated hated hated (also a strong word, used appropriately here) my job, and I am grateful every day for finding a position in my school. The job found me, really, and it came at one of the lowest points in my life. If I had not found this job, I'm not sure what I'd be doing right now, but most likely I would not be a teacher.

I'm not very happy in my current living situation. I have a roommate with whom I do not do much of anything. I rarely see her, and when I do, it's stilted and perfunctory. She's perfectly nice. Very sweet, actually (except for the fact that she has never once cleaned the bathroom and almost never taken out the garbage). But, she is a stranger. I don't want to live with a stranger.

In a couple of weeks, I'm entering into a new situation. It could be great. It could be not-great. I'll keep you posted.

2005-06-05T21:23:00.000-04:00

I've decided on a birthday present to myself: I'm going to run in the Nike RunHitWonder race on July 20. 5 miles. The Fountains of Wayne serenading me. A Dri-Fit T-shirt from Nike.

Now, I just need to up my miles from my current zero-per-week.

Summer is here! (Yet another incentive to get my butt back in shape.)

And from the "I don't understand boys" department:
I'd traded emails with The Brit for something like 2 months. Somehow we never got around to actually talking on the phone until last weekend. After 30 minutes, he said he had to go. Totally understandable, as it was about 11 pm, and frankly, I needed to go, too. "I'd like to continue this conversation. Will you be home tomorrow? Great, I'll give you a call tomorrow." Well, kids, unless it's like one of those British Airways ads where "tomorrow" is some sort of British slang for "a really long, indeterminate time from now," he's not calling back. UGH. It's not the fact that he's not interested in me. Whatever, I barely know him, he's British, and he keeps a kosher kitchen. No, what bugs me is that, instead of being normal and vague--"Ok, then, I'll talk to you soon." -- he had to be so specific in his closing remarks. And even if he'd changed his mind, would it kill him to send a one-line email clueing me in? Boys are so dumb. I hope I do run into this one. I would tell him to stuff it.

Second guessing

2005-05-30T16:19:00.000-04:00

The Character said last night that you usually know within the first couple of weeks of a new relationship the cause of an eventual breakup. Well, that was true about JWR. On our second date I had uneasy feelings about his extremely close relationship with his family, and his desire to spend every free weekend with them. Those issues were definitely part of why we didn't work.

I gave The Character a third and four chance. He's smart, he's relatively interesting, and I definitely like his penchants for adventurous travel and spicy food. But, he's just such a character. I can't even quite explain it. But there are so many things that are bugging me, some that seem unfair (like how it bugs me that he drinks Jack-and-diet-coke, and doesn't like to drink red wine or beer), and some that don't seem so unfair. He still hasn't replaced his glasses or his contact lenses. He has multiple weird issues, like really bad allergies, and some sort of acid reflux problem, that left me thinking he was about to hurl at any moment last night. And the way he handled it was...argh, I can't explain it...like a character. And why did he tell me not one but two gross stories about gross bodily functions? And how can he be 5'8" as he claims if I felt like we were the same height with my 1 1/2 inch heels?

I feel like if I keep seeing him, I'm just delaying the inevitable. I know already the reasons why we'd break up. I keep trying to picture him around my friends and family, and it just doesn't fit. Sort of like the Metrosexual, but I'm less attracted to The Character. He's spent a lot of money on me, and I've led him to believe that I like him, too. So, now what? Do I try it one more time, but take him out this time as a sort of payback? I don't really want to see him again, I don't think. Am I being too picky, proving my dad right? I don't think so. This guy is weird. I don't want to go out with him again just to go out with someone. If I'm feeling this way after four dates, I think I've given it enough of a chance. Just because I want to like him doesn't mean that I should keep seeing him.

Now I just have to figure out what to say to him when he calls. Blech.

It's a dangerous world

2005-05-25T19:27:00.000-04:00

"The law says we have to announce when a convicted sex-offender has moved into the area," I begin. I'm reading a handout to my sixth grade homeroom class. "This doesn't mean you should be totally scared that somebody's out there ready to hurt you. But it's always important to be aware of the people around you, and this is a good reminder."

In the back of my head, I'm thinking how ironic it is. Earlier today, another teacher informed me that one of our sixth grade boys exposed himself to some students yesterday in the classroom, while she was there. She didn't see it. The fact that he was so brazen about it worried me most. If he's got the balls to do that in the classroom, with a teacher in the room, my god, what might be going on in the stairwells, or during recess, or in the bathrooms? This teacher was most upset that no one told her about it right when it happened. They suffered this harrassment in silence, unable to trust us to protect them.

"If you ever see someone do something inappropriate, whether it's an adult or another student, you have a responsibility to tell someone about it. It's important for your safety, for your friends, and our community," I continue. This boy is in my homeroom class, but he's not here today. Will they get it? Do they know how much this matters? How can I impress upon them their own self-worth? They can't allow someone to just do that to them without making a big stink out of it.

I dismissed them from homeroom and stood in the hallway. A few minutes later, a group of girls came over to me, each one pushing another towards me. "Um, Heather? I think we have to tell you something. Somebody is...doing disgusting things. Should we tell you who it is?" "Yes."

They began to reveal some of the harrassment they have witnessed or suffered. "Is he gonna know we told? We don't want him to know it was us. He'll be really mad." They were terrified that they'd be found out. "We will protect you. Thank you for being so brave to tell me. What he did was not ok, and the only way we can solve it is if you guys tell us what happened."

I'll write about the boy another day. My compassion for him is nearly gone. But these girls, on the cusp of adolescence, have been robbed of a big part of their innocence by this boy. Not a stranger on the street, but a classmate, who not only harrassed them sexually, but threatened them physically. These girls--they are not tiny, frail things--I still want to scoop them up and tell them how precious and sacred their bodies and hearts are, and how powerful their voices can be if they use them.

Goldilocks in Jdate-land

2005-05-23T20:51:00.000-04:00

My dad says I'm too picky about boys. But maybe he's right. Lately, I've been on a few Jdates that actually went beyond the first date. Yet somehow, I've found something wrong enough with each of them to warrant terminating the relationship. I feel a little like Goldilocks looking for her perfect bowl of porridge.

First, there was the Canadian. He has good taste in music. He is nice. Really, really nice. Too nice. And incredibly, annoyingly indecisive. It began to grate on my nerves, rendering all other emotions towards him impossible. Dreams of dual-citizenship evaporated.

Next, there was the Metrosexual. He was also nice, and fun, and very chivalrous. We had a good time together. But I found myself wondering whether or not I could date someone who dressed so much better than me. And he has a cat. And he snores. (Don't ask).

And now, there is...hmm, I'm not sure what to call him yet. Intense? Clumsy? Folks, the jury is still deliberating on this one, and it's a close call. He is precariously straddling the fine line between endearing and "ugh". Let's recap. 1st date: Decisively set a time and place. (Big points for that; see "The Indecisive Canadian"). Shared margaritas and a habanero pepper. Boy likes spicy food. BIG points for that. A bit exuberant in his mannerisms, which could either balance quite nicely with my cool, calm and collected demeanor, or just not mesh at all. An odd but not unreasonable problem with his glasses--ran out of contacts, "cool" glasses are broken, so spends the night not wearing his "uncool" glasses. Hmmm. If you're that embarrassed, go out and fix yer damn problem. But I digress. A short walk home, a peck on the cheek, a request for a 2nd date. All good.

And then there was date #2. Again, sets time and place, and even picks me up, African daisy in hand. Sweet, albeit unusual. A bit of a character, this one. I've dated characters before. And it's not always pretty. But the best was yet to come. He tells me that his allergies have been acting up, so he's all looped up on Dayquil. Coincidentally, I had the beginnings of the cold, so I had also taken some Dayquil. I knew how he felt--not wanting to postpone the date, but not wanting to be a sneezy, runny, goopy mess, either. And the glasses problem has still not been solved, a week later. At this point, there are very minor feelings of uneasiness in my head, but no alarm bells are ringing.

It's during dinner that things really take a turn. A bottle of wine? Um, sure (thinking to myself, if I drink half a bottle of wine, I'll surely embarrass myself). Boy talks with his hands. Exuberantly, remember? One glass of water goes down. Then a glass of wine hits the deck. I'm still trying to think endearing thoughts when he gets up to use the bathroom and nearly takes the whole damn table with him. I sheepishly look around, thinking I can easily get out of this one, as it's only a second date. But of course in my mind I'm always thinking to the future. Is THIS what's in my future? Years of "I know, folks, he's a complete mess, but he's my mess." UGH.

My favorite part was when I returned from the ladies' room to find him chatting with the couple at the table next to us. Uh-oh, what now? It turns out that they generously offered some advice while I was gone: 1) Stop talking about your damn allergies. 2) Stop talking so much, period. And the kicker: 3) We don't think it's going very well, you're going to have to ratch it up a notch if you want to keep this one.

But isn't the fact that he shared all that with me pretty endearing? Isn't his nervousness kind of cute? And isn't the fact that he said, multiple times, "There's just something about you, Hap. I've been looking forward to this date all week," reason enough for a third date? Yep. I'm either a glutton for punishment, or very very optimistic.

Who's your roomie?

2005-05-08T20:15:00.000-04:00

My roommate, A., and I have lived together for almost two years. I met her on Craigslist when my good friend Arlene decided to move to London. There is almost nothing bad I can say about A. (Ok, there's one very bad thing I can say: She speaks to her boyfriend in a baby voice. You can't just look past that. She has some other strange habits, too, but as far as roommates go, she's pretty killer--mostly because she's almost never here.

Exhibits A,B,C,D,E and F: She comes home at 9-10 p.m. on average, and she spends every weekend (all weekend) with her boyfriend. And when she's here, she never spends more than 45 seconds in the living room. She pays for half of the cable and cable modem, yet doesn't use either. She never cooks, so she doesn't leave a mess or a smell in the kitchen. I've never heard her and her boyfriend in bed. (Although I have overheard them playing Snoopy Monopoly). So, really, I can't complain because it's as close to living alone as I can get without actually living alone.

And as much as I enjoy (cherish, crave, desperately need plenty of) time alone, I've come to the realization that if I do indeed share a space with someone, I would like to actually be able to share the space. Hang out on the couch together and watch The Amazing Race. Share a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Spend the morning cleaning the apartment. Go for a drink. My roommate and I do none of these things. And it sucks.

So, as I announced to her this evening that I had gotten the OK from our landlord to break our lease early, and that I could find a subletter if she wanted to stay, I felt uncharacteristically not guilty. If I was in her place, I'd be pissed off and annoyed. But in this situation, I simply told her the situation and went back to my side of the apartment. And I secretly smiled at all the excitement that lay ahead--a new apartment, new roommates, a new neighborhood, and housewarming gifts!

First step's the hardest

2005-04-30T17:47:00.000-04:00

Today, Randi, Gail and I ran the Revlon Run/Walk. It's a 5K (3.1 miles) to raise money for research and support for women's cancers. As we were making signs, I began remembering all the women I know/have known/my friends know who have or had cancer. Just recently, Kevin told me his friend's mother passed away from breast cancer, and Gilly told me that one of our former students' mother also recently passed away. One of my friends has (fingers crossed) recently conquered a battle with cancer.

As I looked around at the hoardes of people (mostly women, but plenty of men, too) running to support this cause, I became overwhelmed. I've always had a fear of death-- I sometimes daydream of being hit by a car, or being mugged, or that I'll receive a call that one of my family members has died. Whenever I fly, I recite a mantra over and over during take off: "I love you mommy, I love you daddy, I love you Steven." It serves two purposes--1) It helps keep me calm during a scary time; and 2) in case of a crash, I know that my last thoughts will be those.

"I'm running in memory of my mother." "In memory of my wife." "In support of myself!" I've been so blessed in that I've been spared so far from awful tragedies. I admire deeply those who have survived themselves, or who have managed to survive the loss of a loved one. It's something I choose not to think about, because I honestly don't know how I would deal with that kind of loss. A day like today forces you to realize, though, that millions of people are dealing with this every day. My thoughts are with them, today and every day.

Blooming

2005-04-17T19:03:00.000-04:00

Spring has sprung! I'm training for the Revlon Run/Walk on April 30. I met up with Randi in the park and we did a couple of short loops. Join us or donate!

Tested

2005-04-12T20:07:00.000-04:00

My students took their city-wide reading test today. "This test will measure how much you know," I was required by law to say. It took all my strength not to blurt out "NO! It doesn't measure what you know at all! But you still have to take it." The test simply tests how well the students take the test. For 65 minutes, my students sat in a hot room, unable to get up for the bathroom or a drink of water. Excruciating, it seemed. And yet, the same students who so often have trouble sitting still during a lesson, or controlling their impulses at so many other times of the day, were remarkably focused, quiet, and still. The weight of THE TEST has been so ingrained in their heads, they instinctively know that there is a different set of rules. It's as if they consider all the work they do every day simply unimportant in the long run. Most of them certainly don't put as much focus and attention into our regular work. But clearly they are capable of sustained focus and attention. Despite all our efforts to the contrary, despite all our work on designing rubrics, outlining expectations, having kids meta-cognate and self-assess, they consider their grade on THE TEST the definition of themselves as students. Those 65 minutes take precedence over everything else.

I refuse to outright cheat, though I'm sure many teachers do. I stick to the rules, I don't give hints or say, "You should check this one over." And I leave feeling like I've been part of something quite evil. Next week is math, and we get to do it again. This time, at least, the fans have been turned on.

Passing Judgment

2005-04-05T18:28:00.000-04:00

It's report card time again. I dislike it for so many reasons. First, it's physically draining and time-consuming to create report cards for 96 children. Second, in my school, the social studies report card is a page long, with over 12 different categories to be graded. Third, I'm always playing catch up. Despite several attempts to stay organized, keep on top of grading notebooks, etc., I'm embarrasingly behind in my grading. At this point, does it even matter? Don't get me wrong--I assess my kids constantly. I'm always taking notes as I talk with them or during their discussions to help me keep track of who knows how to do what and what else I need to teach. But I'm not always so good at telling them what I've discovered. At the same time, since so much of the work we do requires sophisticated thinking skills, how do I help the kids who are still so concrete? They can't just study more so that they'll remember a few more facts for the next test. I don't even give tests.

What ends up happening is that the only kids who fail do so because they have not put forth nearly enough effort. Some of those kids would still not meet standards even with improved efforts. But how can I fail a kid who has worked so hard, written pages and pages in their notebook, turned in every assignment on time? I can only say that their "Habits of Mind" are "approaching standards".

It's imperfect. And yet, I can't imagine teaching in the kind of school where I would use a textbook, give tests, and base all my grades on the outcome of those tests.

April Showers

2005-04-04T16:49:00.000-04:00

I love taking long showers. I love feeling the water trickle down my back. I love the feeling of my hair when it's completely saturated. I love wrapping myself in a fresh, clean towel afterwards.

At my grandmother's unveiling yesterday, it rained. Actually, it hailed. LIttle chunks of frozen rain dropped onto my coat. We huddled under umbrellas, my aunt's hands under one arm for warmth, my mother's under the other for comfort. We braced ourselves against the cold and the sadness. Sadness? Perhaps, for a life unfulfilled. But is that for me to judge? Is the fulfillment that I seek, professionally and personally, just of a totally different sort than that of women of my grandmother's generation? Was she content? She raised two children, by herself. Whenever I lament all that she didn't do for me as a grandmother, I remember how she did as well as she could with so little. Could I have done the same? Under those circumstances, she's an inspiration. For all her indecisiveness, aloofness, neediness, and stubbornness, she raised two children by herself. She is to be praised and honored for that.

The rain cleansed us yesterday. It cried for us, washing away whatever negative images or memories we harbored, leaving room for only praise and honor. It pelted away years of bitterness and resentment, until all that was left was a smooth, new headstone honoring the memory of a "loving mother, daughter and sister." There is no room anymore for anything else. And I wrapped myself in my mother like a fresh, clean towel. I love and honor her, too.