The Educational Hazards of Snow

The snow day bill is, as far as I know, sitting on Mr. Blunt's desk right now, just calling out to be signed. He may have signed it already, but that was the last news I heard today. The sticking point here is that once he signs it, we still have to play the waiting game, and I don't know if you know this about me or not, but I'm not very good at waiting. We have to wait for the Superintendent to contact DESE to make sure that the interpretation of the bill matches our greatest wishes. Then we have to wait for her to contact my immediate boss, and for him to contact us.

Something you probably don't know about these two people is that their idea of effective and immediate communication does not align with my definition. I anticipate having to wait until Friday or Monday to hear, and while that doesn't seem like a long time, one must remember that we've been waiting since February to find out.

Where's the big problem in all of this? Let's start off with a year fraught with change, add a criminally irresponsible coach to that, and then a great deal of uncertainty regarding the validation of our get out of jail free card. We're a cranky bunch, educators. And maybe you remember your high school teachers when they were cranky. It's not a pretty sight.

But the real problem doesn't lie in our crankiness. It lies in the adapting to ever changing last day dates. There is a huge difference between the final that was supposed to be given on the 17th and the one that might have been given on the 29th. That's three weeks of learning. So, even though we were supposed to give finals on the 16th and 17th, now that it's the 17th and 18th, we feel rushed. Our plans have been so up in the air that many of us just planned on the 29th as an end date. Back to the drawing board.

But back to the crankiness. Today, one of the teachers I work with came into the teacher's lounge ten minutes before the end of the day and our planning period. She sighed and huffed as soon as she saw me, almost simultaneously. Then she starts snarking about how she uses every minute of her planning period and some people just sit on their asses during theirs. Passive-aggressive much?

Instead of outlining the good 75 minutes of work that I did in my 90 minute plan period, and explaining that I had finished everything I could do in that period and I deserved a break, I simply said the following: I'm sorry you feel that way, but think of it this way, if a person accomplishes what they need to accomplish in their planning period and have time left over at the end of the period, then they can reward themselves with some down time. It's your choice not to allot downtime for yourself.

Her response was a diatribe about how she doesn't have a night to herself this week. She has to teach the night course (that she chose to teach), has to go to her son's track meet, has to go to her daughter's ice cream social, and other time-consuming aspects of parenthood. I get it. The last thing I want to do tonight is have to watch a bunch of kids run in circles or throw sticks into the air. But I take issue with the automatic assumption that my life is easier or less laden with have-tos because I don't have children. Let's face it, this is the woman who runs key club, which does after school activities eight days out of the week, and teaches a two hour night course one night a week, and she's talking to the drama teacher and forensics coach (who also likes to imagine that she has a life). It may not come out completely balanced on the scales, but I bet you it comes pretty close.

That pretty much pissed me off just as much as the email I got today that suggests that the reasons students and teachers get shot in schools is because that tricky government doesn't let schools become a place of Christian learning.

It's amazing that I have all this maddening stuff running through my mind, and yet I'm still pretty jovial right now.

Stupid Human Tricks

I go through these phases. I get really good at keeping my house neat on a regular basis, and then I get to a point where I'm cleaning every weekend and a tad pissed at myself for having to do so, and then I get to the point where "tomorrow" is always the day that I'm going to make my home shine. The funny thing about tomorrow is that when you get to it, it's today, and the next day is tomorrow. Strange, but that's how this temporal thing works.

Now, I don't think that I'm particularly dirty very often at all, but the house will get to a point of clutter that is so overwhelming that I start imagining that I can see the surfaces underneath just to avoid the where-to-start dilemma. Once I finally attack it, and have one space to the point at which I question whether or not it's really my house I'm standing in, I start wondering why I keep thinking that it's all that hard to devote a little time to making my house not just livable, but consistently attractive and comfortable.

So, for the eight hundredth time since adulthood struck, I'm going to resolve to be consistent in my housekeeping habits. Habit. It has to become habit. So, as silly as it might sound, I'm going to finally try http://www.flylady.net as a guide. Some of her stuff is silly and all about getting your house clean by loving yourself and dressing first thing in the morning down to lace up shoes. Ok, so I don't wear lace up shoes but maybe twice a month, and I'm not going to start in the hopes that it will get my house cleaner. But some of her tips are pretty good. I particularly like the 27 fling boogie (I wish she wouldn't be so damned cutesy, but what can you do?): as quickly as you can you find 27 things to throw away and get them in your outdoor trash can or dumpster, and then you find 27 things to give away and you put them in a box in your car. I don't know how often she has you doing this, but I know that would help me out, even if I just stockpiled the 27 giveaway items for yard sales.

I don't know if this is just stupid to try, but I'm tired of going through this every four to six months. I'm willing to participate in stupid human tricks if it gets me into a habit.

And just for Madison...I'll refrain from talking about all that sex stuff I was going to type.

Familiarity Breeds Contempt

I love my house. I love sitting in it and knowing that it's mine. Ok, so it's the bank's, but you get the drift. I love that I can hang pictures, paint, rip out flooring, whatever I want without fearing the wrath of a landlord or the financial ramifications of simply living in borrowed space. I love decorating and making the space my own. Mostly, I have the 2-year-old syndrome...I love it because it's mine.

And while I love the place for these reasons, I find that the more time I spend familiarizing myself with the house and bringing out the Kendraness of it, the more little things I find to regard with contempt. Imagine me on my knees, trying not to fall clumsily into the bathtub as I spent twenty minutes scrubbing at it, elbow deep in bleach water. The damn thing won't come completely white. It should be completely white. It should sparkle after I spend that much time working at it. But it doesn't sparkle, it just looks less dull. The problem is that it has never sparkled. I moved in to a dull tub. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where the ire comes in. It won't matter how long I scrub, how many tools I use, or how many curse words I hurl at it: It has never been the pristine tub I want it to be, and it never will be. Add to that the fact that I burned out the motor on the jet spa, and you have one irrationally riled Kendra.

This isn't new information. I've known this from about day 25, after I'd cleaned the place out of its former shabbiness just after the move. I should have learned to accept it. But I can't. I see the potential for sparkly greatness everywhere, but in order for it to reach that potential I have to shell out money.

I'm working very hard at trying to save money, but it's slow going, and there are so many things I'm saving up for. I'd like to have a normal sized washing machine, a sparkly tub, tile flooring, a door on my guest room, a new vanity for each bathroom, new carpet for my bedroom, new bedding, curtains, artwork....it never ends. By the time I save up money to create a living space closer to my ideal, I'm going to be selling the house.

For now, I'd settle for a sparkling tub and enough space to open my refrigerator all the way.

Thanks, Jane, for inspiring me to blog again. Fucker.