Wear and Tear

Other years: Yay! Memorial Day! Only three and a half weeks until summer!

This year: Oh... Memorial Day? What do you mean there's still three and half weeks until summer?

Baby Bottles

"My reading teacher called my dad," sighed that student who often hangs out in the afternoon.

"I heard," I told her. "I also heard you were cradling your new Hydro Flask like a baby, and singing to it during class."

"Well..." she said and then laughed. "I just love it!" Her expression turned stormy. "But now my dad took it away for a month."

I thought of her today when I used my annual coupon at the outdoor coop store to buy my own, limited edition, Keiki Rainbow Hydro Flask. After I carefully affixed the first sticker to it, I held it up to admire the pleasing blush of the sunset colors on my new water bottle...

...and then resisted the impulse to give it a little hug.

Last-Ditch

The top rack of our dishwasher is starting to fall apart-- a little plastic connector is broken from one of the side rollers, so the whole thing sags on one side. I could order a replacement rack, but it would cost about 150 dollars, which is well on the way to paying for a new dishwasher. Still, it's galling to dispose of a working appliance because of some small part.

I should know, I just went through it with my stove. A screw hole on the handle was stripped, and after ordering replacement screws (18 bucks) and then a replacement handle (35 bucks), neither of which worked, the whole door to the oven fell apart. A replacement door was not much less than a replacement range, and so we have a nice new stove in the kitchen.

I foresee a similar situation with the dishwasher, but before I give in completely, I ordered a package of Sugru, the amazing moldable glue that sticks to almost anything and cures in 24 hours to a solid silicone. I gotta say-- the stuff is amazing! Temperature resistant from -58 to 350 degrees, dishwasher proof, weatherproof, saltwater proof, and electrically insulating, one only need look at their Instagram feed full of images of clever repairs, hacks, and crafts.

And step one of my repair is curing as we speak. Will I be able to save the dishwasher? Time will tell, but this attempt has been totally worth it!

Elemental

The bonus challenge for writers the other day was to choose which element fit them best and explain why. Was it earth, air, fire, or water? There were some very interesting conversations, to be sure.

"I'm iron," one kid told me, "Fe. Because I'm strong."

"Not those elements," I corrected him. "But I'll be sure to tell the science teacher that you are on it!"

"I'm water, because I like to swim," said another.

It was a little prosaic, but she's 12."

"I don't get it," another kid told me. "How can I be those things?"

"Think figuratively," I told him, "not literally."

"I think I'm fire then," he said, "because I have a temper."

And so it went:

"I'm earth, because people say I'm grounded."

"I'm air because I'm quiet, until I'm not!"

I remembered those conversations today as I planted our hanging baskets and power-washed the deck. "Who wouldn't want to be water?" I thought, "Both gentle and strong."

What's Fair and What's Easy

It was somewhat in the interest of equity that the state testing schedule was made at our school, but not exactly. Over six testing days, most teachers average one planning and/or meeting period per day, down from the contractual two. On each actual day, however, that number ranges from 0-4.

And so while today I met with all five of my classes and then saw two of the sections for a second time, wrangling 29 sixth graders through an unusual schedule on the Friday after a big test and before a three-day weekend, not for one period, but two, at least one of my colleagues dipped out at 11, because she was done for the day after teaching two classes with five students.

Maybe it's just the lingering tension headache talking, but that doesn't seem equitable to me.

Delayed Reaction

I was working in my classroom a little before 4 this afternoon when the sky outside my window turned as dark as night, and a fierce wind bent trees and spun loose construction material in circles around the abandoned equipment. A visceral sense of foreboding had me considering whether my desk might be shelter enough should the storm intensify.

When the rain started, the room seemed to shrink, and the view was like the one through the windshield in a carwash. Construction workers huddled in the shell they had built, and waterfalls cascaded from the corners of the unfinished roof across the way. Just then, a strident alarm sounded from my phone- a tornado warning. Circular motion had been detected within the storm a few miles to the east.

In the west, though, the sky was beginning to lighten, and there was a noticeable decrease in the rain fall. The worst of the weather had clearly passed, at least for the time being. Any staff and students in the building must seek shelter at ground level. As the administration cleared the area, I packed up my things, and headed into the lightening afternoon.

The Throne

When you have over a thousand people involved in a mass standardized testing situation, there are going to be some lines for the bathrooms.

"Do you need a break?" the hall monitor whispered to me as she ushered the 15th sixth grader who had left the room to pee back in. It was 10 AM, and to be honest? I rarely hit the head before 11, which is my lunch time, but the moment she offered my bladder told me that yes, indeed, a break would be much appreciated.

I made my way to the staff lavs in the front office, passing 4 lines of several students each waiting silently for their turn in the restrooms. Even so, I was a bit dismayed when I found both of the adult bathroom doors closed and locked. Did I grimace? Did I sigh? Whatever it was, the office staff engaged me in sympathetic conversation as I waited. So much so, that a voice soon floated from the principal's office. "Ms. S! You can come in here and use my restroom!"

I froze. In the nearly 26 years I have worked in that building, rumors of the principal having his or her own private bathroom have floated through the halls like flying unicorns.

"Ms. S?" she repeated. "You better get in here!"

I entered the office where I had been many times before, but to be honest, I had no idea where the bathroom could even be. The principal directed me down a short hallway to my right, where a standard wooden door stood ajar. Flipping the light switch, I entered a smaller, less worn version of the restrooms I was used to. It had the same open commode, brown floor tile, cinder block walls, industrial porcelain sink, and steel paper towel and soap dispensers, but it also had some framed art work, a narrow cabinet with colorful, neatly-folded hand towels, and scented hand soap.

A clothes hook over the door made it impossible to close it all the way, and so rather than rearrange things, I tinkled quietly, cringed at the mighty flush of the 40-year-old toilet, and quickly washed my hands (with the standard soap).

On my way out, I thanked the principal again and laughed. "Now I can cross that off my bucket list!" I told her.