Playing School

This is...well crap, I can't really say his name since he is a student. Let's just call him Theo.

We've been in school 142 days, and I've told Theo at least 141 times NOT to use my markers while he's waiting for his bus. Maybe he has a hearing problem.

I couldn't help but smile today, though, when I caught him writing on the board. You see, Theo, up until recently, has thought that we haven't learned anything in class. After some reminders, explanations, and finally a Word Wall, he realized just how much we've covered. I caught him today doing what I had done so many years ago in my parents' classrooms. Playing school. He didn't care that he's about to be a high schooler and it's probably not cool to be playing school anymore. He was proud of what he'd learned. So he was making up a test for others.

Now...if I could just get him to learn NOT to write on my board. (Expo markers aren't cheap, people!)

New Beginnings

I love spring. I feel like it's a time when the whole world can begin again. Second chances are awesome, aren't they?

Real-Life Application

It's amazing how God speaks through simple, ordinary, everyday events.

A couple weeks ago I went with Mandy to Las Palmas. I noticed one of my former students walk in. She is very special to me, and I hadn't really seen her since before Christmas. She is a girl that I discipled, and her mother is a good friend of mine. She couldn't see me from where she was sitting, so I called her name. Her response was, "Miss P.! I hear Miss P.'s voice!"

It was a defining moment to me. I realized the bond shared. She didn't say, "Wait. I hear my voice." She said, "I hear Miss P.'s voice."

And then, just like that, God spoke. He reminded me that when I call out to Him, He doesn't say, "Wait, everyone. I hear My voice. Someone down there is calling Me. Who is it?"

But He says, "Wait. I hear Shannon's voice."

It gives me chills just thinking about it.

Mission Impossible

So, my students have discovered a way to get me to stay in the States. In an attempt to quell their insistent questions of how they can get me to stay (which include, and I'm not kidding, "Miss P., do they have overhead projectors over there? We know how much you love yours..." and "Can you take your cat? No? Then, you better not go"), I came up with the ultimate solution.

I gave them a task that would keep them busy while feeling productive. (OK -- mainly just to keep them from asking all the annoying questions.) So, I gave them the impossible.

I've promised that if Orlando Bloom proposes to me, I'll stay here. They've already acquired his address and written the letter. I know because I had to proofread it. (After all, couldn't have him thinking I was a terrible teacher.)

Poor Orlando. You're about to get even more irritating fan mail.

Mrs. Potato Head

It's 11:00 PM. Do you know where Shannon is?

Seriously. I think I'm turning into a computer potato.

My Secret's Out

My secret's out. I'm a messy, messy person. I was hoping to hide this forever. Or, at least until I had company I knew would see my room. It must be that I exert all my energy on keeping my classroom clean; it's usually spotless with all the desks perfect in an OCD-ish fashion. (Maybe that's because over a hundred people enter my classroom every day?) However, my room at home looks like three tornadoes went through it. I wish I could say it just happened. That I came home and found it ransacked...that Jay, in angst over the fact that I spend so much time away from him, went a little off the deep end and tore everything to shreds while I was away.

But that's not what happened. It was me. All my fault. I did it. My room is a disaster, and I've been in denial. I thought that maybe if I didn't think about it, it would go away. But it hasn't. And unforunately, much to my dismay, TWO people have seen my room without me being there to fight them off.

Mandy has her motivation, and now I have mine.

If there was ever a time I could wish for Sleeping Beauty's fairies to help me, it would be now. But I'm afraid when they open my door, their reaction would be something similar to this:

God help them.

Will Work for Comments

What's it take to get some comments around here? I feel like my hours of agonizing over choosing the perfect words (yeah right) for these blogs are futile; no one reads them! I'm not above bribing people to leave comments. You don't have to be a member to comment. So do it. Go on. You know you want to.

Will Work for Food

Ok, I admit. I did a HUGE "no no" in the world of teaching theory today. I bribed my students. I know, I know. It's wrong. None of you ever bribe your students or children. Never have either. Shoot me.

I'm just saying: When students have to come to school during a week of their spring break for intersession (remediation) because A, their parents didn't want them at home or B, their parents wanted free babysitting or C, because their parents said so, it's hard to get them to work. It's even harder to get them to try and improve their test scores on the CRCT when it's only one week of extra instruction. These students need months of remediation.

So, yes, I bribed them. The class that raised their post test scores the most percent since Monday received junk food. It's amazing how hard kids will work for food. I should be ashamed. But I'm not.

Reality Check

Nothing like a dose of reality to set you back a few feet.

Today I found out that one of my mother's students has cancer. Well, I didn't really find it out today. I've known it. But for some reason it didn't hit me until today. She's on an extended field trip my mother is chaperoning this week, and she came down with a 103 degree fever. They're taking her to the hospital. I wondered why her parents let her go, but my mom replied, "Hon, when you're at the end of the rope like this, you begin to let go so they can experience things they never have and be with the friends they love."

I lost it. I don't know the girl, but I cried. I cried for a little fourteen-year-old, not a girl and not yet a woman, whose life is dwindling away. I cried because, though I know God is Sovereign, it doesn't take away the sad and questioning thoughts in my mind.

Reality hit.

I'm twenty-seven and preparing to go to a foreign country to live. Sometimes I forget how blessed I am.

Operation Squirrel Release

My friend Miriam, whom I teach with, rescued a squirrel from the perils of her cat's fangs this past weekend. She couldn't resist nursing it back to life after the trauma it experienced watching its two siblings die. (Seriously, she's worse than me when it comes to feeling sorry for animals. She couldn't watch March of the Penguins.)

Well, I couldn't resist. I know it's weird, but I've always wanted to touch a squirrel. Maybe it's the fact that it's not that common: squirrels just don't let you near them. Or maybe it's because I love animals, and rodents never really bothered me. (How could they when I grew up with two hamsters who I thought were both girls, only to find out that when they were "fighting," they weren't really fighting, and several weeks later there were thirteen of them.)

I knew this was my chance. Miriam had decided that the squirrel was ready to be released into the wild. We drove out to Berry College with "Sookie the Squirrel" in a cat carrier, nestled down under one of Miriam's towels. I got to hold and pet Sookie, and after much coaxing on our part (for the first several minutes, Sookie kept running back to Miriam and climbing up the leg of her jeans) and deliberation on Sookie's part, he finally took to a tree and began to eat something he found.

We were satisfied and felt the operation had gone much better than we anticipated. Though he began to climb down the tree when he saw us walk off, he decided he'd stay. Here are some pics of the monumental day.

Sookie peeking out from my hands

Sookie runs along Miriam's arm

"Should I stay or should I go?"

Love/Hate

Jay and Emma have a love/hate relationship. Although, I wouldn't say it's as strong as hate. We're fortunate they get along well. I will admit that Jay is just a tad demanding. He wants love so bad from Emma. He'll try to rub his head on her snout, roll over on his back when she's around, and try to lay as close to her as possible. I'm not sure she knows what to think of his advances. One minute she lunges at him and will bark, (no doubt hoping to incite some play time, which he turns his nose up at) and the next minute they are snuggled in front of the mat watching the wildlife.

Great intentions

March 18, 2006

Spinach, oh spinach. (Sigh) I have good intentions for you. Great aspirations, actually. Yet, I never can seem to hold up my end of the deal. I pick you up at Wal-Mart, or Kroger, or The Pig. And then I dump you. Dump you in the fridge. I dump you before even putting you in my lunch sack. You never get to live up to your purpose in life: providing me with a low calorie lunch all the while pumping my body full of vitamin B, iron, and folate. It's a shame, I know. You never did anything to me. It's all my fault. I just let you rot for weeks, turning limp and brown before finally throwing you out, realizing all along that I never should have committed. I guess I should just go ahead and accept the fact that you're not my type. So, farewell. I have a date with a Lean Pocket.

27 in 27

March 17, 2006

My list of 27 new things in my 27th year of life.


7. Held a squirrel

6. Father of a former student asked for my number.

5. Cooked my very first Moroccan meal: harrira, cous cous, and mint tea.

4. Watched the American movie classic, Casablanca. (The second most popular movie of all time.)

3. Signed a contract with a school in North Africa to go teach there for two years.

2. Rode the elevator to the 72nd floor (my age backwards) of the Westin in downtown ATL for dessert in the rotating restaurant.

1. Touched a Cownose Stingray on purpose.

Happy Birthday to Me!

March 5, 2006

Yesterday, I had the privilege of visiting the new Georgia Aquarium. It was, I concede, amazing. My favorite parts included the whale sharks, touching the sting rays, and the cute little garden eels who burrow down in the sand to try to catch fish.

I had a revelation while I was there. I noticed a young mother lining up four small children on a bench in front of the beautiful kelp aquarium. They ranged between two years to four years of age. Each flashed a beautiful, practiced smile and and sat perfectly still while the 6.0 megapixel, red-eye reduction flash blinked twenty-six times. They knew what to do. They had it down to an art. And just like that, after the twenty-sixth flash, each flaxen-haired child leaped off the bench and attacked the young mother, demanding, "LET US SEE!" They are not even old to go to the bathroom by themselves, but they know about digital technology. It reminded me of when I was in North Africa recently. Those children don't have many of the luxuries that we, as North Americans, do. Yet, they knew that when I took a picture, they could see the result instantly. And if something was wrong with the ultra-bright, bigger-than-ever LCD screen and it didn't show the picture, they didn't fail to show their disappointment. We were so deprived as children. My generation, that is. Only the wealthiest had Polaroid. And with them, it still wasn't INSTANT. Poor us.

Anyway, enough sulking. Here's a pic of Karen and me at my birthday lunch yesterday.

Prairie Women

February 19, 2006

When I was a little girl, I pretended that I lived during Little House on the Prairie days. I had those days romanticized in my mind. And given a chance to go back in time, I definitely would have picked that era. Ma and Pa Ingalls, Mary, Jack the bulldog. Old America. Later I watched the Little House on the Prairie series with Michael Landon and Melissa Gilbert. I even had a crush on Albert Ingalls. And I hated Nellie Olsen as if I really knew her.

As a teenager, my mom used the term "Prairie Woman" to describe women who could handle pain. She explained that prairie women didn't complain, and when an emergency situation occurred, prairie women kept their cool. As for having babies, well, they just had them (usually with no screaming) and were out in the field the next day. Now, keep into consideration that this is all my mom's definition of a prairie woman. And as far as I was concerned, she fit the definition exactly.

Which brings me to the whole point of this entry. I've always aspired to be a "prairie woman" just like my mom. But, I cry easy. I have a low threshold for pain. And I'm not a big fan of getting dirty and staying that way. As I drug firewood inside from the bitter cold, a shocking realization hit me. This is as close to a prairie woman as I will ever be. Toting firewood.

Maybe I'm only thinking of this because I watched four hours of Into the West on DVD this weekend. Or maybe because it's the truth.

I love the nightlife

February 17, 2006

It's Friday night, and I love the nightlife. So I'm having a party. Only VIP allowed. The guest list looks something like this: Jay, Cleo, Katie, Buck and Spock, Emma, Mercury, Bear and Max. No, it isn't the cast from Star Trek. VIP stands for Very Important Pets. That's it. Just me, two dogs, and three cats. But, don't be mistaken; this house is rockin'. I'm still not bitter about being alone. Or that I'm sharing my Friday night with five animals and eight hours of Grey's Anatomy and Into the West. Promise.

PS: Max, we're so sorry you couldn't make it. I wish your invite wouldn't have gotten lost in the mail. However, I think that the festivities wouldn't have been over before your curfew anyway. Don't teens have to be in by midnight or something? Anyway, you know how protective your mom can be. Sorry man.

PSS: Emma was invited as well, but she had somewhere better to go.

Here are some pics of the get-together. Katie, bless her heart, stayed up past her bedtime of 7:45pm. She fell asleep during the excitement.
Jay tried making eyes at the ladies, but...

tried to pick up another guy's girlfriend and got into a scuffle with the bouncer.


Buck was tired of the paparazzi and used a few choice words in a confrontation with the cameraman.


And someone must have spiked the waterbar -- because Cleo got a little tipsy.



Overall, it was a memorable night. One none of those involved will ever forget! I must mention, though, that my guests of honor wanted to give a shout-out to their Florida-based cousins, Bear and Mercury, who would have been here in a heartbeat had it not been for Bear's fear of flying and Mercury's claustrophobia.

The Gift of Time

February 13, 2006

Today, I was given the gift of time. That doesn't happen often. Thanks to a "snow" day (woohoo to all you fourteen flakes in my yard -- good work!), I was able to finish the yearbook. And nap, of course.

Everybody's Got a little Black in them

February 9, 2006

Apparently, I displayed ghetto qualities today. According to my students. My eighth grade students.

Urban Dictionary says that ghetto means "jury-rigged, improvised, or home-made (usually with extremely cheap or sub-standard components), yet still deserving of an odd sense of respect from ghetto dwellers and non-ghetto dwellers alike."

Let me explain.

I made brownies for my students. However, I forgot to cut one of the batches in order to distribute them. I looked everywhere for a knife. (Hard to believe, but they're difficult to come by in a school setting. Well, some school settings at least.) I couldn't find a plastic knife either. Nor a spoon or fork of any kind. Plastic included. I began to get desperate. The bell was about to ring to signal the end of the day, and I knew what would happen if the three who didn't get one from the other pre-cut batch had to go home without. I'd never hear the end of it. ("Hey, remember when everyone else in the room got a brownie and I didn't? Remember? Huh? Huh?)

My eyes searched my desk. And that's when I saw it: the jumbo paperclip.

As I cut the brownies with my "improvised, home-made, cheap" knife, my black students cracked up.

"That's ghetto!" one said.

Another replied, "See, everybody's got a little black in them."

And though it may seem weird, I, who've always been told by my mother that because I couldn't dance I had NO black blood in me, was a little flattered.

The power of ice

February 7, 2006

Behold: The power of ice. Sort of. It was enough for us to be delayed until 10. Wahoo!

It was also enough for me to catch Good Morning America and learn that 300 women were chosen to go on a Caribbean cruise. It's appropriately titled Girls' Week Out. Ewww.

I mean, I wouldn't consider myself a tomboy. But a cruise with 300 other women? No thanks. Women are vicious. Women are cruel. I don't know what would be worse: the anxiety of getting into a bathing suit with cute guys possibly around, or the anxiety of getting into a bathing suit with 300 women who are going to critique and judge every part of your body.

Okay, I admit. Not all girls are like that. But many are. And knowing my luck, I'd get on a ship with 299 of them and be stuck for a week.

Superbowl Picks

February 5, 2006

Since the Miami Dolphins didn't make it to the Superbowl (again), I'm forced to make another decision. Who to cheer for. Now, some of you might be thinking that I don't have to cheer for anybody. But what good is going to a Superbowl party if you don't have a team to root on?

After much deliberation, I've decided to make the object of my cheering the Seattle Seahawks. Here are a few reasons why:

1. David Greene. I'm a UGA alum. It only makes sense that I make my choice a team whose quarterback is the famous David Greene. (Even if he is third-string.) And he is sporting my favorite number -- 11. (Oh yeah, Mack Strong is also from Georgia, but who's he?)

2. Team colors. Let's face it. The Seahawks just have better colors. Variations of blue with a hint of lime green is so much more en vogue than gold and black. So what if it is a little girly? Maybe that's so they can woo more female audience members.

3. Emblem/Logo. The Seattle Seahawks have a great emblem. Can you guess it? A Seahawk! The Pittsburgh Steelers have an emblem. Can you guess it? Gee, I can't imagine why not. Maybe because it's a red, gold, and blue diamond. What does that have to do with a Steeler?

4. The mascot. The Seattle Seahawks have a cute (?) mascot named Blitz. Now, the Steelers mascot? Wait! They don't even have one! 'Nough said.

So, after hours of research, I've reached my conclusion. Who said girls couldn't pick teams? Go Seahawks!