Why I love middle school...

I absolutely love my job teaching middle schoolers. Crazy, I know. But I think that people teaching pre-school are even more messed up in the head. I digress.

I love eighth grade because:

1. They're independent, yet dependent. I know, I know. Oxymoron. In other words, they're old enough to be able to A) open a locker by themselves, B) walk to lunch by themselves, and C) go to the bathroom by themselves (thank goodness!). However, they are still dependent on adults for advice and attention and love. They aren't too far gone yet.

2. They're spontaneous. You never know what they will say or do.

3. They're ever-changing. No day is ever the same. If you had a bad day, no worries! More than likely, it'll be great tomorrow.

4. They're hilarious. I think that half of the success in being a teacher comes from having a great sense of humor.

But my favorite one of all...
5. They're considerate and caring.

Case in point: Today my homeroom surprised me with a going away party. This was the first surprise party I've ever had in which I was truly surprised. They did a great job. True, balloons during 7th and 8th period, last class of the day, last week of school probably wasn't the BEST idea in the world. But, oh well. What's done is done. Though I got frustrated at the time, I reminded myself that these are my last moments with them. I need to cherish them!

Some pictures from the CRAZY party!

Gotta love those balloons!

This is where I found Chris. On the library media cart, second shelf, in his "fort." Yes, eighth graders can still be small in stature. What could I do but laugh? It was either that or yell.

My homeroom: together, behaved, still, hands to themselves...is all right with the world?

Happy Weekend!

It was a busy, busy, weekend.

Friday: Happy Flight Day! My baby bluebirds took flight. My students were sad. Especially "Theo"; he wanted to keep one. Ha!


Saturday: Happy Graduation to my little sis! She graduated from The University of Georgia today. Ahhhhh...my Alma Mater. I also chaperoned my last eighth grade dance today. (No need for pictures of me doing the YMCA and Electric Slide.)


Sunday: Happy Mother's Day to my most awesome mom, who is also one of my best friends. Happy 1-year anniversary to my sis and my bro-in-law.

Phoebe's best friends

Remember that Friends episode where Monica is going crazy trying to find Phoebe's dead grandmother's secret family cookie recipe?

Mandy and I LOVE that recipe. Below is a picture to prove it. It is the fourth roll of cookie dough that has passed through the hallowed walls of our fridge over the past WEEK. (To be fair to us, two of the rolls were the $0.94 small batch kind.)


But look closer. Go ahead. Look at the end. What do you see? I'll give you a hint. We don't have a rodent problem. (The snake took care of that. Kind of.)



I confess. We're the culprits. We eat the cookie dough. Raw. For breakfast. (Which, I must say, surprises me about bird-flu-phobic Mandy.) Can't you just hear health gurus everywhere hitting the floor from fainting?

Oh well. Life's too short. And raw cookie dough is just too good.

Ho un piccolo italiano, anche

Mandy influenced all of this. It's completely her fault.

Ciao! Mi chiamo Shannon. Mi'amica, Mandy, ha un piccolo italiano. Ma, io ho un piccolo italiano, anche. Lui è cattivo, ma buono. Qui è una fotografia di mi un piccolo italiano. Vedete?

Ho un'altra l'amica, Katie. Katie è Polacca. Anche, ho un'altra l'amica, Becky. Becky è Portoghese. E Mandy, lei è una miscela.

Adèsso, io sono molto stanco. Devo dormire. Buona notte!

(Go ahead. Put it in a translator. Hilarious. And proof enough that computer translations aren't worth crap. But worth a laugh!)

My worst nightmares

1. Cockroaches. Sick. Ew. Freak me out. I scream like a girly-pansy-girl every time I see one.

2. Some guy tossing a box at me while saying, "So, wanna git hitch'd?"