apsies

It isn't so much that you want to be a teacher, April. Reading your blog makes me feel like education chose you. It made the most excellent choice.

apsies Said:

Thank you. It really does feel that way sometimes. I have no idea how something I actively resisted for so long could feel so right and perfect. And it’s not just because I’m currently full of warm fuzzies. The reality is that I’m really quite exhausted, and overwhelmed, and underpaid, but for whatever reason I love it. This is exactly where I want to be.

Highlights from the letters my 8th graders gave me…

“You were like a mom to me. If I have no one, I know I have you.”

“Three pages and 80 lines won’t explain to you how much you mean to me, but you know.”

“I look forward to coming to your class and learning. You have inspired me to improve my grades. And when I say have a good day when I leave your class it’s because you deserve it. I just want you to know that all of the students love you and you are one of the best things to happen to _____ Middle School in a long time.”

“I know one day you will be a great mom.”

“You have become my favorite teacher and let’s be honest, we didn’t see that coming.” -from the girl who once told me she wished there were two reading teachers so she didn’t have to have me.

Rather than teach 8th grade again next year I’m moving to 7th.

I found out this morning about the switch and have since experienced the strangest mix of emotions. Long story short: the 7th grade team this year has become toxic so they need to mix them up and interject some positivity. (And probably force some folks out.) The team was also very weak in the language arts department and based on the strength of my instruction he wants to move me down to partner with another ELA teacher who they can’t get to retire. Which means I’ll be carrying the load a bit.

It’s also a gift of sorts since my principal doesn’t want me to have to deal with the mess that is the current 7th grade group so early in my career.

So while I’m devastated to leave a few of my teammates behind (one is moving with me), and to give up all of the fun stuff that comes with teaching 8th graders, I’m also really flattered and a little excited.

Cue the weird mix of smiling and sobbing here.

One of our teachers had students write thank you letters to teachers for their final. I’m bawling my way through the 27 I received. There are no words for how I feel right now.

noraleah:

No, YOU are a good boy, Joe Biden.

Joe Biden responds to second-grader with personal, handwritten note (via motherjones)

I wanted to write this to tell other women that the decision to have a mastectomy was not easy. But it is one I am very happy that I made. My chances of developing breast cancer have dropped from 87 percent to under 5 percent. I can tell my children that they don’t need to fear they will lose me to breast cancer. It is reassuring that they see nothing that makes them uncomfortable. They can see my small scars and that’s it. Everything else is just Mommy, the same as she always was. And they know that I love them and will do anything to be with them as long as I can. On a personal note, I do not feel any less of a woman. I feel empowered that I made a strong choice that in no way diminishes my femininity.

By ANGELINA JOLIE (via talwaar)

(via sunny1)

According to The Daily Beast’s summary, the script includes several mentions of Hillary’s presidential aspirations and desire to be taken seriously as a woman in a field dominated by men. There’s also a steamy sex scene between Hillary and Bill where the two “devour each other.” Later, while making up after a long separation, Bill plays Hillary some songs on his saxophone.

Hillary Clinton Movie ‘Rodham’ Details Early Career, Love Scene With Bill

annaverity replied to your photo: I love that this sweet girl whispered, “Ms. W.,…

Love that kids know to use the “Ms.” title, too. Also, you are so kick ass, it’s the greatest.

It’s funny how particular some of them are about it. Not long after I discovered I was an Instagram hashtag I saw that another of them had posted a ‘selfie’ taken in my classroom and captioned it, “In Mrs. W’s class.”

To which another boy, a kid who doesn’t really care about grammar usually, replied, “It’s Ms., she ain’t married.”

(Also, thank you. I’m blushing.)

annaverity

I love that this sweet girl whispered, “Ms. W., you were the only teacher with THREE brownies in your bag.”

Bless her precious heart.

Tomorrow begins the final countdown. Seven school days until my 8th graders become 9th graders. Seven days until my first class moves on and I begin preparation for the next group.

For those who may have forgotten the story, I was supposed to be student teaching this spring. If you’d asked me in early November what I’d be doing in May I’d have told you I’d probably be panicked and jobless, just hoping this teaching thing somehow worked out.

Instead I fell into an alternative certification situation and a principal finally had it in him to take a chance on me. (After passing on me in August.) It’s funny how things always seem to work out in the end.

I’ve been tremendously blessed to have this group of kids as my first. The next group is supposedly a thousand times more challenging and I’m trying not to fret too much about what is to come. Instead I intend on spending the next seven days soaking these kids up. I want to memorize everything I’ve loved about them and carry them on with me through my career. So many of my teaching friends have said your first group has a way of staying with you like no other that follows. I can only hope this is true.

I still get a lot of shocked faces and heavy sighs when I tell folks I teach middle school. ‘Better you than me,’ seems to be the most popular retort. Those people are right. Better me because I love watching these young people on the cusp of their whole lives begin to figure things out on their own. They are funny, loving, passionate (even if that passion is currently misguided on things like Justin Bieber), intelligent, weird, and wonderful.

This week I’ll read them ‘Oh, the Places You’ll Go!’ and we’ll all try not to cry. And I’ll fail. But that’s okay.