Mumbling Madly

This break has been amazing…simply incredible. This is due in part largely to the fact that most of my interactions have been with adults–or at least people eighteen and up. Except for Christmas Day where I watched Josh’s six nieces and nephews annihilate their presents under the tree, my holiday break has been kid free. Oh sure it was cute holding the babies and admiring their little outfits but the second one of them started hacking and slobbering I almost dropped him like a hot potato, (not on MY lap buddy, it’s MY time, MY damn vacation). I even opted out of an extra day with Josh’s kin for an afternoon of Chinese food and shopping with my (fully grown) siblings and parents.
I also reached: The Zone. With Christmas money in hand I attacked the stores the day after Christmas.I generally adore shopping, let me loose in Nordstrom’s Rack all day; I enjoy hunting down the perfect item or stumbling across a really rich find at Ross. But at some point I just start feeling numb and headachy…I can’t differentiate between colors and accents and everything starts looking the same. At one point I just wanted to BUY something so I foolishly ended up at Ross an hour before they closed with my sister. I bought a weird sweater shrug that had instructions on how to untangle it and put it on attached to the tag. And then I committed a huge sin: I bought jeans that were a little too small with the theory that I might lose some weight to make them comfortable (and therefore wearable). I even told myself, “Hey, they have a little spandex in them so they’ll be nice and stretchy.” What a crock of shit, I can’t believe I went down that lane of thought. I returned both items two days later.
I usually approach shopping with my imagination: Ah! That shirt would go well with my black clogs and blue jeans. Hmm? Would I really wear that skirt? Could I get away with wearing it with black pants? But when I reach The Zone my imagination is shot and I start thinking ridiculous things like: Well, do I really NEED any more clothes? Suddenly, I start fantasizing about learning to sew–of course! I’ll just MAKE all the things I want. Images of sewing on my own lacey accents to t-shirts and learning how to silk screen dance around in my head. None of this merits a worthy outcome. Occasionally I’ll pull out my sewing kit and attach some beads to a lifeless button down or rifle through my scrap drawer for inspiration that never comes.
I’ve also developed a passion for designer jeans, along with the rest of America; This holiday season you’ll find me in the dressing room devouring several pairs of premium denim with accents on the back pockets. Of course there is the issue of price, because most these pants cost $100 and up. At some point I’ll earn that amount in jewelry income or receive a gift from a parent and I’ll immediately tell myself: NOW, go buy a pair of AG jeans for $130 right now! So I get there and I’m holding the jeans in my hands and I start thinking…wait, I think overstock.com has these, or maybe I should go back to the Rack and see if they have them for $77 instead of $128. Or wait! I’ll just buy them in Portland the next time I’m there because Oregon has no sales tax (although I’ve banned myself from the Portland Nordstrom Rack because for some reason I always end up crying when I’m there–blame it on the poor lighting and bad floor plan). Anyway, I end up not able to bring myself to lay the cash down for a single pair of jeans. And then there I am at a party talking to Tonja and ogling her Seven jeans and grilling her about how much she loves them and how they’ve become her favorite item of clothing.
Anyway, Christmas was really great. On Christmas Eve we went to a Children’s Mass at five o’clock and then came home for a dinner of pirogies (a Polish tradition) and spaghetti with lobster. This was the first time in five years that I didn’t have to board a plane hoping my presents made it in one piece inside my suitcase. We went all out, Josh and me. My Dad received the most gigantic toy robot, a Robosapien. Everyone got clothes in huge clothing boxes. My siblings received multiple presents from me. Everything was wrapped and adorned with multiple bows with no fear of anything being seriously squashed! It was a blast. Josh bought me an espresso machine…I seriously upgraded from the sad little Mr. Coffee Espresso Maker to a full on stainless steel pump driven monster that is now gleaming on my kitchen counter.
I’ve been lying around a lot…reading books, taking naps, forgetting my current job. Occasionally a glimmer of my life as a kindergarten teacher will sneak up on me and I’ll have an attack of conscious: Crap, I have to write reports! My life will start getting busy again! The leisure of taking a ballet class at 10:00 am will be gone!

I have keloid scars on the back of my earlobes from faulty piercings. They were done with a piercing gun at the $5.00 Haircut on Millplain Blvd. in Vancouver when I was seventeen….needless to say they didn’t fair well and I removed the 3 earrings a year later but still kept the bubble scars. Last summer one of the keloids was removed during my eardrum replacement surgery–the doc threw it in as a freebie. I still have a large one on the back of my left earlobe. I find that if I get self-conscious about it more people notice it…the best thing to do is just ignore it and be thankful it’s not on the front of my ear.
The whole point is that one of my favorite students, let’s call him “Van,” was consoling a buddy of his. Apparently the kid had bumped the back of his ear somehow and was swearing up and down that he needed an ice pack. I knew the kid was faking it; he just wanted an excuse to go to the office and get some sympathy and a blue ice pack that he’d eventually leave lying around the classroom somewhere. I’m pretty particular about whom I let go get ice packs–and that includes my time on the playground too. Busted up your eye? Sure, I’ll let you in for a pack. Fell on your butt coming down on the slide? Sorry, you can’t ice that part of your body kid, suck it up. Anyway, Van was trying to comfort his friend, who was swearing to me, “But I have a huge BUMP on my ear! A huge LUMP!” And Van said, “That’s normal! Mara has a bump on the back of HER ear and she’s FINE.” I smiled, inwardly, and confirmed Van’s recognition, “Totally normal, total healthy…”
Van is the same kid who get’s band-aids for other kids, who opens up tin cans of fruit and twists off thermos tops for his weaker peers…He’s the youngest of three boys and I think he’s using Kindergarten to really shine. I totally dig on this kid. The Lead Teacher once said, “Van totally has a crush on you…and I think his Dad does too.” What?! Really? OK, that’s just pure speculation. But all that aside, Van makes my teaching experience a whole lot better…even if he does pick his nose.

Holiday Hijinks:
1) Little guy has been coughing uncontrollably without covering his mouth all morning. I’m sitting at one of those tiny tables built for little kids and he’s eye-level with me. We have the reminder chat about coughing into your sleeve or hand…we have this chat twice in the span of five minutes. He moves away only to return a few moments later and purposely BLOW IN MY EAR! My head whipped around and I grabbed him…ok, he claims it was an accident but it sure didn’t feel like it. (His Mom must have known somehow, she slipped $100 bill in my Christmas card–holy crap!)
2) Another little guy has this thing with slapping my butt repeatedly when he’s excited. I’ll be standing there trying to get everyone to line up at the door and I’ll feel these tiny palms smacking the back pockets of my jeans. My immediate reaction is: “Oh my God, some pervert is touching my ass.” Today I marched him outside by the arm. I said, “How would YOU feel if I hit YOU on the bum?” He rolled his eyes at me, “Bad.” We were eye to eye and he knew I was serious. I watched him slap his own mother on the ass earlier this week, so I know it’s not special treatment just for me. This is the smallest kid in our class, he’s four, and so it’s not like the slapping hurts…it’s just weird.
3) I’ve received a few handmade holiday cards from students. Each one says “I love you, Mara” in it. I think it’s admirable how genuine kids are when they’re young…and then they become increasingly jaded towards their teachers and there is no more love. Or maybe there is, but they would never write it down in a card where other people could see it…and then by the time these kids get into middle school the term “love” becomes something high-pressure and complicated and no longer stands for something as innocent as loving your kindergarten teacher.
4) We went to the mall downtown and viewed these really spectacular gingerbread houses…I mean they’re really gorgeous works of art, from the spiral staircase made from vanilla wafers to the ‘wallpaper’ made out of sticks of gum. At one point The Screamer was sulking in a corner away from the group. When I asked her what was up she answered, “I’m sad because I can’t eat the gingerbread houses, and if I can’t eat them then I don’t want to be here.” And I couldn’t help it, in front of the parent chaperone who was in charge of her, I said, “Are you SERIOUS?” I quickly covered my incredulousness by explaining that some gingerbread is made for eating and some is made for decoration only. She wasn’t having any of that; she was truly insulted that we would bring her to look at gingerbread houses and then not allow her to eat them. Finally, I said, “Look, I need you to be a big girl.” It worked, a little bit…but she still sulked during most of the field trip.

Currently missing my school’s Christmas party because of a horrendous ear infection. I’m trying to tell myself that it probably won’t be that fun and that I’m better off at home….shoot, I left school early to go back to the doc this afternoon I can’t be strolling into a party.
Current Kindergarten trends:
TAPE
1) Take clear tape, write your name on it, stick it on your friend’s arm like a tattoo.
2) Take colored masking tape, wrap it around your little finger, pretend it’s a band-aid.
3) Take masking tape, place it over your mouth, act surprised when teacher asks what’s up. Take tape off when teacher says it could be a possible breathing hazard.

NOTE: A YEAR OR SO LATER I find myself receiving all sorts of posts from pissed off teachers. While I understand their frustration might be huge and vast and the need to post angry blasts on a stranger’s blog is necessary for them, I find it weird. C’mon, people, this isn’t the place…go find a a chat room or some other form of internet support group. Some of the bitching is so bad I’ve chosen to delete the posts altogether because I’d hate to support such ill-will against students I don’t even know. So please, leave your comments somewhere else.

Today we loaded up onto charter buses and went up into the mountains to play in the snow. Luckily, we had a ton of parent chaperones and the kids were divvied up according to personality and likeability–parent traits included. Initially we had put The Screamer in our group (the Lead Teacher and I), but she protested: “I’m ALWAYS with the teachers! I HATE being with the teachers.” We kicked her out in three seconds flat. There was no way we wanted to put up with that voice all afternoon.
You have to imagine a hundred kids stuffed into snowsuits and snow boots and yes, it really was that cute. The two girls in my group are the tiniest in our class, four-years-old, weighing in at forty pounds a piece, and extremely spirited. When we arrived we set them loose in the snow park armed with mittens, hats, and gloves–which they promptly lost. Someone had the vague idea that I should host a round of Freeze Dance in the snow with a boom box and children’s song cd. It lasted five minutes…there would be no dancing in this type of snow. The park was covered with a dense, hard, crusty ice pack of snow that had been well traipsed about prior to our visit. My foot sunk in up to my knee the second I stepped out into the snow. My snazzy, Vans snow boots I used to wear in the parking lot at so many ski resorts in Colorado were useless. Sometimes my footing was stable and I could walk a few steps with ease, but most of the time my feet sunk into the snow and I had to tug myself out of various drifts and dunes of hard packed snow. Now imagine that you’re three feet tall…these kids were crawling on all fours trying to get around. One kid sunk so far into the snow she got stuck and ended up thrashing around.
Because we prepared for the inevitable, someone brought syrup for snow cones, the snow being removed from a fresh patch near the trail. We scooped up snow and loaded it up with cherry syrup and the kids would promptly drop the whole thing and eat it off the ground. I watched the Screamer bend down on all fours, fanny in the air, lapping up the remains of a cherry snow cone mixed with dirt and twigs on the ground. She didn’t understand when her chaperone told her she might just want to leave it…
My little itty bitty students didn’t last long…their feet got wet, their gloves were caked with ice, they had super runny noses from the cold–the snot mixing in with their snow cones. I ended up taking the two of them back into the bus to change socks and warm up. I learned that the sledding hill was nothing but a sheet of ice with several large mud puddles at the bottom. My own feet got wet, somehow, and I was pretty content with sitting in the bus with my kids. All the kids passed out on the ride home–some adults included. The kids were ornery and grouchy when we returned. I was glad to hand them over to their parents.
One of my students–the one with the beautiful afro of hair–got one of her braids stuck on the coat hook in her cubby. She was thrashing and screaming: “My hair! My hair!” I unhooked her with much difficulty and she sobbed into my thermal top until she soaked all the way through my shoulder. “That was so scary,” I acknowledged; I rocked her back and forth, “Wow, I know you thought you were stuck, but I would never let anything happen to you.” My heart broke a little bit, I hate seeing kids super upset. And it’s really true, you take these kids on a field trip and you know that you can’t let anything happen to them…One of our high profile kids, the one who has a security team come along on trips and I have to carry a panic button with me, crashed on the sledding hill and there was not much that could be done. We do the best we can, right? To keep these kids safe and protected, but all the security in the world can’t necessarily stop an accident from happening or the unexpected from occurring. Parents just get so good at protecting their kids, and I’m inexperienced but learning.

Recent happenings in Kindergarten:
1) Class room meeting topics:
a) Throwing sand in other people’s eyes is bad.
b) At the end of recess do we assign a kid to assist the teacher with passing out lunch boxes? The vote says “yes.”
c) Just a reminder: No rushing for your stuff after you’re done with your classroom job…people might get run over.
d) Voting on the new class rep badges: Rainbow with the word REP in yellow OR rainbow with the words PEACE REP written in blue. Winner? Peace Rep, yo.
e) Just a reminder: Sand does not belong on the slide.
f) People are spreading “rumors”, it’s time to put that to a stop.
g) The game “Chase the Girls” or “Chase the Boys” needs to stop on the playground. People are getting kissed when they don’t want to.

On Saturday I did my first…well, what do they call it these days? Arts Fair? Swap Meet? Bazaar? At any rate I sat behind a table clad with my own jewelry and sold it. My school sponsored a holiday sale that ran all day in their basement. Typically I send my jewelry out to a boutique in Colorado where I sell on consignment. This is nice because than I don’t have to worry about it, I just send it off, take into account any special orders or make ups, and wait for a check to come through. I don’t get to keep the entire profit they way I was able to yesterday. I also don’t get a lot of feedback. Yesterday, I spoke over and over about the process I use to make my jewelry, (it’s a borrowed idea, and I’m just using my own artwork and textiles). I made some considerable holiday spending money. I also did a lot better than the people I had on either side of me (which was a little awkward). Using my past retail experience gave me a major advantage. I found that it was easy to sell and promote what I have intimate knowledge of…duh, of course that’s the key to sales, but my own work was a remarkably easy sales pitch for me. I also wore my jewelry for a full week leading up to the sale which resulted in some of my biggest sales coming from parents of my very own students.
Here is an example of some of my work. The images are my own paintings scanned in and reprinted on glossy photo paper. The glass gem is glued to the paper and than glued to the bracelet:

Sure, there is the fantasy that one day I’ll quit my day job and spend night and day hunkered over my art table. Josh has been pushing me to get into business for years. The reliability of a jewelry business is so sketchy that I hesitate to make the commitment. Still it’s nice to make a little money off my own creativity. Since I was a little kid I’ve been making stuff and trying to sell it. I printed up a bunch of business cards that read: “Making fun, creative, inventive artwork since 1980.”