Zora Travels

Busy Bees

Nora is busy.  I suppose that's because I'm busy.  And I like it this way.  Oh sure, I complain at times.  I loudly exhale at the end of a busy day...grumble about a packed schedule, lots of transitions, energy spread around.  But I really do fair better with a lot to do.  I had stepped away from my social calendar for a few weeks...leaving wide gaps between visits and adventures.  I had started to miss people.  Noodle and I were a bit stir crazy.

My Monkey Mouse may not resemble me that much...but we are cut from the same cloth.  With our circling feet to music, our gigantic foreheads, our alien little toes, our yearning to be around people and make loads of friends. 

I was reminded of a moment in Boston that represented the trip so well.  After a scant 20 minutes in the art museum, here we are on the bus heading back to our apartment.  Nora was thrilled.  She was roaring past people and cars and buildings...listening to fellow passengers talk and laugh and cough.  It was her world.  We could probably ride the bus and blue line here in Long Beach and easily satisfy her traveling desires.  It would be cheaper, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Craving busy has do with September approaching.  The beginning of the school year.  Every year for 10 years, I was starting with a new group of students this time of year.  175+ youth that craved fine literature and grammatical prowess (that's a joke, you know).  They carried with them the marks of too much sun, too much sex, too much television, and too much energy.  I carried with me a gigantic smile, a stern voice, a plethora of activities to hook, snag, and coerce them into reading and writing.  Each day, each period, each minute offered thousands of opportunities to direct, guide, motivate, lament, order, instruct, answer, and observe these young people.  My mind was always buzzing with ideas.  My heart raced most of the day.  My palms sweat before each lesson.  My feet ached from weaving in between my scholars.

And this year...for the second time...I approach September with Lulu as my primary focus, the main recipient of all of my creativity, smiles, and lessons.  She may not respond like 175+ teenagers but her observant nature and curious spirit manage to inspire me to fill our plates with activities, moments, diverse people and adventures.

Yesterday, we waited in the infamous lines for the gourmet food trucks.  I ordered an ahi tuna poke nachos and then sat on a sea of bright blankets with 18 other moms and babies.  Nora shoveled in dehydrated corn kernels, plump blueberries brought directly from Michigan, cheddar puffs, and choke-worthy carrots.  I chatted in German with a fellow mom's husband...oblivious to Nora's near death experience with the aforementioned carrot.  Thanks goodness there's a "takes a village" mentality to our mom's group.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This morning we headed to the park for a workout.  Nora frolicked with the men playing soccer, the big kids near the swings, and the mini-German who paid her no mind (typical of a German man - too busy playing with himself to pay attention to the smart olive-skinned woman next to him).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And suddenly, there it was...I looked down at my yoga mat for just a second and when I looked up, Lulu-Bell was there, standing up, watching kids play.  A big girl.  My baby-baby no more.  But still my baby.

Ugghhhh...can she just slow down?

 

Celebrating a Life

Noodle murmurs quietly on the monitor as she teeters on the edge of sleep.  I sit here not knowing where to begin.  My heart is sad.  An inspiring and passionate and beautiful woman has died.  In a flash she is gone.  She left this world along with her daughter, whom she carried within.  She was not someone who I knew outside of school...but I consider myself fortunate to have worked with her for several years.  Enjoyed lunches and humorous exchanges and her vibrant tattoos and even some of her history PowerPoints.  Her death has lathered me in a mix of emotions.  Utter shock at the tragedy of such a beautiful duo lost to their potential.  Appreciation for the profound influence she had on hundreds of students...many of whom post on facebook how their lives have changed because of her touch, her words, her dedication. But most of all, as occasional tears fall (like now), I feel grateful.  I am absolutely grateful for my life, the people I am lucky enough to love, and my health.

Yesterday, Nora was peppered with piles of kisses, extra cuddles, and jogging runs down the sidewalk.  Spinning her around, whispering "Ich liebe Dich" in her ear, singing her favorite songs loudly as we walked (smiling at onlookers with quizzical eyebrows), touching rose petals and rocks, and tickling her chubby thighs.  It was a day that held a tranquil sky, vibrant yellows enveloping our ripening cherry tomatoes, a gentle breeze.  Noodle climbing up two stairs by herself...turning and clapping with pride and flashng "Did you see me, Mom?" face.

I stare at Nora on the screen.  She sleeps soundly now.  Her four little teeth that I brushed this morning, her nail talons that she won't let me clip without a fight, her fuzzy curls that swirl near her ears when she wakes, her long lashes that stretch towards the sun and hold captive drops when she cries.  Even if this was all I ever had of motherhood.  These sips, these morsels, these fake coughs, and hand claps would sustain my soul at rest.

But I ask for more.  I implore the universe to allow me a full life of watching my child grow.  In my last exchange with my friend a few weeks ago, I wished her a beautiful journey into motherhood.  I still do; albeit, the journey is very different. 

Could they be traveling and signing and dancing and teaching together in another realm?  It is much easier to believe so. 

My co-worker, my "friend" (feels better to say), knew the bond of motherhood with her unborn daughter.  The two of them drew their last breaths together in what I have to believe was instant.  I will celebrate her life by fiercely loving Nora even more than I thought was ever possible.  Perspective and gratitude and sadness.  Waves of these emotions and a respectful tip of my hat to a beautiful woman and her child. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On not missing "work"

Frank Sinatra is crooning, the yoga ball is bouncing, and my eyes are closing.  This will be brief.  Nothing quite like an inexplicable and continuous screaming infant to take a bit of the wind out of your sails.  I just finished pushing clove stems into an orange and hanging it with ribbon near the tree.  Yet another tradition from my childhood that beckoned to be repeated this year.  The pickle (a new tradition) is also hung.

A dear friend called me today from her break at work.  I could hear her school radio in the background and she spoke of administration and education and students.  I was surprised that I didn't feel even the slightest desire to step foot on a high school campus.  Do I miss the interaction with some students? Yes.  With some teachers? Certainly.  But do I miss working?  No.  An absolute no.  Perhaps I will eventually.  Line up a few more days like today where Daniel's arrival at 6:35pm could not have come soon enough...and ask me again.  Years from now, more munchkins, more diapers...maybe.  But more years will also bring Nora into a vocabulary, dancing, twirling, investigating, exploring, belly laughing, running barefoot on the grass, another sweet baby(ies), and afternoons at the beach and wide-eyed stares at the Christmas tree and tears upon Santa's lap and more stockings to hang.

One thing I have noticed since becoming a mom...or since the end of June, when I ceased working, is that when people ask, "What do you do?" I haven't gotten over the pause and the stillness that comes over me before I can gather my response and utter, "I'm going to be/am at home with my baby."  I hope that this pause shortens and I can say it and be comfortable as it being the only thing I do.  I am a long way from figuring out how to squeeze in stimulating time with Noodle, maintaining a clean and orderly house, purchasing all groceries/household items, and making dinners and work lunches.  I tend to focus on the first and the latter suffer.  But I'm learning how to juggle these new responsibilities, sprinkling in a bit of humor on days when it is a mission accomplished to simply shower, and smiling more as this journey continues.

**video of my sweet girl after her morning nap**

Celebrating Father's Day

Almost a year ago I married my favorite person.  The man that in a few months will be the father of our little baby.  Today is the first of many Father's Days that I will celebrate with Daniel and hope that he knows just how incredible I think his daddy skills will be.  I mean how lucky am I to have a guy who says, "You should make plans with friends or go out when I come home from work and I'll take care of the baby."  I already have visions of stepping out with my neighbor for bootcamp, or taking a class at the local junior college in photography.  I still have clear memories of the texted photos he would send me during graduate school when he was babysitting our friends baby during the afternoons.  I pinched myself then, as I do now, that I had found a guy who was thrilled to make some extra cash babysitting a 6 month old.

There will be none of that, "I guess I'll help you and babysit my own children" kind of thing.  This would truly inferiorate me.

With each day, we inch closer to the reality of meeting the little one inside me.  The creature that seems to take naps and wake up and squirm and fidget ever more.  We still sing "Here Comes the Sun" on many mornings and I am such a sucker for my own childhood favorites "El Paso," "Rocky Raccoon," "Puff the Magic Dragon," and various Patsy Cline numbers that also are making the musical impression on nuglett.

What an amazing responsibility...parenthood.  We will both be the first models of humanity to our child.  How do we react when facing adversity, silly drivers, long lines, people who radically differ from us, when we disagree, when people die, at family celebrations, on Sunday mornings, do we read more or watch tv, do our voices show respect?

Speaking of tv...I think we are close to bidding it farewell.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE television.  It is precisely this love (the kind that has my mouth slightly ajar and my torso tilted towards the shiny box) that is the issue.  I can only begin to fathom just how many hours I would whittle away with a suckling baby on my breast and my eyes basking in the glow of infomercials and reality television shows.  It will be a difficult day.  Wrapping the heavy box in blankets and watching it be gently carried off into the dungeoness garage...but it will be better in the end.  Now, if we merely substitute the few hours we watch tv now with watching Netflix online or Hulu episodes (House and Glee)...then why bother?  I suppose the goal is to revert back to what I knew so well in childhood.  An immense span of time without tv, along a river, with majestic trees, blue skies, four seasons, a garden, a mother with seemingly infinite time and patience and songs to accompany every moment.  Of those items mentioned, what can I offer my own little one?  A span of time without tv, near an ocean, with parks filled with trees, blue-ish skies, visits to four seasons, a boxed garden, and I pray a mother with seemingly infinite time and patience and songs to accompany every moment.

This song idea has really gotten under my skin.  I am starting this week a song book. Lame that I can't remember any song that I adore completely...I circle back to the chorus and repeat and repeat and improvise...I'm in desperate need of some sort of favorite song book.  So, that is my project.  Sewing together the musical memories of my childhood, mixing in Daniel's beloved songs, and having a mini-book that I can pick up to sharpen my lyrical memory.

And how is it possible that I have such a luxurious block of time allocated for such an endeavor?  Well, dear six readers, I am on vacation!  That's right, summer vacation has arrived.  Friday was my first morning to awaken without students, lesson plans, essays, gradebooks, or parent emails to answer.  It has been glorious thus far.  Truly glorious!  I've bathed in yoga, natural childbirth and baby sleeping books, craigslist and ebay postings for sundry baby items, and I'm also nearing completion of my first knitted baby blanket.  After ten years of teaching inner-city high school, I bid my final class a happy summer, hugged a few, listened to many mutter gratitude at not having to see me again, and walked to my car a little after noon with empty hands.  Many have asked me lately, "How does it feel to know that you won't be teaching again?" and I suppose you can never say "never."  We hope to have the great fortune and financial planning to make our vision of stay-at-home mom work...but sure, you never can know what the future will bring.  For now, I intend to make my family my focus and recipient of my skills.  It is something that at five years old I already knew I wanted.  I spoke often then and since of wanting to be home with many children.  My definition of "many" might have shifted but being at home has not.

The countdown

I am perpetually counting down to something.  Is it possible that I can ever just truly relish and savor the current day...without counting down to another tomorrow?

4 - The number of days until a two week Spring Break.  A much needed (and selfishly, might I add, deserved) vacation.  I am sadistically considering leaving piles and piles and piles of essays and quizzes and homework untouched at work this Friday afternoon.  Alas, this would cause fits of regret and guilt; however, I just might do it.

3 - The number of nerves that I have left for my two cats.  Can the little boy really have such extreme irritation about being kept indoors that he won't stop peeing on our carpet?  And can the little girl seriously have a skin disorder that is going to necessitate a trip to the vet for antibiotics.  And did they seriously rip open their new unopened bag of cat food?  Because somehow the allure of the kibble inside was that much different than the abundant pile of kibble in their bowl?

*And the million dollar question...Will my child get on my nerves the way these two fur balls manage to on a daily basis?

2 - The number of minutes until I crawl in bed and recover from a late evening watching the Health Care voting on CNN.  "Late" for me is a tragic 9:30pm.  Enough to cross my eyes and curdle my mood today. And miraculously this morning...even though Republicans assured me that the sky would fall and Armageddon was inevitable... I am still alive and kicking.

"The News"

Hello old friend.  Dear little blog.  I've been away a very long time.  Consumed with physical changes, mental escapes, and employment blues.  But it's time for my fingers to tap a merry tune and post the news that has long needed telling...I'm pregnant!

14 weeks pregnant to be exact.  A little lemon, approx. 3.5 inches, resides in my womb...settling into my body, my soul, my mind, and my life a little more each day.  I haven't felt the little bugger yet.  So far the baby just resides on my fridge in an ultrasound photo...and in my audio memory as the 160bpm heartbeat that pitter-pattered a few weeks ago.

I am on top of the world...most of the time.  Sometimes, strange as it seems, I can forget my little resident and still dwell on the doldrums of a job that drags, students that pull, and a loneliness that pervades many days in my windowless box of a classroom (complete with cockroaches and no air-conditioning).  I suppose it's natural to be a little lonely this year.  I left a school filled with faces, voices, students and friends that I really loved.  A departure that was based on some elaborate "plan" of flitting through South America with Daniel.  Now, I work with colleagues (with one exception) who appear distant, busy and uninterested in social forays.

It's also a year of major education cuts in this state.  Budget meetings and cuts, cuts, and more cuts to our realm.  Just today a meeting announced a few more "67% less budgetfor sports (eliminating all JV sports), no summer school, half the reams of paper for copies, less supplies, no new computers, cuts of a counselor, one arts position, and the worst of all - no more scantron machine."

I wonder if people outside of education think of how this will affect them one day.  If inner-city teenagers can not take courses to make up their D's and F's, they can't graduate or get into college.  If they do not complete their education, they end up making choices that often will cost society far more than the money for summer school when they were 15.  I place much responsibility on my students (and my own teaching, of course)...yes, they should not fail their classes; however, reality is that some will.  Without options to make up for these choices, we all will eventually pick up the tab.

But, alas, this is a particularly rough day to stand up and proudly proclaim, "I'm a teacher."

Going back to the "good stuff."  Our little lemon.  This little citrus, whether it be girl or boy, is going to be a marvelous addition to our family.  Daniel and I talk often of how life will change.  We sleep in as often as possible...relishing each sacred quiet Saturday morning that brings us streaks of sunlight and shuffling newspapers in bed until 10:00am.  We know this will end...or change drastically.  Not forever...but certainly for quite some time.  We go on many long walks, enjoy going out to eat, and plan weekend trips as final getaways prior to baby.

Amazing and sweet gifts of clothes, books, rattles, and wraps have been received.  The small mountain of baby goods pile atop a small table in the office...books meant for me rise up near my bed (baby name books, natural childbirth, breastfeeding, best baby items, baby journals, "what to expect", Dr. Sears).  Sometimes I simply stare and finger the items in awe that this is really happening. 

This September...in the heat of summer...I'll meet our baby.  This spring is the final season in my life prior to having a child, a new role, and a new title.

How will it change me?  How will change us?  What can I possibly do to prepare for this experience? this journey? the changes?  Let me know if you have some thoughts.

Cone Heads and Condoms

I'm home today with the cone heads.  Max and Sophie have both been fixed and it couldn't have come sooner.  Much to our dismay, Max had started to mark his territory.  The smells, the cleaning, and the general irritation behind his actions meant that we couldn't bring him fast enough into the vet's office.

Now our two little furries are recovering with awkward plastic cones on their heads.  We couldn't believe that they need to wear them for two weeks.  It just seems so uncomfortable to have giant bowl around your face.

It's "Storm Watch 2010" here in Los Angeles.  The newscaster make a ridiculous scene with any bit of weather.  Yes, it's raining.  But, "catastrophic downpours," I think not.

I'll venture out into the world a bit today.  Various items to pick up at the grocery store and book store...and just plenty of cuddle time with the cone heads.

I've been adjusting my mental state with my job.  I recognize that this will be my final year teaching inner-city teenagers.  It has to be.  For my sake and theirs.  I am still talented.  I execute my lessons this year with as much passion and positive smiles and shoulder pats as before...but deep inside the apathy of so many, the blatant disrespect of the few, and the windowless-cockroach-ridden classroom have become too much.  I've dealt with it better lately through meditation. No chiming bells and magical mantras.  Just sitting.  On a yoga mat in the morning with as many empty-thoughts as possible.

And I've found it's worked.  It must be working.  Because the other morning, after a luscious duet of meditation and yoga, I came to my classroom at 6:45am...rearin' to set up for the day and saw this.  Yes, you are seeing that correctly.  My very own (certainly un-used) bright yellow condom stretched across my door knob.  My heart sunk...but only for a moment.  I cleaned it off and awaited my 7:15 meeting with admin.  At 7:50am when admin finally came, I said, "Hey, there was a condom on my door this morning."  He said, "Huh."

No apology for coming late.  No response that his employee had a gross welcome.  Just, "Huh."

But, you know what?  That is my reaction at this point.  As the kids say, "F___ you!" in myriad gestures, eye-rolling, lack of work, angry parent phone calls, and walking out tirades, I, too, say, "Huh."  As I squish baby cockroaches every day with my shoe, I say, "Huh."

And as venture down my final six months in urban high-school education, I take a deep breath and remember those "thank you" notes and kind words over the past ten years.  I focus and smile broadly to those students who wish me a nice day or a nice lunch.  There are a few young people each day who make my dark cavern bright with intellect and heart.  I celebrate them and I know that the others don't mean it personally.  They must have their own battles to make them so angry at the woman who just wishes to play music and discuss the occurrence of metaphor and simile.

I suppose a healthy dose of "huh" is just what I need to dance my way out of teaching in June.  With a clear conscience and peace-filled heart.

My nerve

It's been a while.  I'm home today on a rainy Monday.  Kittens race back and forth across the floors.  Daniel types emails to his work informing them he's not coming in.

I have a pinched nerve in my back.  Yet another physical manifestation of my mood.  The bad one that I've felt most days for several months.  I'm not sure why but it's tied to my lack of satisfaction with my job, the tiresome grind of inspiring 170 students with well-thought lessons to be told variants of "this sucks" and "f---- you."  When you spend 50+ hours working and 10+ hours commuting to a job that offers little rewards, it wears on you. Or at least it's wearing on me.  After 10 years of serving inner-city teenagers, I no longer feel that I belong in this career.

I try all of the "positive thinking" mantras and yoga and focus and appreciation for my life outside of work...but it still comes down to 8 hours a day in a classroom with no windows, with cockroaches in the bathroom, with poor janitorial services, and without friends.

And perhaps some of it is the "what if" syndrome.  We had thought we'd be in Michigan this year.  Frolicking in the first snow drifts in Ann Arbor.  Spinning in our backyard with our tongues out, hands covered in woolen mittens, a dog yapping at the flakes nearby.  I quit a job I enjoyed at a school that held some of my closest girlfriends.  Daily lunches that revived my spirit, soothed my soul, made me laugh.

Now I eat alone...in a room with no windows.  Roaches scurry at my feet in the bathroom.  Conversations only offered by 14 year olds.  And I'm hated.  Well, truly disliked by most.  Out of their seven 9th grade teachers, I'm the one that gives homework...daily.  They complain.  They mumble rude comments.  At large assemblies they cheer wildly for my colleagues who give them secret handshakes and shout "We love you!" in the microphone.  Colleagues who tell me which couples are dating...while I can merely offer their reading/writing level.  I'm not a teacher who cares to know their dating life.  See their tears falling about pimply-faced boys. 

It's not that I don't care - I care about their minds.  The fact that most are far behind their peers in affluent neighborhoods.  They'll all compete for the same college spots.  They must remain focused.  I love them by giving them challenging work.  By starting our 3rd essay and our 3rd unit with another novel this week (Tim O'Brien's Things The Carried).

But their hatred, disdain, apathy hurts.  I spend all day with teenagers who dislike my presence.  I spend hours on a freeway replaying incidents of disdain.

And at the end of the day, although I have Daniel's incredible support and amazing patience to yet another story, I still feel that I've failed them somehow. 

I need to leave this profession.  Find a new way to contribute my talents and thoughts to a world, to a clientele, to a topic that is more positive.

So, that's why I haven't written.  Not much is sparkling.  Not much shines.  Not much to say.  I just want out.

Here Comes the Sun

As you read the post, play this in the background.  And here's a cheesy timer picture from an hour ago with the kittens, Max & Sophie.

My next unit for my 9th grade students is This Boy's Life.  A memoir by Tobias Wolff that follows a young man through his adolescence in the late 50's and early 60's.  I am obsessed with this unit.  My first five weeks have been comparable to the recent scene with my nephew at the dentist's office.  My students are the reluctant child with fears and unclarity being dragged towards literature (x-ray machines and chairs with large lights and instruments of torture).  I am the dentist...looming large overhead, shining light into their weak literacy and prodding into their writing deficits.  Their lack of rigor, homework, and mental challenge in past English classes is as obvious as the softening enamel of a cavity.  Fillings are needed.  Painful but necessary.

My lollipop is their improved reading and writing skills. Most don't want it.

I am struggling with my job lately.  My 170 students are typical 14 year olds...complete with attitudes, reluctance to work, preference for texting and myspace and facebook.  Every day my mind churns and swirls with potential hooks and lessons and ways to bring them hungry to the feast of words and language that satiate my belly.

So this next unit is my focus...my pet project.  Hours pouring over the memoir, the key quotes, the "fun" projects that will connect my students to this era of Americana when fathers knew best and everyone had happy days loving Lucy.  All of these shows will splash during class to entice.  My mother is making cd's of 50's and 60's music to play at the beginning and end of each lesson.  Movies such as, The Wanderers, American Graffiti, La Bamba, and This Boy's Life will add to the historical context of the experience.

Can I find my rhythm again as a teacher?  Can I serve these students with integrity and still salvage my personal life balance?  Is it possible to leave work and the 170 personalities of my scholars in the classroom each night and weekend...without the need for a daily rant and then subsequent hours of tweaking lessons for the next day?  Losing the mere three hours each night with Daniel (who just finished his 2nd week at work) to the computer, textbook, and grammar websites.

Daniel must be tired of hearing me talk about education.  I would normally turn to my colleagues.  Voicing my concerns with fellow teachers at lunch and saving more pleasant topics for home.  But I'm at a new school.  Eating every day alone.  Adjusting my presentations after each period to maximize their efficacy.  Lorraine did help dry my tears the other day with some great advice but it has been five years since I taught this grade level.  I fear I am not doing it well.

But "Here Comes the Sun" is playing.  Negativity is a habit.  Too much focus on the daily "thisclasssucks,f_ckthis, thisisboring,Ihatethisclass" instead of the interested eyes and bright smiles of a few faces that sit in my classroom.  Hands that extend towards mine with eagerness and respect.  Laughter that spills when my geeky grammar jokes fly.

I am turning over a new leaf.   The old leaf is still just on the other side.  Semi-transparent and sharing the same veins...but I'm turning.  This is the only life I believe I'll live.  Before me lies a day that shall never repeat.  A chance to show more kindness, patience, and appreciation for what I have, what I've known, and where I'll be.

Today, I shall write letters to a few friends.  Ever since my sister-in-law, Kathy, sent me an article about how the time on the internet can affect the quality of relationships, I've been trying to reach out more in a personal fashion to those I love.  A facebook post cannot ever equate to a voice on the phone.  An email can never replace a letter sitting in your mailbox.  A snapfish photo album will never thrill the way glossy prints feel in your hands.

I'm going to preheat the oven.  A salmon-feta strada is soaking in the fridge (thanks for the recipe, Claire).  Daniel (currently taking notes at his first sailing course) will come home in a few hours to the aroma of eggs, cheese, veggies, and salmon baking in a casserole dish (thanks, Janette).  Fresh basil and parsley atop.  A glass of chilled wine.  A smiling wife.

Can you beat that?  Eggs, cheese, wine, and wife.

hot and bothered

I'm hot and bothered.  Not in the typical sense.  I am going to just flow for a few minutes...then let this machine rest for the weekend.  This machine that I tickle with tortuous lessons and agendas for my 170 students.  The 4th week of school just ended.

I hear every day, "This is so boring." (yeah, that's what I was hoping you'd say when I took hours planning this lesson)

I hear, "Why can't we do anything fun?" (ummm....I thought this story was "fun"...but we actually have to read it first)

I hear, "When is class over, is it almost over?" (let me look at my watch, too, because I'm wondering the same thing)

Don't get me wrong.  It is my 10th year teaching.  I still hold a deep affection for teaching at-risk teenagers.  For potentially being a part of those blissful moments when their voices become clearer with word choice and imagination and depth of thought.  When the brilliance they possess inks the page for the entire world to see.

But I'm also tired.  I'm tired of going to a restroom with cockroaches scurrying to the floor drain, where teenage girls have thrown all of their soiled "personal items" into the corners (bypassing the brown paper bags), old paint sliding off the metal doors, "Hey, Bitch!" and "Fuck you!" screamed outside at the sink, as I calmly exhale inside the stall (many times with my own toilet paper from my pocket).

I'm hot because the air conditioner hasn't worked since the first day of school.  I drip sweat upon their papers as I lean over.  My temper is a bit short...their attention span is even shorter.  At times the thermometer reads 96.  I got an email today about the a/c that read "Next week will be even more hot and miserable.  The technician has done everything he can think of."

I read this email to Daniel.  Mr. "First Week" at the "big company."  I asked him how many times female employees would use a bathroom soiled with products on the floor.

"It simply wouldn't happen."

How many days would the "big company" have a broken a/c and ask their employees to bring in their own fans if they're uncomfortable (which I have done).

"They would fix it the same day."

What about cockroaches?  What would "big company" do about employees needing to crush cockroaches each day with their shoes (as girls scream and writhe in their seats)?

"I think that's a health code violation."

So, I'm hot and bothered.  I don't care which side of the political line you stand on.  It is wrong.  At my high school, this would not have happened.

Like all teachers, I went to college, I pursued a career of purpose and dedication.  I work hard.  I come early and stay late.  I grade on weekends, I wipe my desks with anti-bacterial baby wipes, I burn aromathereupetic oil (mint for stimulation, or lavender for calming) and my students and I should not experience these above obstacles.  And if I read one more article in the Los Angeles Times singing the praises of my organization, it's "noble mission," its "college-bound" students, and not mentioning any of the above...I think I'll loose it.

Okay, well, a cold Red Stripe is sweating on the table.  Michael Jackson is playing in the background...and I'll join my husband now on the porch.  With two kitten faces behind the window.  I miss the days when Daniel and I were unemployed and drinking cocktails at 2 in the afternoon.  I remember those days with such fondness now.

I suppose I should get "hot and bothered" about something....or rather, someone.  It is a better use of my energy.