shoot out

Man, oh man. It's almost over.

On Friday, there was a dance/pizza party for the 7th grade students in the gym during the last hour of the day to congratulate them for their excellent test scores. They out-scored both the 6th and the 8th graders.

I gotta say that I feel really OLD attending their dances. It may sound cliche, but times have changed. Popular music lyrics were probably just as bad when I was a middle schooler (back then it was called junior high), but at least the music seemed more melodic. I remember that I loved all of Madonna's music, especially "Like a Virgin." I also knew all the words to George Michael's song "I want your sex." All of that coming from an innocent middle schooler who hadn't even had her first French kiss. Popular music among the diverse student body at our school is mostly rap or R&B. The two most popular songs among the students at our school are "Shoot out" and "Soulja boy - Tell em Crank that". To me, it just sounds like a bunch of noise, but the kids go wild when they hear those songs.

I don't remember hearing "Shoot out" at the last school dance, but it left a lasting impression on me this time. When the song played, the students ran together, forming a sea of young jirating bodies all shaking their booties (more on booties) and jumping while holding up one hand in the air in the form of an imaginary pistol. Yep, pretty violent stuff. During the dance one of the teachers caught a student throwing gang signs and called him aside. For being an overcrowded, diverse school, supposedly we've had a very low record of fights (or so the administration tells us), but to me our school, like most schools I'm sure, is a very violent place. All sorts of bullying goes on daily, both physical and verbal. The students are very cruel to each other. They put each other down constantly, fling tweeties at each other, vandalize the school, destroy or steal each other's property, and steal and destroy mine too. The teachers are constantly threatening them (me included, which I hate). In my mind, it's not a place that's conducive to learning or the enjoyment of life. Middle School, indeed, is hell.

6 more days of middle school

It's been a long school year, and it's almost over. Just six more days with my students! That's something to be joyful about. My other source of good news came yesterday. I was accepted back into the Indiana University Master's program in Language Education. According to me, I only need to take nine more hours of coursework to finish my master's degree. I'll be taking courses with a focus on ESL (English as a Second Language) so that I can teach ESL to adults at the university level. That means no more dealing with students climbing under the tables, or flinging tweeties, or stealing each other's pencils, etc. It sounds to good to be true!

seven

I remember when I was pregnant in Cabo San Lucas, walking down the street it seemed like every other twenty or thirty-something girl was pregnant too. As if it was contagious. I had a pregnant friend, Diana, and met many other happy pregnant women. I ran into kids on the street that got a kick out of touching my belly, cars would stop to let me waddle past, and just about every familiar face on the small town streets of Cabo seemed to know whether it would be a boy or a girl by the shape of belly.

When I was pregnant, everything was positevely positive. I was full of hope. It must have been the hormones and endorphins that my body was releasing. But what about now? What about when one is going through a time of marital woes? I hate to think it's the same, but that seems to be the case for me lately. Jaime and I have been experiencing some especially rough times since he arrived in Kansas. Maybe it's the sour expression on my face, or the fact that I forgot to do my morning yoga stretches this week, but I seem to be a magnet for stories of separation and divorce.

I started out the week with divorce on my mind as I dined with my parents and a couple they're friends with who both divorced and then married each other. They both had kids from their previous marriages, and their kids have had problems relating to their divorces. Then, on Tuesday I got my hair cut after work. It was only the second time I'd had this stylist and I was in dire need of a haircut. Once I sat down, I realized that the last time I'd cut my hair was the week before Jaime arrived at the end of February. I was excited and nervous about his arrival and wanted to look my best. I remember talking with Andrea, my stylist about his arrival and she shared with me about all the times she remembered getting herself fixed up when her husband, a marine, had returned from duty. Our conversation was upbeat and optimistic.

But not this time. She didn't say anything about her husband and instead talked about selling her house and moving to a loft apartment downtown. A little later an aquaintance of hers sat down next to us to get her hair done. There was no escaping the gossip since I was in the middle of a haricut. The two talked about a party Andrea hadn't gone to. Basically because her husband was there. The truth comes out, they're getting a divorce.

Then at school on Thursday, during my break I greet Ms. Groovy, a sixth grade teacher, in the teacher's workroom. She had a baby in December. I remember seeing her with her tiny baby girl at school right before she came back to work full-time thinking, I could never have done that with Oliver. I am so thankful that I was able to stay home with Oliver full-time for the first fifteen months of his life and then work only very part-time until he was 22 months old. I asked Ms. Groovy how she was and in a time span of less than four minutes before heading back to class, she let me know. She and her husband were getting separated. Her baby was having a hard time sleeping (and I'm thinking, that's normal for little babies). I told her I was really sorry to hear about their separation. She said he wanted to escape it all so he's going to live with his mom. (Wow, I think to me self, knowing how challenging it is raising a little baby and then to have to do it on your own while working full time.) I asked her how long they'd been married and she told me, "Seven years."

Maybe seven isn't such a lucky number.

I don't have much to say about our marriage except that we're working on it. And as for now, I'm heading off to morning yoga. I hope a little yoga will help bring me some more positive vibes.