The bleakest month is not April. It's February. I've documented this. So, last night at a Super Bowl party, KK and Dan came up with an idea to brighten February. The idea is to get tattoos.

Ok, but here's my problem: I love the idea of getting a tattoo. I've even purchased temporary tattoos to wear as real tattoos to see how I like them.

And, I do like them!

But, I'm afraid to get a real tattoo because what if I change my mind about the tattoo? I can't get rid of it; it's permanent. What if I decide the tattoo is actually stupid, and then the tattoo is a permanent reminder of my stupidity? What if nice, middle-aged women who went to Catholic school for thirteen years, have bobbed haircuts, and wear eyeglasses just don't get tattoos? It's not our brand?

So, the logical thing to do here would be to skip the tattoo because I'm feeling so conflicted. Wait until I'm sure. And if I'm never sure, I just don't get one. This is what I would tell any of my students to do if they came to me in a similar predicament. I would say, "You don't have to get a tattoo to be cool!"

But then, all my friends (two of them, three if you count Dan) are probably getting tattoos together next weekend, and I'm not going to get one. I'll be left out! Not as awesome or brave! Not awesome and cowardly is not my brand!

You can see my predicament.



Don't irritate your teacher in February.

Wedding Ring Tattoo?

I was supposed to go to Los Angeles today to hang out with a cute baby. Instead, I'm going to school to hang out with some cute sixth graders who are finishing essays.

I mean, that's cool. Helping sixth graders with their writing is what I really love to do, after all. I wouldn't want another job, as mine is probably the best.

But it was going to be 63 degrees Fahrenheit today in Los Angeles. In Minneapolis, where I live, it might top 20. And there was going to be a baby - my nephew, whom I was going to meet for the very first time. And the reason the trip won't work is because someone else got a head cold. My own respiratory infection, I'll have you know, has been waning nicely.

I would coach my sixth graders on an abrupt and disappointing change of plans thusly: "Oh, man! What a bummer! Do you think you'll get to go some other time?"

Most of them would then maintain a droopy posture, but give a half-smile when I squeezed their shoulders in consolation. Probably it's true. Probably I could go some other time.

Three takes on Independence, including one requiring flexibility

Something from the summer of 2006, when nothing ever went as planned, and I didn't make a breakthrough in missile technology.

Well, it's been tough to start typing, both here and on my fiction writing project. The fiction writing project (okay, let's just start calling it a book, but not The Book, and most definitely not My Stupid BookTM). Anyway, as it currently stands, it's off in my writing teacher's hands for a complete read-through.

I had to send her the revised chapters in the same week as my report card comments were due because, oh my god, poor planning.

Anyway, it's been hard to type anything because:

1. I'm obsessed by the news of our unhinged president. It's much worse than I imagined, as he's actually driven by only narcissism and revenge. I can't stop reading the papers. It seems like the only thing TO do.  I mean, besides march and do my weekly resistance items. And, I guess, pray.

2. The report card comment cycle. After they go out, I inevitably contact and am contacted by families who want to follow up. That's good and normal.

3. I got sick. There's a respiratory pestilence floating around, and despite my fervent protests, I contracted it. I had to stay home from school on Wednesday, which is a pain and which I hate, and now my face has a massive psoriasis outbreak. Because did you know that respiratory infection is a well-documented psoriasis trigger? I mean, really. Teaching with a facial rash is one of my least favorite states in which to teach. I'd rather teach with a stain on my shirt or even my fly down than with red blotches all over my face. I would, however, choose the facial rash over a third pregnancy. Pregnancy is a terrible state in which to teach. Anyway, the only thing to do is acknowledge that I have a facial rash and watch the students study it openly in response to this confirmation.

Get Over It in 3 Acts

It's Still Not Friday (but today it actually is)

I am generally open-hearted (and optimistic) by nature.

Open-Heartedness is not the same as saying yes to everything.

Sankalpa comes in January, right when I'm doing one of the hardest, most labor-intensive things I do in my job. It's writing report card comments. It takes me forever to write the 250 words on each kid, telling each individual how much and why I value them and what exactly they could do to perform even better in English or Humanities class. I could do it faster, but then I'd do it worse; and that's totally not my way.

I like writing comments best when I spread the job out over a week. I write a quota each day, and then by the due date, I'm finished with no sweaty mad-rush panic. That was my plan this time around, and I was going to write 7 comments a day beginning on Monday. That would leave a bit of a log-jam for the weekend and MLK day, but nothing I couldn't handle with deep breathing and logic.

On Monday, I started, just as I planned, right after school. It was then that I remembered exactly how hard is is to start. The rhythm wasn't coming, and I remembered that in order to really do the job well, I had to look up work artifacts and discuss them specifically. Each comment was taking upwards of 15 minutes. After an hour (4 comments), I gave up for the day.

Not to worry! On Tuesday, I'd get back at it! Things would be easier! I'd cut the time per comment down to 12 minutes. Except on Tuesday, both of my co-teachers were absent and the spoken-word artist I'm hosting in 7th grade missed our class because she was stuck in traffic. I had two meetings, dinner to make, I had to wash my hair, and Shef had his choir concert.

I wrote zero report-card comments.

So, now I'm in the hole. The hole, however, is not that deep. I'm going to be open-hearted (It's a stretch, I know, to apply my Sankalpa to this situation) to the change in schedule. I'm going to take a deep breath and try again to get in the comment-writing zone.

You know what? This isn't that big of a deal. I think I can do it. I've done it before, and it was totally fine.

Looks like, every year at this time of year, I write about report-card comments.

Bragging as an inspirational work strategy. I'll try this today.