tales of a fifth grade surprise

You know that little substitute teaching gig I agreed to? I've logged 16 hours this week alone--silly me! I totally thought it would be a once a week thing TOPS. As of this morning I've worked with grades 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7 and 8 (and, consequently, all 3 of my own children). I've taught division with two digits, conjunctive adverbs (with a bonus lesson on semicolons!), the "dropping rule" in phonics (involving that pesky silent "e"), a couple chapters out of The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe, passive voice, diagramming compound sentences and supervised book report compositions in the computer lab. (Yes, I know I totally needed semicolons in that last sentence.)

Whew!

Surprisingly, 5th grade has been a real treat. When I was in college, I deliberately did NOT get certified to teach 6-12 grade English. I feared/dreaded/loathed the very IDEA of middle school kids--what with all their weird hormonal issues and emotions and icky smells. I hated middle school as a middle school kid, I was positive I had no love for them once I grew up. If a teacher got certified to teach a grade level or subject area, a district can assign the to teach it--whether they want to teach it or not, so by only obtaining certification to teach English 9-12, I was guaranteed only high school jobs. I feared a middle school assignment more than I feared not getting a job--and that's saying something.

It was with some hesitation that I agreed to sub in the Parochial School, but I figured with grades PK-8 represented, I had a greater shot at hanging out in grades PK-4.

I've spent the bulk of my time in middle school. And you know what I've discovered? It's a lot of fun.

Maybe it's because it's a Parochial School and the kids wear uniforms (khaki bottoms, blue polo shirts) and the class sizes are small (20 tops) and respect is totally drilled into these kids--but they were quite delightful. Especially 5th grade.

And you know what else? They smelled just fine.

They're energetic, funny, curious, talkative, hard-working and interesting. They help each other. They remind each other. They forget to follow instructions. They're easily distracted. They read a lot. They are happy to try new things. They admire their older classmates and look out for the younger classmates at the school. They love a corny joke and they look sideways at me but don't say a word when I don't make the sign of the cross at prayer time. They accept others with very open hearts.

There's one girl with gorgeous shiny blonde curly hair and hipster glasses who always always always had her nose in a book, oblivious to the world. She's polite and cooperative, but the moment she has a chance, she's got the pages open again. There's another girl with freckles and a huge grin, quick to lavish complements on her peers. I don't sense the back-biting and bullying typical in most middle schools. There's a boy who races through his work so he can have free time--and then when I ask him what he plans to do (instead of distracting his friends with his chatter), he volunteers to help a classmate finish a missed assignment.

I really like helping these kids with their work and easing the lives of teachers who are stressed out with having to miss class--I remember well what a huge blessing a competent sub was when I had to miss school. And because I taught school for 10 years, I inherently know stuff, like classroom management skills and where to look for the vocabulary lists and how to efficiently transition from one activity to the next. It's kind of a bonus that I get paid.

Spill it, reader. What have you tried lately that surprised you?

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thinking deep thoughts

I've felt like I've stood at a crossroads for a long time, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. "The season of my discontent." I've fallen into a pattern of living the way others expect me to, a strange conformity to unspoken rules and unwritten laws. Strange fears govern my behavior and choices, and I don't understand how this has evolved. (I don't mean like I'm suffering mental illness, really. This includes how I dress the way "women my age in my town should dress" but who really dictates my dress code? Clothes are a small, silly example of what I mean, but it's the most tangible example I could come up with today.) Recently I read a quote that suggested one should live the life they imagine--I'd seen that quote before, but it struck a nerve this time. What's stopping me? I'm starting to ask myself this and I'm stepping back to examine my life. Is it possible to purge what I don't like and fill it up with what I want to do?

I'm considering my habits, my diet, my appearance, my activities, the way my house looks and the way my family interacts with each other and with our community. Everything is on the table right now and I suddenly feel like I've taken a step in the right direction.

What will remain of this life? What will change?

What does the life I want to live look like?

Spill it, reader. Are you living the life you want to be living?

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tapping into my inner gidget

I loved Gidget when I was young--Sally Field was just adorable, her best friend was a great foil, the dad was better than Bill Cosby (and he smoked a pipe!) and her wardrobe even beat my Barbie doll's in style points. And Gidget surfed.

Last week I mentioned my secret bucket list items--only secret because they're the sort of unreasonable wishes that don't bear mentioning. I haven't told people about them--not like "I want to be a published novelist"--no big secret there. When we planned our trip to the ocean, Mr. T asked if we'd go surfing. It had never crossed my mind to check it out, and when I did, I learned that the OBX are ranked 5th in the U.S. for great surf spots. We could certainly find lessons on the island and paddle out to catch a wave.

Team Testosterone and I met our surf instructor (picture a very young Heath Ledger with a little ponytail of golden curls) and drove out to a southern beach. He taught us the anatomy of a surfboard, how to lay on one and how to paddle. Then we paddled out to ride waves into shore on our stomachs--a sensation similar to sledding. He'd push our boards into the power of a wave so we could get the feel of letting the water carry us along.

After a few runs on our bellies, we returned to the beach to learn how to "pop up." Back to the water. Surfer dude (and people, he was a dude!) pushed my board into a wave first. I braced both palms against the board, slid my left foot forward and leaned back onto my right leg. A couple of old ladies stood knee-deep in the water near shore and clapped. I tried not to look down and stood. I was surfing! Until my board slowed and I wobbled to a graceless splash into the water.

Mr. T went next. My firstborn son, who gave up on his Heelys after half an hour, quit his skateboard after a week and insists his bike is the wrong size to ride popped up out of the water and glided into shore like he'd been surfing for decades. It had to be beginner's luck. The other two looked more like their mama, a brief moment of balance before tumbling down.

Subsequent attempts improved my "hang time." The other two got a little better at it, too. Mr. T--it was no beginner's luck for him. He surfed as naturally as he breathes--just pops up, stands back and lets the wave pull him to shore. Really incredible. I said as much to the surf instructor. He considered this while watching Mr. T ride the wave and remarked, "Maybe the ocean is his dojo."

Spill it, reader. What's your dojo?

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new favorite student

Yesterday the summer school karate program started. It was a slow couple of classes as we helped the masses understand school protocol (when to salute, where to leave shoes, etc.) and the basics (a block, when to say "yes, sir"). The focus was "focus"--teaching kids to pay attention to one thing at a time, breaking down the concept to "eyes, mind, body" and then applying the concept by blocking strikes. Pretty easy stuff.

At the end of class Mr. O explained "Might for right," the martial arts promise that everyone says at the end of class. "If you use kicking and punching at school, what does that make you?" he asked the students.

"Mean."

"A bully."

And then this little peanut of a 4-year-girl raised her hand and announced, "I turn into a dragon."

Yep, that's right. She doesn't turn into a bully when she's mean. She turns into a dragon.

I totally dig this kid.

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heavenly hosts

Why, thanks for the complements on the new header. That is in my front yard--we had 4 candy canes in the front garden but now we're down to three--either the wind or snow knocked one over and it is buried beneath a drift. My decorating skills are paltry at best, our lights are crooked and falling down. At night we have nothing on our neighbors who evidently read the tutorial on Hanging Christmas Lights 101. Our lights look so pathetic that I'm kind of embarrassed to turn them on, but it's too frigid to go stand on a ladder and try to fix them. And we're so far back from the road that only our few neighbors can really see the lights, they're mostly turned on for our own benefit. But honestly, there's not an ugly spot around our property right now, except just beside the driveway where that lazy dog pees yellow splotches because he doesn't want to be troubled to jump through the drifts.

Unless I get lazy, which is what happened yesterday. You see, in Wisconsin, it's smart to pull on snow pants, boots, coat, hat and mittens if you're heading outdoors for any length of time. Common sense--keeps you dry and warm in the snow. But I presumed Mr. Furry-Lazy-Bones (AKA "Jax") would pull his usual Holy crap it's freakin' COLD out here--I'll just whiz a little by the edge of the drive where they plowed a path and then hurtle my body weight towards the front door so this crazy lady can let me back in the house. Naturally the little monster decided to mess with me when I eschewed snow pants and grabbed his leash.

He took a running plunge into the nearest snow drift, dragging me behind him. Within seconds I was in snow past my knees--at least a 3 foot drift--wet, cold and irritated.

Fast forward to 5:30 this morning when I got up early to watch the meteor shower. (Have you ever seen one? I never have until this morning.) I pulled on an extra fleece, snow pants, coat, hat and mittens over my pajamas. I stood on the driveway looking at the starry sky, marveling at the vast beauty and mystery of space and God and the universe. Mr. D let the dog out and he made a beeline for the edge of the driveway, peed, and sprinted straight back to the house. I had half a mind to grab him by the collar and drag him into a snow drift.

The meteor shower was a neat thing to see--I'm glad I made the effort. Granted, it felt a little spooky to stand in the silence and watch the occasional blast of light flash past in the sky. The experience gave me good time to meditate, pray and be still. The night sky is so beautiful, yet I rarely take time to give it my full attention. Imagine if you looked at it several times a week--how familiar it would become, how much more you'd notice about it.

Spill it, reader. Do you look up?

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finding balance

* Mr. G got called out in karate class for his excellent spin side kicks and all-around awesome effort. He is the youngest and smallest in his class. His instructors made a point of telling me what a great job he's doing.

* Mr. G burst into tears last night while I tucked him in--a buddy at school is having a birthday party and he wasn't invited. What do you say? "I'm sorry. It feels bad not to be included." And hug him and let him cry. No fixing those situations.

* Mr. T's renewed his efforts at school, applying himself and keeping focused.

* But he's still feeling like he doesn't fit in--he hasn't really made any friends and he's struggling. I cannot fix this either--I can only make home a sanctuary for him, where he can be himself and feel good about who he is. Add to this his frustration about his dyslexia and his epilepsy and my heart breaks while I try to shepherd him through this early stage of adolescence.

* Mr. B is a fierce little karate student--his bo staff form last night looked incredible. He's doing great in school and has scads of friends.

* But he gets down on himself so easily when he makes a mistake. You learn from mistakes, I tell him, that's how you grow. I have to help him lighten up a little, I don't want him becoming too much a perfectionist.

* Team Testosterone's Christmas lists are a mix of reasonable (new games) and ridiculous (remote controlled toys--they've gotten these in the past and never ever play with them). I want them to believe in the magic of Christmas, but Santa isn't going to bring a bunch of stuff that will end up donated to the thrift store by summertime.

* I love the new bo staff form we're learning in karate. It's like a jigsaw puzzle--I keep going through it in my mind, figuring out the patterns, the moves, the order. I've gone to class 2 times this week and Mr. O said we'd learn the rest of it tonight. I really don't need to be gone another night this week, but I'm dying to learn the rest of the form.

* Our calendar has filled up so fast this month. We've got a lot of choices to make--collectively--about how to spend our time this Christmas. There's mandatory things (school concerts) and extra things (going to see the lights at the botanical gardens). I need to pace our commitments and our pleasure.

* There is no balance to be found in a dog. They are utterly useless and expensive. Sure, Mr. D argues they provide "love and affection" but our cat killed mice and kept the pests at bay. This dog-creature has only managed to cost a ton of money and time and chew up stuff in the basement. Case in point: I took the dog to get groomed yesterday. He smelled terrible. Just awful. Now he smells nice, but at a price and I had to drive him to and from the groomer's. The cat? She self-cleaned for free. I'm still not totally sold on the idea of having a dog, as you can tell.

* I'm sick and tired of all the phone calls and mailings and other requests for my charitable dollars. I feel sponged dry. Naturally, that's exactly when God expects us to ante up and be generous. I'm swallowing my frustration like a dry crust of bread and writing my annual check to the Salvation Army, hoping that through His grace, my family's resources end up where they're most needed.

Yin-yang, ebb-flow. Sometimes the best balance is sitting still, striking the right yoga pose and focusing on a fixed point on the wall.

One reason I enjoy visiting Na-Da Farm Life is the peace and tranquility of Anne Marie's life. I'm sure she has to juggle things with all her kids and the farm chores, but she finds moments of calm to settle her spirit. Her site provides a respite. And I'm providing you a chance to win November's FABULOUS--winner's choice from the NaDa Farm shop. A little piece of homemade simplicity for you from Anne Marie's skillful hands. Each comment is a chance to win, I'll pick a winner on Saturday.

Spill it, reader. What's keeping you balanced this week?

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an old promise finally kept

Over a year ago: Green Girl starts talking smack about earning a black belt, being a great woman warrior, blah blah blah.

About a year ago: Green Girl starts talking smack about black belt karate classes, how she gets to play with weapons like swords and isn't she uber-cool now?

About a year ago: Green Girl makes a big promise to her readers that she'll make a video of herself doing karate.

Which brings us to yesterday...

8:00 a.m. wave last of Team Testosterone out of the house for the day, turn on computer and start cleaning bathroom.

8:10 a.m. decide while scrubbing the tub that today would be a great day to figure out how to use the video camera and download videos to the computer.

8:11 a.m. decide if she's going to download videos to the computer, the Internet is just a short jump away.

8:13 a.m. quit cleaning bathroom, strip off gloves, find video camera.

8:16 a.m. plug in video camera, instruction manual and necessary cords. Attach video camera to computer. Success!

8:17 a.m. attempt to download videos from the last 3 years to computer.

8: 38 a.m. discover this will take a while. Read blogs, troll websites, skim newspaper while hard drive is running.

9:49 a.m. discover that she's spent an hour downloading nothing. At all. Open instruction manual.

10:00 a.m. attempt variations on pressing "direct back up" and "auto/manual" buttons while opening various computer files to read the videos.

10:35 a.m. reread instruction manual. Discover CD with software to upload videos from the camera onto the computer. Begin installing software.

10:45 a.m. finish cleaning bathroom.

10:55 a.m. watch videos of Christmas 2007, Mr. T's karate graduation, her armpit filmed during the trip to Disney World, kids' attempts at movie making involving light sabers and Mr. G's last birthday.

11:10 a.m. leave computer and camera running and head out to retrieve Team Testosterone for 6-month dental checkup across town.

1:00 p.m. boys back at school, cavity-free, flourinated and fed. Discover all family videos from the past 3 years are now on computer.

1:01 p.m. indulge in self-congratulatory fist pumping and audible whooping.

1:05 p.m. change into yoga pants and grab kamas.

1:06 p.m. why kamas? Green Girl is studying them right now, they're a 2-handed weapon used in Japan for farming. Lightweight with a curved metal blade, they are easier to manage than the unpredictable nunchucks. And her sword form is rusty and she cannot remember more than the first half of her bo staff form, even though the bo staff is her favorite weapon. So kamas it is.

1:09 p.m. after much trial and error to set up camera to tape herself, Green Girl find the perfect angle to capture most of the living room floor is on a stack of books on a table. And she can still plug in the camera without requiring an extension cord.

1:10 p.m. execute kama form. replay video.

1:15 p.m. cringe. need to begin form further back. ended much too close to the camera and can only see torso.

1:16 p.m. execute kama form again. Nearly fall over during kick sequence.

1:20 p.m. execute kama form again. Success!

1:21 p.m. watch video. Notices how loud her knees crack during kick sequence. Video quality is very shadowy because of sunlight coming through windows behind her, but Green Girl is sick of entire business.

1:30 p.m. successfully load video to computer.

1:35 p.m. attempt to load video to blog.

1:36 p.m. whoops. need to copy video to another file first.

1:47 p.m. master copying video to file.

1:53 p.m. attempt to edit video using new software. Would be so cool to add a music soundtrack.

2:25 p.m. abandon all hope of learning how to edit video. Attempt to add video to blog.

2:35 p.m. loading.

2:50 p.m. still loading. go pick up children from school.

3:20 p.m. still loading.

4:00 p.m. computer says complete. try to watch. screen reads "error in loading, try again later."

4:01 p.m. viciously curse the internet.

4:03 p.m. try again.

4:15 p.m. loading. take Mr. G to karate class.

5:30 p.m. return home and make dinner. computer says complete. try to watch. screen reads "error in loading, try again later."

5:55 p.m. sit down with Team Testosterone and eat dinner.

6:30 p.m. take Mr. T to karate class. work on kama form. get complemented by Mr. O on kick sequence. Booya.

7:45 p.m. return home. hang out with kids. start putting everybody to bed.

8:30 p.m. decide to set up YouTube account.

8:45 p.m. load video to YouTube account.

9:15 p.m. video loaded. Success! pump fists and hit "play."

9:16 p.m. watch self perform kama form on YouTube. feel mildly famous even though only person aware of this video.

9:19 p.m. watch a few other videos while loading kama form to blog.

9:27 p.m. DONE!

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how my life has changed since becoming a black belt

For starters, I'm getting comments typed in Chinese on my blog. I'm deleting them because for all I know they're ads for penile implants, which is something I don't need. But now that I'm a black belt, people probably ascribe all kinds of Knowledge of Things Eastern to me. Like how to make kung pao beef and organize rooms to maximize the flow of energy, chi and zen. But I don't understand Chinese, written or spoken, and I imagine my Chinese fans will soon abandon their efforts to reach out to me via the comment box. I do speak some French, Spanish and Pig Latin, though. O-say eave-lay our-yay omments-cay at-thay ay-way if-ay ou-yay ike-lay.

I haven't had to register my hands as lethal weapons, although I did call my state representative to ask about this. He assured me that even though I am a black belt, I can go about my usual business. I don't even need a special sticker on my drivers license.

In "Black Belt Class" (heretofore referred to as BBC, not to be confused with the storied news service sponsored by our friends across the pond) we work with all kinds of weapons, so I'm now the proud owner of a bo staff (silver--graphite--v. light and durable). We've just begun the bo staff unit in BBC. I've had lots of complements on my staff (a Christmas gift to myself) but not too many on my handling of it...yet. I love the bo staff compared to nunchuckas, though. Less wobbly, easier to control, and seems like a preferable weapon in a fight if you ask me. The length of it means you can keep your enemy further away and if all else failed, you could use it to poke their eye out. Plus, I twirled baton when I was young and a lot of the bo staff moves are exactly the same. (No, I do NOT like bo staff best just because Taylor Lautner studied it.)

Studying bo staff means learning a form to demonstrate knowledge of all the strikes and defenses and learning two coordinating forms--attacking and defending. The latter is tricky because you learn both but do one part while your partner does the other. Last night I was defending while my partner was attacking, but I kept wanting to do what she was doing. This doesn't work so well because every move I make is a counter move to what she does. I like the mental challenge of this and I'm optimistic that I'll master bo staff soon. Then I get to move on to sword, kamas and escrima sticks (which should be a breeze since I've watched Mr. T go over the escrima form a thousand times and can recite it in my sleep). From the little I know about these other weapons, I think I'll still like the bo staff best.

The awesomeness factor of owning new weapons aside, we study grappling in BBC. This is absolutely awful. I always end up pinned and I'm terribly self-conscious grappling teenaged boys, teenaged girls, the other women my age, and my instructors. I only know a couple of submission holds and can barely maneuver my way out of gar position. Grappling is sweaty and involves way too much contact for my taste. It's humbling to be so bad at something. My sole victory came Monday night during combat sparring. During combat sparring you try to take your opponent down to the ground--sparring and grappling combined. I actually pinned an instructor (and it wasn't a "pity pin" either). It happened in part because I was 100% focused on grappling, not on anything else. It didn't matter that his feet were in my face or that I had to lay across his chest or that I smelled like Old Locker Room Sweat. All that mattered was NOT getting pinned and I had the first taste of success in this area of study. Even so, I'd rather spar than grapple any day.

Another requirement of working on 2nd degree is mastering a form called "Velocity." As indicated by it's name, the form moves fast, with a lot of jumps. In my opinion it is wrong to ask anyone over 26 to perform this form. Mr. O just laughed when I shared my opinion. I've learned the form and don't look like a total sclub doing it. Nor do I look amazing.

BBC is demanding, physically and mentally, and aside from getting tossed on my back once or twice a week during grappling lessons, it's fun.

As I'm working on a query letter to accompany my (nearly finished!) manuscript Kicks Like a Girl, I can write "I'm a black belt in karate" which makes me sound cooler than I actually am in real life.

And I'm still getting my 3 miles in, but I'm skiing them sometimes because running indoors is NOT the same as running outside and xc-skiing is better exercise. I have to mainain my black belt physique--people expect you to look pretty fit when you claim to have a black belt in anything.

This pretty cool XMA bo staff demonstration gives you an idea of why this weapon cooler than swords or nunchuckas or escrima sticks:

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