Substitute Teacher FAIL

As I reported for duty for my second day of substitute teaching, I was greeted by some rather unsettling news from the principal.

"I need to talk to you about one of the instruments that was DESTOYED during band class under your watch." he said.

Ain't that just one for the memory books. My glorious teaching career is already off the tracks before day two.

He actually used the word DESTROYED. Not damaged. Or cracked. Or broken. DESTROYED.

I'm really hoping it's a harmonica. Or a triangle.

For Magpie & Others

You want to see the shirt/outfit -- I know you do.

We're just home from an amazing night out in the city. The modeling gig the girls had for a local illustrator had a gallery opening this evening. Then we met up with Erik, stopped by the Paul Frank store and went out to eat at the Squat and Gobble. I've got to wrangle the girls to bed and get everyone, including myself, to school by 8:00 am.

Tomorrow I'm back at the middle school to sub for the algebra teacher. Here's the shirt, in leu of a black cardigan I've covered myself with a cute kid.

Out of the will - again

My mom loves presents. Loves, loves, loves presents. Many a holiday, birthday and court ordered visitation has been ruined over empty handedness. So if I am wise and want anything resembling peace, I know that I had better come bearing gifts. I've also learned, I should show and exagerated and repeated gratitude for anything that happens to come my way.

So when I was unpacking the girls' suitcases Monday, I came accross the gift for me that my mom had already mentioned at least five times. "I got you a present!" she repeatedly trilled. I opened the bag and immediatly called to thank her. I mentioned it again, before we hung up the phone.

When she brought it up on Tuesday, I tried my best to gush. But truth be told, it was difficult to muster much excitement.

Tonight, she began inquiring about the gift again. "Have you tried on your OUTFIT?!!?" she asked. I was feeling a bit under the weather, short of patience, tired of the rediculousness of it all.

"Mom, it's a shirt." I said. "It's obvously something you bought for yourself. It's bedazzled. It's a Medium. It's sleeveless. It's not my style. It looks like something one of the Real Housewives of Atlanta would wear."

She was almost speechless, but managed to snarl, "You need to change your style!"

One, Two, Three, Four - One, Two, Ready, Play

You'll never guess what I did today. I can hardly believe it myself.

I was a substitute teacher. And not just any substitute teacher. I was a substitute BAND teacher.

Earlier in the year, when advertising freelance was slow, I started going through the process to get certified to be a sub in our school district. I took and passed the CBEST - California Basic Education Skills Test. I got fingerprinted. I had a TB test. I paid fees. I ordered my college transcripts. At times, it seemed a bit daunting, espcially when I heard that the demand was at an all time low.

When my phone rang today, I would have never imagined that I spend the day counting to a few hundred middle school students trying to coax them through the first few notes of Jingle Bells. The thing about a few hundred middle school kids with instruments is that they ALL MAKE A LOT OF NOISE. A LOT! And I'm not even going to mention the percussion section. I swear the percussion section swells when there's a sub. Suddenly, everyone plays the drums. And they'll play the drums with anything they can find.

Home Again, Home Again

So we all survived the girls flying solo. They arrived home safe and sound 35 minutes ahead of schedule earlier this afternoon. Southwest charges a $25 unaccompanied minor fee each way, for each child. I'm not really sure what that extra fee gets you? Apparently, a gate agent that walks your kid up and down the ramp. Or maybe the pass through security that allows you to accompany your child to the gate. There was paperwork. I scanned the small print and found out that if the designated adult isn't at the destination to pick up your child, the airline will fly them back to the departure city. I liked the sounds of that. Thought it beat the alternative of - we will call CPS and you will end up on the 5 o'clock news with your picture smattered in trashy magazines right next to Jon Gosselin.

And you know, Southwest isn't messing around. Did you hear about the two year old they kicked off the plane last week?

Let's Do This Thing

Two years ago, I participated.

I'm feeling up for the challenge. Wondering if I should try and tackle putting into words the things that have been heavy on my mind, crank out a few chapters on a book idea I've been toying with or bore you to tears with random observations?

Ironically, It's Payday

Yesterday, I was excercising on of my very special talents, salary negotiations. Mind you, not for myself, for myself I would describe the process as anxiety filled and a bit bumbley. However for others, my advisement on such subject has helped many a few people seccure the pay they had hoped for v. the pay they were offered. Here's the basic rules:

1) Always try to get them to throw out a number first. They'll usually give you a range, of which the higher number is where you start your negotiations.

2) Have a number you want in your head - then add 20% or if you are a woman 30%.

3) If your forced to say the number first, always say a number HIGHER than what would make you happy. It's their job to offer you less, so go big and you'll settle at a figure that you'll be pleased with.

The exchange with my friend took place via Instant Message and as most all things reguarding money, we tried to tiptoe around the actual amount in question. At one point, sensing maybe I was off in my suggested salary price and trying to cover up what might have been a misstep I said:

Me: What do I know? I just freelance and mom.

He: What does momming pay?

Me: It pays in eyerolls and the occasional hugs.

The girls are out of town, so later today I'm going to try to gather up all those eyerolls and hugs and take them to the bank for a big deposit.

I remember when the girls were tiny babies and they moved from 3 naps a day to 2. And then 2 naps a day to 1. I would say to anyone who would listen, and even those who didn't --

Me: They've increased my hours but not my pay.

I felt so cheated.

I really think juggling kids and work is impossibly hard. I see how it could be easier for those that salaries permit them to have a fulltime Nanny - even and especially after children grow beyond babies and become kids with busy schedules and commitments of their own. Or those with family that can step in to pick up children when something unexpected happens like say, an 18 Wheeler Overturns or a cable snaps and closes The Bay Bridge. I often think that the hardest part of my day is when I leave work and rush like a madwoman to catch what ever public transportation gets me to the girls before the pick up deadline of 6pm. I feel envious eyes watching me leave work - usually a full 15 minutes after the time I've allowed myself to make the mile+ walk to the bus or boat. These eyes are replaced with dubious glares at the wall clock from the staff that run our amazing after school program. It's so difficult to know that your doing the best you can and trying to get it all done and the still yet, everywhere there are doubters.