Retrieving the Madonna

I got Basya to go and get the statue of the Virgin back out of my old classroom for me. Yes, this was nutty as hell, but it had to happen.

Brief explanation: last year, a friend was kind enough to make me a long-term loan of a statue of Mary from his late mother's collection of such things, to put into my classroom. I installed her lovingly, imagining all kinds of things that did not happen, because as you may recall, this past fall was a nightmare from hell.

When I bailed, I left her there, mostly because it felt weird to take her out of the classroom in the middle of the year. But as this summer wore to an end, I knew I had to get the statue back.

Why? Well, I've been freaking out again about that last job, and how it ended. I am dreaming about it, and thinking about it, and generally not in such a good place, emotionally. I felt that I'd already given that school plenty, and this particular beautiful thing wasn't going to be a part of it.

Problem was, in my present mental state, I didn't dare set foot inside the damn building. So I called on Basya, my bridesmaid and general mainstay of existence, and because she is awesome, she came over and collected Mary from the office at St. Attracta's.

Basya ended up spending the night, due to the 580 being closed, and today we went to Target to get her some camping gear. We're walking along, me and Basya and the Husband, and lo and behold, who do I see coming but the Mom From Hell, my worst parent from this fall, and her darling boy.

There was a long sort of pass by when I couldn't figure out if they were going to recognize me at all, and then we spotted each other, and I smiled, and was gracious. She smiled, but when I said, "Well, fancy meeting you here?" she kept going, and then said, "What?"

And then I had to steer the whole party around to avoid running into them again, in school supplies.

I want St. Attracta's out of my life and out of my system, and it's not easy. I feel wrong in my skin these days, too apologetic, and too tentative for a woman in her late thirties. I feel as though I've failed, and should apologize for everything, all the time, at least until I have a job where I'm succeeding at such a high level that even I can't find fault with myself--a situation which is probably impossible, so maybe I should find an alternate route right now.

This last fall messed me up. This coming fall had better be better.

Did Feminism Succeed? Or Not?

When you can't tell if feminism succeeded beyond its supporters' wildest dreams, or failed miserably:

I'm putting my classroom together with some help from a young lady who was in my high school freshman class a couple of years ago. She attended the school I'm working at now, K-8. She tells me that she told her best friend, a boy who was in my class, and also went through elementary school with her, to come and help out tomorrow.

In passing, I learn that he broke up with his girlfriend, to whom he had been glued for the past two years. "And he was so upset," Mary Kate continues, "and he really needed someone to talk to, and I was there for him. But I was kinda mad, like he gets a girlfriend and we never got to hang out until they broke up? Like, it's supposed to be bros before hos, sorry about my language, Mrs. Bluejeans."

Sister Mary Exasperata Takes Note

So we're standing as a class for morning prayer over the loudspeaker, and I turn, and Sophie is standing right there, with an eyelash curler in action just as Father says "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit."

I glare. She looks only mildly sheepish.

Seventh Grade Girl Drama

I swear, I could submit the whole thing to Dei'ah ve Dibur as something like "The Power of Lashon Ha-Ra". Seriously. I don't think I ever quite understood the warnings about how you shouldn't even pay compliments, for fear feelings might be hurt before. Not like this.

Oy. Oy. Oy. Drama At St. Colmcille Elementary School. (Please note, for newcomers to the blog, in order to protect my student's identities, I have not only changed the name of the school, I have changed their names, and refer to these mostly black and Latino Catholic school kids by Hebrew names that I assign them. The names have some significance, or none, being related by sound, meaning, or inside joke, to the names their parents gave them. Don't worry about it.)

It seems to have started a little something like this. (I present this edited version, sorted out of several interviews, for your convenience.) The students who helped at a school concert last night, including most of them in my class, were rewarded with a free dress pass, meaning that they can wear their civilian clothes, instead of their uniforms. Brachi told Sarina that she looked nice today. Sarina, who does not speak English as a first language, said, "Thank you, you do too."

Between adults, the whole thing might have stopped there. But Brachi, who desperately wants to be the center of attention at all times, decided to go on. She said, "Just between you and me, do you think we are the two prettiest-looking girls in the seventh and eighth grade today? Just tell me." Sarina shrugged, and said, "OK, I guess so."

After this the trail of evidence becomes disputed, and fairly murky, but what we can be sure of is that Sarina repeated this conversation to Margalit, and perhaps others. (Brachi says several others, Sarina says ONLY Margalit. But tell Margalit, tell the New York Times, except Margalit is faster, and not bound by journalistic principals.)

As a result, some short time later, Shoshi comes up to Brachi and says "Did you tell Sarina that you and her were the cutest girls in the seventh and eighth grades? Because that's really conceited." "I did not say that!" Brachi exclaims. Brachi then goes off and tells the entire story to Aviva, just to clear her head, she claims, (tell Aviva, tell Fox News Network) and then confronts Sarina, who, when told that Shoshi said she said, bursts into tears and runs off to confront Shoshi. Na'amah is also involved in this, I think, but I'm not sure exactly how...

At this point, dumb ole Ms. Bluejeans is only aware that there is some conflict developing between some of the girls in the class, but is not aware how much, or that it will blossom into something worse than the hurt feelings they inflict on each other routinely. At lunch, Ms. Bluejeans has her usual Erev Shabbos classroom lunch for a small group of students who like to talk about their problems and concerns, but most of the time is spent trying to enforce a shomer negiah policy, or perhaps a restraining order, between Tzippi and Reuven, who are in love, in a seventh grade way, and express this by hitting each other a lot, and arguing constantly. Even the other kids tell them they sound like an old married couple. I'm just afraid that someone will suffer a concussion before they're old enough to just admit that they like each other.

There was one reference to the brewing storm, as Reuven commented "I just don't get why girls have to tell each other things that are supposed to be secrets and then get all mad when it turns out other people know about it." I told him "Reuven, hon, you will be wondering that until you are an old man with a long white beard, so you may as well start now." "You're weird, Ms. Bluejeans," he commented.

Anyway, by the end of lunch, Mrs. Baum the lunch supervisor has had to send both parties to the principal, because the drama has gotten unbearable. I spent much of the PE period talking to all parties and trying to sort out exactly what's going on here.

Best moment:

Ms. Bluejeans: "Brachi, do you think that some of this might have happened because Sarina's English isn't perfect?"

Brachi: "Nooooo...she knew what she was doing!"

Ms. Bluejeans: "Brachi, I'm not so sure, because English is my first language, and I barely understand what you just told me. If you told me in Spanish, I don't think I would have the slightest idea what the problem was."

Brachi: Shrug. "But she lied to me when I asked her about it!"

I am never again telling the social studies teacher that I like her skirt. Never.

Like Axel Foley...

I am on vacation.

Great moment from an otherwise difficult day...we did a gameshow style contest on Biblical knowledge. One of the earliest questions asked whether the animals had boarded the ark a. on tiptoe, b. two by two, c. in crates, or d. on motorcycles. Avinoam, one of my seventh graders, answered correctly, and then exclaimed with evident seriousness, "Motorcycles! They wouldn't even be able to SHIFT!"

The class lost it.