Size 22 font can really inflate a person’s sense of written accomplishment. Sigh.
Student 1: Do you have kids, Miss?
Student 2: Yeah, she got 4. 2 boys, 2 girls.
Me (laughing): Don’t listen to him, he thinks I’m 65!
Student 2 (pretend offended): No, I don’t. I said you were 25!
Me: (rolling my eyes, to Student 2) Uh huh. (to Student 1) No, I don’t have kids.
Student 1: Oh. Do you want kids?
Me (smiling): Maybe someday.
Student 1: You better got on it, Miss.
Me (trying not to laugh): Oh? Why’s that?
Student 1: Don’t you want to be able to play with your kids without your back hurting and all that?
Student 2: How old are you?
Me: You already know this…
Student 2: Oh yeah, 28, I mean 32, I mean 37, I mean 36, I mean 35, I mean 34.
Me (laughing again): Yes, 34.
Student 1 (very serious): Miss, you do not want to be 60 when your kid graduates high school.
Me (after a pause): Sweetie, my Dad is 60 and I did not just graduate.
Student 1 (mind blown)
Student 2 (proud of his math skills): Yeah, he’s got 30 years on her.
Me (chuckling): Almost.
“I’ve seen the heartbreak and anxiety of children whose mothers might be taken away from them just because they didn’t have the right papers,” the president continued. “I’ve seen the courage of students who, except for the circumstances of their birth, are as American as Malia or Sasha; students who bravely come out as undocumented in hopes they could make a difference in a country they love. These people – our neighbors, our classmates, our friends – they did not come here in search of a free ride or an easy life. They came to work, and study, and serve in our military, and above all, contribute to America’s success.”
I cannot express to you how this quote from President Obama in particular resonates with me. It is unbelievably disgusting that a country built on the backs of immigrants, supported by the dreams of immigrants, and populated almost completely by the descendants of immigrants should be so selfish and cold to those who actually make the “American dream” possible.
Cost of weight loss –
$100s of dollars in fresh vegetables and all-natural meats and countless hours budgeting and exercising.
Cost of keeping old skirt –
The pain of longingly staring at it in my closet for five years.
Cost of finally being able to wear old skirt and having a student arrive late to class only to shout out: WHOA CRUMPETT! YOU LOOKIN’ SEXY!! –
Me: (stepping away from the podium)
Student: Damn, Miss! You shouldn’t wear that skirt!
Me (hastily checking to make sure it wasn’t tucked into my underwear): Why?!
Student (“like duh” expression): It’s too cold. Your legs are bare!
Me (smiling): I’m wearing black pantyhose, kiddo. My legs aren’t naturally this color.
Student: (thinks this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard for about 2 solid minutes)
+ 2 chaperones
+ 1 tour of one cooking school
+ 45 lunches at Firehouse Subs (bus driver ate with us)
= 1 successful Field Trip!
The Firehouse Sub manager ran out after us (I’ll admit, I had an “oh shit” moment) to tell us that they’d never had that many high school students leave their restaurant so neat and clean!
Proud teacher right here!!
I’m looking at this “from the other side,” but it still resonates with me deeply. A definite MUST read!
Do you hear that?
That’s the sound of my heart breaking.
My son has always loved the ocean. His eyes are the color of the sea, changing from blue to green with the swell of the tide. And my love for him is an ocean, an overwhelming force which is sometimes calm and steady, and other times full of conflict.
A mother’s love is like the continuous miracle of the sea. It begins in the ocean of your womb – but there is something unsettling about the way your baby kicks. So fiercely you feel bruised on the inside.
There is something willful and stubborn about his refusal to come out. He arrives weeks late, and even then – after almost 40 hours of labor.
Your baby is overwhelming and mysterious and brutal, like the ocean. He screams uncontrollably for hours a day, every day. And you bring him to…
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