neither here nor there

October 2009

While reading about the desert and cactuses (cacti?).
Student: “Ms. Byrns! My friend saw those.  When she moved here from Mexico she went through the desert and saw those!”
My response: “Was it hot? Or did you friend come at night?”  (We had been talking about how hot the weather was in the desert….and I admit…I was curious.)

“Ms. Byrns, David went home at recess.  He said he has the fluency.”-student (Too bad he actually has the flu and not very good fluency.)

Christopher: Ms. Byrns, today I was listening to you, so you know, I was watching you and I thought ‘You look pregnant.’ So are you pregnant? Because you look like it.”
Me: Um, no I’m not.  So I guess I should just run more?
Christopher: Yeah.

August 2009

“You can call me Christopher, Chris, Jose or Fat-Boy.” one of my students

September 2009

This one is actually from one of my future students (he’s in 3rd grade right now.)

Principal: Wow! How did your table group win “Star Students” this week?
Student: We did everything Obama told us to. [after Obama's address to students]

Share on Facebook

Introduction
In the past three years of commuting, I’ve had some interesting experiences. There was the drive home from Stockton when I saw not one, but two naked-butts. (If you must know, one was on a guy who decided to pull-over and pee on the side of Hwy 5, not 1/4 mile from the exit. The second was as I exited on to Broadway and a teenaged girl was riding her bike: her belt at her waist, her pants over half-way down her ass.) I’ve also seen a college-aged (but probably not college-attending) guy trying to balance the steering wheel, lighter and hash-pipe in rush-hour traffic on 99. I have a rather nervous memory of the time a peach truck tipped over the highway and into the Consumnes River. This little accident turned my 50 minute drive into a 2 hour one and I had to pee so badly while stopped in traffic, that I debated abandoning my car and running up the grassy shoulder to take a squat. Somehow, someway, I made it. Through these wonderful times and others, I have survived. The following (and preceding) is a rather mellow-dramatic and cynical look at my life as a commuter. It is 99.9% factual. Try not to hold the exaggerations or offer to trade in my fiance for an hour of sleep against me.

A Day in the Life of a Commuting Teacher:

3:30 am: You get out of bed to go pee. As you stumble back to bed in the dark, you pray it’s some wonderful time like 1:00 or 2:00 am so that you have a few more hours of guaranteed sleep. But as you slide back under the covers, you check the time on your phone and it’s 3:30. Damn.

4:50 am: Cell phone alarm goes off. It really doesn’t matter what ringtone you have chosen. Whether it’s the Blues, Samba, Piano Rift or the iPhone factory settings, it sounds like Death has come knocking. You never actually get up at 4:50; but recently changed your alarm so you can experience the joy of hitting snooze once or twice and still be out of bed and in the shower by 5:10. When a carpool buddy and 27 children are waiting for you, it’s time to get your ass in gear.

5:15 am: You stand in the shower wondering if you have the flu. It’s hard to tell if you’re sick because getting up at this hour, daily, is sick. Even on days you really are sick you go through the entire getting ready process as a test. If you still feel nauseous and headachy by the time you’re ready to go, you might actually be ill and it’s time to call for a sub.

5:30-6:00 am: Make lunch, eat breakfast and get ready while watching the 5:00 morning news with Walt Gray and Deidra Fitzpatrick. No interesting news, but you do need the weather and traffic. You normal routine is to get dressed using only the light of the closet. When your significant other groans and covers his face with the covers because this one closeted light-bulb is disturbing his slumber, you wish to trade places, just for a day.

6:10 am: Meet the carpool buddy. If it’s your day to drive, get the caffeine going. If it’s not, thank goodness! Slip off your shoes and get your feet in there under the floor heater on the passenger side. About a year into commuting, you adapted just like any other animal that has escaped distinction. You extinct is to try and compensate for lost sleep whenever possible. This advanced ability of yours allows you to fall asleep before your carpool companion has driven past 2 exits and you sleep soundly until the wheels hit the off-ramp. This is no joke. The phenomenon of perfectly timed sleep has been observed in many a carpooler. On weekends and evenings, the most advanced carpoolers can even sleep soundly on a five-minute car ride to the grocery store if they’ve roped that useful significant other into playing chauffeur.

7:10 am: Wipe the sleep from your eyes; climb out of the car; and get to work.

7:30 am: Use the bathroom before school starts. While washing your hands, you look into the mirror and realize your shirt is on either inside-out or backwards. Just a symptom of getting dressed in near darkness.

10:10 am: While reading with a small group of students you reach down to scratch your leg and realized you only shaved your left leg. Personal hygiene really works best when you are fully awake and functioning.

4:30 pm: Time to hit the road again. You turn on the radio and since none of the same music stations have signal out here, you resort to the old standby: NPR. “All Things Considered” is interesting two or three days/week, but why can’t “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” air on a Monday afternoon? It would start the work week off right. At least you have all the episodes from the last 3 months downloaded on to your iPhone and can try to play along and remember the news trivia that was big and important during the week of February 12th. That’s not all. You also have about 6 audiobooks on there, but those are hard to get through when you are carpooling. David Sedaris makes a joke about his boyfriend doing “faggy things like picking wild flowers” and all of a sudden you feel uncomfortable sharing a small sedan with a rather conservative 60-year old music teacher. At least he’s not driving and in control of the radio today. Classical music makes great background music, but it certainly doesn’t make 50 miles pass by very quickly. For now, he can deal with some Rhianna or perhaps some Angels and Airwaves.

4:40 pm: The drive home is usually more interesting. You tend to stay awake more whether or not it’s your turn to drive. As you cruise along the scenic Highway 99, you take in the local landmarks. The dilapidated “Chicken Kitchen” just outside of Stockton, the drive-through in Lodi that looks as if it was made of Lincoln Logs and has a sign advertising “Chicken Croissants.” Every time you see that sign you wonder if a comma is missing, but you never stop to find out. Perhaps no one does, as you’ve never actually seen a car in the supposed business. Lodi is a great place to keep your eyes on the sky, as sky divers plummet from an airplane and land what appears to be mere yards from the freeway.

4:50 pm: Ah, a couple of adults are trying to cross 99 on their bicycles. You must be in Galt. Be cautious here. This is a reoccurring phenomenon in Galt. Apparently the bicycle overpass just half a mile down the road is too far for these Galtians. They make it to the center divide before attacking the next two lanes of traffic. You swerve to miss a rotting dog carcass and hope the cycling citizens make there appointment at the tattoo parlor on time.

5:00 pm: If you are taking 5 today, as you sometimes do (depending on the carpool meeting spot), “The Dawn of Civilization” comes into view. This is actually the unimpressive skyline of Elk Grove. If you stop at any of the Elk Grove exits, you will find the civilization here is gray, cement, uninspired and not too impressive. What is so enchanting about Elk Grove is that as you drive North on 5, it magically appears out of nowhere. It doesn’t slowly come into view on the horizon. All of a sudden, it’s just there. Elk Grove is good for two things and two things only: caffeine (there is a Starbucks at every exit) and hope (you know that Sacramento is minutes away).

5:15 pm: You exit the freeway. Praise Allah!! This feels wonderful. Sometimes it feels as if you must have driven from Bakersfield. Other days, few and far between, the drive feels suprisingly short. These must be the days when Ann Taylor has some juicy news from Capitol Hill or Meeeeeshell Norris has a hilarious interview with a plucky old woman living in the Appalachian and complaining about a hive of 4,000 bees living within the walls of her mobile home.

10:00 pm: Shortly before hitting the sack (or passing out on the couch), your significant other complains about “having to get up early.” You know that no words are needed here. Instead, you cast a cold eye on him that immediately puts him in his place. “Oh really?” this look asks, “You have to get up early? Early like seven? Or heaven forbid, early like six-thirty.” Poorly chosen words from your mate. Because God only knows you would exchange him in a second if it meant you could sleep in one more hour.

Share on Facebook

This morning, on our first day back from Winter Break, our class sat in a circle ready to play a game we call “Two Truths and a Lie.” For this morning’s edition of the game, each person wrote down 2 truths and 1 lie about what he or she did over break and then the rest of the class had to guess which statement was the lie. My students know I’ve run several marathons, but I stuck to short and easy runs over the past two weeks, so I was sure my three statements would trick them:

Over break I…
1. Baked a lot of cookies
2. Walked on the Golden Gate Bridge
3. Ran 20 miles

As a my students held up 1, 2, or 3 fingers, Hector, sitting directly across from me on the couch experienced his not-unusual diarrhea of the mouth.

To no one in particular, but loud enough for everyone, he blurted out, “Number three is the lie. Run 20 miles? A woman can’t do that.”

My eyebrows shot a few inches up my forehead while 26 students sucked in a collective gasp (I later reflected upon this and was thankful for their joint shock at the statement.) Rather than rant or rave, I find that a calm seriousness really is most effective and helps everyone to sit up a little straighter in this type of situation.

“Oh really Hector?” I asked. “Women can’t run 20 miles?” At this point I think the class is waiting for some real fireworks. They should know by now, that’s not my style. “I find that interesting,” I continued, “because I myself have done that probably 10 times.”

“Oh…” he sank back into the couch cushions. “Um…is a marathon 20 miles?” he asked, a bit meeker than his first declaration. This is probably when he remembered that I shared with the class that I had run a marathon in Sacramento a month before, one in SF a few months prior, and another when I had them back in fourth grade.

“No. Actually, a marathon is 26 miles. And I’ve done that 5 times.” A matter of fact tone paired with eye contact is really much more powerful than raising your voice.

“And you know, there are women who have run over a HUNDRED miles, at once, without stopping,” I added.

“Oh.” Poor Hector. Maybe the devil is back to speaking to him in his head (see previous note, “Fabulous Student Quotes.”) Or perhaps his parents just need to move a few hundred years forward in time. I suppose it’s better he learns it now from his fifth grade teacher, rather than some teenaged girl that slaps him across the face a few years down the road.

“I guess we won’t be skipping Women’s History Month this year,” I noted. And so we moved on to the week’s spelling words.

Share on Facebook

We were listening to NPR while en route from one S-town to another when they began telling a horrific story of the Mexican drug cartel and a recent spike in gang related murders and violence. The story then focused on teachers at a school that had been threatened by some drug cartel dudes. The guys said they would be returning and the teachers would hand over their Christmas bonuses or be killed. As I listened, I was shocked. Teachers in Mexico get Christmas bonuses? Whaaaaat? I want in on that.

Share on Facebook

I gave up coffee about three years ago. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. Coffee and I had some good times together before the months I found myself lying in bed at night and whining about the stabbing pain “in my heart.” Sadly, I had no fast food to cut out of my diet; I didn’t drink soda at the time; and some specialist used the treadmill stress test to confirm that I had no congenital heart failure. The culprit was the bean. Damn.

I would estimate that I only made it through the first year completely caffeine free. I even gave away my loyal coffee maker. I held on to the French press for nostalgia’s sake. But then I started teaching in Suisun (think Budweiser factory), and feeling the bump of the little yellow dots on the lane line jerk my eyes open every morning during my commute caused me to become a regular of the Dixon Starbucks. (I skipped the drive thru since I felt getting out of the car and walking helped wake me up a bit. It is seriously a miracle I made it through that year without getting in an accident.)

Years two and three were all tea, the occasional mocha, and a far too many soy chais. Expensive and inferior. The taste does not compare and the power of the caffeine is lacking. I have no doubt that my Pepsi addiction never would have come to fruition had I not been starting my day with a drink no darker than my skin tone. Obviously I would fade by noon and be scrounging for quarters.

A few months ago, I decided I would try to get back on coffee. I had an iced coffee in May that gave me that wonderful, overly antsy, jittery feeling which I hadn’t experienced since freshman year of college. So good. In the last few weeks, as the mornings got colder, I went for a few real, honest to goodness cups of coffee, black. Prior to today, I was only able to drink down an inch between the hours of 6 and 3. Nevertheless, that stained cardboard cup provided some comfort just sitting there on my desk. Not to mention the smell. I think the moment I pick up that cup from the Peets counter, my nostrils are immediately filled with the aroma and it lingers—no overwhelms me—so that all I can smell until I shower after my evening run is Major Dickenson’s’ Blend.

I’m sure my former barista amigas will concur that when you work at a coffee shop, you need an entire separate work wardrobe, right down to your bra. The smell of coffee is so fully penetrating and lasting that it only takes grinding one pound of Columbian before everything touching your body is forever tainted with the aroma.

Today I was able to drink down 2/3 of the cup. But by 3:00, my gut was in knots and all I could smell was coffee oozing from my pores, clinging to my hair and to my clothes. In my paranoid state, I had asked more than one person (including a student), “Do I smell like coffee?” I had no happy jitter, just an unhappy stomach that felt like it was suffering from a long night of drinking. As I stepped into my car an hour later, I was hit by the stench of coffee that had spilled all over my lovely upholstery that morning.

And that was all it took. I used to drive coffee catering around when I worked for some horrible independently owned South Davis coffee shop and my old Corolla reeked of coffee. I will not let the same thing happen to my Yaris. Good thing gas prices are down. I’ll be squandering my money on soy chais and afternoon Pepsis once again. Oh well. The smell of coffee is so much sweeter when it is something I’m lusting after and not covered in.

Share on Facebook

I dedicate this to one Mrs. Rivera. Thanks for sharing your Mexican bottled coke and your quarters.

Pepsi. I used to resist and set limits. ‘Only for Wednesday staff meeting’s turned into ‘only two afternoons a week’. That spiraled down into any day that Amelia and I refer to as a “three-quarter day.”

Three-quarter day n. 1. a day following a bad or sleep deprived night 2. a day involving a two-hour long staff meeting or any type of staff development 3. a day that is rough for whatever reason 4. a day that falls in the same week as some sort of deadline. I am so exhausted; I think this is going to be a three-quarter day.

Seeing as I go weeks without a day-off from work, teach fifth grade and set my alarm for 4:50 am, nearly any day can qualify as a three-quarter day. Naturally, this term originates from the change necessary to get a Pepsi from the vending machine in the staff room.

A few months back, I briefly considered getting this habit under control and returning to the soda-free days of yore. While the intentions were good, I had no real motivation to give up the juice. And today I found my justification.

It seems that all the most interesting and successful people have some sort of struggle or addiction they have kicked. Pepsi will be mine. I just need to give it another year or so to blossom into a full fledged addiction so that when I decide to kick the habit, it is that much more significant. I will toast to my improved bone-density with a glass of red wine and think back wistfully on the days I had with that sweet blue can.

Share on Facebook

I love my students and they say ridiculous things everyday. Here are just a few choice quotes (mostly from a boy we will call “Hector”) from last year (fourth grade) and now this year (fifth grade). Names all changed of course. Expect updates.

May 09
Jordan: This clearly states that I have permission to go.
(While turning in a permission slip)

Feb.09
Olivia: You’re getting married?! And you don’t have any kids yet??

Jan.09

Jordan: Ms. Byrns, the odors coming from my body are killing me. Can I go to the bathroom?

Selections from letters students wrote to me about what they have learned so far this year, what they need help with, and what they are worried about

Jonathan:I am also worried about a few things like homework. I also think we need more interacting skills.

Jordan:I’m glad that you are teaching fractions. Now I know how much water I need to our in order to make my own milk.

Hector:The things I learned in class are that if somebody hits you and you hit him back and the yard duty sees it, you get in trouble instead of the person who hit you…

Me: Does anyone know what “good-natured” means?
Jordan: Oh, oh I know! Isn’t that what Democrats are?

Dec.08

Upon seeing a puddle frozen over on the playground
Hector: This is a happy time for little children.

Written in a book review by Jordan:
I don’t recommend this book because it’s not funny like it said in the front cover. It’s more like opera instead of funny. I think this book was made in 800 B.C. AKA Before Comedy.

Written in a report on homeless people by Jonathan:
To them a garbage house (houses made out of cardboard, old food, etc.), is just a regular house that stinks.
And also… Everyone has hidden intelligence, but homeless people have yet to discover their hidden intelligence.

Hector: “Oh! Ms. Byrns got some skills!” (After I successfully bounced my Vitamin Water bottle of the report tri-fold boards into the recycling from a very awkward angle)

Nov.08

Upon noticing that all the book groups in class are reading non-fiction books on the subject of explorers…
Salvador: Ms. Byrns, why are we only reading in the past-tense?

Hector: My happiest time was when my bunny had babies. They all died eventually and we burried them in the backyard….good times, good times.

Me: Any questions about the field trip?
Carlos: Can my cousin come?
Me: How old is your cousin?
Carlos: 21
Me: No.
Hector: Can Obama come?
Me: Obama? Um, yes, but I think he’s busy…and in Chicago.
Hector: Well than can Obama’s friend come?
Me: I don’t know who Obama’s friend is. So, no.

Hector Announced to me, across the entire class as he enters in the middle of a lesson: Ms. Byrns, I can’t sit down because my buttocks are wet.

Written in a fifth grade career report: People who study for four years in college find it helpful but not always necessary to get a job.

Oct. 08

Jordan: I think you should wear your glasses more. You would look more teacherly.

Jordan: I pay attention to all things dark and mysterious…like this chocolate.

While reading about young monarchs, including Mary, Queen of Scotts
Jordan: “Decapitated…I know what that means! Doesn’t that mean she died because she didn’t have coffee?”

Me: Is anyone going to do anything fun this weekend? Hector?
Hector: I’m going to burn some fat!
Me: And how are you going to do that?
Hector: I’m going to run and burn it.

Hector: Ms. Byrns is FEMA a girl or a group? (after reading an article about Hurricane Ike.)

Sept. 08

Conversation with a girl who won the school spelling bee, is at the top of the STAR test scores and is overall intelligent after she got in trouble for asking a boy if his mom knew that he was ugly:
Annie: Um, Nina said that to me about his mom knowing if he was ugly. She told me to ask him.
Me: And you did? You know, many times people have told me to do stupid things and I don’t because I have my own brain and I can think for myself. You need to think for yourself.
Annie: Well I didn’t know that.
Me: You didn’t know what?
Annie: That.
Me: You didn’t know that you’re supposed to think for yourself and use your brain?
A: No.
M: Well now you know.

August 08

Johnathon: If I had your job and had to drive an hour to get here, I would have called in sick at least ten times by now (on the 21st day of school)

April 08

Hector: Ms. Byrns, how many punctuations and capitals do we need to have in the page?

While on the school bus, driving back from a Sacramento field trip, around Lodi and the cows
Brenda: EEWW, It smells like poop! And not in the good way.

Nov. 07

Hector: Ms. Byrns I need to tell you something I’m hearing.
Me: What are you hearing?
Hector: I’m hearing the devil talk to me in my head.
Me: What is the devil telling you?
Hector: He’s telling me to kill God.
Me: Um, okay…

Share on Facebook