Vacay!

We're actually doing this! Two of my friends and I finally came to an agreement on a date and location and today we booked our vacation! We are headed to the Bahamas, via a cruise ship, in early August. I am so excited! I haven't been on a summer vacation in 2 years. For quite awhile, I have been begging my friends to let me head up the planning on a vacation for the summer. These friends aren't teachers like me, so it's harder for them to schedule their time off, especially in the summer when everyone wants time off. So this is the summer that it all came together. We made the final decision last night...two of us were in for sure, and our other friend needed a push. We were delighted when she gave in! Then we all stood there and put vacation conditions on each other. Yes, conditions. I mean we are 3 independent women in our 30s. We are pretty set in our ways and we know each other all too well. So, S needs to work on her attentiveness and time management before the cruise. "Lisa" needs to work on her rigidity (is that a word?), and according to the other two I need to work on my moodiness. Hmph! What moodiness? I think I need to work on my tan! So the countdown begins, and I couldn't be happier!

Last Day

Anyone who knows me, knows that I say the same thing at the end of every school year: I love this class, and I am going to miss them the most. This statement has never been more true than it is this year. I mean, look at them (nevermind the fact that it's probably all kinds of illegal to have their pictures up here without permission). They are probably my favorite class in all the ten years that I have been teaching. I've been tearing up all week. And the other day I warned them that I would cry on the last day of school. I told them if they didn't cry on the last day of school then I'd be mad (hee hee). I told them to go home and practice. They asked all week what we were going to do on the last day of school. I told them we would go to an assembly from 9:00 to 10:30, have recess, get ready for lunch, go to lunch and finally, cry our eyes out after lunch until the bell rang to go home. So you'll appreciate that one of my students asked early this morning, "Miss Martin, are we crying after first recess, or after lunch recess...I can't remember." So sometime after lunch I sat down to say my goodbyes and I lost it. And by "lost it" I mean sobbing so hard that I had to put my face in my hands to control myself. They couldn't make out a word that I was saying. Finally, I raised my head up I saw the looks on their faces. A few of them were crying as hard as I was. I told them I loved them, that I would miss them terribly and that I was afraid that the second the bell rang they were going to walk out the door and forget all about me. Twenty-five little voices, in protest, said, "We could never forget you!" Ten years later, I KNOW that I am in the right profession. Nothing else, no presents, no treats, no nothing makes this job more worth it than to hear kids say they love you and that they will always remember you. Here's to Miss Martin's class of 2007-2008! May we always remember each other!

Other Option

I guess I never had it in my head that the Jazz losing could be an option. How very disappointing. You know who the real winners are? The refs. They can pretty much choose any team they want and help them win. You know they're biased. Anyway...Go Celtics!

If Downhill Equals Nosebleed, Then That's Where I'm Headed

Alright, many of you will think I have the capacity to write about only two subjects: School kids and The Jazz. Well, with only 17 days of school left, and being smack in the middle of NBA Playoffs, what else is there to write about? I don't have any new school stories. You guessed it. This one is about The Jazz. I have a ticket to Friday's game. YEEHAW! Yep, I'm going. And it's either the game to hold on, or the game that wins it all. You know I'm hoping for the latter. Because, COME ON! Who wouldn't want to be a part of THAT?

Heaven Help the Space Program

We did a project at school the other day that involved the kids making paper dolls of themselves depicting who or what they will be in 20 years. I asked them the write their names and occupations on the back of the dolls before turing them in, so that I could write that information on a tag that I would tape next to the dolls when I hung them out in the hall. As always, some kids don't listen or follow directions very well, and inevitably E was one of those kids.

Me: (holding up the doll for E to see) E, I can't tell what your doll is, and you didn't write it on the back. What are you planning on being in 20 years?
E: Well, I don't know what they call it, but when I grow up I want to be the first person to walk on Saturn's rings. But, if that's too much for you to write, Miss Martin, you can just go with astronaut.
Me: Umm, yeah. I'm just going with astronaut.

The things this kid comes up with astounds me. You may remember his theory on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. being assassinated with a light saber. This kid is either going to be the next Einstein or the next Unabomber.

It's All Downhill From Here

Friday night. The game was incredible. The Jazz killed it! We were so lucky (and so spoiled) to get those tickets. Free parking pass, dinner in the sponsor room, 18th row seats and snacks at halftime. I'm not sure I could go to another Jazz game without all of those perks! (Who am I kidding...I'd watch them from the nosebleed with not so much as a piece of gum for a snack!)
Above is the anatomy of our evening told through pictures.

#1 -- Who's that guy with the long, white socks? HOT.
#2 -- Connie and I are just happy to be out on a Friday night (even if our companionship was that of two 13 year old boys).
#3 -- Halftime at the sponsor room...Jake and K.J. think they are GANGSTA! Oh, boy...
#4 -- Ok, so Connie and I think we are, too!
#5 -- The ride home. Period.

It's Game Day!

That's right, folks! It's game day...Jazz game day! My brother-in-law was gracious enough to give me tickets to tonight's game. All I have to do to repay him is haul two thirteen year old boys with me. Done. Did I mention the seats are on the 18th row? Eighteenth. Row. Potentially close enough for me to throw myself directly at Kyle Korver.