All in a day's work...

When meeting anyone new the question always comes up, "what do you do?" I'm not going to lie, I love this question. I don't answer nanny, actress, waitress, or advertising, not that these are bad jobs, but I am happy that I can't give any of those as my answer. Instead, I sigh and say, "I'm a teacher." I don't sigh because I am embarassed of my job, but more for the dramatics.
After uttering those three words I find the reaction quite suprising. Always positive, but very suprising. Some people give a "Wow! That's amazing!" followed by the standard questions of what grade, subject and school, to which more "wow" remarks follow. I don't mean to say this in a mightier than thou sort of way or to give myself a big pat on the back, but I am more supriesed by how quickly people will pass me off as a total martyr and sing my praises... as I stand next to them at a bar with cocktail in hand on a Wednesday night at 11pm. Trust me I have it covered!
Not to say I don't do my job well or work hard or put in far too many weekend hours planning crafty projects and science experiments. But all the compliments makeme feel a bit undeserving. After all, I dont think anyone truly understands all the fun I get to have at work.
First I work with some of the most amazing people ever. Smart, talented, beauiful, and always ready for a laugh. Second, I regularly am privy to animal crackers, rice crispy treats, and Go-gurt...as well as many other treats that make you feel like a creepy child molester if you buy them in the super market. Third, no one really understands how much fun I get to have at work with the kids. Not to say that they don't constantly make me contemplate tying my tubes, but crap they are funny.
In order to help others fully understand my work place I will attempt, over the course of this year, to share as many stories about my lil chichins and the adventures of working with them.
To begin, CJ. This kid has no idea how awesome he is. Standing at about 3 feet 6 inches this little guy knows he is destined for the NBA. His shoulder length hair, Euro-style, and ever-present sweatband are a constant reminder of his strange similarity to Lakers player Sasha Vujackic. CJ wears the sweatband all day with minor adjustments during class and recess time. As the day goes on the sweatband begins to pull his hair up into a sort or mushroom-cloud formation above his head. The only time the sweatband gets removed is during lunch recess when CJ begins to really work up a sweat shooting baskets or chasing the ladies. He then promptly runs up to any teacher nearby and throws her his persperation soaked band. Mega gross but also amazing at the same time.

Creating space

Something strange started happening about a week ago. On a Wednesday in the middle of the night I suddenly out-grew my bunk bed. I found myself waking up repeatedly to the sound of my foot kicking the ceiling light, knee trapped in the blinds, head bumping the ceiling and fist punching the wall. Trapped in an ever-shrinking shoebox I needed to break out.
In assessing my bruises the next morning I fought the idea that I might actually be too big for a bunk bed, and that I really was an adult in an adult-sized body. I contemplated sleeping on the couch, cuddling in bed with Jackie, and even blowing up the airbed on the front porch, but for some reason I just couldn’t contemplate sleeping on the leather, spooning my roommate, or waking up to the neighbors cat on my head.
It was time to have “the” talk. First Jackie… No, she didn’t like the idea of switching rooms and allowing rent to remain fixed. …I just figured she would appreciate the easy access to the restroom and was probably getting lonely in such a big room all by herself. Second, Walt (the landlord)…No, he didn’t think a major renovation to push the wall of my room out into the side yard was necessary….Rats! Left with no where to go but up (literally, into my ceiling) I decided maybe the double pillow top mattress with super soft foam pad and down topper was a little much, and I possibly needed to turn down the princess factor and downsize….
Four hours in the kids section of Ikea with my mom left me with one tantrum about three tears shed and a longing to have been left in the ball pit with the other brats. (For some reason Ikea always seems to be a major test of physical mental and emotional endurance…and quite frankly I just can’t hack it!)
I carried my new mattress tucked firmly under my arm and weighing only about 8 pounds into my house. I marveled at how similar it looked to the one pound backpacking air mattresses my family had once used, and wondered if in fact their was a valve with which I was to blow it up.
It felt good to wrestle the old mattress off of its platform, until I rolled out my new non-inflatable yoga mat. My mom carefully made my bed shifting from the head of the bed to the foot, and side to side meticulously tucking and folding. She finished asking, “What do you think?!” Peeking my head over the foot of the bed I couldn’t help but think of that trick where the magician rips the tablecloth off the table and all the dishes and silverware stay set in their places. Only the Magnificent Nancy could rip a whole mattress off of a bed leaving the pillows, sheets and blankets intact.
Despite drifting off to sleep last night feeling far less like a princess and a bit more like an internment camp detainee I realized perhaps this is a step in growing up. Sometimes the cozy world we are used to becomes a little restricting and we need to give ourselves a bit more space to grow into. (Like six inches more…it makes a big difference!)

The Big Swim

I like doing things. I am a person who gets excited by the thought of getting to tell others about the “things” I have done and am doing. That is the reason I took that hot yoga class even though I hate being hot when exercising. That is the reason I traveled to Argentina knowing nothing about the country except for the verse ‘don’t cry for me Argentina!’ from the Evita movie commercial. And that is also part of the reason to take the intensive Red Cross lifeguard training to be certified to stare at kids as they waded in the 3 foot deep pool at my school. The other reason of course was my boss and the thought that she might put me on her shit list for not “being a team player”. I am the ultimate team player, I am a people pleaser, and I always want them to like me.
The training consisted of three parts: a four-part multiple choice test, rescue strategies, and The Swim. It sounds simple enough, swim to the end of the Hermosa Beach pier and back… in ten minutes! So in the spirit of athleticism I decided to throw on my non-Speedo, kick off my flip flops and give it a try.
I summoned Roger to be my “time keeper”, but really to swim with me and keep me company if I got bored. I also figured I could always blame a bad time on him claiming he was slowing me down.
After taking some time to muster up the courage to “just do it”, I prepared my phones timer (which only took me about 20 minutes to figure out) and tried to rally Roger. Of course he had a business call he had to wait for (typical!) so I was to go it alone. I told Roger to start the timer after I had passed the waves and then he could snooze until the timer sounded and then to give me a wave to let me know when I had ran out of time.
Entering the water I was surprised by how refreshing and not frigid it was. I began my swim grandma style (breast stroke) remembering all the old Russian ladies at the YMCA with their frilly skirts, flowered swim caps and manatee like pace. As I ventured deeper into the ocean I began to fully immerse myself in the great experience I was having.
“I should do this more often!… The water feels amazing!...I am having such a great time!...I LOVE THIS!...I need to do this more often!...Yeah, I’m going to start swimming….I’m going to BE a SWIMMER!!...Every morning instead of a jog I am going to start swimming! I’m going to tell Tia and I bet she will want to swim with me because she is a swimmer!... This is going to change my life! I am going to get a Speedo, but not a swim cap, I HATE swim caps, but I wouldn’t mind a stealth looking onesie!...I am going to have such a rockin’ swimmers body…my arms are going to be ripped!...Ah! I can’t wait to tell everyone I AM A SWIMMER!... Oh look I’m almost to the end of the pier! I got here fast!...Yeah, I swim…”
As I swam to where I felt in-line with the end of the pier a rush of excitement ran over me as I turned around and got ready for the journey back. Taking my first few strokes that excitement turned to all out fear and panic. I realized I was moving backwards gently carried by the same current that had gotten me to this place.
“Uh…fuck…fuck, fuck, FUCK! Am I really moving BACKWARDS?!!! Ok, you’re fine, just step up your swimming game, no more sissy water ballet messing around… channel the inner Phelps. Go, GO, GO, POWER! Shit I still don’t think I’m moving, I’m such a crappy swimmer! Did I even pass this test last time I did life guard training? I think they just passed me. Crap! You know I shouldn’t even be out here by myself, I am such an idiot! No, No, I wouldn’t be out here by myself if it wasn’t for Roger and his stupid iPhone…Fuck Roger, this is all his fault, he is such an asshole! This is why we broke up! He is such an ass and he’s not swimming with me! Fuck him, I hate you Roger!...Wait, maybe you can see me out here in the ocean, and if I give a little wave maybe you will swim out here and help me back….Crap you can’t see me, I can’t even tell a ten year old boy from a ten-hundred pound woman on the beach at this point!...Maybe the lifeguard will see me, they should be watching the water after all right? International HELP signal! Hellooooo! Do you see me?!!!!!! Of course you don’t, why would you…It’s only your job! Idiot! Crap, crap, crap!...This is going to be how I die. I am going to just drift farther and farther out into the ocean and the lifeguard won’t notice me, and Roger will be on his stupid phone, and I am going to drown….if I don’t get eaten by a shark… What the hell was THAT!!! Did just see something under me?! Maybe a fish… I hope it’s not a fish…maybe just a reflection….Okay, well I can’t just die without trying! Just, keep, swimming. Yeah. Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming!... I swear, if and when I get back I am never going in the ocean again! I am a shitty swimmer and I am never going to go in the ocean, ever! I will have to tell Ms. Mar that I can’t pass my swim test and that I no longer want to be certified, and I’ll just pay her the money she paid Tia. I hate swimming!...This sucks! …. Hey!... I’m almost half way down the pier!! Heck YES! I’m almost there!... Just keep swimming!...Just keep swimming!”
Approaching the waves I saw Roger walking down the beach toward me encouraging me to swim harder. Again, I was filled with excitement at the thought that I might actually make it in ten minutes even thought I was in the water for what felt like an hour. I swam harder and harder, finally jogging up to Roger.
“What’s my time?!” I panted
“Twelve minutes! Almost! So, wanna go for a swim?” Roger asked brightly.
“Yeah, sure.”