Ahhh...the occupational hazards of public education. I may lose sleep over this one.

I advise the high school newspaper, and I have revamped the Journalism course this year. I purchased new textbooks and am determined to bring this class back up to a level of high standard, especially now that our school paper is published monthly in the town paper (it never had been before).

We've been struggling with quality issues. I mean, students would turn in horrible FINAL draft articles...supposed to go print? No WAY! So for this deadline, I wanted to run the articles through the editing process several times. We did a all-class peer editing of the rough draft articles a few days ago, which took two class periods. Then the students made changes, turned them in, and I graded them for the Final Draft score. Then, they made changes again because there were so many corrections. After that, we did another round of peer editing. Keep in mind, this is supposed to be an advanced writing course.

So...I had a student turn in a "Second Final" draft today, and I decided to read it aloud to the class. It was terrible and the class picked it apart. It didn't capture the feeling it needed to. It was supposed to be a feature piece about the ins and outs of wrestling practice, and it ended up being a description of the wrestling room and how the wrestlers...ran. It just fell short of its potential, even though I and other students of the class had stressed that this needed to be a very descriptive, detailed piece.

This student tells me after class that he didn't sign up for Publications third trimester. Deep down, I know that it's the right choice. He really isn't cut out for the type of writing we do. But, I let him know I've appreciated his effort.

Then, I began to wonder...am I destroying self-esteem here? By reading newspaper articles aloud to a class and let them be discussed and critiqued right in front the student? By allowing students to read and comment on each other's work? Soon, it occurred to me that maybe I wasn't trying to rip students apart, but that I was conducting a rigorous class and expecting high writing standards. I think I have to be very particular when it comes to these newspaper articles, because of our very public readership. I can't just let whatever be published.

I do regret, however, making it seem like a open-fire on the student. Perhaps for the next deadline, I will try making enough copies for every student to read and comment on, so that the criticism will not be so public.

I can't leave a child behind, but I must treat them with kid gloves.

Remember that part in Lord of the Rings (ROTK) when Gandalf and Pippin are waiting for Sauron's minions to break down the gate and Gandalf tells Pippin that death isn't so bad...a gray rain turning to silver glass, then white shores and a far green country?

I've paraphrased, naturally, but you true fans will know what I'm talking about. And, those LOTR purists out there will chastise me for misusing Gandalf's "deep breath" line...he says it long before the scene I've described above.

ANYWAY. Onto the point.

It's Sunday night, and I sit in anticipation. The TV is on here at my house, the radio is on, and I have a separate window open to the local radio homepage.

Why?

The Midwest is in the throes of a ice storm!

And I may not have school tomorrow!

Yes, it is that time of year. We all get our hopes up at any sign of bad weather and stay close to our electronic broadcasting devices. We long for the words "two hour delay" or better yet, "school closed". The complete ecstatic bliss of no school.

Some schools in the area here have already closed or announced delays. I'm sure the sadists who run our school will wait until tomorrow morning before making the announcement. Of course, I mean "sadist" in the most friendly, loving, respectful way possible, in case they are reading.

And yet, I am mentally whipping myself for putting myself on this emotional rollercoaster. I *know* we will have school tomorrow. To someone important out there, the weather is not that bad. We can all get ourselves to school safely and on time. But still, hope springs eternal.

Pity those folks who live in warm climates and will never experience this mental up-and-down adventure.

In the manner of Ben Franklin's philosophy of self-improvement through Order, I will give an account of my day so far.

I woke up this morning at 6:35, but proceeded lounge in bed for 25 minutes and got up for real at 7:00. I then got on the computer to work on a project for Master Bennet. I lose track of time at this point - I had a bowl of Rice Krispies, read some of my book club book (Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons), and other indiscriminate activity. The next moment that I am aware of time, it is around 8:40 when I get into the shower.

Right around 9:00 am, I jet over to school to do a bit of lesson planning. I just want to have things set for the week for my freshmen. I'm there about 20 minutes and then I come home, pick up Elliot and Kirby, and we're off the grocery store. I get home about 11:00, put away the newly-purchased foodstuffs, and nuke a Weight Watchers entree (Beef Pot Roast) for lunch.

After lunch, the whole family goes downstairs to work on cleaning and reorganizing of the downstairs. At this time, Kirby decides she wants to start sleeping in her bedroom again (she'd been doing the bunkbed thing with Spencer)...and then Elliot decides he wants to sleep in Kirby's room too. So we haul Kirby's mattress from the bunks to her bed, then we bring Elliot's toddler bed mattress downstairs, plus blankets. Kirby and Elliot then proceed to play with the Lite-Brite for the next hour or so.

I fold some laundry and throw in a new batch. It's time for a break - so I pull out Angry Housewives whilst munching some microwave popcorn and chugging a Black Cherry Vanilla Diet Coke. It's got to be, I dunno, 1 pm. I think to myself, is that it? It's only one? I've done SO much.

After my minibreak, I work on a black cherry Jello cake (is black cherry my theme today or what?), which I have just taken out of the oven. I then proceeded to vacuum all my upstairs rooms, and I'm now in the process of removing the heinous 80's wall border from my bedroom....oops, which reminds me...

OK, I'm back. So...that's been my day in an extremely detailed nutshell. Brent started watching the Iowa State game at one, which I think just went into overtime. Earlier in the day, he did an extensive reshuffling of the kids' toys, which resulted in some fabulous bookcase space.

We have not been out of the house (except for groceries), which is just as well, because it's COLD today. I'm in some sexy gray sweats, and I've just been...what do you call it?...puttering.

What a great word. What a great day.

I have a really weird story to tell. Well, not really weird, I guess. I mean, I definitely can't rank it with alien sightings ans such...but in my corner of the universe...definitely bizarre stuff.

So, I'm home with Elliot yesterday. I have a sore throat and he'd slept horribly the night before, had a temp, and was drooling like Pavlov's dog. So he stayed home too. (BTW, he's two and a half). He wanted to watch Ice Age in the morning, so we did, me laying on the couch, he laying on top of me. A rather nice maternal picture I've got going.

If you haven't seen Ice Age, there's this bit of a tearjerker part where the mammoth and sloth return the baby to his dad. Of course, the father is happy and it's a jubilant reunion moment. The mammoth and sloth turn to leave and the baby makes noises to them, so they return back to say goodbye.

I'm laying there, pretty content, when I hear this big shaky sigh/breath go up from Elliot. When I look at him, there are tears leaking out of his eyes! WTF? Usually, when Elliot cries, it's accompanied by a blood-curdling scream. So I ask him why he's crying. Now, I'm not sure I expect an answer...but he started talking and articulating long before our other two did, so I figure he'll tell me "tummy hurt" or "want milk" or something. He never was able to tell me why he's crying.

Now, naturally, I'd like to think he is precociously sensitive. But, I don't even know if that's possible. I mean, can a 2 1/2 year old respond in such a way to external stimuli? Can he watch a movie and emotionally respond to it? It just doesn't seem feasible to me.

It certainly was weird, I'll tell you. I felt like I'd watched him grow right before my eyes.

Mwahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa!

I'm back.

Last Wednesday, Brent took the puter in for a check-a-roo. The fan was running extremely loud, but the ol' computer techies said there was nothing wrong with the fans. But, three of the capiljdfjoejm-somethings on the motherboard were fried, which is probably why the fan was too loud...it was working too hard to cool the motherboard down. Uhhhhhhhhhhhh....

Hell, I'm going to leave the high-tech mumbo-jumbo to people who really care.

End of story, we went to Best Buy in Des Moines today. Bought a new computer. Big-ass screen. Keyboard is clean. I absolutely love the new "clack" of the keys. I am practically orgasmic. Maybe this means I will have sex with my husband tonight.

B is still hooking things up, so I will be brief. More from me later.