Drill Day

Today we had drill day.
This means leading 1000 student safely out of the building and walking them up the street to St. Mary's church. This is in case of a fire.
Favorite happenings of the day:
"Miss Boman," said Chris. "Do you mind if I walk with you?"
"No that's fine." I kept watching students. "Get off the grass guys. Off the grass. Josh, where are you supposed to be?"
"Off the grass, so I'm stepping from rock to rock."
"Miss Boman, do you think I would ever walk on the grass?" Chris was walking quickly with his arms swinging wide.
"No, Chris, you would never."
"Whoa, look at my water bottle! There's dots all over it. I'm pretending it is a cell phone. 'Hello, is this search and rescue? Hurry, hurry! Our school's on fire!'"
"That's nice, Chris."
"Miss Boman, did you know I love dragons?"
"Yes."
"I'm pretending that it's the dragons who are setting our school on fire."
From behind us, Nick says, "Chris, our school's not actually on fire. We've been doing these drills since first grade. And your shoes are untied."
"Dragons breathe fire, Nick. They breathe it!"
"Dragons aren't real, Chris," demanded Nick.
"Yeah, Chris. Dragons aren't real," repeated Josh.
"You know, Chris," I said a little later. "If dragons were real, I bet they would have breathed fire on our school just to give us an adventure."
"Yeah," he said. "They're pretty cool."

"I hate boys. I've hated them since second grade." ~Kendra (overheard)

"Don't walk on the grass, Nick."
"I'm not; I'm running on it!"

"Your pants are very brown. And look, your shoes are brown. Whoa, so's your tank top. And your hair is, too. Miss Boman, what's your favorite color?" ~Camille

"Here's a secret just for you. Michelle and Grant are b/f and g/f, aren't you just ROFLing?" ~Hayley

In British accents: "Miss Boman, would it be alright if the three of us stayed outside all day? We'd like to have a chit-chat with nature."

"There's a rock in my eye! Get it out! Get it out!" ~Hayley

I conclude that fire drills are fun. Students enjoy them, and teachers don't let students see it, but we enjoy them just as much.

We also practiced a lock down in which we all had to cram into the corner of a class and keep silent until told to do otherwise. Of course, one of the boys always has to fart in a moment like that. After lock down, we practiced a tornado drill. Students file out to the halls, and they kneel on the floor facing the walls with their hands covering their heads, almost in hindu prayer position. My Math team teacher leaned over to me and said, "We call this our plumbers convention."

So that's drill day.

Name Learning

As I went into student teaching in the 7th grade language arts position, I had a goal: learn all 103 student names. I familiarized myself the seating charts, but when Mrs. Bultena switched the seating arrangement their names were all jumbled up again. Two weeks ago I began a poetry unit and in this unit I required students to write some more personal poetry. When they finished each polished poem, they had to check them off with me. It was a lot of work on my part, but each time I saw Emma, I thought of how she lost her sister to a gun shot wound and how she aspires to be a forensic scientist, or when I saw Bailey, I thought of her I Am poem, explaining she's lived in a "posh" lifestyle for most of her life, or I thought of Andrew who memorized his poem (and also had a birthday today).
I suppose it was when I personally decided to look at the face of each student who came to check in these poems that it all connected. I think about a list of names, and they are just names on paper. But now I see that behind the list is a whole group of interesting, fascinating individual seventh grade students. They are each unique. Furthermore, I praise God for knowing them before they were born and for counting the hairs on their heads. How great is He for loving our students long before we learn their names!

Since when did goodbyes become incremental? First you say "Goodbye," truly meaning to let that person go. Then you delete the messages and the texts, the the contact from the contacts list, click "Remove contact" from Facebook, and you "unsubscribe" from Blogger.
Why is it so challenging to let goodbye be goodbye at goodbye?


One of the best songs. Loved it from the time I was seven, listening to Country Gold Saturday Night with Dad in the farmhouse.

How Can I Help You to Say Goodbye?
Patty Loveless

Through the back window of a '59 wagon
I watched my best friend Jamie slippin' further away
I kept on waving 'till I couldn't see her
And through my tears, I asked again why we couldn't stay
Mama whispered softly, Time will ease your pain
Life's about changing, nothing ever stays the same

And she said, How can I help you to say goodbye?
It's OK to hurt, and it's OK to cry
Come, let me hold you and I will try
How can I help you to say goodbye?

I sat on our bed, he packed his suitcase
I held a picture of our wedding day
His hands were trembling, we both were crying
He kissed me gently and then he quickly walked away
I called up Mama, she said, Time will ease your pain
Life's about changing, nothing ever stays the same

And she said, How can I help you to say goodbye?
It's OK to hurt, and it's OK to cry
Come, let me hold you and I will try
How can I help you to say goodbye?

Sitting with Mama alone in her bedroom
She opened her eyes, and then squeezed my hand
She said, I have to go now, my time here is over
And with her final word, she tried to help me understand
Mama whispered softly, Time will ease your pain
Life's about changing, nothing ever stays the same

And she said, How can I help you to say goodbye?
It's OK to hurt, and it's OK to cry
Come, let me hold you and I will try
How can I help you to say goodbye?

How can I help you to say goodbye?

We're headed where?

What's Eating Laurissa Luanne? Wouldn't be a bad name for a sequel to Peter Hessel's What's Eating Gilbert Grape. And here's why, I think: I have no idea where I am headed.
Of course, my goal is first to find a job, and that's a milestone by leaps and bounds. I haven't had a real job for....well....never. I have never had a "real" job, one that I have worked with from year to year and pulled in forty hours a week. But then I think about it further, and I realize, okay it is only a job. And then what? I find an apartment. I find a church. I meet more new people. Again. (Stressful. If you didn't know already, meeting new people is stressful for me). I find a good running route. I set up my bookshelf. I buy a used couch; I buy used everything. I eat cheap. I call home once a week. I visit some friends. I go to a bazillion weddings. I watch the news at night. I read a little. I lesson plan and lesson plan and lesson plan. I continue to write more blogs about the simple everyday life I live and observe. I do all these little things, and I do them because it doesn't take a whole lot to develop a routine and to be who you always were. But when do the big things happen?
Some days I think I'm years behind my developmental level--a developmental level measured in big things. Some days I'm 40, with a developmental level measured by little things. And I have to gauge myself because I have no idea how 22-year-olds ought to act. Or maybe I do, and the fact that I don't understand it all shows that I am truly 22.
I need to get going--do something big for a change. I could say this harshly, and I think I will. I am going crazy in my comfort.
I take a look at the life patterns of those before me, and I ask two major questions: 1) Does life happen to a person? 2) Does a person make life happen? If at my age I were to have lived in the 1930s and 40s like Great Grandma Fannie Ham, my life would have been planned out before me. It seems like everything happened clear out of the blue for her. I suppose if one rule was that by 22 you ought to have been married, those plans would fall in your lap, too. Great Grandma Fannie Ham was married by 22. Grandma was married by 21 (but she was more of a go-getter anyway), and Dad was married the day he turned 19 (!!!). And that's simply marriage. Then you've got the whole kids thing. What comes after that? Oh, professional development. And then? Sending your kids off to live the same life patterns as you. Because we can talk about our husbands and wives and children and grandchildren like every event is a surprise. And just imagine that people who live in these patters and enjoy it never quit caring.
Maybe that's where I have become callous. And I have to ask it seriously: Have I become callous to the goings-on of others?
All I know is that I am on a path that leads nowhere near Great Grandma Fannie Ham, Grandma, or Dad's way of life. I'm busting out something completely new, and maybe not knowing where I'm heading is half the fun. And then again if in years to come, I look back in regret, wishing I had done it their way, I suppose I will have to consider what becomes of the life I ended up living anyway. All these questions make me want to circle them in red and make arrows to a comment that says, "Too many questions. Express as inquiry." But the grammarian inside of me can't mess with the biggest question I have:
Who really knows where he or she is going?

If this is teaching...

I was debating whether or not to post this one. But here goes...
Some of my students live sad lives. It is not that they all go home to alcoholic and abusive parents, it's not even that they have no emotional support beams, and I doubt that their problems come from economically unstable homes.
In fact, they have everything. Every classroom has a Smartboard, their textbooks are updated, they are stocked full of resources. And students have been accustomed to technology and new things because the fact is they live in a place where they expect to be provided for. Most students can expect a meal when they go home. Many can afford to pay the cafeteria full price. Students have cell phones and i-pods.
In light of all their securities, something I noticed from day one, the students in these classes have an overall personality. They are sad.
I know this sadness because they have told me.
One says, "I need to see the counselor," and later, "I'm just depressed, okay!"
Another says, "I can't remain positive writing this 'I AM' poem. I am not happy."
One girl can hide behind her book all day. One young man can crack jokes and punch through doors almost within the same day. One girl's name is Happy, but we know that she isn't happy. One girl never smiles but studies her best. One boy can find the good in others, but never himself. Three girls find it necessary to be mean to one who sits in front of them.
You may say, "So what? They may just have an off day," or, "They're in seventh grade," or, "They'll come around."
But I see them every day. And every day I see the same student in his or her same state. And I don't know all that constitutes each student or whether they are loved or hated, but I see indifference and I see apathy and I see that they are unhappy.
Who are they?
What is my duty toward them?


Yep. Depressing.