We all dress accordingly: a bit of flamboyance a bit of sincerety.

When all is said and done, and the ring has come completed; we are ready for a new school year.
Grades have been set, we got the results of a long season's hard work and the only thing we look forward to is the vacation we get, knowing no long list of handed in files will have to be graded during nights and weekends.
This is when we fall apart, regain composure and slowly find the excitement to get started anew.
We have exams every year, sometimes it is more draining to us, than it is to the students.
Hope, nerves, excitement and disappointment, all at the same time, do take its toll.

To celebrate all of this, and to celebrate those of our coworkers who leave, for whatever reason, and those who have had an anniversary, we have one last gathering and then a big lunch.

The fun, unexpected twist this year, was a concert by the artist Tommy Fredvang. We knew he had been entertaining at the graduation ceremonies, and rumor had it he was ever so cheeky about our principal's red pants. Which we love!, by the way, but which we understand can catch anybody off guard. (I love that even more!) To me, those pants represent us as a school and staff. We are teachers.

Anyway, we understood fairly early on that this was going to be a concert with the theme "love lost".
Which could have become a mushy seance, but added a healthy portion of irony, sarcasm and jokes became a rather enjoyable time.

I just couldn't stop myself from thinking how young he is. Quite pleasant to look at, and fairly well dressed always helps. He appeared not too flamboyant, and not too sincere... just a healthy combination of the two. But to me he was first and foremost just very young. And funny.

Love takes many forms. Some times we mistake other affections and excitements for a romantic kind of love.
This summer I have been married for 24 years, to the same man. (Maybe he being away so much has something to do with that. Maybe it is all his credit, but we are still a couple.)
Back then I was young, and perhaps funny. And I thought that love would stay young, and new, as well. I thought that as long as I chased for forever living in delightful bliss, our sensation of being in love would be kept alive.
It doesn't.

I was fortunate to fall in love with my future husband in spite of a lot of things: it was 1986 and the cool guys had long hair with perm... among other strange fashion features. His hair was down to his waist, and yes: he, unlike me, had hair which took to perm very well! Today he has no hair at all... it is safe to say he has nothing but improved with age.

Through time, changes, weight and sickness he loves me. Some days in the quiet way, which holds no other joy than the assurance he accepts I have major flaws. Other days he is proud to be at my side.

Anyway, Tommy (I find that someone trigging that kind of soulsearching pondering must accept being called by his first name) sang and played one cheesy, sad lovesong after another. Very sentimental, and as it turned out fit for food for thoughts.

It was a great concert, regardless his theme.
Maybe it was his ongoing comments about our principal's pink pants. Maybe it was his honest sound with vocals and acoustic guitar, no room for hiding any notes out of key(... he had very few).
Perhaps it was his cover version of Ed Sheeran's Thinking out loud, maybe it was "Vampyrane", "Love is running low" or maybe it was my slight disappointment he didn't perform any Justin Bieber song... I mean, anyone who can bring Wham's old hit "Careless whisper" into a new and enjoyable era, can make decent music worth listening to, of anything musical, which has been wrecked before.
I would rather enjoy that, I think.

There is a good chance he thought we would be square and boring. Well, for anyone who hasn't encountered a crowd of teachers outside the classroom, I tell you a secret:
Square and boring just doesn't cut it. If you want to be a good teacher you need to be a bit of everything and everybody.

We were so happy it's last day at work we laughed just he asked how we were doing.
But on any everyday we are updated, easy going, good... no: great! at what we do and how we perform our work. We are firm, yes, yet we listen, show respect and show lenience. Our best feature is variety, and down the list of character treats you should have as a teacher you will find: remember variety is spice of life.

We deal with both hard working, serious students who strive to get good results and achieve both understanding and knowhow, and we deal with rascals who have spent years of their life to learn how to appear careless.
No day is boring, even though some days are hard.
(Some days, I admit, I hope one or two don't show up, just because I am tired... but they always show. And I love that about them.)
At one point Tommy wondered what we did to our students, who chose to stay behind, talking for hours, after the graduation.

We put on a show every day, and in that respect we are much like artists. The core is: We care. We show them that it matters to us they do well. And by doing well, I don't mean they should get top grades; I want them to become the best version possible of themselves. That is a form of love as well.

And we are not afraid to dress accordingly our job. With flamboyant sincerity.

another Monday

Monday...

Last Monday, was one of those days when I just should have stayed in bed. Not because I was tired or anything, but simply for the sake of others.

I was in such a terrible mood, annoyed at everything and everyone, and it's so easy to find defects in everything from the fruit basket in the kitchen, to the boss at work.

And no, I couldn't blame it on "the time of month", which funny clowns at work suggested. They won’t do that again, as I gave them an excessively loud and lengthy discourse about gender discrimination, and modern feminism; Fully deserved! (Oh, yes! did that ranting off feel good!)

It's just that some days everything’s just wrong. You just know it before you uncoil from the sheets, and get up.

Mood, and state of mind, was close to depressed, my body felt exhausted, my hair looked like a haystack seriously neglected and I suspect I was wearing an uneven pair of socks. They were both white, but one reached a little farther up the leg. It's possible it happened during laundry, but I think I just slipped up when I sorted, paired and folded them.

Even the coffee on Statoil tasted wrong. The cup of coffee I refill at the gas station every morning, on my way to work, usually is pure elixir of life. Monday it was just like an acidic brew.

The only revigorating happening was that the car started.

My son's car didn't even though we started it on Sunday ... with cables, and with the neighbor (a mechanic) as delighted spectator. He thinks that my great fear of being electrocuted is hilarious! I am happy to amuse him, but I must say it felt somewhat humiliating when he pulled out his cell phone to film me putting one clamp on the battery and the other one on the chassis.

Anyway, I came to work in a terrible, lousy mood, and while I was at work waiting for internet to work, so I could get some reviewing done, unsuccessfully I may add, the notion came over me that there is a good chance the whole world is against me.

Sun made an appearance and showed off the winter dirty windows and lit up a sparkling ray of dust that hung in the room.

I daydreamed about a walk in the woods.

It was like nothing got done, so I figured that to cheer myself up, I should write a list of everything I have to be thankful for. Had I been in a good mood, the list would have been long and creative, now there was only one statement: Weekend is coming up soon! And this optimistic and motivational phrase I wrote down a Monday!

There are many reasons why days sometimes feel off and louse, and strictly speaking it is quite normal to have bad days. It doesn't have to be me there is something wrong with, sort of. Life is, after all, a rollercoaster of impressions and feelings, so things goes a little up and then a little down. You know, like it should. You can't taste the sweet if you don't know the sour or bitter.

It's just that... sometimes the lows are just overwhelming and feels neverending, the bad days come around more often and last longer. Eventually I somehow don't hold any big expectations that something good will happen.

Therefore, I have compiled some great tips online about what one can do when one is in a bad mood, to get in a better mood:

to socialize > meet friends

Excellent tip! If you have friends who are patient enough to bother try cheering you up at all hours. I have such friends! but I get so guilty knowing they are wasting a whole lot of time and energy thinking about me and my petty issues, I just crumble up inside.

So I spend the last two hours we are together apologizing I am such a bad friend. And then I feel even worse because the longer I listen to my own voice, the more excruciating I know my friends' night gets.

They're going to have a lot to talk about tomorrow ... and thinking about that doesn't make things better ... I know they will text each other, and others, with sighs and groans and the lamentable story of my puny person.

think through why you are in a bad mood / rectify the situation which causes a bad mood

If I knew why I'm in a bad mood, it wouldn't be a problem. Then I could have dismissed the whole thing as not important. In many ways I'm lucky to have my priorities in order. I know what's important in my life, and strictly speaking it's certainly not often important people in my life makes me crabby.

Things and situations, the yearning for a dream or memories I never got to experience; Those things can make me despondent and yes, straight out sulky.

training / go for a hike

Of course I know that you have to eat right and stay fit in order to be a healthy person. It's of crucial importance for state of mind and mood to get out and exercise; however, time is an issue here.

That said, I'll be honest. Last Saturday there was glorious weather. The sun was shining and the temperature outside was not pleasant, but quite nice. There was no wind and the whole atmosphere was like a touch of spring. Marvelous!

I did not go for a hike.

I could and should have gone for a ride on my bicycle with my son, I should have gone for a long walk with the dog, I missed the opportunity to post gorgeous pictures, like most of my facebook friends did.

But I didn't.

Instead I charged the scary, enormous pile of dirty clothes, towels and sheets with purposefully stifled; clothes were sorted, washed, tumbled, hung, folded and put in place, gradually, throughout the day and evening. I made a great Sunday dinner and cleaned the kitchen. I sat nestled in the new, yellow IKEA chair and read a book, and then it was suddenly evening and dark and the glorious day was over.

There was time to exercise, I had the opportunity too, but it was just that other stuff  was given priority. Chores that otherwise in a week is not done as systematically and thoroughly as I would like. I just needed to get rid of that  dark cloud of guilt which hovers over every day. Reading fiction I take almost no time for, even if it is pure mental hygiene.

At work, even if I depend on being present in the present with the students, my working day is so full of moments that go snowballed, that much of the time my mode is on autopilot.

There are always new classes, rooms and time. Here the classes have their own classroom, and teachers move between classes. I wish I had my own classroom.

Some days just flies by, with the help of nice and funny teenagers. Other days, like today, there is only negativity. Everything is "crap" and analysis of the short story is a true ... well, nothing good anyway.
It takes so much energy and effort to not be angry and mad at the wrong person.

It's not their fault that I'm not in a good mood, but their unwillingness to work in class on the tasks given does not exactly help my mood. Maybe it was me who ruined their day. I can never know, but no, it does not help to be officious today. It only adds reasons for my bad mood.

Listen to music

Later. On my way home I listen to the radiostation P4 and the show "King Of Pop" and laugh at the participant who fails the three artists. I will go shopping for groceries, and go home and make another 20-minute dinner while playing music full blast. Then I think I'll be happy again, maybe.

Music tends to help with anything that is not in order. The best therapy in the world is to lie on the floor while the music is pounding, and feel the rhythm, tones, words and mood wash over me.

cry 

I rarely cry. Most often it is when I see or hear something that moves me. It has almost never happened that I've cried because I have hurt or feel sorry for myself. Guess I have a good life. 

Oh, now I think about what a good life I have, and how difficult many others got it, and it makes me feel unreasonable for not being satisfied. You know, happy and satisfied because life has actually given me gifts like a good man, fine children, a good home, love, laughter, arranged finances ... everything just adds to the favorable feeling of having accomplished something.

Gratitude gives happiness and better handling of stress, they say.

comfort food

I belong to the club who believe that chocolate helps heal everything! Absolutely everything! But after eating lots of chocolate I feel so guilty that I put unrealistic plans on how to jog down the sidewalk with a happy dog ​​...

And then I remember that I do not exercise ... and then I think about how the scales never really has been my friend, and I turn both untrained and friendless with a guilty conscience ... inside my head, mind you, but that's where I feel the mood best, after all.

... And then days passed by, and every time I opened my blog to complete this post, I was totally disheartened and uninspired, for whom bear to just focus on the negative all the time?

To just see problems instead of challenges is not really me!
Actually, I'm the one who has realized and live by the rule: Wherever you are in life, thatit is the right place to start the continuation. It may be something better, different, new or something you put aside, and planned to pick up again later, sometime long ago.

Sometimes it just requires a little more planning, or willingness to implement even though you really do not have the energy. That's actually when you really need the satisfaction you feel afterwards, when you took that 40-minutes walk around the block.

Okay, so the sun shines out there today, and things got a little brighter (apart from my windows, I honestly am really disgusted by them!).

It's Sunday, and I'm thinking that Monday morning is quite OK, after all.

And now I'm humming as well. Guess internet was right: music did do the trick!

Listen to him telling

At work we some times get the pleasure of listening to lectures, held by very competent people. They tell, update and demonstrate the art of telling a story.

We do have expectations to most things, and people, we relate to. The things we see, hear, feel and experience. Teachers can be a demanding audience, not many get away with their performance getting a heartfelt applauce.

Some time back we were given a lecture by a famous writer, artist, humorist, stand up comedian. He is also an actor and cabaret performer.

He was talking about classic literature and sense of humor.
Views were presented which introduced us to new and different perspectives on pulp literature, politicians, humorists, authors, culture and other so called high end cultural performances and publications.

It's funny how we really thought we had curriculum under control, and it turns out there is an important side to it all, the aspect which we discovered ourselves, but which we need to introduce to our students because that aspect is what makes culture entertaining. Some where along the way we forgot how outrageous, scandalous and still valid good literature is. And since we, who are experienced, skilled and fast readers take all of this for granted, we totally forgot it's not self evident to young teens.

Imagine to be so well-informed and reflected that you still remember what it was like to still be in the process of discovering the world and everything in it. How great it must be to be both conscious and confident about what you are saying, and then present it so effortlessly.

The way he read, in his tone, accent and stress was such an inspiration. And while he read, lectured, talked and made comments upon seriousness in a flourishing language, without belittleing it by using four-letter words, he awoke an understanding and associations I had long forgotten about.

At one point during his captivating loquaciousness it hit me how hard it must be to be a true humorist. I don't think humorists really want to be humorists. I think they would really like to be artists or authors.
True humorists master the art of Shakespearean insults: Insults disguised as poetic wordings, but with a solid core of harsh truth; When you can say anything without attacking people at a personal level, and yet there is a reprimand picked up by who ever the shoe fits.

It's the art the skalds and court jesters mastered. We tend to think about them as foolish and ridiculous, but the truth is they guided their chief or king in ways, and in matters, noone else dared.

I believe anything can be said, to just about anybody, as long as you say it the right way.
I am not good at talking. It doesn't come naturally to me to captivate an audience by the sole force of my storytelling skills.
However; being aware of this I can prepare to give good lectures and hold good meetings.

Funny how I am said to be an excellent people person in spite of this, but I think that is because I know the art of listening.




,

When good tales are told.

Life is full of those all too familiar ups and downs. Situations we experience, see or hear about that create the everyday stories we remember for a short time. They turn into tales we tell to get sympathy or to make someone laugh. Sometimes we tell them to cause a bit of drama, other times we tell them to support someone, which may lead to the terribly unfortunate episodes of slander travelling across minor, or major, parts of people and area.

Sometimes the stories make an impact, other times they are just food for swift entertainment.

I am not good at telling stories, never have been. I can't even tell a joke properly. 

Actually I write a lot better than I tell, which is a strange perplexity to both me and others when you think about the nature of my profession: being a teacher.
A teacher should be good at telling stories.
A teacher should be able to get the students interested in any topic, just by adding "fun facts" and stories related to the topic.
A teacher should trigger all the knowledge a student has, which can be linked to, and fill in gaps, which they achieved on different arenas in the past. School is not a separate department apart from the rest of your life.
School is part of your breeding and growth, a compliment to all the other experiences and knowledge that you  acquire through life.

I often get students who claim they don't know English. They can't speak it, they can't write it. Of course it's just nonsense: they chat while gaming online, they listen to music with English lyrics, sing along even, they watch a lot of movies and they speak English when travelling abroad. But they think this is something different than the English they are supposed to perform in school.

Often my job is to push the right buttons and trigger their understanding of English and Norwegian  as English and Norwegian, and not English versus school English and Norwegian versus school Norwegian.

I try, it's not that I accept my shortcoming and admit to failure, but I trust my students to carry the story on and add the remarks and catchy associations. It works. It works the minute you make them pay attention.

Yesterday we had Global Dignity Day here at our school. HRH crown prince Haakon Magnus visited, and it was a surprisingly pleasant experience.

That too culminated in stories. Not mine, but the students' stories about what they understood dignity to be all about.
They told about everyday situations in which they had contributed to somebody else's dignity. Or when somebody else contributed to theirs.

We heard about young talent, making the wrong choices, siblings with extraordinary challenges because of some diagnose, we heard about hospitality, kindness to strangers, arrival to a new home country... the stories were many and ever so warm and told with heart.

Listening to them I was rather proud how their everyday, little stories showed what material these youngsters are made of. The stories they carried with them, and told with such shyness, defined dignity in brilliant ways.
Makes me think their tales of everyday life will improve in the future, just like good wine.

Taken ill the sorry way

Feeling very sorry for myself right now. I thought I had a cold, but that can't be right... not the way I feel, and for how long I've felt this way: I am sure I've got a flu. And it's bad. I am usually spared from tummy bugs, and I boast and behave overbearing when my coworkers have sickness absenteeism, but I am really not good at being sick myself. Actually I think I am perhaps the worst patient ever; I whine and moan and tell everybody polite enough to listen... or pretend to listen. I'm comforted either way.
I have barely any patience with sulking hypochondriacs myself, so I know they are far nicer to me than I deserve. Today I am well enough to realize that.

A week ago, on Saturday, I felt at unease, Sunday I got terrible muscle knots in my back and a temperature. I was pretty ok as long as I didn't move at all. I wasn't pretty ok much; those who live with kids know that staying immovable is not always an option... in fact: it's not an option at all.
I took a lot of muscle relaxing painkillers that day, not too many, mind you, but I maximized recommended amount of all the pills and mixtures I could find.

Monday I had a headache. My eyes were red and puffed and I looked as if I had cried my eyes out... all day. My students took one quick look at me and worked with their tasks in the most devoted way. They display lovely empathy some times.

To minimize the alert factor and avoid students asking too many questions I powdered my face regularly. As a result I looked as if I was wearing a strange mask falling off in layers and flakes. To be honest I'm not sure it improved my appearance any, it is possible I looked worse.

Yesterday I clogged up and my head felt like a pressure tank unable to explode. The outside world sounded muffled and wrapped in cotton, but inside my head I could hear these loud creaking noices and the sound of bubbles popping inside my nose. Much like thick ice breaking on a lake.
I used any remedy found in the medicine cabinet, and then some home remedies suggested to me in what must have been my friends' desperate attempt to shut me up. It was a quest of finding a cure allowing me to breath without gasping for air.
Something, or everything, or the combination of it all, and perhaps some time, must have helped.

Today I feel fine! A week of agony is over! I find myself cursing every day I feel great and take it for granted.
My coworkers greeted me good morning when I arrived for work this morning, like they do every morning, and when I greeted them back I got standing ovation.

What I think it's like to be a teacher.

Not me wearing it on the picture, but yes;
this is my brown leather jacket.

I guess my personality is not the prototype which first comes to mind when people think about "the teacher". I wear my black leather jacket almost every day, unless it's too cold: On cold days I wear my brown... and always heals. I am in the progress of getting my driver's lisence for heavy motorbike, and some of my jeans have holes in them.

I am so distracted that I understand how i some times cause confusion, but I admit my "out-of-the-ordinaries" and mistakes; I am not afraid to say "I'm sorry". In addition I am not good at being strict or angry. I laugh too much, sing off key and am lazy.
I know the list of my shortcomings must be a lot longer, but these were the ones which came to mind as I sit here writing.

However: as a teacher the story is a completely different one. In my private life I may be one step behind; as a teacher I know I am one step ahead. I have to be. Otherwise you do not last long in the classroom. Or, I guess you can, but I always thought that if you wake up in the morning and dread the day ahead of you, every morning, you really need to make some changes.
I used to master an academic language, but when I teach I start the school-year by avoiding 4-syllable words, and even though I once learned them, most of my professional language is out the window.

While writing this, my mind started disputing the ongoing thoughts I have about me staying in the classroom. I completed an MBA almost three years ago. I should have made a greater effort to put my education and qualifications to use. The thing is, though; it is so hard to build my confidence in what I can actually do. Or rather: How to get across to companies and boards that I may not have a title to support my experience in leadership, but I execute advanced leadership fairly ok every day, regardless my title not really implyin I do.

Funny thing, though; I have former students who settle down, get a family and buy homes in my neighborhood. With no exception they always get surprised finding out I am not a teacher 24/7. They comment upon how different I am in private.

As teachers we have a robot-side of our personalities. The rules, the demands and the restrictions we impose on our students may some times come across as unfair or just silly. However, we never have rules with no purpose. There is always a reason to why.
I strongly believe that to introduce restrictions you have no intention of following through do more damage than good. There are plenty of other issues to pay attention to.

In class I am in control, at home I have kids and a dog with lots of energy, and they only behave and follow my instructions when they want to. Now, I have to admit they most often make me very proud by wanting to, I have to give them that. But that might be because I don't tell them to do much.
Another thing is that we all have our talents. If you ignore your talent and make a living doing something you are not good at, that can't be even the slightest fullfilling. Doing that must feel like living in a vast void of losing yourself slowly and steadily.

A lot of the teenagers who come to us have never followed any borders or restrictions. They get away with doing their own thing whenever they want to. Gaming through the night is something we constantly have conversations with parents about. They often look at us with a startled face when we suggest they cut internet at a set hour. It's like as if the thought never crossed their mind, or they find it unthinkable because it will cause turmoil. Of course a 16-year old will have a tantrum if he/she is used to be online at all times, but that is part of being the adult in a family: to protect their kids from themselves and bad choices and arrange circumstances which help them be the best version of themselves. Our job is to prepare them for a good and healthy working life. Staying awake at daytime is always a good start.

I tell them "no, there is no room for negotiation", or I say "yes, let's do that!"
So many just lower their shoulders and relax when they don't have to spend time wondering what I actually said. And to my surprise they feel relieved when choices and decisions are made for them. Some times they have just been caught in bad habits. Habits they don't really want to keep up, but can't find a way out of. Some times I even explain my "no"s.
When weekends become the ones a week event it's supposed to be, most of us are a lot more content than if we just float on an ongoing stream of being "could have done better".

Everything used to be so much better. The kids are getting worse.
I don't think so. Yes, they are opinionated but they are also a product of society and my generation: the parents. I some times feel it unfair to blame it on the young ones.

Today we force adulthood upon children. How we dress them, what activities they participate in, how we put adulthood into their being by calling development of personality and growing up clinical words which strongly resemble adult activities. It's no secret I oppose strongly to the expression "children's sexuality". Why should getting to know your own body as a child have something to do with sex?
To me sexual activity is something which is only allowed between consenting adults. Our body is the only single thing we can choose who we give it to, and we should allow the next generation to have that privelege too.

It amazes me sometimes how we see the kind, thoughtful, smart person they just can't seem to see themselves. They have already failed too many times. They hide behind acting out, a terrible language and a face showing they don't care. Thing is, though, they do. But we sometimes forget to show and tell them how to do, how to talk to get their message across and how to act so they can be taken seriously.
Ones a young person decided they don't care, and they actually don't care, you will be challenged.
They've had 16 years of rehearsing stubbornness. It's tough on them because so have we.

As an adult and a teacher I have to tell them "stop". Not because of the sake of stopping them, but to help them take time out and think the options through. You always have a choice. The options might not be what you wished for, but the choice is there.

I am extremely patient as a teacher, even more than I am as a mum.
Thinking about it I don't think they will ever come across more patience in their entire lives. We all are, at least my coworkers on my team. To be this patient is very time consuming, but at the end of the day very rewarding. Some times I am very proud of my coworkers just because of that. Thinking about it I am always proud of them: they do a great job.

And then we have a curriculum to teach.

Teaching for the longest of times.

There are days which seems to fly by like a breath of goodwill and calm cooperation, and then we have those days which feels like a long and steep uphill climb. Everything is a struggle, even those few meters from my desk to the classroom. The other day was one of those defying days. In addition I had an incident in a classroom.

The incidents I face are varied. Let’s say I instructed the students not to open their laptop (all my students have laptops, it is obligatory for them, and part of curriculum, to use them as a tool). Because they were watching a film, and I really wanted them to get what the movie was about. I hardly ever show my students films, basically because they’ve already seen most, and it is hard to make them concentrate for 90 minutes. Even though they love to watch movies, I get the impression they don’t really watch the movies anymore; they multitask and keep the movie in the background, watching like 4 seconds here and there, just often enough to get an outline of the contents. Funny, exciting, thrilling, epic and sad moments are missed out on… and they don’t really care.

Anyway, what if two of the students didn’t care to follow my instructions. They started up their laptops, plugged in their earplugs and watched music videos. So I told them to leave the classroom. Not because they were disturbing anyone, but because I had told them. You see where this is going? This is the run-up to the battle of strong will. I have learned, not by nature but by classroom management, never to yield and back down. That being said: I also choose my battles carefully.

What if they refused to leave… I would stop the film and wait for them to leave… which they won’t. The rest of the class will be waiting, silently, eyes flickering between me and the patient young man who stands his ground. (It never fails, it’s like they are anticipating, waiting for the outcome of who has the stamina to follow through) Time passes by, minutes by minutes. Oh, what an agony: Time passes by soooo slowly when you are waiting, I usually feel like just to give in but then again I know I shouldn’t.  

Instead I would take the rest of the class with me to another room to watch the end of the movie. This time the two self-confident teens, sure to win the battle, tag along. When I refuse to let them in, one of them leaves, but the other one just didn’t budge; he wanted to stay in class (of course he did, my classes are always like stairways to success and a lot of monkey tricks involved… not. Emphasizing various learning aptitude, you know… right.)

To make things worse (when I get annoyed things go bad immediately) he had not learned what he should have picked up by now: Learn when it is ok to shut up and keep quiet. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. That last comment had to be said out loud.

First he told me to f___ off. My immediate response was “Excuse me? What did you say?” He didn’t answer, so I challenged him and told him to be brave enough to own his words. (I wasn’t nice, I know.) Then he complained it wasn’t fair he had to suffer just because I got my “monthly” and was smitten by pms.

Sometimes they are too proud, and they choose the wrong cases to demonstrate their own free will.

It was rather uncomfortable for a while, but I am never angry for long. Sometimes it is a problem to hold on to the state of temper, especially when it isn’t a lot to gain from it. Anger, annoyance and such is really a waste of time. Either you deal with it, and straighten the situation out, or you forget about it. We had a calm talk an hour later, and it was over and done with.

Thing is: they forget I have been in a classroom for far too long to back down. I may come across as nice, but I have it in me to be a bitch. And when it counts, no one is as stubborn as I am.

Right now I feel I am too old for this. I shouldn’t have to deal with teen hormones and personal problems. I shouldn’t have to raise them to be responsible adults. Dealing with their inroads and tantrums, often caused by other impact than what they experience in school.

There is a lot one can say about being a teacher. It is a profession which very likely becomes a lifestyle, a lifestyle of constant awareness.

There is one thing, though: It is NEVER boring. The entertainment value is sky high! And yet: it is like as if we are chewing bones for the students who try to figure out life. Yes, I am getting too old for this…

A Teacher's Doodling

I always bring a writing pad with me when I go to meetings. Chances are there could be something important, I need to remember, said. I don’t bring my Ipad, as I haven’t got one, and I don’t bring my tablet (I have a gorgeous Android tablet). Many do.

I, on the other hand, know myself well enough to know I most likely will fall into the trap of “entertainment not on the agenda”, which is common to do.

I would play Sudoku, check on my Facebook for new updates, write on my blog, check headlines on various newspapers… I see many play Candy Crush and Farmville… even a game I never understood, but apparently; if you tap the screen 1000 000 times the egg will crack… and something will pop up.

Anyway, I got my writing pad and a pen. Very old fashion, but I imagine it keeps me attentive to a much larger extent than if I had some digital tool… or toy if you will.

But, and I am honest enough to admit this, so I should not be judged too harshly: I doodle.

My mother is a skilled talker on the phone. She can talk on the phone for quite some time. She doodles too. Her address book looks like something out of this world because when she is out of free space, she writes on top of what she wrote before. The pages are gradually turned blue and black, little by little, through the course of each conversation. She doesn’t make drawings or patterns; she writes words which catch her attention. Over and over again, until another word stands out. Quite fascinating, as you can follow the contents of her conversations by reading her doodling… if you can single out the words, that is.

There is something rude about withdrawing into a bubble, excluding yourself from what’s going on and embrace your own world. I think I pay attention, but sometimes the person next to me plucks the pen out of my hand to add something he or she thinks is funny or something I have missed or left out. For a split second I realize I to some extent entertain those surrounding me, as well as myself.

I searched on Wikipedia for doodling. It says that:

“A doodle is an unfocused or unconscious drawing made while a person's attention is otherwise occupied. Doodles are simple drawings that can have concrete representational meaning or may just be abstract shapes.

Stereotypical examples of doodling are found in school notebooks, often in the margins, drawn by students daydreaming or losing interest during class. Other common examples of doodling are produced during long telephone conversations if a pen and paper are available.

Popular kinds of doodles include cartoon versions of teachers or companions in a school, famous TV or comic characters, invented fictional beings, landscapes, geometric shapes and patterns, textures, banners with legends, and animations made by drawing a scene sequence in various pages of a book or notebook. Many geometric doodles are really subdivision rules, where you repeat the same pattern over and over in a nested way.”

Seems to me my mother and I are classical examples of doodlers.

I am kind of relieved reading this, as I notice (and get confirmation) that I still pay attention, as doodling doesn’t steal my attention. It is rather harmless, as opposed to focusing on a game or a social media. So I stick with my old fashion writing pad.

I found one of my old writing pads the other day. On top of each page there are optimistic headlines in bold size and font, telling what the meeting is about,  but then the rest of the page shows how fidgety my hands really are, and how busy my mind actually is.

There are symbols, like a heart, with additional supplemental features: legs, winking eyes, mouth, busy hair, a hat, a big smile… I have drawn caricatures of animals from behind. Entangled flower vines… quite pretty, but totally senseless and absurd. Yet kind of cheerful.

I don’t have any clue where I get it from; I don’t even really know how to draw. Being a teacher I am fully aware that most of us are kind of fully trained pastime psychologists. Well, no one can find out anything about me by trying to do some kind of  interpretation of my doodles. They are, indeed, like Wikipedia says: unfocused and unconscious. It slightly worries me that it takes place when students are daydreaming or losing interest during class, but only slightly.

Since I have this interest in words, I thought I would see what Wikipedia says about daydreaming. There is something romantic about daydreaming, like the beautiful girl; resting her chin in her hand and gazes into nothing. Well, the explaination is not quite that romantic:

“Daydreaming is a short-term detachment from one's immediate surroundings, during which a person's contact with reality is blurred and partially substituted by a visionary fantasy, especially one of happy, pleasant thoughts, hopes or ambitions, imagined as coming to pass, and experienced while awake.

…the characteristic that is common to all forms of daydreaming meets the criteria for mild dissociation.”

Ehm… dissociation? That doesn’t sound very attractive or positive, does it? Again Wikipedia:

"Boredome is whereas anxiety
is a state of uneasiness and apprehension,
boredom is a condition of mental weariness,
listlessness, and discontent. "

“Dissociation is a term in psychology describing a wide array of experiences from mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional experience. It is commonly displayed on a continuum. The major characteristic of all dissociative phenomena involves a detachment from reality – rather than a loss of reality as in psychosis. In mild cases, dissociation can be regarded as a coping mechanism or defense mechanisms in seeking to master, minimize or tolerate stress – including boredom or conflict”.

Further on, as I look up boredom, same source (A tiny bit embarrassing this, as I always tell my students to try other sources than Wikipedia: Find an authentic source, I tell them) with more worrying information:

“Boredom is an emotional state experienced when an individual is left without anything in particular to do, and not interested in their surroundings.”

Did I just now find out why my students are so eager to engage in social medias during my classes? That WORRIES me A LOT!