Breakfast of Champions

Well, I'm back at the school today, so I'm up extra early. And you know what, it's extra cold. My hands ached as I gingerly held the steering wheel, hoping for as little contact as possible without careening my car into the icy lake-- which is something, morbidly enough, I think about almost every time I cross the Big Bridge.

True to my Operation: Hot Tub mission, I've been trying to watch my food intake as of late. Unfortunately, when I say I'm watching it, I mainly mean that I'm aware of it... not necessarily tailoring it to my Hot Tub needs. This morning, I'm noshing on a 100-calorie pack of Cheese-Itz... or maybe it's Cheeze-Its... I'm pretty sure there's a 'Z' in there somewhere... and a Diet Mountain Dew. Mmmm, nutrients.

I keep planning on making a grocery store run to stock up on more satisfying options, but it's so gosh-darn cold out and I so hate mass market places... Oh, and I'm extremely lazy, so there's a con. I am craving healthy options, though. The truth is, I don't have a sweet tooth. (My mother just gasped). I am a sweet tooth (feel better, Mom?). I feel like every meal must be followed up with a sugary treat to cleanse my palette (thanks for that genetic gift, Dad). Preferably something chocolate. Furthermore, while some people have an aversion to fast food, believing it to be gross or low-quality or some such nonsense, I love it. Yep, there it is. I love it. Chick-Fil-A: whoa baby, your milkshakes and spicy chicken sandwich make my heart sing. Arby's roast beef sandwich, 'H' yes. Krystal, your burgers are so tiny, I could eat a million-- and I usually give that lofty goal my best shot. And the worst of the worst, Taco Bell. Oh boy, Taco Bell, you are my tummy's delight.

That's what's up. I'm a glutton, and you're disgusted with me now, but I needed to confess that to get to this:

I'm over it. Lately, I'm craving rabbit food. Blame it on my road-diet on the way to and from Tuscaloosa; blame it on the rich Thanksgiving fare of late; whatever the reason, I need lettuce. I need fruit. I need water. I need things that are natural and juicy, God's own sweet gift to me.

Thank goodness the lunchroom is serving chili and corndogs today... Mmm, nature's bounty.

Testing, testing.

Today I'm subbing at the high school again, and I'm giving a test. An open-book, matching, vocabulary test. And yet, the groans of protest never cease. The whispering of answers and double-checking of neighbors persists despite my desperate pleas for silence and dangerous threats of zeroes: "If you're talking, you're cheating."

Just now, for instance, I had to look up from my blog respite to tell one of my iPod-clad students to stop talking. "Oh, I wasn't talking, I was singing something to him. You want me to sing it to you?"

Oh, just singing? Then, sure, go ahead. As long as you're not doing anything disruptive and totally opposite of what I've asked you to do multiple times. Sing away, my Grammy-bound friend.

No, dear, I do not want you to sing your song to me. I want you to be quiet. And do your work. And just nod in submissive acknowledgement when I reprimand you. Honestly, it's OPEN BOOK and it's MATCHING-- if this is hard for YOU then don't trust your classmates' answers either, for goodness sake. Really, the only way I could make this easier for you is to write the answers on the board.

And no, before you ask, I will not do that.

Ugh. Kids these days.

from Me to You.

Dear Flirtatious,

Hey girl, I got my eye on you. Yes, you. You know who doesn’t? Cutie in Camo in front of you. I hate to burst your hormonal bubble, but that stud muffin in front of you isn’t interested, no matter how many times you kick his chair or laugh entirely too loud at his joke. And that whole play fighting thing—give it up. It doesn’t actually hurt him when you flail your fists at him. It bothers him, but more importantly, it bothers me. So stop. I realize that you only have four years ahead of you to secure your run for ‘Biggest Flirt’ in the Senior Who’s Who, but girlfriend, trust me, you are working overtime here. Focus your energies on love letters if you must share your feelings, but please, for the sake of my sanity, cease your outrageous flirting.

Sincerely,

Elle the Sub.

Dear Sour Puss in Sixth Period,

Why yes, you do have to turn your desk around. And yes, you do have to copy the questions down. And yes, you do actually have to do work because you are, in fact, in school. Does that come as a surprise to you? Have you believed all along that you are part of some secret social society that meets regularly on week days? Sorry about your luck bud, but your frat days are many years ahead of you and this is neither a Christmas cocktail or band party. What’s that you’re muttering under your breath? You don’t understand why you have to do these things? Let me tell you an age old secret of why you have to do these things: because I said so.

Sincerely,

Elle the Sub.

Dear Over Achiever,

I delight in you. You, my dear, are the reason I grace this school with my presence. You come to class prepared, expect to do work because you are in school after all, and take full advantage of the free public education you are receiving. Sure, you whisper to your neighbor from time to time, but I love that about you. Why? Because you have learned the art of whispering, and that makes me feel like you are more accomplished than your peers who lack this life skill. You, sweet child, will go far in this life because you are so wonderfully agreeable and a refreshing change from the rest of your generation. Do you need a reference letter for college? Look me up, girl. Do you need a recommendation for the social sorority of your choice? I’m your (wo)man. Do you need someone to sit with you at lunch? Join me at the faculty table where your maturity will be appreciated. Are these other rambunctious children bothering you? Please, allow me to silence them for you.

Sincerely,

Elle the Sub.

Dear Twin Towers,

Hey, down here. Yep, waaay down here. How’s the weather up there, big guys? You two are entirely too tall to be freshmen. You obviously aren’t on a trendy organic diet because your height must be the result of the hormones pumped into grocery store chicken. What’s that? You think it’s funny that I must stand on this chair in order to talk to you? Yeah, well, I don’t like it either. Please make yourself available for my next class announcement, as I would like to sit atop your mountainous shoulders as I broadcast my edicts. Thanks in advance.

Sincerely,

Elle the Sub.

**Names and dates have been changed to protect the innocent... and the not-so-innocent.

Some things just can't wait.

Usually when I sub, I like to do a little compilation blog at the end of the day made up of all my favorite student quotes and stories. But some things can't wait. Some things must be reported immediately.

Currently, my kids are creating 15 Multiple Choice questions for section two of their chapter. No biggie. Meanwhile, I'm working on a Christmas list and corresponding with E via email. Imagine my surprise when a student catches my eye and blurts out,

"Is Africa in Europe?"

Holy moly. Maybe I should specify, for the sake of your shock and awe, that I am subbing at a high school... not an elementary school as the question might suggest.

For anyone wondering what the answer to this perplexing quandary is... No, Africa is not in Europe. Africa is, in fact, it's very own continent.

Here's the kicker: when this question was asked, I immediately expected an uproar from my other students, exclaiming what an idiot their classmate is... Nope. No one even acted surprised. It was as if she had asked the question that had been burning on all of their minds.

And one other thing: one of my students is pretending to be her classmate's baby. Baby talk and baby voice included. I'm not sure what ethics and discipline dictates here. On the one hand, she's no louder than anyone else. The whole class is maintaining a dull roar, and she's not necessarily any worse than anyone else. On the other hand, I can hear her ridiculousness, and I think my head might explode at any moment from unvented irritation. To call her out or not to call her out...

just a few things.

Apparently a prostrate problem has hit the freshman class. I know this because not a single student has been able to control their bladder today; instead, one by one they come to my desk and insist that they must go to the bathroom immediately. I also happen to know that beverages are not allowed in class, so outside of break and lunch there should be no liquid consumption. I, for one, have not been to the restroom once today, and I just so happen to have a pea-sized bladder. Not to mention my control top tights that are oppressing my lower abdomen.

With my discomfort in mind, I would think that my wee charges could "hold it" for just one class period. I have been for at least 6 periods. But no, my wee charges constantly have to... well, wee.

And Heaven forbid I say no! Even though I have been left with strict instructions-- No Passes Out-- those puppy dog eyes look at me as though I have denied them oxygen or Justin Bieber when I say no.

Tomorrow, I'm putting my foot down.

Along with my complaint, I'll leave you with my favorite student quote of the day:

"I really, really wish Britain would've won the Battle of 1812. That would've been really cool.... Then we could all go over to Hermione Granger's house."

with Wonder.

Confession: I stole this from another blog. Now, if I was really high-tech like some of my other blogging friend, the word 'blog' would be a hyperlink to the blog I stole it from... but since I'm not, I'll just tell you that the blog is called kisssing, and I found in through my dear friend Anna.

Drumroll, please:

“All our young lives we search for someone to love. Someone who makes us complete. We choose partners and change partners. We dance to a song of heartbreak and hope... all the while wondering if somewhere, somehow, there's someone perfect... who might be searching for us.” --The Wonder Years

I vividly remember watching The Wonder Years with my mom when I was very little. Don't act like you didn't want to fight for Winnie and Kevin, especially in the episode where Winnie moves to a neighboring school and the two young lovebirds promise to think about each other every hour, on the hour.

Lately, I've been feeling a little sentimental; maybe it's because I'm coming home for my 23rd Christmas, and that's quite a few Christmases under my belt... maybe a little more than I'm comfortable with. And so I love the finale quote from The Wonder Years, too:

"Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers, the next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place, a town, a house, like a lot of houses. A yard like a lot of other yards. On a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back...with wonder."

--The Wonder Years

Operation: Hot Tub

With Thanksgiving and Iron Bowl festivities behind us, my attention has moved onto one of the many adventures I have planned for my winter break: New Year's Eve.

Now, I understand that I have a project and three finals standing between me and my break officially beginning, not to mention a trip to Dallas and Christmas, but my New Year's trip comes with a few "needs" that must be handled with haste. Allow me to explain with a few visual supplements.

Every time I've talked to Clay about my trip to Dallas, his agenda has included mainly one thing: eating. Awesome; I just so happen to be a huge fan.

Next up: Christmas parties.

I don't know what your Christmas parties entail, but mine consist largely of treats. Lots and lots of treats.

On top of Christmas parties with friends, you have, of course, Christmas dinners with family.

Yes, a smorgasbord of delicious Christmas goodies, and if your family's Christmas dinner is anything like mine, there aren't a lot of "lite" options floating around on the big day.

Now, why am I complaining about all this deliciousness soon to be coming my way? That's where my little New Year's trip comes into play. This year, I'll be ringing in 2011 high up in the mountains of North Carolina with 9 of my best friends. Total, that's five guys and five girls. Cute, isn't it? What fun! you might say... Well, sure it will be loads of fun. Two tons of fun, in fact, as I expect to weigh approximately two tons when we depart for our holiday destination.

You may be wondering what's the big deal. Winter is the perfect time to splurge a bit and hide away your holiday muffin top under layers and layers of cuddly clothes. You'd think.

Ladies and germs, I give you the highlight of our New Year's retreat:

Ahhhhh, the hot tub. What a delightful way to warm up in the snowy mountains. But who needs that when you've put on a thick layer of holiday "warmth," like a bear heading into hibernation??

So, you see my dilemma. In less than a month-- that's right, a month from today we'll be starting a new year, friends-- I'm going to have to shed all my layers of warmth and slip into hot tub appropriate attire: aka, bathing suit. Most people will start a tireless workout routine on New Year's Day to begin gearing up for Spring Break. Not I. I have less than a month to be bikini-ready.

Thanks to last night's Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, I have a little inspiration:

I'm sure this is a look that can be easily accomplished in just 30 days... even with all the Christmas goodies... right?

And so, Operation: Hot Tub has commenced. Every time a caramel brownie crosses my path, I'll picture that roaring hot tub and my VS Angels to help keep my eye on the prize.

I just won't count the brownie I ate on the way to work today...