Round up. Heh, is that a math joke?

2004-12-14 at 8:24 p.m.

Students in
Dancing Princess asked to be transferred into my class. Into my rowdy class, no less. She'd asked last week if she could, and I said sure, the class was a little loud, but it'd be great. "Cool," she said with a look of relief. "I'd love to be in a class where I understand what's going on again."

I had a little squeee! inside, but I kept it in. I'm mature like that.

I really like DP--she was in the class I student taught last term. Her schedule is a crazy amalgamation of nothing academic besides algebra. Dance class, study hall, interior design... heh. It's funny.

I stopped by her desk after class today. How did it go? I asked. We have a test on Thursday, so I wanted to see if she was going to try it, we should put it off, or what. She said she was meeting with her tutor and we'd check back in tomorrow in class. "So, you think this class will be okay for you?"

"I understood everything today. It was so... nice."

Squee!

Students out
"Is it possible to transfer out?" asked a blond nymph in my third period. "It's just a little... rowdy for me in here."

Ironically (or not), this is my good class.

"I know it's a little loud. Can you give me a week?"

"Oh, it's nothing against you," she started.

"Oh, I know that. But it'll get better in here, and it'll be easier for you to transfer after the winter break."

She looked at me, clearly doubting, and somewhat regretting even asking before talking to her counselor.

"After that," I said to her, smiling, "you gotta do what's right for you."

And another student...

"Mrs. H___?"

I turn around. I'm in the office, trying to take care of some prep I'd forgotten, trying to find someone who works in the main office. But this boy, all pimply and awkward in his pubescent agony, has come up behind me.

"Hi!" He's talking to me like he knows me and I should know him, but damned if I have any clue who he is.

"I was just wondering if... is there room in your... could I transfer in?"

"Um... what period?"

"Fifth."

Good god, that's my loud class. They're monkeys hanging off the lighting fixtures if I give them a chance. Little Rebel Girl and her friend who reminds me of my babysitter when I was growing up, Eyebrow Ring and his cohorts in crime The Twins and The Wrestler, The
Smiling Assassins--it's like they conspire to wrest control of the class from me. Every desk but one is full. And should I get another kid in there?

"Absolutely!"

I'm such a wuss. No wonder they try to walk all over me.

Heh. But squee!

And Parents Need to Know
And my final milestone: I made two parental phone calls today.

The script went something like this:

Ring ring.

"This is Cheryl*"

"Hi, Cheryl, this is Kari ---- at Blah de Blah High school, your son's algebra teacher. I just wanted to touch base with you."

"Yes?"

"I really like having Your Son in class, but he hasn't turned in a single homework."

"Reeeeally."

"It's not the end of the world yet, because it's still early in the term, but I just wanted to be sure to nip this in the bud. And we have a test on Thursday. We do have Math Lab, which is Wednesdays from 3 to 5 where there'll be a teacher/aide who can help him out if wants to, but I really want him to succeed, and unless he catches up on homework, he won't be able to."

"Oh, he'll do his homework all right. He's been telling us that you think he's a genius and told him he doesn't need to do homework."

(at this point I'd be stuck for words)

"I certainly think he's bright..."

"So does he have homework every day? I just want to know."

I was all nervous, almost expecting them to blame me, but it went really well. We talked about how much independence they need to be allowed to screw up, and how much oversight they should really still get as teenagers. All in about five minutes.

And finally... a conversation with my husband:

Want some wine, hon?

I'd love some.

Are these our good anniversary glasses?**

No, those are the crappy Fred Meyer glasses.

Pout.

These?

If they have the tag still on them, it's a pretty good guess they're not our new glasses.

Not?

I mean, that they are our new glasses. You know what I mean.

Yeah, but only because you said the exact opposite.

**After a dinner at a friend's house, where they had separate red and white wine glasses, Andrew was on a massive yen for them. Conveniently enough, our third anniversary a month ago was, apparently, "Crystal", so he got me some really really nice lead crystal wine glasses--six red, six white. Yeah, we're all glam and shit.

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