Classroom Stories

So I'm teaching a 20-2 class, right? I just have to write on here so I can tell more people how hilarious this situation is. The class is split into four quadrants or cliques. The first quadrant contains the people who reallllllly want to be in the academic stream and are working their butt off to do it. The second quadrant are the people who are smart enough to do anything they wanted, but would rather do anything BUT work that is school related. The third are the people who don't know what day it is and often times smell a lot like weed. The fourth, and the one I'm having the most difficulty with, is the jersey shore section. They all wear really nice jeans, are really friendly, and have either spiked dark hair or a big poof. Students who are in lower level classes are usually a lot more down to Earth and real with teachers. If they don't like something you've planned, they tell you how boring or dumb it is. If they like you then they want to know all about your life. So far I've convinced them my name is Renesme (hahaha) and that I'm 30 with two kids to keep them from adding me on Facebook... They pretend to buy it. I really think these kids are great, but seriously I just have had the strangest things happen with them. I'll give you a minor example....

So on Friday we were reading as a class (we're doing Macbeth right now). I put everyone in a reading circle so I could keep an eye on them and get people who hide in the corners a bit more involved. Everything was going great! People who don't usually read were, everyone seemed to be reading along and cellphone use was fairly minimal. As I'm sitting by some students reading I hear this soft, but obvious smooching sound. I turn to this boy, we'll call him Pete, who is kissing the girl's hand next to him. I roll my eyes and ignore it. A little while later the sound gets louder and I turn to see he's moving up the girl's arm now, all the while kissing and whispering sweet nothings. This guy was wheelin! I was in such shock I just sat there as I heard, "Yo, baby girl, Imma love you and kiss you all day." Suddenly the whole class is staring at this couple with me, probably not with the same shocked look, but none the less transfixed that this is actually happening in a classroom. The girl is giggling and Pete is pretty much ready to go for the make out when one boy out of nowhere says, "Yo, Miss Scott you betta intervene or there be some intercourse soon!"

I thank the boy for using the word intercourse and separate the two. Pete turns to me, as angry as can be, and says, "Miss Scott, ain't you ever heard that when a boy's wheelin' you best not be stealin'?"

Sorry Pete, but I just can't allow an illegitimate child on my watch...

I'm A Grown Up!

I'm just going to say it- teaching high school is a lot harder than I thought. At least twice this week I've debated whether I should have just gone into elementary. I'm not saying teaching elementary is easy... but my biggest struggle so far has been the material. Just on Thursday I was surprised to learn I had to read Macbeth this weekend and have a unit ready to go for review by Monday and to teach by Tuesday. Oh and on top of that let's throw 40 practice 30-1 diplomas for you to mark while you're at home too! I feel like my brain is about to explode. I'm really grateful, don't get me wrong, but I don't think I've ever worked this much in my entire life (I've had a hard life, eh?).  I have developed a new found respect for teachers. I look at my mentor teacher who has two IB and all dash one (10-1, 20-1, and 30-1) classes. How do they have time to have a life?! I've gone to Superstore once since I started and that was almost too time consuming. I wake up at 6 and go to bed at midnight and I still can't find enough time in the day to do anything outside of working than to enjoy one episode of jeopardy.

I should look at the positive though. Teaching is really fulfilling. I can honestly say that I laugh all day long at these kids. Plus, for the most part my students sit there like angels soaking up everything I tell them. Can anyone say power trip?! It's awesome. Just the other day I was walking to the car when one of my 10 IB's yelled: "HEY MISS SCOTT!" I turned and he was waving ferociously. It was the best feeling. I also love that no day is ever the same, and no class is ever the same. Just on Friday I was teaching a class on gender roles in our film study unit with 20-1's when it turned into a full out sexual education lesson. Has anyone seen the movie Pleasantville? Try explaining the bath tub part (awkward!). I love the choice I've made. I love that I am constantly learning new things. Every lesson I am amazed at just how much I can teach these kids, and also scared that I won't teach them enough things. It's an exciting job! A lot of work sometimes, but for the most part exciting.

It's strange that I am finally a real grown up. I get to wear power suits everyday! Mostly because I have a baby face and have to look older, but still, sometimes when I walk down the hall in one of those things I feel invincible. It's weird that in just a short time I will actually be (or hopefully will be) getting paid to do this.

Best. Feeling. Ever. (Sorry for the sentence fragments haha)

The Help, H-E-L-P.

Dear reader,

I need help. I have been a little stressed lately. I'm just getting into my finals this week and then I jump right into student teaching in a few days. Did I tell you where I'm going?! Ross Sheppard High School teaching grade 10IB & 20-1 English. I welcome your prayers for this small town white girl, it's a culture shock every time I visit.

I can't handle stress well. When midterms rolled around a month ago I didn't sleep the entire week. You might think I'm joking but I literally did not sleep until my last test and then I didn't wake up for about a day. Oops? This has never happened before but I think I've just been feeling overwhelmed. My classes are not the hardest I've ever taken, but for some reason they're absolutely terrifying me. Maybe it's the impending doom of graduation and the reality of getting a job just on the horizon (ok, it IS!)... I need your help on how you handle stress. How do you get yourself to sleep on those really bad days? I'm also experiencing some migraines on the really bad days, and just some tension headaches for most of the time. I tried some pain killers but most don't seem to really work on me. For real, I take a T3 and nothing happens... So if you have anything natural I welcome it. So far the only thing thats been working is sleep, but it's not really practical to do 10 hours a night and then nap for 2 or 3 everyday because I just need to get stuff done.

So please, PLEASE, help me out here!

Sincerely,

Sad Face Emoticon

Oh, and P.S. If you could also tell me how you felt about The Perks of Being a Wallflower (the book, not the movie) please share. I hated it and I can't tell if I'm missing something or not...

My Summer Post?

I feel like I need to address a part of me that I've been hiding for a long time. I, Kelsey Scott, am not madly in love with Waterton. It feels so good to get that off my chest. I, also, do not pretend to love Waterton, nor do I think it is the greatest place on Earth. I mean, come on! There's way cooler places out there!

 I had never quite understood the infatuation people have with it until this summer. You see, I tend to have themes to my summers. One will be all about my friends, or another will be losing weight (which never works? haha), and this summer somehow became about hiking. I don't love hiking. I mostly tolerate it, with a few moments where I actually enjoy it. My butt always hurts after (?) and I usually have a sunburn. For some odd reason though, I decided I was going to hike more this summer and see if I could get that dislike out of me.

I hiked a few times in Waterton and I really wasn't that thrilled. Mostly because one of them was The Summit and I have been doing that one every year for what feels like a decade. But then I went and did some really cool ones in Glacier (pictures to follow) and then before I came back up to Edmonton I spent an entire week in the park. I loved it! It was so relaxing and quiet and I didn't have to use my brain once! I thought to myself: I could get used to this... in another part of the world... but something similar to this... My attitude was still a little against Waterton, but it was warming up.

When I came back up for school I got to go to Elk Island one sunday. It's really beautiful out there and there's wild buffalo just walking around and it's not that far of a drive. As we drove down the road, looking out the window, I kept thinking, where the heck are all of the mountains? This place sucks! I gasped. Had I said that? I felt as though I was betraying my prairie heritage. But really, I miss seeing mountains. Maybe not hiking them... but, ya know, looking from a safe distance when the sun is setting. Who have I become? I do not know, and I guess we'll have to wait until next summer if this mountain thing sticks.

Welp, I'm done talking. Here's some pictures.

shows on backwards, brushing his teeth in the driveway.

mini J-biebs?

I have a ten year old niece! #weird (wierd?)... weird.

A buffalo!

Turkey burger = best thing I ever made

Paint in my hair from two weeks before? yep.

view from study table

heaven!

From a class novel.

Ptarmigan Tunnel 

Before I cut my hair off and cried for weeks/ months.

swift current pass lookout. SO FUN! I cried half way up because I'm a baby and thought the wind would somehow blow me off the mountain.

quick little jaunt to wall lake

A Typical Conversation

Mom: Did you hear they're allowing church humanitarian work in China?
Me: ... Regina?
Taylor (my 9 year old niece): Doesn't every girl have one of those?

We need to work on our hearing.

And since it's Sunday, a talk I've really enjoyed.

HERE.

Oh Hello, How Are You?

I guess I should probably write something. Is this like how hotmail accounts used to be where if you didn't use them, then they deleted themselves? Anybody know what I'm talking about? I should probably explain why this blog has been a no-go. I am lazy. Yep, that's it, and today I was reminded to stop being so lazy with this thing and get writing. So here is an update.

Today a little girl peed her pants at camp. At first I thought she just spilled her water but then that wet spot just kept getting bigger and bigger and before I could stop it, it was running down her leg and all the children were scattering. I wish I could feel bad for this girl but yesterday she kicked me in the shin and called me a poo-poo head (I don't know which one hurt more).  I sat her down and said, "Did you have an accident?" She replied, "Ya, but it was just pee so that's ok. If it were poop it'd be realllllly messy for you." I'm glad she was so considerate. I make my life sound bad when in reality it's pretty great. Kids are really just hilarious. I love their high little voices and when they all of the sudden realize they love me half way through the week and give enough hugs to last a lifetime. When I ask them how old they think I am and how much they think I weigh I start to kinda love them too...

 "Mmmm I'd say you're about 25 and you weigh 15 pounds." 15 pounds?! What angels.

So far summer this year has been nice and peaceful. I did the church history trip, I've watched millionaire matchmaker with my mom almost every lunch hour, and as of right now I'm off to go get whooped in tennis by my dad.

Oh, and P.S. Can anyone suggest a good book? PLEEEEEASE.

Enterain Me!

Dear people on my social networks,

Please blog/ instagram more. You all have cute lives that I like to creep now that I'm done with school and have nothing to do. Although, I have to admit I creeped prior to being done with school. I would really like it if everyone would post some pictures too. Even if we don't keep in contact, or have never spoken to each other in real life (haha), that's okay. I WANT TO CREEP. Can someone get engaged or married or have a baby or something? My daily excitement lies in your hands.

from the girl who has no life,
Kelsey


Oh, and P.S. I'm only about 50% serious in this post...


ok, 90%.




....100%.

Aaaaand I Posted Again

I'm in a class about adapting classrooms for special needs. I absolutely love it. My professor is completely deaf and signs the entire class using a translator. At first I considered dropping because I thought it would be a distraction but I'm so glad I didn't. He is an absolutely amazing instructor. I'm a little embarrassed to say I've choked up in his class once or twice. He's always doing something to open our eyes to disabilities. Whether it's not wearing our glasses for a whole class and trying to take notes- seriously, it was hilarious. Or showing us how deaf people sign music. At the end of every lecture he always kind of steps back and talks about the disability or specific person we've been discussing. He never talks about what they're unable to do, but rather what they add or are capable of. I've learned one thing through it all and it's going to sound really cliche, but that's ok. Everyone has something to offer. Before my cheesiness over takes you and causes you to close the page, just keep reading.

In the classroom I'm the kind of teacher that instantly likes the underdog. Some of my classmates like the all-star and some like the brown noser, and thats fine, but I like the struggling kid the most. Maybe it's some deep desire to change their lives from watching way too many sappy education movies, but I can't help but feel like they're being underestimated. Today I was watching a video for my class and it was just wonderful. In it, a famous author, Sir Ken Robinson, discusses creativity and how schools cause us to lose our creativity. At one point he talks about his book, "Epiphany", in which he asks people when they realized their talents. Being the one who wants to find that students secret "thing", this was instantly interesting. He talked about a woman named Gillian Lynne. Gillian Lynne was fidgety and distracting in class and couldn't seem to focus. One day her mother was called in by the school and told that Gillian might have a learning disability. Eventually Gillian was taken to a specialist. He watched her, making her sit on her hands for twenty minutes, then asked to see her mother alone. He turned on some music and they found that Gillian instantly started to move to the music. He turned to her mother and said, "Gillian isn't sick; she's a dancer. Take her a dance school."

Gillian would go on to dance school, become a soloist for the Royal Ballet, and eventually choreograph musicals such as Cats and Phantom of the Opera. She became a multimillionaire all because someone realized what she was capable of rather than what she wasn't.

This may be an extreme example, but I can't help thinking how often myself and other people underestimate themselves because they don't fit the mould. I thoroughly believe that every person has something they can bring to the table that no one else can.

Oh, and P.S. here's the video.

Reasons I Don't Blog

1. I'd rather catch up on Mad Men. I can't decide if I love Don Draper or if I'm just attracted to his face.

2. I'm not married/ about to have a baby/ engaged. I really only like blogs that have one of those things happening in it. I'm in the workings of adopting just so I can feel more legitimate when I blog.

3. I'm too busy cutting off my hair. Yep. It's gone!

4. Solving World Peace. haha jks.

5. Writing papers  alllll day everrrrrry day.

6. I'm too busy watching youtube videos from The Steve Wilkos Show or Maury. This one is my personal favourite so far. "I got a notebook at home with my feelings in it!"



7. I haven't travelled anywhere in FOREVER. I'm getting antsy. Any ideas or deals anyone has come across? I would consider dropping out of spring semester to go on a trip haha.

8. I got a big Easter basket and I'm too busy devouring it.

9. I'd rather be online shopping.

10. MY SISTER IS GETTING MARRIED IN LESS THAN A MONTH. craaaaaazy!

I apologize in advance for the next long while before another post.

Love, True Love!

This is love.

For some reason I cry every time I watch this. They win most adorable couple award.

Some Reasons I Love California

You can ride the world's 2nd longest tram in the world. So cool!

You can go from sweating in the desert to enjoying a nice little hike in the snow in just ten minutes.

You can go an hour south where you're just a few short miles from Mexico and quad your little heart out.

You can drive a few miles north and feel like you're in the jungle.

And finally, you can sit in 90 degree weather instead of the 3 feet of snow that has magically appeared up here.

I. Hate. Winter.

Help Wanted: PLEASE!

Before you read this post, I need you to promise me something. Promise me you'll please give me some advice in the little comment box on the bottom, ok? Thanks. You may now proceed.

I'm going to California for reading week and I am unbelievably excited. My grandparents live down there in the winter and I got to see them two years back during this same time. It's a blast! But there's just one problem you see... I will be wearing a swimsuit the majority of the time and I'm not feeling too good about it.

You know how everyone comes back from Christmas and they say: "Ugh, I gained sooo much weight over Christmas! I'm so fat!" Yet they don't look any different? That was not the case for me. I was averaging about 4 hearty meals a day and constantly snacking which has lead to tight pants and even tighter shirts. I am one of those people who actually looked different after Christmas. I have no self control, ok? Anyways, January came quick and passed even quicker and before I knew it it was half over and I realized I was leaving for Cali in a month. I started to panic and headed off to my basketball game with the mentality that I was going to get fit from that day on. Well, I sprained my ankle 30 seconds into that game. Or I think I sprained it? It's actually still really bruised and hurts... Is that worse than a sprain? Not important.

I can't do physical activity like run or, well, walk quickly. Which means that I now have to turn to healthy eating. I HATE EATING HEALTHY. I basically live on salsa and Tostitos chips, and everyone in my house loves to bake cookies (which I am not complaining about) and then encourage me to eat half of them. Ok, they don't encourage it... But they don't stop it. So in reality they are encouraging it. I'm sure you're bored by this post by now and I hate this talk too, but I am desperate. So, here is your task:

1. Go down to the comment box

2. Give me a tip on how to lose weight or somehow burn some calories without hurting myself.

3. Or, if you'd like, give me a link or write out an easy healthy recipe I could use in the next two weeks.

PLEAAAAAAASE. I know I could look in other places but I trust your opinions and lately pinterest has failed me. Plus, I really don't want to have to turn to pajama jeans...

 

Charlie Darwin

I went to the City and Colour concert last Thursday and their opening act was The Low Anthem. I am just amazed at how talented they are! I couldn't stop thinking about this song after they sang it with Dallas Green...

Oh, and P.S. It is unhealthy how much I play temple run... I'm still an amateur though. Practice makes perfect, right? 

The Ticket Booth

For an essay writing class we all had to talk about a story that shaped us in a dramatic way so I chose a time I had to go to an underground parking lot and ask a ticket booth lady about security. This is a really really (REALLY) rough draft of my story but I thought I would share it. Also, keep in mind I have never written in present tense so it's a little messy. Tell me if you like it!

The Ticket Booth

Everything about the woman displays misery: aching, suffocating misery that consumes a person. Her back is hunched, causing her body to curl into it self as though if she were to straighten it would release all despair. Her eyes droop from nights lost to restlessness, and her lips are dry from excessive chewing. She sits with her face in her hand listening to my unending questions about the underground parking lot’s security, answering automatically without much thought. She is withdrawn into herself and nearly as bored as the rest of us students on this tedious class assignment. She taps her fingernails patiently until finally the list on my page runs out and I have nothing left to ask. We thank her for her answers and make some small talk. The short pompous boy in my group, who I have never liked, shifts anxiously back and forth between feet as though if he were to stay any longer around this miserable woman he might very well die.  I shoot him a look warning him of his socially unacceptable movements and turn back to the lady. She looks at me, opens her mouth, then slowly closes it as though what she was about to say was sucked back into her.

            “Do you have any questions?” I ask, completely unaware of what I’m about to open up. I don’t know why I asked that; she’s the one with all of the answers about the security around here. Her eyes narrow and she takes a deep breath preparing to open up what her hunched body is holding in.

            “What do you think about the war in Iraq?” Her question is asked cautiously and one would think casually if you weren’t looking in her eyes. The shifting of the blonde haired boy stops and I brace myself knowing he’s about to speak.

            “All I know is that they do a whole lot of sitting around and not really any actual fixing over there.” His arrogance makes his words sound like a whip. Her body turns into itself again and softly begins to shake with sobs. She is broken.

            “Yes they do,” She folds her arms to hold herself in, “it wasn’t for nothing.” No one speaks. In fact, no one seems to breath either.

I look at this woman in this dark separate world she’s in and my eyes travel around. The lighting is dim, and the cement that is covering what seems to be every inch makes the air damp and chilled. The booth, which she sits in, is cramped and impersonal except for a single picture of a smiling man in uniform taped to a dirty sliding window. My eyes travel down towards the cash register where a flattened sandwich and coffee sit. Even further down there is a small garbage can over flowing with ticket stubs and candy bar wrappers. Everything about this place is ordinary and lifeless except for the man. My eyes draw naturally back to him and I stare for a moment.

“My son.” The woman states, and for a moment her lips curl upwards, instantly improving her looks. I realize at that moment that we had been sitting in silence the entire time I had been observing and she had been patiently waiting for us to notice the picture. The blonde boy swallows loudly, hopefully gulping down his arrogance, noticing the uniform on the boy and remembering what he had just previously said. She takes a deep breath and continues, “He was caught in a bombing over there. He went to school here before joining. The university gave me this job after the funeral to help me out, but it can get pretty lonely down here. I should be grateful. He was a great boy and he worked hard. You should now though, they weren’t just sitting around over there.” She continues to tell us about her son and the man that he was. At first I’m listening intensely, but my eyes begin to trail and once again I can’t help but be pulled into my own thoughts. I realize that for the first time in my life, I am witnessing true grief and at the same time a kind of courage I didn’t know existed.

            You should know that in my life until that moment I had lived in a protected bubble of hopes and laughs and happiness. My parents’ marriage never had any bumps, I was the youngest of 3 older cheerful siblings, and at the age of 19 I had never even had to attend the funeral of someone I closely knew. I didn’t know what it was like to go without in any way, or even how to properly miss someone. I didn’t understand how someone like this woman could be so courageous in that even though she was completely broken, she could keep going. Wake up every day, and come to this dark and dreary place to do she had to.

            Everyone’s laughter at a story she tells pulls me out of thought. The giggles subside and we can all tell that the conversation is over, and this meeting is done. We once again to thank her individually, and even the blonde haired boy goes up to shake her hand. The girl in front of me with long brown hair and a kind face lingers when she comes to the woman. Holding both of her hands she looks her in the eyes and says,

            “You are brave. I hope you know that.”

            The woman smiles softly and thanks her. Pulling away from us for one second she leans into her booth and comes back out with what seems to be her sons obituary and funeral program. She gives it to the girl and tells her not to forget about her son.

 It’s my turn now and I’m choking back tears after what I had just seen. I some how manage to blubber out “thank you”, shake her hand, and make my feet walk towards the waiting elevator. We all silently go up to the main level and part ways with out a word to each other. Everyone but me takes the east-facing door to go to his or her next class but I don’t feel ready to leave just yet. I look back at the elevator and part of me wishes I could travel back down and tell her that this grief is temporary and someday she’ll be okay, but I can’t find it in myself to do that. Instead I wander aimlessly in the building connected to that dark parking lot and finally settle in a corner chair by a large window. I’m consumed now with the sadness of that woman, and the realization that terrible things really do happen to nice people.  Curled in my own little ball I know how pathetic I must look to the other students but at that moment I really just could not care less. I sit like this for some time until I finally pull out my phone and call my father, hoping he’ll know exactly what to say just like he always does. As I listen to the soft hum of the ring waiting for him to answer I already know exactly what I want him to tell me.

I want him to tell me that the woman really is happy, and that I imagined it all.  That someday she will stop missing her son and will finally look to the world with strength. I feel weak that I can’t handle this on my own and need my father to soothe me, but you must realize that I’m not simply calling him for comfort and for him to tell me she'll be okay; I’m calling him because I want him to tell me that sadness like that will never reach me.

It's Alive!

I realized today I haven't written on this for about a month and then went and stared at my blog for an hour having no idea what to talk about... So, just for all those who read, I am still alive. I'm still hoping for snow in this icy suckfest that is Edmonton, I still dress like I'm about 80, I think Conan O' Brien is handsome (there I said it!), and today I did something outrageous and folded my towels (it's gettin' crazy up in hurrrr!).

So... Ya. Have a lovely day? I'll try to muster up some creativity for this thing. Good thing my dad got a juicer for Christmas! (get it? creative juices? ba-da-bing!)

Okay... I didn't get that joke either.

Oh and I got bangs.

Alright now I'm done! I promise!