Boy 1: "We should just sit around and eat all day."
Boy 2: "I will not do that. That is against the Ten Commandments of my life."
Boy 1: "Ms. C, he looks like a girl."
Boy 2: "I always look like a girl, honey."
Girl: "I have a prayer request. I'm ill."
Me: "Okay?"
Girl: "Not, you know, the regular kind of ill. The other kind."
Me: "Yes?"
Girl: "You know, the other kind of ill. You know. Lovesick!"
Girl: "Did you get a haircut? It's so cute!"
Boy: "No, I just showered."
Girl: "Hi, Miss C."
Me: "Hi, Miss (Name)."
Girl: "I'm not a miss yet!"
Me: "You're always a miss."
Girl: "Well, you're more miss-y."
Test Question: Name three major characters in Judges. What are they known for?
Girl: "Ehud was a very epic leftie who killed a very fat king."
After I scolded a student for making the world's most obnoxious (and continuous) noise
"Unfair! You won't let me woodpeck!"
At English camp, when I told two of my boys to join me at the Shrinky-Dink workshop
Boy 1: "Yay! Shrinky-Dinks!"
Boy 2: (crestfallen) "Oh, there's no food in here?"
Card drawn from a board game based on actual events from Joshua
"Evil unicorns attack your house! Go back three spaces."
Boy, in reference to The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle: "What's that book about the girl in the ship? Sarah Palin?"
Boy: "Ms. C, why doesn't this school have Slushies?!"
Girl: "Ms. C, did you ever have crushes?"
Me: "Well, sure, most people have crushes at some point."
Girl: "I bet you dumped 'em all, huh?"
Me: "The thing about crushes is that most of them are kinda secret. Most of my crushes never knew they were crushes at all."
Girl: "Oh...do you have a crush now?"
Me: "Nope, no crushes."
Girl: (quite sympathetically) "Well, that's okay, Ms. C."
Girl, after learning my age: "28? That's young for someone so tall!"
29 November 2012
27 November 2012
Team Retreat in Toledo
Summary: American Thanksgiving celebrated in Spain, with lots of turkey and no lefse. Followed by meetings and bonding in the magical town of Toledo. My WorldVenture team is really divided into three different areas of ministry: theological education, MK education, and working with North African immigrants. Such a diversity within our group--and such great people.
And then, for the first time ever, I got asked out to have a beer. In Spanish. By an overfriendly store manager named Paco who was at least thirty years older than me. "No, no, I have meetings," I said, "lots and lots of meetings."
"Will you be back in Toledo?"
"Maybe one day, maybe in a few months."
"You stop by my store."
"Maybe I will bring a friend to see all the beautiful paintings."
"No, no, no friend. Just you and me."
Buying stuff in any small Spanish store is magical because your purchase, no matter how common or small, is treated with special delicacy, wrapped carefully, sealed with a sticker saying Deseas te gusta (We hope you enjoy). But I've never before had a purchase come with a date offer. I need to move north, where nobody touches each other.
And then, for the first time ever, I got asked out to have a beer. In Spanish. By an overfriendly store manager named Paco who was at least thirty years older than me. "No, no, I have meetings," I said, "lots and lots of meetings."
"Will you be back in Toledo?"
"Maybe one day, maybe in a few months."
"You stop by my store."
"Maybe I will bring a friend to see all the beautiful paintings."
"No, no, no friend. Just you and me."
Buying stuff in any small Spanish store is magical because your purchase, no matter how common or small, is treated with special delicacy, wrapped carefully, sealed with a sticker saying Deseas te gusta (We hope you enjoy). But I've never before had a purchase come with a date offer. I need to move north, where nobody touches each other.
18 November 2012
A Few Disconnected Thoughts
Last year at about this time, I was on an airplane leaving Marseille. I remember leaning my head against the window and saying to myself, in a voice so loud I'm sure even those outside my head could hear, "I am never going to make it." We had three weeks til Christmas break, and I felt like my bones were going to splinter under all the pressure.
I can't believe it's been almost a year since that plane ride. That we're almost to another Christmas break. We have only two full school weeks, three half weeks, and twenty-five research papers to go. There's been such a distinct ebb and flow to the semester: first, the month-long euphoria of smaller classes and a year's experience. Then, the drain of October, of assignments collecting dust in the grading bin. The November peak, the holidays ahead, the nestling in of the classroom, the routine. Now it's a steam train plowing toward 2013, to Lord of the Flies and Anne Frank. And my head is in such a mess of it.
I wish I'd kept better track, even if it meant writing down one-sentence summaries of the days:
Biked to Alcala and ate potentially rancid hummus on the sidewalk outside the Asia Store.
Got a visit from a friend and introduced her to one of the most integral parts of Madrid: Hello Kitty.
Scary man on the street yelled at Sarah in Spanish: "You are a big problem for my friend!"
Alas, I've been asleep for the past year and a half. How painful to realize that, potentially, the biggest legacy I'll leave for future generations is a string of semi-coherent facebook statuses.
Sometimes it feels like there's nothing to say, only because there's too much to say. The days blend together into a mess of weeks, and I'll flip back through my lesson planner, trying to figure out how on earth we got from there to here when it seems like we just started! I wish I'd written more! I wish I'd captured every minute of it! The end of November makes eighteen months in Spain, leaving just six more. Six! A fraction of a second. And the life I was so sure would crush me last December has become the most normal and--dare I say it?--enjoyable thing.
My kids keep asking why I'm leaving and what I'll do next year, and I don't know what to say to any of them, but I wish I could pack them into suitcases to carry with me. Don't grow up, I'd tell that. Nah, that's bad advice. Grow up wise, but always keep your childlike hearts. I get nervous for their futures on their behalf, maybe more nervous than I get about mine.
These days, it gets dark so early. I'm ready to hibernate by 9:00. The most important man in my life is Michael Scott. I am not as tired as I used to be. I want to hold on to every minute.
I can't believe it's been almost a year since that plane ride. That we're almost to another Christmas break. We have only two full school weeks, three half weeks, and twenty-five research papers to go. There's been such a distinct ebb and flow to the semester: first, the month-long euphoria of smaller classes and a year's experience. Then, the drain of October, of assignments collecting dust in the grading bin. The November peak, the holidays ahead, the nestling in of the classroom, the routine. Now it's a steam train plowing toward 2013, to Lord of the Flies and Anne Frank. And my head is in such a mess of it.
I wish I'd kept better track, even if it meant writing down one-sentence summaries of the days:
Biked to Alcala and ate potentially rancid hummus on the sidewalk outside the Asia Store.
Got a visit from a friend and introduced her to one of the most integral parts of Madrid: Hello Kitty.
Scary man on the street yelled at Sarah in Spanish: "You are a big problem for my friend!"
Alas, I've been asleep for the past year and a half. How painful to realize that, potentially, the biggest legacy I'll leave for future generations is a string of semi-coherent facebook statuses.
Sometimes it feels like there's nothing to say, only because there's too much to say. The days blend together into a mess of weeks, and I'll flip back through my lesson planner, trying to figure out how on earth we got from there to here when it seems like we just started! I wish I'd written more! I wish I'd captured every minute of it! The end of November makes eighteen months in Spain, leaving just six more. Six! A fraction of a second. And the life I was so sure would crush me last December has become the most normal and--dare I say it?--enjoyable thing.
My kids keep asking why I'm leaving and what I'll do next year, and I don't know what to say to any of them, but I wish I could pack them into suitcases to carry with me. Don't grow up, I'd tell that. Nah, that's bad advice. Grow up wise, but always keep your childlike hearts. I get nervous for their futures on their behalf, maybe more nervous than I get about mine.
These days, it gets dark so early. I'm ready to hibernate by 9:00. The most important man in my life is Michael Scott. I am not as tired as I used to be. I want to hold on to every minute.
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