A Touching Moment with a Stranger

No, the stranger and I didn't touch one another, in case you were wondering.

I take Lazarus to the dog park next to our duplex pretty often--I'd say at least 3 times a week when it's warm, and maybe 2 times a week in the winter. After it snows, we're there every day--it's his favorite time to be at the dog park, and no one is ever there so it's like this giant playground all to ourselves. He does pretty good at the dog park, and doesn't get too snippy (unless it's a boxer or a standard poodle; I don't understand the dislike of the boxers since those were his BFFs as a puppy, the poodles are asshats so I get that). He likes to run and catch a ball, frisbee, does tricks, etc., and it keeps him focused and tires him out faster.

Yesterday was a dog park day. We played for about 45 minutes until he got a little snippy with an overly friendly boxer. I had him follow me to the gate at the furthest end of the dog park, where I noticed that there was a woman and a great dane sitting in the grass under a large tree just outside of the fence of the dog park. I had seen her helping the dane walk over to the tree, and helping it lay down in the grass. She was gently petting the dane, rearranging the pretty orange scarf tied around its neck and talking quietly to it.

Lazarus--the welcoming party for all dogs and people--beelined over to them. I had just enough time to ask, "Is it friendly?" before Laz descended upon the dane lying in the grass, licking its face with his ears back and tail wagging profusely, like it was a long lost friend. The dane sniffed up at Lazarus, clearly three times the size of my dog, and allowed Laz to lick its face over and over again while mildly scrunching up its nose as if to say, "Blargh, but whatever. Nice to meet you too."

Laz then turned to the woman crouching behind her dog, greeting her in the same manner. She laughed and pet him, saying softly, "You're a nice dog, aren't you? You're a sweety." After making sure to lick me once, he lay down in the grass next to the dane, obviously spent from our playtime in the dog park.

Finally, it was our turn to speak, having gotten the dog greetings out of the way. I smiled and asked, "Why are you sitting outside of the dog park?"

She looked down at her dane and replied with a soft smile, "Well, we're doing a bucket list. This was one of them."

"What? A bucket list?? But she looks fine!" I stared increduously down at the great dane. She was a gorgeous light caramel color, a little darker than a tan. She had a young face that showed that she had many more years to go--no white grizzles on her muzzle--but I could tell she wasn't quite a puppy like my Lazarus still seemed to be. I knelt down and began to pet her, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Cancer was the only thing I could possibly think of--something from within because she was a beautiful healthy color on the outside.

It was at this point that the woman began to cry. She was still smiling, but tears were tumbling down her face faster than she could wipe them. I instantly felt contrite and horrible--I had been far too direct with a complete stranger. I apologized, saying, "Oh! I totally didn't mean to make you cry! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!"

She waved her hand at me and laughed, tears still pouring out of her eyes. One hand was always on her dog laying placidly in the grass, stroking gently. "Oh no, I've been crying buckets for the last few days now, probably at least four times a day. No, no, you didn't make me cry, I promise. It's her spine. She can't walk anymore."

I still felt bad. "How old is she?"

"She's three," the woman replied, looking lovingly down at her dog. Lazarus got up and began to lick the face of the great dane again, and the woman laughed. "He really is a sweet dog."

"So is yours," I immediately replied, and I meant it. I caressed her large tan head, talking to her about how sweet she was. The woman cried on, and I asked, "So there was nothing they could do for her?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Her spine can't be fixed. She can't move; can't walk. She would have a very poor quality of life, not being able to get up or move around. So we're living it up while we can, doing everything we wanted to do!"

I looked down at the sweet dog under my hand, looking into her eyes as she took in the dogs romping and playing in the dog park. She looked like she wanted to get in there and play desperately, but couldn't move to do so.

"So... you have to put her to sleep?"

This opened up a new floodgate of tears as she nodded her head, and I found myself choking back some as well. I gave her some time before I said, "Oh, poor, poor, sweet baby. And only three years old."

"The best three years of my life. She's the best dog I've ever had!" the woman stated fiercly, and I nodded, understanding her sentiment completely.

"Great danes are fantastic dogs. I grew up with them; my dad bred and trained them, and I was actually named after his favorite great dane," I responded.

She looked up at me, and the tears seemed to slow their descent. "Really? That's pretty funny! What is your name and what happened?"

"Well, my dad and mom had this blue great dane. They loved her very much, and her name was Shauna Lee Blue. She died too early from something--I don't know what--but they decided to name me after her. I'm Shauna Lynn instead of Shauna Lee, though."

The woman laughed and laughed, finding it much funnier than I thought it was, but I suppose it was laughing for the sake of laughing after crying so much for the past few days. I guess finding out someone was named after a beloved pet is probably somewhat comical too. My story seemed to cheer her up considerably.

"We came out here so she could relax in the grass and see the other dogs. I'm going to do some studying," she stated. Lazarus got up and moved towards her, licking her face again as she pet him. The great dane looked up at him and then back at the dog park, not seeming to care that Lazarus was bathing her owner with too many kisses. She spoke to him softly, loving the extra attention being lavished upon her from a dog unlike her own, and allowing him to kiss her on the face and neck, rubbing his muzzle into her face as if to comfort her.

We got up and began to walk towards her car, which she had parked right in the grass about 100 yards from where her dog currently sat under the tree. Her great dane looked at us in alarm, as if to say, "You're freaking leaving me here!?" Seeing her dog clearly wanting to come along, the woman laughed and joked, "Stay, stay! We're coming back! Not that you can get up anyhow, but stay!" This seemed to appease the great dane for a moment, and she went back to watching the dog park.

We said our goodbyes, and as I walked away from her and her dog, all I could think was that I would never see that great dane again.

It's amazing, though, the love we feel for our pets. If it weren't for Lazarus, I wouldn't know anyone in my current neighborhood. And if it weren't for Lazarus I would definitely be missing a vital part of life--loving something other than yourself, that loves you on your best and worst days, no matter what you look like and no matter how you treat it. Unconditional love is something hard to come by. I hope that woman is able to grieve and move on, knowing that her dog loved her unconditionally, and that it was a love that was definitely returned.

City of STOLE MY SOUL.

Yes, I am writing about more books. No, I am not a complete loser with no life. I am a loser who fits reading into her life. So nah.

I just finished, not two night ago, the Mortal Instruments trilogy (or the two books that are currently within it), City of Bones and City of Ashes by Cassandra Clare.

I bought the first book, City of Bones on Saturday. I started it on Sunday, December 21. I wasn't even midway through it when I went and bought the second book, City of Ashes from Borders on Monday, December 22.

I was absolutely enthralled in the books! I couldn't get enough of them! I literally petted the books, saying something along the lines, "Oh, please don't end so soon. Please write some more while I'm reading you..." I carried them around in my purse (which isn't too abnormal for me) and read them during the wee hours of the morning because I just couldn't fake that I was pooping that much during the holidays.

Don't act like you don't read while pooping.

Luckily, the trip down to Cape on Christmas Day lent to 3 lovely hours of my reading in a car. Andrew's dad drives slower than molasses. Plus, we had four (yes, you read that correctly) Christmases to celebrate in St. Charles, so I had to quench my lust of the series while schmoozing with loved ones. However, I ended up finishing each book in less than 2 days each, counting our precious time apart while I had to deal with the fam and friends.

Read no further if you want to know nothing of the books.

City of Bones

We meet Clary, 15 going on 16 in a week, who is at a club with friend Simon, 16, and witnesses a death dealt by those no one but she seems to be able to see. She all but gives up on the idea of figuring it out, when one of the murderers, Jace, finds her out with Simon at a cafe. Jace isn't that bad of a guy, Clary realizes, when she finds out that he's not murdering people but demons, and he doesn't understand why she's able to see him when he's all "glamoured"-up. He wants her to come back to the Institute so that she can talk to a trusted friend of his.

However, that conversation is cut short when Clary receives a phone call from her mother--who she had just fought with--that stands Clary's hair on end; her mother sounds like she's just been killed. Racing home after slapping the crap out of Jace and stealing one of his instruments that looks like a cell phone (a stele), Clary realizes that when she gets home her house has been ransacked and her mother is missing, not murdered. When she gets to her room, she is attacked and ends up killing the strange entity with the stele she had stolen from Jace.

When she comes to, she is poisoned from the attack and Jace is whisking her away to the Institute to receive help from Hodge, the trusted person that had wanted to meet her in less tense circumstances.

She is healed at the Institute, and we get to meet the other Demon slayers from the night at the club--Alec and Isabelle, brother and sister around the same age as Clary and Jace.

From here on out it's a whirlwind of information--we learn too much for me to write about it in good conscience. A synopsis is basically that Valentine--the bad guy--has kidnapped Clary's mother, who was apparently his wife;

Luke--Clary's mother's friend who practically raised her along with her mother--disowns her, only to tell save her life later as a werewolf (who knew!?) and fill her in on her mother's torrid past;

Alec is gay and in love with Jace, but starts to see the warlock Magnus Bane to gain practice, maybe?;

Jace isn't gay and starts to fall for Clary, who begins to feel the same way;

Simon is in love with Clary as well, but he's just the nerdy friend that can't compete with hot Jace, plus Clary sees him as a brother-figure.

But holy shit, twist central: Valentine, you are Clary's fah-tha (father, for those who haven't seen Star Wars). And wouldn't you have it awkward and strange and totally heartwrenching: Valentine, you are Jace's fah-tha too.

All I felt at that moment is: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~~~~~!!!!!!!!! ::dies::

I then raised myself up and said, "THERE HAS GOT TO BE A WAY! SOME LOOP-HOLE IN CRAZY-TOWN!"


City of Ashes

There wasn't a loop-hole. In fact, this whole book is just a testament to the horrible, gut-wrenching feelings Jace and Clary feel for one another.

Simon and Clary attempt to date, which reads awkward and wrong because he's so not the one for her, but how could she possibly make it work with Jace when she's been told by her father that they are, in fact, brother and sister? Simon tries far too hard, but he means well. However, he's an idiot and goes and gets himself turned into a vampire. However, there is a potential love interest for him in the form of Maia, a werewolf girl who seems to really see Simon for who he really is.

My only idea here is this: Valentine is an evil, horrible man. Why would he want Jace to be with the one that he wanted? But all signs point to yes, they are related, until the end of the book when there are a few morsels and hints dropped that they are, perhaps, not related after all. I am literally CLINGING to the hope that they aren't, because they are just so. damned. AWESOME. TOGETHER.

On with the story, I suppose.

Valentine makes a come-back and attempts to lure Jace into the dark side, but Jace is a good boy and does the right thing by attempting to kill his father. We find out more about Clary's incredibly drawing skillz, in which she is able to create powerful, destructive runes that save the day in some instances.

The Inquisitor reminds me of that chick who becomes head master in Harry Potter #5. Evil. Evil woman. With stupid reasons for becoming evil. She is awful to Jace.

There is a lot of action in this book, what with Simon becoming a vampire, meeting the Seelie Court, battling hoards of demons that Valentine has brought forth, wondering what Valentine did to Clary's mother to force her into this magical coma, attempting to figure out who stole the cookies from the cookie jar... need I go any further?



Needless to say, I am practically frothing at the mouth to read the last book in the series, which comes out on March 24. I have read the first chapter of the book--which the author posted on her website--and have read some little snippets (or cookies, as she calls them) that the author has placed on her Myspace page. As much as I abhor going onto Myspace, I do it for the books. And my obsession with them. So far, from what I have read, Clary goes to the "home" of all Shadowhunters in an attempt to find the cure for her mother's magical coma, and comes across Jace in a passionate embrace with some chick with dark hair... and there is a new interest for Clary by the name of Sebastien. Interesting. Really. Can't they advance the book to me?

Consumed.

I have just finished The Darkangel Trilogy by Meredith Ann Pierce. I read the three books--785 pages in all--in less than 24 hours. I was literally consumed with desire to finish this series, and wanted desperately to know what happened at the end.

Don't read any more of this posting if you want to know nothing of the books.

Basically, I have never experienced such heartbreak in a young adult trilogy. I know that not everything can end in happily-ever-after, and I prefer it to not sometimes, but this series basically tore my heart out. I was so angry at Irrylath for not going to Aeriel and returning her love, and for turning to his cousin for comfort instead. I wanted so desperately for them to find something in one another, but he turned from her again and again in all three books. Then, when he finally goes for her and returns her love it's so damned short-lived that I cried out in anger. I shed a couple tears as well. It was as if my own heart were being turned away again and again.

Everything Aeriel does is because she loves someone--first Eoduin then Irrylath. Irrylath's love is her only true love, even though he doesn't return it. Then to have that taken away by fate... oh how cruel it is. I desperately want the author to continue the series so that I can find out more about Aeriel and her journey to cleanse the planet, and to find out if Irrylath continues to pursue or turns to his cousin out of a change of heart now that he has his own back. I came to dislike the cousin so much that the thought of him ending up with her makes me feel ill, but I know it's only because I saw it through the rage and despair of Aeriel's eyes that I feel this way. I just feel like she didn't have to fight for Irrylath at all; Aeriel did all the work and got none of the returned feelings.

Here are my own recaps of the stories.

The Darkangel

We meet Aeriel, a slave to a high-born girl, Eoduin, who is basically a princess by all rights. While they are gathering up a precious liquid on a high mountain, Eoduin is taken by an icaris--a demon-type that steals women to make them his honored brides. Eoduin makes bride number 13, whose fate is to have her soul taken by the icaris and be changed into a wraith. Aeriel goes down the mountain to alert everyone, but finds out that no one will go to save Eoduin, who is already thought of as dead.

Aeriel goes back to the mountain to kill the icaris, but is captivated by his beauty and rendered unable. He takes her from the mountain, intending to make her a servant to his wives. He tells her that she is to spin clothing for them, because even the lightest cloth keeps them from being able to stand. He has no food to give her, so she must find her own.

She goes to the gardens to forage only to find a gnome-type of man, who gives her the spindle in which she is to make the cloth for the wives, and gives her his own food he keeps deep underground.

When she first meets the wraiths, she is unable to tell which is her beloved mistress Eoduin--all are haggard and ugly, barely able to stand their own body weight. After mastering the spindle--it spins thread from her emotions--she first spins cloth of pity and despair. Slowly, after a few months, she begins to love them, because to her any of them could be Eoduin. She sings to them and keeps them company. She soon begins to spin cloth from love and patience, which is light as air and the wraiths can wear the clothing without being held down. Aeriel even befriends the vicious gargoyles on the rooftop, feeding them and setting them free after they learn her touch.

The icaris--or darkangel--begins to get violent in response to her forming these bonds, however. Aeriel walks the castle and sees bats with broken wings, or lizards without tails or tongues. She pleads with him to stop killing the animals, so he tells her that she must alleviate his boredom--tell him stories.

She tells him many tales, and eventually gets to the last one she knows--one she learned of as a young girl from another slave. A story that was meant to scare her. The slave had killed a 6 year old prince in her care by giving him to a lorelai, drowning him in a lake.

The icaris is troubled by this tale and sends her away. He begins to dream of these stories, and sets out to kill Aeriel. The gnome keeps her safe and sends her on a quest away from the darkangel, both to keep her from being killed as well as to find a way to rid the land of the icaris. Aeriel is so drawn to the icaris's beauty that she knew that if he were to call to her, she would willingly go to him knowing it would be her death.

He pursues her at first, biting into her neck. But a savior keeps her from being slaughtered--Pendarlon, a giant lion-god that bats the icaris into the skies, injuring him. The icaris leaves, and Pendarlon gives Aeriel to some nomads to be kept safe and to heal. On this journey she is shaken free from her bonds created by the icaris, growing taller and stronger, and finds that she is not a captive of the icaris any longer. She learns fighting moves, and finds out more about the White Witch that created the icaris. She finds that Avarclon, the horse-god that is to protect the land she is from, and finds its ghost and bones. She takes its hoof, and goes back to the icaris.

The icaris needs his 14th and final bride so that he might join the White Witch and become a full icaris--soulless and bloodless. At the moment he is still somewhat mortal. Aeriel returns to him and he finds her a changed woman, and decides that she will be his 14th bride. The night he is to wed her, she tricks him into drinking from the Avarclon's hoof, telling him that it is a bridal custom of her land. He drinks the liquid. The wraiths encircle him, and after he passes out, Aeriel steals his brides's souls back from him. Her beloved Eoduin is truly dead, her soul set free after her body crumbles to dust in front of Aeriel. The wraiths disappear into dust, and the 13 souls fly to the skies where they form a constellation.

Aeriel, however, cannot kill the icaris. Though she is no longer under his power, she saw several sparks of good in him, and due to it has fallen in actual love with him. She cries tears of blood, and they fill him with life, but he doesn't wake. The gnome explains that his heart is filled with lead, so Aeriel cuts out her own to replace his. The gnome cleans the former icaris's heart, and places it into a dying Aeriel; they are now bound together.

They learn together that he was the prince drowned for the lorelai, and that the White Witch had turned him into the icaris. He is not the same, though. He believes he is still only 6 years old, though he is clearly 16. He remembers his time as the icaris, and loathes himself for the lives he took, and for the former life he held.

Aeriel cannot heal him; cannot touch him.

They go east to find his mother.

A Gathering of Gargoyles

This book starts off where the first left off, and recounts the several months at the palace the former-icaris-turned-prince--now known as Irrylath--resides to get to know his mother again. He finds out that he has 6 other brothers, who all love Aeriel and call her sister.

Aeriel is in turmoil. Though she had wed Irrylath when he was an icaris, she knows that Irrylath is husband in name only. He spurns her every touch, and refuses to sleep with her. He is tormented by the dreams of the White Witch, and sleeps with lamps lit all around him to chase away the shadows.

Due to her sadness, the souls of the 13 brides come down from the heavens to depart on her a quest to kill the White Witch. Aeriel sets off at once, knowing that either way Irrylath could care less; he does not love her as she loves him. This is heartbreaking.

On her journey, she meets up with all differently colored people, and each land she encounters she finds out that an icaris is blighting the land. She saves a jet-black girl, Erin, from the clutches of an icaris, and saves three of the gargoyles that she had once set free. Erin follows her, and so do the gargoyles.

She comes to the land of Pirs, and falls into the clutches of a nameless man. After several months under his thumb, Aeriel comes free of the spell she has cast over him, and comes to realize that this man's nephew looks remarkably like her--right down to the unnerving emerald green eyes she herself has. The boy claims to be her brother--the royal prince of Pirs--and that she is the rightful lost heir to Pirs. He tells her that the nameless man is her uncle, and that he sold his name to the White Witch to get his heart's desire--their mother. Eryka kills herself instead of being forced to marry this man, and Aeriel--or Erryl, as she had been named as a baby--was whisked away by a heron. Aeriel refuses to believe him, and she once again is captured by the nameless man. Digging her way out of the prison--after some more help from her soul-friend Eoduin--she reunites with Erin and her brother.

This is short-lived, as they run away from the icaris the nameless man sets upon them. A small familiar she had been carrying with her the whole time dies, and leaves her a pearl. Saved by a bright flame of light from a tower they hide in, they part ways so that Aeriel can finish her quest. Aeriel meets up with her old friend the gnome, who is on the run from the White Witch, and finished her quest in Orm.

The slave that had told her the tale--and had killed Irrylath by pushing him into the lake--finds her in Orm, and attempts to kill her for the White Witch. Irrylath comes and saves her, but only begrudgingly. Aeriel feels more heartbreak as she learns that Irrylath can never love her as long as the White Witch lives. He had been her lover, and therefore she still held his heart. However, she is lightened by the idea that he had come searching for her. Perhaps he did feel something for her afterall.

The quest comes to an end when the gargoyles, their hearts salvaged through a form of sorcery, become what they had been before--the animal-gods of the lands.

The Pearl of the Soul of the World

This book's opening is very different from the other two, as we find Aeriel unable to remember who she is and stumbling about underground, a pin secured deep in her skull that burns colder than ice. The pearl her familiar gave her in book two is in the breast of her dress, and is casting a strange light. She comes across some gnomes who keep her fed and warm, and Aeriel finds herself making sure not to remember who she was before because that only hurt.

After a fashion, some of the White Witch's minions find them, and only Aeriel's pearl-light staves them off. They find a path to one of the God-towns, and follow the call that brings them to Ravenna's city--the last of the Ancients who had forsaken the people of this world. Ravenna saves her after she pulls the pin from her skull, and asks for the tale that brought her to this point. Aeriel tells her all, and we finally find out how she managed to get pinned in the head by the White Witch.

Irrylath spurns her still, and refuses to sleep in the same room as Aeriel. He ignores her in public, and talks to her only out of necessity. She is wife only in name to him. Aeriel pines for him, and her heartache is tangible. They go in search of an army to defeat the White Witch, and they come in contact with his cousin, the bandit queen of Avaric. She had apparently nursed him back to health when he went in look for Aeriel back in book two, and had formed clear bonds with Irrylath. He embraces her freely, smiling at her and talking with her as he's never done with Aeriel. He begrudgingly introduces her as his wife after enthusiastically explaining who everyone else is. Aeriel nods, and leaves, only to see Irrylath smile in relief at her absence. She is heartbroken. They get on the road and pick up those willing to fight the White Witch.

Aeriel stumbles upon Irrylath and his cousin talking quietly alone. He told his cousin that he could not love her either, until the White Witch was destroyed; he would not talk of these things to Aeriel willingly, and it hurt her immensely to find out that he turned to his cousin--who clearly had fallen in love with him--with these emotions. His cousin touched his face and tells him that Aeriel was just as wicked as the White Witch because she had replaced his heart with her own, so how could he ever love anyone else? Wasn't that just as bad as the White Witch's sorcery over him? However, after seeing her beloved Irrylath with his cousin--not spurring her touch or speech--she flees out of jealousy and rage. It is then that the White Witch's minion pins her in the head, and she wanders away from the camp, knowing not even herself.

Ravenna listens, and imparts new knowledge and a new task onto Aeriel. She is to restore the White Witch to humanity through the pearl that she has been carrying all of this time. Ravenna imbues it with her essence, and the last of the Ancients dies. Aeriel is horror-struck by this turn of events, but does as Ravenna asks of her.

When leaving the city, Aeriel immediately runs into Erin, who has been looking for her for several months. Aeriel then learns of how Irrylath reacted to her absence. Irrylath had believed for these past months that Aeriel had been taken by an icaris, and that the White Witch had destroyed her already. He despaired and refused to move camp until he found out if it was true or not. He turned to his cousin for comfort, and Aeriel was again full of jealousy and rage. She, however, must finish Ravenna's task given for her, and tells Erin to go back to assemble the troops. Aeriel was to go to the White Witch alone, and needed Erin to back her up on land with the army.

Erin returns, and though a source of magic Aeriel sees Irrylath through Erin's eyes. He has grown gaunt and angry from losing Aeriel, and when Erin returns he believes that she is under the White Witch's spell. He tries to kill her, but through more magic Aeriel saves Erin and allows Irrylath to see that she is, in fact, fine and not under the White Witch's thumb. He sees her like a starved man, and his cousin tries to dissuade him from believing that she is okay. Aeriel tamps down her anger and jealousy, only to feel better when he throws off his cousin and tells her to leave him alone. He wants to see her, but Aeriel tells him of her task and he cries out that she musn't go to the White Witch alone. Through heartbreak--because she's unsure if he's feeling this way towards her now because actually he loves her--she tells Erin to sever their connection so that she can't see Irrylath any longer. He cries out her name, and Aeriel dreams of him for several nights.

She travels to the White Witch. She enters the ice castle. When she finally reaches the White Witch, Irrylath's army has gathered outside. She and the Witch watch, and the Witch shows her the heart she had carved from her own chest to replace with ice. The heart was ashes, and Aeriel felt despair at ever being able to save her.

The battle wages, and the White Witch attempts to get Irrylath to back into her clutches. Irrylath spurns her, however, and calls out that he no longer follows her, that he follows The Aeriel. Aeriel smiles and feels heartened by his proclamation, however it's cut short when the White Witch uses her as bait. Irrylath is enraged when he sees that Aeriel is captive in the ice castle, and uses the horse-god to try and defeat the foes that encumber him--his own icaris brothers from before he became mortal again. His younger half-brothers from his mother's second marriage fight along side him on the other animal-gods that had once been gargoyles.

Aeriel gives the White Witch Ravenna's last gift, the pearl she had imbued with her essence. Irrylath comes to save her at this time, however, he's trapped outside of the window of the tower. He breaks the window and asks Aeriel to take his hand so that she may be saved, but she turns from him so that she may defeat the White Witch. The gift turns the White Witch mortal, and the ice palace begins to crumble and melt. Before turning to dust, however, the White Witch touches both of Aeriel's eyes, freezing her tear ducts; she can never weep again, and is blind.

Irrylath saves Aeriel by diving into the flood the ice palace created in its melting, and weeps over Aeriel; his tears give her sight, but she herself can never cry again. He takes her into his arms and kisses her then, and she rejoices in their love. They consummate their marriage, after two years of being joined only in name.

This joy is shortlived, however, after Aeriel wakes up. Ravenna is not done with Aeriel, and tells her that she is to take up where the Ancient left off, and has to leave Irrylath to save the planet and heal it. Aeriel does not want to--she worked so hard to get Irrylath to love her, and now he does! How could Ravenna ask her to give this up so willingly? Ravenna says the same thing as Irrylath's cousin--her heart in his chest might be giving him false feelings and is tying him to her without him wanting it. Aeriel realizes that this love could be false for him, and switches their hearts back through sorcery. She would cry if not for her frozen tears, and feels utter heartbreak and despair. She is no longer mortal; he should have someone who ages with him.

When he wakes, however, he is the same lover he had been in the night. He still loves her greatly, which pains Aeriel more than she could ever imagine. After dressing, everyone finds them together and rejoices--with the exception of his cousin. Irrylath dotes on Aeriel and asks her to be his queen in Avaric, but she denies him. She denies all who ask her to join them, and Irrylath is confused by her refusal to him.

"We are married. How can you not come with me?"

She tells him that she cannot, and he realizes that Ravenna has tied her to another quest. He declares that Ravenna's hold on Aeriel is just as horrible as the one the White Witch had on him, but Aeriel tells him that she still cannot come with him. He then states that they share hearts, and once stated feels a horrible twinge in his chest, shared by Aeriel. He looks at her in horror and states, "Oh Aeriel, what have you done?"

Aeriel tells him that she must heal the planet if they are to continue living on it. That he should turn to his cousin, who looks so much like him that they could almost be twins; his cousin is as unblemished as he should have been before the White Witch ensnared him. He tells her that he wants no other, and that he will search the ends of the planet to find a way to free her from Ravenna's grasp. She gently states, "We had two years and we spurned them."

Aeriel turns from him then, and the souls-turned-constellations join her from the sky to create a crown of fire around her head. When Aeriel turns back to say goodbye, she finds everyone bowing with the exception of Irrylath--who is openly weeping into his hands--and his cousin--whose hands clutch his shoulders in an attempt to comfort.

She leaves, and goes on her quest to heal the land.

Sad circumstances

So... wow, this seems a bit surreal. I mean, he was only my student for a quarter, but I still said hi to him in the halls and he was always very polite and kind to me. I think he got in trouble a lot in the other classes on my team, though.

I'm pretty sure he was dealing, or at least doing, drugs; after parent-teacher conferences, me and a bunch of other teachers who were getting ice cream saw him standing around the 7-11 with a large wad of cash in his hand. He was ready to bolt when he saw us careen into the parking lot, but once he saw it was us he relaxed, thumbed his money, and then poked it into his pocket without making eye contact with any of us. When we called his name and asked him why he wasn't at school that day, he smiled timidly and shrugged.

He made a horribe, tragic decision. Now he has to live with the consequences of having killed a friend.

http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/news/stories.nsf/stlouiscitycounty/story/6DD6201241761F6E862574340049BE51?OpenDocument

excerpt: "Eduardo was sitting in a chair, on the back porch of a home, when a 14-year-old boy shot him in the top of his head."

Sad : (

I found out that one of my former students (from second quarter), Christian, killed a boy on accident yesterday morning when he was playing with a gun he had bought off the street. He's now in jail, and will not be returning to school obviously. He was a nice, sweet student to me; never gave me any real issues. I am beyond surprised and hurt for him; he seemed above that sort of thing, you know--buying a gun off the streets. I guess it just hit a little close to home for me.

I feel like I've been set up to fail.

Honestly, I am feeling very down on myself at the moment. I probably shouldn't be writing right now, but if I don't get these feelings out I think I'll drown from the intensity of it all.

We are done with MAP and are on the last leg of make-ups for it. Unfortunately, that means my mentor has been sucked up in the position of the MAP tester, so for the entire month of April she's been dealing with that bull. Not to mention that after MAP is done, she has to do all sorts of menial jobs when in reality... I need her now more than ever with this stupid paper coming to a close. I don't know how Ashley is feeling, but I am stuck and needing some serious help in terms of time--which I don't have much of.

I've been videotaping myself! Literally! I should have had someone in there helping me, but because my mentor is trapped in a precarious position, she is unable to do it for me. I don't even know if what I'm doing is good or if it's showing anything at all. What if my questions are all wrong? What if my students come off as one did today--completely moronic and not knowing what on earth she had read but was convinced she had read the entire story only to have gotten every iota of detail completely and utterly wrong? That shows no growth! That just shows how shitty of a reader they are, and how shitty of a teacher I am!!

I don't feel as though I am a good teacher. I've been going through my data and realizing that I don't believe that my test students have made ANY progress. Lemme repeat: NO progress. I'm literally depressed wondering how I managed to fail an entire group of kids, and I feel overwhelmed at the thought of fishing through the data for a spark of hope that one of them learned something.

I was completely unprepared to teach this course, and after many trials and tribulations I thought I had it down. Apparently not. I can't help but wonder if the program had been up and running from the beginning of school--LIKE IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN--if my students would have made gains instead of remaining stagnant. It might be me, and my style of teaching, though, that has failed the students.

Mizzou is all about reflecting on your teaching and blah blah blah. Here's a thought: I'm reflecting on the fact that I was never introduced to a course that taught me how to deal with Special Education children, and their learning processes until my Masters program (which means, WHOOPS, too late!).

Oh, and another--why is it that I feel as if I am was set up, spectacularly, to FAIL during my first year of teaching?

Taking over the learning process = differentiated instruction!

Hatija comes to me during my 6th hour, and lately we've been reading together and doing sight words. However, when I asked her why she doesn't seem to like writing, she explained that she doesn't know how to spell a lot of words and is self-conscious about it; she wants to know more words so that she's more comfortable with spellings and meanings. So we came up with a solution together, and she wanted me to share it with her other teachers in the hopes that she could continue this in their classrooms. (Literally, she came up to me today and said, "Do you have Mrs. Kerber's (et cetera) email address? Can you tell [them] what we talked about yesterday?").

Here's the plan we concocted together:

1. She tells me the words she really wants to know how to spell. I write them down (it's a list of 26), then give her the list to repeatedly write out over and over again every day. At the end of the week she'll take a quiz, and whatever words she passes gets replaced with new words, and the words she misses will be re-put onto the list.

2. She will also write the words in sentences, define them, draw what they mean to her--all to give her more background on the words.

3. Each week we will alternate between doing spelling words and reading a book. This week is spelling. Next week will be reading.

She's really enjoying it right now, because she's literally taking control over her own learning process, plus these are words that she WANTS to know, not that I think she should know. At the moment they're random words like teacher, relationships, few, and all 12 of the months. But, she is excited, which makes me excited. : )

Hey.. wait.. what?

I'm dying today. I have a sinus infection that makes my throat burn, my head feels like it's floating while at the same time it's held firmly down by the pressure that is pounding itself in the same beating tempo as my heart. So today, Ms. Franklin is Dead And Not Yelling So Keep Your Mouths Shut Tightly, Please.

This morning, my second hour were angels after my pleading speech for them to be quiet. Then, four girls said something astonishing (and that I've touched on in other postings).

Cadiedras announced, "Ms. Franklin like our mom."

Erica, Terry, and Enise all agreed, and I started to blush. "What do you mean? Why do you say that?" I asked.

Cadiedras then said, "You give us stuff that we need. And you take good care of us. You like our mom."

Enise then said, "Yeah, you always give us stuff."

When I tried to understand more, they all shrugged and went back to what they were doing before the proclomation. I mean... what do I give them? Pencils, paper, knowledge, patience, and the occasional candy piece. But really I give nothing more. I gave Terry some cheez-its today because she didn't make it to school in time to eat breakfast, and Terry is next to useless if she's got no food in her. Plus, I don't like to starve, so why should I deny her food when I have some?

Again, something hilarious. I've been playing oldies music all day, and while the kids initally whine about it not being Z107.7 (the popular pop/rap station that I refuse to play because there are too many bad and inappropriate words for a school setting), I eventually hear them humming a refrain, or singing along, or snapping their fingers to the beat. And it seems like a balm; a calm envelopes them, strangely enough. I did the same during the first semester, and I've come to realize that they respond really calmly to the oldies while they are crazy when I play Z107.7. During Christmas season, I played Christmas music for a month straight! In January, when I announced that I was going to turn on some music, Jose M. cried out, "Please! No more Christmas music!" I laughed so hard.

Also, MAP testing is messing up my world! One more week of that dumb test, hopefully!

Relating it back to their lives

Strangely enough, I don't have much of an issue with asking kids to become involved in stories that are non-fiction or informational. The middle ages literally crave information, especially when it's about something that they want to know about.

What I've done is, whever there is something that we're supposed to start reading that is non-fiction, I allow the students to attempt to relate it back to their lives through discussions after reading. The children love knowing facts. Seth*, for example, loves reading about war-time dramas and commented, after reading a story on Hiroshima, "Ms. Franklin, did you know that if only half of the world's nuclear bombs went off that it would blow up the world? THE WORLD! That's nuts!" Any time a student can inform a teacher about something they might not know, it makes that student feel empowered with information and importance.

Another thing I have done is on projects for computer use, I have them research using the 6 questions (who, what, when, where, why, and how) on a subject related to their book, or on a topic of their choosing that is a part of the book. Example: Crazy for Chocolate is a fictional book about a girl who loves chocolate, but a research project that many of my students have gotten a lot of fun from is researching the origins of chocolate, and then looking up recipes that use chocolate. Another example is from the book Money Hungry--a girl who wants nothing more than to make money in any way possible--and I have the students look up the 6 questions on how money is created and destroyed. It's a fun process that the kids like to share. As I said, any time a kid can share information that they believe you might not know or their friends might not know, makes it so that they're the teacher and you're the learner!

I LOVE TAGALONGS. THEY MAKE ME FAT AND HAPPY.

So, MAP testing has officially started. Allow me to shoot myself in the face because it's lasting for the ENTIRE month of April! We're testing every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, from 7:45-9:15 for three weeks straight. Then we get squished classes, so instead of them being 50 minutes they are now around 30-35. So, basically nothing gets done in my class because our kids are so fried that they can't even think straight. Hell, I'm fried, and I'm only scribing for one of my students! Hello April Struggle! Goodbye, Days Where I Liked My Job.

I've been getting stuff done for my wedding. YAY!

I've also been having the severe itch to start writing again. It's a major part of my life--or it was before Fellows--so having no time to do so has really taken a large chunk of myself and displaced it somewhere. I have no time to even think about the next chapter of the story I started; the plot is still fresh and brewing in my mind, but if I'm not writing a paper for Fellows or doing something regarding teaching, wedding, or sleeping (oh sleep, how I miss thee), then I'm basically not existing. I just really want to write. But I don't have the time to do so. And I'm very secretive about my writing. When I found out that Mark Twain used to fret and moan over how crappy his work was until his wife and seventy other people pushed him into publishing every single work of his, it made me feel like less of a freak of nature.

Is anyone else being called Mom a lot by their students? My kids keep playing "house" and occasionally say strange things like, "You're the mom and we're the kids, Ms. Franklin!" It makes me feel strange because I've actually responded to kids calling me Mom, and I'm not a mother!! Not to mention the fact that my students randomly say things like, "MOM... I mean, MS. FRANKLIN!" They're always uber embarrassed. It's funny.

Does it show?

Ah, Spring Break is over. Quite the sad deal, but at least now I know that we only have 8.5 weeks left to go until the end of the year. Really, this year has been about surviving instead of teaching.

However, today I got a peculiar comment. It's the second time I've gotten this comment from strangers. The first time was from a substitute teacher that used to be on the Board of Education here in St. Louis. I went into his classroom (or, actually, Dang's classroom) to help him with a particularly rowdy group of 8th graders. While circling the room, I helped students get on task and told them a few ways to get started with the work (8 pages worth of reading). When I turned around, the sub was standing close and had a strange look on his face. Tilting his head to the side, he said, "You really care about these kids, don't you?" I nodded, wondering why he would make such a crazy comment; you don't become a teacher when you hate children, and you definitely don't work in the city if you can't like at least some of the kids. He then nodded back and said, "You know, you should be the next superintendent! I could give you a good reference. I was on the board for (X amount of) years. We need more people like you in this district. We need a change! People who care for the children!" He continued to ramble on while I became pale. I finally stuttered out, "Uhhh... this is only my first year teaching. I don't think I could be super." I then exited the room as quickly as I could before he could rope me into any more conversation.

Today, I was talking with Jenny and a sub for Kelli. As we were discussing some of the 7th graders, the sub suddenly said to me--with the same look that Dang's sub had had, one of astonished awe--"You really care for these kids, don't you?" I let her know that I did, and she smiled broadly.

... Does it show, or something? Maybe in my speech, it comes out? Regardless, isn't that such a strange comment? Shouldn't you be a teacher if you care for children and their welfare, their mental health, and general smarts? I do, but at the same time I feel like I am the worst teacher ever. I don't know; I know I have a lot to learn, basically. And I feel like everyone else has it all together--Dang, Brienne, Jenny, and Ashley especially; she is so on the ball and has such great control of the kids--while I'm struggling to make it every day. Apples to oranges, I know, I know. But still. It's hard not to compare.

This week has been particularly hard since it's right after spring break, and it's a shortened week due to parent-teacher conferences on Thursday night and Friday. They've been rowdy, and rather psycho in the case of many of them. However, there are some that are really buckling down and working their butts off. Or, they have for these three days, anyhow. Next week is a crapshoot.

For journals, I'm having them write about the rules of the reading area, and just a general refresher on the procedures. I feel like they tend to forget over the weekend what they're supposed to do in my class.

We're also experimenting with expository paragraphs. We have a model written by Read180, and then we have a graphic organizer where they can shift through the different aspects of their neighborhood. A mistake I've made on the graphic organizer is that I took it too literal--what they meant by neighborhood was that of the city the students live in, not the actual neighborhood. So some of my classes have a harder paragraph to write compared to my later hours when I realized my error.

For some students, I'm differentiating instruction by not doing the expository paragraph, and instead I'm using sight words to help them string together sentences and create more fluency. With Hatija, she is having a really hard time with it. She likes it sometimes, but today she was literally sweating over getting them right. Granted, I had made some of the sentences a little harder because for a hot minute she was getting them quickly, but it was still hard for her to do them. For example, for a sentence that I had made to string together to say, Would she read about boys, Hatija mixed them together to say, She read would about boys. After I talked with her for a minute, and read them aloud, had her read the sentence aloud, she realized that the sentence made no sense (she can generally tell when they aren't right). However, she suddenly started to say, "I need the! She would read a lot the boys." I was confused for a moment. I pointed to the card she had gotten wrong and I said, "What's this word again?" She pronounced it correctly and said, "Ohhhh. About. But I still need the. She would read about the boys." I talked her out of it, but I still don't think she understood why I was telling her that she didn't need an article to explain the situation about reading.

Hatija needs a lot of work. Sometimes I wish I had a class of just her so that I could work one-on-one with her more often, but it's just not meant to be like that apparently. But she's very receptive, and she tries very hard. However, she really likes the sight-words-into-sentences game we play. She whined that she didn't like writing the sentences down though. When I told her that it was one of the only ways to make sure her writing got better, she relented. Hatija then commented quietly, "I like this. It makes me feel like I'm actually learning." I cocked my head to the side and asked, "You don't feel like you learn doing other things?" She shrugged and replied, "I feel like I can do this. Like I'm learning."

Adrijana, Brenda, Azra, and Seth were given the cards too, and I made it a race to see who could make a sentence the fastest. They were getting them right and left, not pausing for a minute to have to read the words again. Working in pairs, they got the sentences done quickly. Adrijana whooped when she and Brenda won overall, and cried out happily, "Ms. Franklin, this was so much fun! We have got to do this more often! I actually feel like I'm doing something when I do this!" The other groups agreed, and Azra snuggled her way into my arms and said, "Can we do this again tomorrow?"

Perhaps I should make a ton more cards and make it a thing we do at least once a week?

By the way, I'm still confused as to what I'm doing with my data.

Still weary. Still trudging. What am I doing for data?

I haven't slept well in almost a week. It is killing me. I had to take some Alka-Seltzer cold medicine last night to put me to sleep just so that I got at least 4 hours worth; I don't even have a cold!! HOW OBNOXIOUS. Why is anxiety wreaking havoc on my body so badly?

So... data. What am I doing? I am beyond frustrated to be honest. For my Authentic Assessment class, we were supposed to have created a rubric that would score our data. WHAT!? How is that even possible?? I don't get it, and my teacher--Liz--has no clue how to describe it. And truth be told--Lord forgive me--I don't think she even knows what she's talking about. She has to backtrack through her words so often that I'm left wondering what she had even began to talk about. So, that rubric's due tomorrow night but how am I going to turn in anything when I have no clue what I'm even doooiiiinnngg??

I know what my topic is. I am doing Differentiated Instruction and how it effects selected students. The nice thing about differentiated instruction is that it is a broad topic that I can pull many different ideas from, and not all have to apply to each student. At least, I think?

I know who my students are. I have several 6-7 graders that I've been collecting work from since last quarter (2nd quarter), and I've collected some from them since the start of this one as well. It's all shoved into a neat little binder with a tab for every student.

However, I am going to go crazy if someone asks me to procure a stinking rubric that is going to score my data. BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.

Please... God... I need sleep. I am going to die at a very young age if this stress continues.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu~ (that's a long breath let out)

Today I decided to shake things up a bit. It's normally funday Friday, but it has been so long since we've been here on a Friday that I needed to have them work a little first.

I had my students write in their journals about "If you could read whatever book you wanted to, what kind of book would that be? Why?"

Anthony answered that "If I couldn't read a book about relaconsips (relationships)." He told me he wanted to read one about girls, mostly.

Emina wrote, "If I could reade whatever it would be about prombis." I think she meant problems.

Ensia wrote, "I would read about Ms. Franklin. because I would Love to no what u Love." She wrote me a note earlier this week that says,

"Dear Ms. Franklin.
Did u no that i Love u so much and that ur my hero. But me and u are like best friends. And I <3 that! I <3 u alot.

by: Enisa"

I was really touched by that note, and really humbled. I've never been anyone's hero before!

Adrijana wrote, "the book would be about Brenda future. Be cause I want to know how is it goin to be in the future of Brenda's life." Brenda wrote similarly about Adrijana. I thought that was clever, but it shows me no insight as to what she likes to read about!

Joseph wrote, "I would read king of the hill. I like it because it was so cool. I always because it is cool." That's one of our Read180 books, so I guess he'd like more stories about King of the Hill.

Seth explained that he "would read a book about skateboarding and Biking because those are my favorite things to do."

And Azra... "I would read about a girl that lost her family. and how she lost her family in the forest. because it would be fun to read." That seems so morbid and then funny that I didn't even know what to make of it!

Hatija told me that she doesn't really like to read at all because it comes so hard for her. So she doesn't know what kinds of books she's want to read. She threw something down on the paper: "I would read about love stiries." Hatija does like hearing about romance.

So, I read out a chapter of Bruce Coville's book, Oddly Enough. The chapter I read aloud was entitled "The Box," and it's about a boy named Michael who is given a box by an angel and is charged with keeping it safe for almost his whole life. I wanted them to inference and guess as to what is in the box because ultimately we never find out what's in it. Each class was absolutely enraptured with the story! It has suspense, and they are just dying to find out what on earth is inside of the box! On top of that, I got to do a couple of scary voices of those who are trying to steal the box from Michael, and the kids thought it was hilarious. The more I got into it, the more they got into it.

Second hour was convinced, in part of Terry, that it was most definitely a fairy or a baby angel. Haris D. asked me what page we stopped on so that he could read the book later. "I have to find out more!" he exclaimed, pacing until he decided to get onto a computer.

Third hour was convinced that it was THE angel in the box, or maybe even just some other angel. Ibrahim stated, "Maybe it's another life with his woman!"

Sixth hour was bored with the story, and only Fahrudin tried to guess. He thought it was an angel, and Saladin and Hatija went along with him. Angeles had no opinion. Fahrudin got so into the book that he and I ended up reading another chapter. He loved that book. I'm really glad that he did too, because it gave us something in common to talk about that is literary related.

Seventh hour was so into it that Adrijana asked me if I could read to them like I did today on Monday (the class emphatically agreed). Seth thought that it was a bright light. Erik thought it might be the stairway to get to heaven. Joseph thinks that it might be Michael's next life, and then Emina stated that it might be Michael's life started all over again.

It was really interesting to hear their ideas, because really, no one was wrong! We never find out what's in the box. : )

Bone weary and trudging forward

I am weary. Both in heart and body. I feel bad writing this, but I'm just so tired all of the time, and I can't help but wonder if it's my students who are creating this weariness. I'm so tired that I can't even work out. I don't feel like doing Fellows work, and I haven't been sleeping well at night. In fact, I haven't slept more than an hour in two nights. I'm exhausted. The last time I experienced these emotions I ended up with a mild case of the stomach flu back in January.

I know that certain classes are causing me to re-think if whether I should be a teacher next year. My third hour is a constant source of my worst classroom management (I'm super ashamed whenever someone comes to observe!); my seventh just wears me down. Last Wednesday with my third and seventh hours were awful. I don't even want to write about it. But all I have to say is that the sixth graders in seventh hour are just off the wall, and I'm regretting using them as my data group. I was so angry at the two students that were acting out. They made my room look like a circus.

I've been seeing some success with the Read180 program and the differentiated instruction techniques I've been working on. Many of my students are starting to progress into the second disk of the computer-based component of the Read180 program, which has caused others to really want to speed up their progress. The first disk, Art Attack, is pretty boring. The second disk, Disasters, is really interesting because it talks about natural disasters and the devistation that comes of tornadoes, floods, hurricanes, and volcanoes. A handful of students are done with the first disk (which makes me wonder whyyy, because they should have been done with it by now, but I see them doing it so I just don't get it...). They've been asking a lot of questions:

"Can you run away from a volcano? What about a tornado?"
"Is it possible for there to be an earthquake here? THERE IS!? Oh my gosh, duck and coverrrr!!"
"Why are there things like floods and volcanoes? Don't those kill people? Why?"

Seth informed me, after reading the book Hiroshima (a Read180 skinny version of the horrible tragedy), "Ms. Franklin! Did you know that if only half of the world's nuclear bombs went off, the world would blow up? ONLY HALF! That's messed up. We need to get rid of these nuclear bombs before someone accidentally blows them up."

Another student informed me, after I read with him in the reading area, "This book is actually pretty good. I didn't think it would be cause the cover is sucky."

And I'm noticing that my second hour is by far the best hour at doing the reading area. I might just throw a root beer float party for them to celebrate how well they're doing.

I have been CRRAAAZY busy

So, SLPS has decided that blogger.com is against policy and has "kinda" blocked it off. What that means is that I completely lost all the posts that I typed up and forgot to copy and save. Which makes me frustrated.

I've been pretty busy with my students and with my coursework. Last night in our research class, we worked on getting our data written down. I went through three surveys and was absolutely astonished to find that my students answered most of the questions wrong on pretty much all of the surveys. For example, when Irma answered the question on the Burke's Reading Inventory, What would you like help with as a reader? she answered, "Doctor".

What!? Doctor!? I guess what she answered in her head was what would she like to be when she grows up, but how does that have anything to do with the question? The rest of the questions were similar, and it made me feel like a rather crappy teacher. On top of that, I had read the questions off to the students, one at a time. I just don't get it. I'm going to have to have them take those surveys again, just to get a first and last attempt at them.

Irma, just to let you know, got into a nasty fight with another girl about three weeks ago. The next day her family moved her to Kentucky. I now have to find another student to use as a test subject.

Jero*, the amorous Latino who liked hugs from me and rubbing himself and sticking his face into my neck and sniffing me, has been moved out of my class. About two weeks ago he came back from being shipped off to another school (Blow) because they did not have an ESOL program. He caught me after school, claiming he left a green pencil in my room. I had remembered seeing one, so I let him in. However, as soon as the door closed behind us, he grabbed me into a hug and would not let go for ten whole minutes. Mrs. Stanley had left and so had the rest of the floor, leaving me alone with him completely.

I explained to him how uncomfortable I was, how this might look to other people, how my fiance might feel if he walked into the room. I tried prying away, I tried pushing, elbowing. His only response was, "This is how people in my culture show their affection."

After ten minutes I got him off of me, and walked him to my door. I was shaky and really upset with myself for--AGAIN--not following the rule of being alone with a male student. He asked for another hug and I said no. He then leaned forward and tapped his cheek, saying, "How about a leetle kees, Mees Frankleen." I yelled at him, "NO! Get out!" and he left. I cursed myself out for hours until I realized that it was not my fault; I did no wrong by letting him come in to get his pencil (which he never got, obviously). I don't wear revealing clothing, and I was just as kind to him as I am to any student. He just got the wrong idea.

He skipped my class for the remaining week, which was fine by me. Come that Monday, I asked for him to be removed from my class. I told Mrs. Brown, Laurencia, and Mrs. Firestone about his third (and hopefully last) incident. The last thing I need is to be labeled as a pervert; there really are some teachers who like that type of attention, but I am not one of them. It freaked me out so much I had nightmares about Jero being in my class, and--good Lord this is so stupid--I get slightly scared when I see him in the hallway. I shouldn't be scared of one of my students.

Anyhow, other than that classes are going relatively well. The kids are really getting into the routine of Read180, and have been able to do it even when I have a sub.

GET THIS! I was gone for the flu about two weeks ago. I had not expected it to happen, so I had prepared the board for the next day. I knew that since I was calling in that morning (technically, I came, tossed my cookies, and left within 20 minutes of getting there), I wasn't going to have a sub, but the ISS teacher filled in for me that day.

The kids went to their stations! I was so shocked! They did their journals, some finished their writing station packets that we had been working on, and they all did what they were supposed to do. I about died when I found that out, and I was SO HAPPY that they're becoming responsible. I wanted to throw confetti in the air and yell HURRAY!! I praised them all, of course, which they loved.

Also, I've been sending good notes home. It's especially working for those students who have been naughty all first semester, and when they have a good day I send a note home with them. It's completely turned around several of my most mischevious students, and on another good note a behavior plan I'm working on with another student is really helping as well. Kayse, we believe, has ADD and cannot sit still for more than 5 minutes at a time. She's normally doodling, writing notes, or being very loud and disruptive. I started a behavior plan with her last week and she's really responding well. She's cleaned up her behavior in her other classes, and really keeps track of her three goals we created together. She knows that having a behavior plan isn't a good thing, and tells other students that this is "for me to better my behavior. You're good, so you don't need one. This is for me and Ms. Franklin." She also told me that the chart really helped her track herself and to know if she's doing good or not. It's a great step for her, and I love that she's honest with herself when she knows she hasn't done well.

All in all--and hopefully I'm not jinxing myself!--this quarter is sizing up to be pretty good.

Funday Friday?

So, my students worked up to their Funday Fridays, all with the exception of my 5th hour. However, they have to take a 3 question mini-quiz, and listen to me read before getting free time. The questions on the quiz are:

1. What does reading in the reading center look like?

2. When you are done with a book, what should you do next?

3. Why are you not supposed to move the headphones or unplug them?

I tell them, "Since everyone seems to be having issues reading in the reading center, I've decided that the only way to get in some reading time is to read to you for five minutes. If you don't like this, considering that it's taking up your Funday Friday time, perhaps you should start reading in the reading center. Otherwise, start expecting this on Fridays."

Second and third hour took it like champs. They took the quiz, and nodded their head and agreed that they deserved to be read to since they couldn't read in the reading center. Jose M. timed me on his watch for exactly 5 minutes. Second hour was great, chatting about the book afterwards and then getting their freetime, being quiet and doing exactly what I wanted them to do.

Third hour fought the reading time a little more, but once I started really got into it. Daniel M. came over to watch my finger move as I read (I started to trail with my finger once Daniel got up to watch). Once he got up, Michael then moved right in front of me and sat down. Charles then slowly got up and positioned himself next to Michael; all three boys are my biggest troublemakers, and all three were completely enraptured in "Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen." They even made comments to one another as I read ("Al Pacino! That's Scarface, dude! Oh man, Scarface!" It was wonderful. I then played Uno with Daniel while helping Estherlin with her mini quiz (she can't read nor write), and Michael came over to play with us. It was very peaceful and fun, and the boys kept saying, "Oh Ms. Franklin, I'm so sorry for doing this but... draw four/reverse/skip." We had some good laughs, and Michael did a good job of keeping his comments to himself.

Fifth hour, Laurencia and I are revamping. They are my lowest group, barely able to read "See Spot Run." They can't form sentences in the written word, and get very discouraged and upset with Read180. Not to mention the fact that they are all self-contained and have an awful teacher who I shall call Mrs. Slow. I'm pretty positive that if she tested for it, she would have a very severe mental disability. She takes out a lot of her frustrations on her students, calling them names such as "retard" and yesterday she yelled and apparently called a boy "bitch". We're trying to get her fired by gathering as much incriminating data on her (as if the fact that her students can't read and write after being with her an entire semester shouldn't be incriminating enough!!). Laurencia rocked that classroom. I wish I could be as good, as self-assured, and as amazing as she is with the students. She told me that from now on she's going to be with me during 5th hour so that we can get their reading scores up together. It's going to be great getting to teach along with her.

Seventh hour... I just don't know what to do with them. They're my research group, and they're just far too comfortable in my classroom. They're mostly 6th graders, and they're just nothing but drama, drama, d-r-a-m-a. They're too loud and rambunctious for Funday Friday, so I'm going to have to start structuring it a little more for them. They can't handle the freetime. They balked at the reading today as well, while my other classes took it easily eventually. These guys talked during it, and I constantly had to ask them to stop talking and pay attention for the very short 5 minute span. I was disappointed to say in the least. I then took away special privilages during their freetime, because they did deserve some for doing well this week.

Other than that, I'm so sick of reading about these freaking immigrants, and the kids are too. They keep saying, "Didn't we already FINISH this!? I'm tired of hearing about immigrants!" I just want to move forward, but that's just not happening because they just can't handle getting things accomplished quickly.

I have noticed something very interesting though. They are beginning to really get into the Read180 program on the computer, and the kids are loving hearing themselves recorded, and spelling. Several times the students have said during transition periods, "Nooooo, can I please just finish this spelling thing! I want to spell this!" Or if they could just stay in the writing center with me and finish the packet (I photocopied the rBook for them to be able to write and circle main idea and details). They completely dislike the reading center, and I understand only because it's hard to like something that gives you trouble.

Laurencia told me that I've changed since first semester. She said that I have better classroom management now, and that the kids are responding differently to me than before. She noticed that I'm not as burned out or crying all of the time, like I used to be. I've still cried about stuff, but I'm doing my best to let it go as soon as I sign out and leave my keys in the basket. I think, though, that it's backfiring on me because I have been waking up at night a lot full of anxiety, and having dreams about the children. So while I tamp it down and ignore it while awake, I believe that it's coming through to my dreams and as a result I've not been sleeping well.

A continuation from yesterday's post

Today I met with the third group in 7th hour to finish up the article, "A New Immigration BOOM" regarding the large number of Latinos coming to America. This time I met up with Irma, Hatija, Seth, Kayse, and Enisa.

Irma (672), Seth (250), Enisa (231), Emina (520), Adrijana (244), and Anthony (BR) are the students whom I've decided to make into my research students, with Enisa and Seth being moderately high for my group of students, Irma and Adrijana being my medium students, and Anthony and Emina for my lower students.

Irma and Hatija were appalled to read the line, "Some people say that immigration hurts America."

"That makes me mad! It's racist!" Irma said, Hatija promptly agreeing. The other students nodded their heads, while Seth put his head on the table.

Due to his past relations with students from other countries, I have come to learn that Seth is a closet racist, saying things like, "I hope all Iraquis die!", "All the Bosnians here are assholes." and "We should just blow up the middle east completely." He also draws Nazi signs on his folders brought from home, writing in the margins that he hates Nazis and that they should all die too. However, why would he draw such large symbols? It doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me, unfortunately, and as a result a lot of the Bosnian, Russian, and other students pick on him and shun him due to his narrow view on immigrants and those from other countries.

Irma then began, "Can I tell you something, Ms. Frankliiin? It's about this, and about people coming to America. So, me and Guadalupe were coming from Mexico, you know? And we didn't speak a lot of English but we knew some. And people were standing on the borders telling us that we needed to go back, that we weren't wanted here, that our kind wasn't welcome here. Then they started to throw stuff at us, and cuss at us. I mean, why would they do that? Why would people hate us that much? And then there was this time that I was out with my friends and these guys told us that we should go back to where we came from. My friend slapped him! It was so funny. But they were so mean!"

Enisa, who is ever the quiet one, then said, "This one time that happened to me and my dad! We were at the mall, and some guy walked up to my dad and said that he should go back to whatever country we came from. My dad was so mad, but he didn't say anything and just walked away. I felt so awful."

Hatija then launched into her versions of her own tales of racism towards her, and they were very similar in the aspect of how hurt it made her. Then she said, "I mean, all Americans, they hate Bosnians and Gypsies."

I interjected, "But I'm American. Are you saying that I don't like you and Enisa?"

Kayse then joined in and said, "I don't hate Bosnians or Gypsies. I like you guys."

Seth did not redeem himself and kept his mouth shut.

Hatija then amended, and said, "Okay, some Americans hate Gypsies and Bosnians."

I praised her and asked her to see the difference in what she had just said, and she smiled and nodded, knowing that there was a difference between the two.

The conversation then took a large turn when Kayse said, "It's just like white people not liking black people. Who cares what the color of your skin is? I mean, black is just a little darker than white, Hispanics are just a little darker than white... so what should it matter?"

Irma then said, "Yea, we all have the same parts. We all have feelings. How can you hate someone for something like their skin color?"

Then my buzzer went off, and it was time to end the discussion.

My feelings on the discussion are that they all went phenominally! The students really got into it, especially my 2nd and 7th hours. I got a lot of insight into their views on immigration, and how they feel considering they are a large immigrant population. The only thing that I would change would be to get a recorder to make sure that I could have gotten everything they said word for word. I was just so proud that my students were able to have discussions on a topic the heavily effects a large percentage of our population.

I know I really only need to focus on my 7th hour since that's my research group, but 2nd hour with Cadiedras, Haris D, Jose M, Kadir, and Terry went really well too.

Cadiedras was my little devil's advocate, saying things like, "They steal our shops. Before the Bosnians came, we had other shops but now all you see is Bosnian shops and bars and clubs."

Kadir agreed with her and said, "Before the Russians came (he's Russian), there were other shops, but really... there are only Bosnian bars around here. And food places."

Haris D. bristled, being Bosnian. However, everything he said eventually turned into a joke. "You racist! We didn't steal anything! You should've gotten there first. And anyway, my dad owns one of the restaurants around here, and I've been to a bunch of the bars because my dad takes me to them! We didn't steal anything."

... your dad takes you to the bars around here??

Cadiedras never relented, which I was shocked and mildly proud of her for. Not that I agree with her on her stance, but the fact that a peer was attempting to knock her down, and she refused to back down. She's a very shy, amiable girl with moderate MR, but she's come a long way since the beginning of the year on her social skills and writing levels.

Terry was only really upset about the fact that she does believe that immigrants get the jobs that Americans want, but that's no reason to really hate them. She just thinks that it's unfair.

Haris D. whispered, "You should have gotten there first..."

"No, I think that's wrong!"

A part of what we're doing in my Read180 groups are that of reading about immigration into the United States, and how it's changed over the years regarding the ratio of what group has become the largest group to come to America.

The rBook states that it's the Latinos who are becoming the Boomers of minority groups, with 27.7 % of immigrants being from Mexico. Asia follows closely with 17.9 %.

However, the rBook explains that while "America was founded on immigration," many immigrants are still unwelcome by American citizens. "Some people say that immigration hurts America. They say that immigrants get jobs that American citizens want. However, others disagree. They say immigrants help America. Many immigrants work for minimum wage. Often, Americans reject those low-income jobs." (p. 19)

I opted to have the students discuss what they thought on those claims made by the rBook. I asked, "How does the statement above make you feel? When you read that Americans don't want immigrants coming here, what emotions does that make you feel?"

One boy in my 7th hour, Kevin (7), was fired up. He's not an immigrant by any means, but he identifies with the Irish in him. "I think that's racist. I mean, who are they to say that people aren't allowed to come to America? That's like saying that I can't go into another country because I'm American, and they don't like Americans."

Emina (6) was confused and wasn't sure how to respond. She said that it made her feel sad, but other than that she kept responding, "I don't know." She also would repeat what the other students said, word for word, right after they said them. I wasn't quite sure what to make of her doing this, other than to get ideas of her own.

Adrijana (6) was fired up as well. "The only reason why I came from Bosnia is because of the war. My uncle has a hole in his cheek, and my other uncle got shot in the knee. My dad got shot in the shoulder, the leg, and almost in his mouth. We came to America because of the war, but my family has been talking about moving back. My aunts and uncles keep pressuring my mom and dad to move back to Bosnia, but they don't want to because me and my sister are in school here. And also because there's still fighting."

Alexis (6) and Adrijana (6) were confused as to why people would want to keep others out. I explained how there are talks from people wanting to close the border to Mexico to keep the Mexicans from coming to America illegally. However, I also explained to them how there is so much red tape to get across in order to become a legal citizen of the US. Kevin was very fired up, and said that it wasn't right to build a wall. Alexis and Adrijana agreed, and both said sadly, "Why can't we just let people in? That's just not right."

We had some really good conversations, and I was very pleased with pretty much every group that I got to hear their opinions on. I learned a lot about many students, such as Jerardo (7), who really got into the article after he realized that it was about Latinos. It's so crucial for students to be able to identify with what they're reading!

On a different note... Student Quotes!!

Emina (6) came up to me today in 7th hour and said, "Look at my math homework, Ms. Franklin." I thought that was odd, so I looked really quickly, and she said, "I wrote that we're going to the store..." and OHMYGOD, how freaking adorable is that!? She literally wrote, "Me and ms. franklin went to the store to buy..." I hugged her and said, "You are too adorable!!" She told me on Friday that I look like Ashley Tisdale: "Ms. Franklin you look like Ashley Tisdale. I've always thought you looked like Ashley Tisdale. You're so pretty, Ms. Franklin." When I laughed and told her that she looked like Ashley Tisdale, not me, because they share similar noses, Emina blushed and shook her head. "Oh no. Oh no, Ms. Franklin. I don't look like her. You look like her." Either way, Ashley's beautiful so I don't mind!

Ramajana (8), Jasmina (8), and Devida (6) wanted to know, during the writing center down time, if whether I taught at Long last year. "No, this is my first year here. In fact, this is my first year teaching at all." Jasmina and Ramajana pffftted, and said, "No waaaaay. Really? This is your first year here and your first year as a teacher? You don't seem like it at all! You seem like you've been doing this for a long time!"

I also overheard Omari (7) telling several other students that I was his favorite teacher. "That teacher right there. Ms. Franklin. She be my favorite teacher." Several of his friends agreed, and Jasmina (8) asked, "Really? Her?" I thought that was odd, considering she tells me all the time that I'm her favorite class.

Oh shucks, guys. Way to make me blush!

I also got to sing happy birthday with the birthday sombrero today for Irma (7)! She was very pleased, and my students got really into it. I'm glad that I chose to go this route to celebrate birthdays!

Is there something in the water?

WHAT. THE. HELL.

I go from the squeaky clean track record of just having shitty kids without any actual fights (almost but not), to two fights in as many days.

Yesterday was fist-fight number one, and it was far more aggressive than the one today. The first one was because two seventh grade boys who are notorious for being aggressive--one verbally (Michael), and the other physically (Sekou)--got into it after Michael said something along the lines of, "I don't want no dirty N** sitting at my table."

In a way, I'm glad that Michael got beat up. In fact, I don't even hold it against Sekou for punching me in the hand. I was in the way of Michael, and his aim was not intentionally for me (and it didn't really hurt, but more surprised me than anything because Sekou is always very careful around me). And as awful as this sounds, for all the crap that Michael dishes out to the Liberians about how they're dirty, nappy-headed, and that ugly N-word, he deserved to get the crap kicked out of him for once.

No, that doesn't sound very teacherly, but after you hear him get away with it over and over again no matter how many times you write him up, you can't help but want some sort of poetic justice to occur.

What cracks my shit up is that the fight was over in less than 2 minutes, and both boys just sat down in their chairs and panted (with Sekou at the same table as Michael). Michael made a quip about Sekou's mom, and Sekou looked at me, panted, "Do you hear him?" He made to get up but I stopped him both verbally and bodily. Plus, I think he was just plain tired. The security guard took her time making it to my room, and when she got there Michael's eye was swelling and his cheek had a small cut. Sekou was unharmed. The officer immediately said, "Both of you, up." And the hilarious part? Sekou and Michael both said, "But we're not fighting anymore. We're done. See? We're not fighting anymore."

Pffffff!!

But today, it was two of my little sixth grade boys. One boy comes up to my armpit, while the other is a good head taller than me.

Seth and Anthony were talking quietly until I asked Anthony to move back to his chair. I don't know what happened (because I was in the middle of teaching a lesson), but one minute I hear a student saying, "Miss Franklin? I think Seth is crying." And the next, tiny Seth is standing on his chair, growling, and then rockets himself across two different tables, jumping on people's chairs (with students in them!!) and jumps on Anthony's back. He is literally piggy-backed on Anthony, punching the shit out of Anthony's head and neck. Several students jump away, and I call for one of them to call for security through the button on the wall.

I walked forward (they were literally right in front of me) and plucked Seth off of a standing Anthony; to his credit, Anthony has severe anger issues, and did a really good job keeping himself from hurting Seth by not fighting back.

I held Seth to my side so that he couldn't attack Anthony anymore, and Seth latched on to me and began to bawl; his tears were soaked into my sweater for a good hour, and it hurt me to feel his anger and hurt on me for that long.

Ultimately, I don't know why Seth attacked Anthony. But I do believe that Anthony started it. Seth had been fine all hour until their quiet conversation.

::sigh::

I'm exhausted. Too much adrenaline wasted for breaking up fights.

Seriously. Stop.

So, I feel like a real teacher now. I got my hand punched while trying to separate two boys fighting (my first fistfight in my room).

I am now a real teacher.