After six months of classes, we have graduated from beginner Portuguese to intermediate Portuguese! Yay! I can't believe it. In order to pass into the next class, we each had to deliver presentations with Powerpoints for at least five minutes,... Continue Reading →
Because I'm what we call a "specials" teacher, as in I pull students out of their regular class to make them double-fist English vocabulary and grammar, I don't have a core group of kids that I get to know really... Continue Reading →
"But why are apples so boring and cupcake so delicious? This is first thing I asking Jesus when I go to Heaven." -- what I would classify as a legitimate question from one of my students last week, when I tried... Continue Reading →
But I'm at that age (and these feelings come and go in waves and seasons for me) where I wonder if I spent my whole life feeling self-conscious about what we gently refer to as "child-bearing hips" for nothing...
I'm a pretty good teacher. My kids learn the stuff. I always have stickers in my room. And candy for my fellow teachers. I attend meetings and rarely pretend to go to the bathroom just so I can play a quick round of Trivia Crack. I answer emails. I participate in every dress-up day. But, of course, I have a few bad habits.
I like to video my ELL kids every few weeks so that I can see progress. This week I asked one of my kinders "How old are you?" and he answered "Monday! Monday Tuesday. WizzdayTursdayFriday." "Oh! I didn't know you knew the... Continue Reading →
I had my flatulent little princess first thing this morning. She was sitting in my lap and we were playing sentence-building games when she ripped a glorious one that vibrated my legs. I'm serious. My thighs jiggled.
One of Ryann’s dreams that happily provided the impetus of further travel in Argentina was to drink copious amounts of Malbec wine (her fav) in Mendoza (where it's from). We looked on a map, looked up flight prices and bus... Continue Reading →
....is the title of another blog, set in the future, about an event that has not happened. Because it certainly does not describe what happened to me on Sunday.
Normally in the States, I'm so jacked up on conversation hearts that I can be pretty numb to the pain of being single on Valentines Day. And every day. All day. Because it is. It's okay to love being single to celebrate the heck out of it, and to also acknowledge that it can be really, really hard.
I just looked down my shirt and realized I had forgotten about the papertowel I had stuffed in my sports bra to soak up the sweat a few hours ago. It's hot in Brazil. Sometimes when I get undressed at night, these paper towels just fall out, and I realize I'm turning into my grandmothers far sooner than I expected, tucking kleenex and toilet paper away in clothing/skin pockets.
Sunglasses Always Fit 