pilaf, dolma, bibs, and lesson plans

Here's how my day goes:

6:00 wake up to baby crying (peeking at me from the crib) four year old asking for cheerios, and husband running out the door to go to sunnyvale.
between 6:00 and 8:00, I manage to feed the baby (bottle and solids) dress the four year old into her uniform and feed her cheerios. While she eats honey nut cheerios in my bed in front of pbs kids (I gauge how much time I have until I have to leave in half hour increments, Arthur, Caillou, Barney, Curious George) and once I hear the Curious George song I know it's time to leave. I shower, cook shell pasta with peas and white sauce for my daughter's lunch, boil water to heat up the thermos, and manage to gulp my two huge mugs of coffee) Lucky I haven't smoked in ten years, I now feel for the woman described in the Stones song "Mother's Little Helper" (I'm negative today, this isn't always the case). Mother needs something today to calm her down...frozen steak and cake and all.

My husband and I have become responsible people now. I know this doesn't pertain to teaching, but it does. He was an English teacher for 10 years before becoming an administrator. He was probably the best English teacher hands down that you would ever see, drove a harley, a film school degree, and had an earring. Now he wears eccos and clarks, button down collar shirts and khakis. I guess it's nice because it pays the mortgage, school tuition, and all that stuff. They guy knows all of Whitman's song of myself by heart and has lesson plans that integrate grouping and peer editing and different genre stuff, etc. Poor guy. I can't even ask him the "how was your day" it's just "grab the older one, give her a bath while i feed the younger one and then when they are in bed i do my homework and lessons. I'm starting to get sick of this program.

Then after getting home from dropping off the older one, I manage to play with the younger one a little before it's her nap time and thankfully, the nanny comes over and I can start completing my work for teaching/homework/readings for class/etc. Then I'm out the door. God bless her. If it wasn't for my mom, my nanny, my dad, and my husband, there's no way in hell i could do this. I guess it does take a village.

Frankly, the classroom is the happiest, least chaotic, most joyful part of the day. I hate to admit it. All my friends were right when I was a stay at home mom that although the grind is very hard, being at work is a million times easier than the home front. I actually get to sit. I actually get to teach. I get to walk around and have students smile when something clicks. I know it's mushy, but I love the classroom. I even don't mind grading papers. I feel euphoric when I walk down the halls and the two kids basically written off by the school yell, HEY "my name" how are you! Buy a malt!"

When people start looking at you and wondering if you are ok you start to wonder why. I'm actually fine. I am counting the days until this program is over. I love what I am learning, but I really don't know how much longer I can cut myself off from my family, reading theoretical mumbo jumbo and discussing meaningless crap in my classes. I've done the grad school thing already, I've discussed bakhtin ad nauseum, written all kinds of thesis work, done the "prove yourself to the professor" thing already. I'm too old and settled for this. I just want to teach and come home and be mom. That's that.

Now I have to do some kind of homework for tomorrow night's class. I've been tutoring my nanny who is a non-English speaker (we speak Armenian).

And, back to the pilaf. I burned the pilaf today. great job. Not a big deal really, except when you have a kid who wants pilaf with noodles like the kind my nana made and you are washing the baby and your husband comes home and asks if you were planning on burning the house down. the salmon tasted nasty and I ate soy chips while telling my daughter to eat her broccoli. now I have to work on grouping my students for their odyssey unit. my shakespeare unit is next week and i am building a blog and website for it.

If I don't have a nervous breakdown by the end of the semester, I am truly super woman. I should just have a big S on my shirt.