We called it a curriculum day in the hopes that we won’t have to extend the year once June rolls around.  (Heaven help me if they do that.  Heaven help THEM, too.  Y’all know I’d be a squalling mess if they tried to delay me seein’ my Momma.)

As part of the curriculum day schedule, we had a workshop on conflict resolution.  We each took surveys and tallied our little score sheets to find out which conflict animal we were. 

There are the foxes who are listening and polite, but always try and lead the way to their point of view.  The owls are optimistic and good listeners who believe that reaching a compromise is probable and possible.  The lions who won’t leave until they’ve won and the turtles who act like they’re listening and nod to make you believe it. 

Then, there are the teddy bears.  For Sisser’s sake, the Fuzzies of the world.  (Y’all have gotta ask her about Fuzzy because I would NEVER tell you that she still sleeps with him and gets furious if you lay him on the floor or cover his head with blankets.)

Now, let me say this before I move on.  I’m a lover not a fighter. 

But if I must fight, I’m doggone tough.  I promise I am.  I can do ten push ups without stopping - the boy kind- and that ain’t easy, folks!  Equipped with that knowledge would you believe that that silly survey had the nerve to tell me that I’m a teddy bear?  I’m a Fuzzy for cryin’ out loud!

Evidently, I avoid conflict at all costs.  I want to make people feel good so I agree with everything that they say.  I apologize for their feelings and don’t force my opinions on them.  I’m all cuddly and warm and my chief concern is that people like me and want to be my friend.

I briefly considered throwing that blasted survey at them and telling those moe-ron workshop leaders that they didn’t know diddley about me or the way that I handle conflict.  I thought about yelling and stomping my feet until they heard me out.  “I’m an owl!  I’m wise and reasonable and I can accept that we may have different opinions and I can make a valid argument!  I CAN!  DO. YOU. PEOPLE. HEAR. ME??! I am NOT a teddy bear!”

But I didn’t do that.

 I just hugged them both and thanked them for such a lovely and insightful presentation and told them to have a blessed day.

This has been a landslide induced list.  Thankyouverymuch.

My hair is blonde and my eyes are blue although to some it would seem that I’m green with wings.  At least that’s how they stare.

Add rain to that and I’m a one woman freak show.

Because I carry a polka dot umbrella.

At least I did.  Until someone decided that they needed it more than I did and kindly removed it from the floor beneath my feet and cut out running.

I mean, seriously, how does some moe-ron expect to hide their brand new polka dots in this city of gray, navy and black.  HELLO.  Impossible.  Now I’m just wondering what I’ll say when I see my umbrella sheilding someone from the Manizales mist.

“Excuse me, sir, that’s my umbrella.”

“Um, mister, pink doesn’t really do it for you, but I looked awesome under it.”

“Permisso, senor, POR FAVOR that cute umbrella is M-I-N-E.”

“Disculpa, this rain does nothing for my hair.  I used to stand under THAT umbrella.”

“Hey, buddy.  My Southern gentility is being drenched.  GIVE ME MY UMBRELLA!”

Yeah right.  I’ll probably be all:  “Buenos dias, senor.  That is the cutest umbrella I’ve ever seen” and go on about my rain-soaked day.

I’ve come a long way.

Our principal ran our staff meeting in Spanish last week and I found myself sitting next to one of the newbies.  About half way through, he looked up at me and laughed. 

“Mississippi, are you translating for her?”

“Yes, sir.  I think I am.”

I don’t know how it happened or where it came from or if I meant to do it at all, but I was.  I was hearing things in Spanish and saying them in English without thinking about it all.

A castle stood among the rocks

where waves came crashing round

and on her walls sat knights with swords

and at her gates were guards.

I stood a bit beneath the sun

and watched their chainmail shine

then carefully approached the bridge

and asked to go inside.

The guard bowed low and winked at me

then I heard a creaking sound.

And in that moment my heart opened up

and the sky began to sing!

A symphony of harps and horns

the presence of a King!

I threw my face upon the bridge

to hide my fear and shame.

But his laugh filled the day like clanging bells

and then he called my name!

I timidly approached him.

He wrapped me in his arms.

His chest was as big as nighttime

and his breath smelled like the sea.

“Welcome to your Kindgom, child!

The Land of Meant to Be!”

I’m generally pretty patient.  Hello.  I work with nine year olds.  I have to be.

Truth be told, I can only think of two things that really try me.  The opposite sex.  (No surprise there)  And as of late, the incredible mood swings of the internet here in the coffee region.  Come to think of it the opposite sex is rather temperamental, too, huh?

Moving on.

I’ve drafted approximately seventeen blog posts, 58 emails and 73 facebook messages (read:  I never exaggerate) in the last week only to have them lost somewhere in cybersphere when the internet goes haywire.  I’ve started 62 skype chats and gmail chats and phone conversations and had them cut off mid important sentence. 

People are going to think I’m mad at them or ignoring them or that my life has gotten too boring to discuss.  And it hasn’t!  I’m here!  I’m fun!  I’ve got stories to tell and the internet just.  won’t.  let.  me.  do.  it!

And I didn’t even mention the number of episodes of Friday Night Lights I haven’t been able to watch via Surf the Channel!  Friends, the Dillon Panthers need me to help them pull this state bid off.  Oh, and poor Jason Street!  That fine young man is in serious need of my wise relational counsel. 

Oh, ye internet, how I loathe thee!  At least for today.  Maybe tomorrow we can be friends again.  You know, like, if you get your act together and function properly.

It’s my job and I’m crazy about it.  It’s hard and I’m exhausted at the end of every day, but it’s fun.  It’s an adventure and it gives me all sorts of things to write about and think about and read about.

Truthfully, sometimes I feel like the dark horse.  My classroom is different from a lot of others I’ve seen.  At any given time we might sound like farm animals or look like the aftermath of some nuclear disaster.  We’re messy and loud and I know that our neighbors wish we’d give it a rest every once in a while. 

But we can’t.  I can’t. 

That’s not the way I work and it’s not how my kids learn. 

They need the hubbub as much as I do.  Because when it’s loud they’re involved.  They’re asking questions and putting things together and writing plays or playing in the dirt and talking about worms.  They’re doing things, exploring things, learning things and that’s what matters.

I’m not the best that there is at my job; I know that.  And that knowledge, I think, gives me an advantage.  See, I’m learning, too.  I’m looking up to people like Dr. Mims,  Ron Clark, Rafe Esquith and Daniel Robb.  And their stories are helping me to become a better teacher.

As nerdy as it sounds, I get excited when I read about good teachers and creative teaching.  It makes me want to work harder and do more and come up with new ideas and innovations for my classroom.  And I get even more thrills when I see kids getting excited about what they’re doing.  This video gave me chills and a few chuckles today.  And it added a thing or two to my list o’ dreams.

You know, like teaching at the Ron Clark Academy.  And on a boat.  And at a Prep school.  And in a one room school that still uses chalk.  And at an all boys school.  And at a university.  And at a charter school.

A teacher needs goals, right?

Multimedia Collage by Gillian Ross

He’s versatile like that.

Brother reads this here blog every once in a while.  When he’s got a layover or some free time (which is rare), he’ll sit down and catch up on posts.

He called me today and asked about Lauren’s “SO inappropriate!!” comment that was in reference to the he-thinks-he’s-subtle Casanova.  Let it be stated that the girls and I don’t doubt for a second who left that shadiness in the comments section.

Moving on.

He and I laughed for a bit about the humor of the not so mysterious Casanova and then he asked how I’d been.  “Tired,” I said, “really tired.”

“Really?  How can you be tired?  You’re a school teacher.”

Ahem.

Bet you his IRA that he’s never been in an elementary building on Halloween.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Then I went off to school and met the girls that changed my idea of friendship forever.  Girls that taught me about loving unconditionally and how loyalty fights better and stronger than any heavy weight champ on the planet.  Girls that took me dancing, kept me up late, and blessed me with the knowledge of good naps and  box fans.  Girls that challenged my ideals and graciously helped me to put on the freshmen fifteen (or forty).

Lauren taught me about work ethic and how sometimes you have to be by yourself to get things done.  She swam with me before the sun came up and she left notes on my door and books on my bed and every once in a while she’d play the piano for me and I think I knew then that there really was a Somewhere over the rainbow.

Ann was always the one with the spunk begging me to go out, to see people, to do things that were out of my realm of comfort and to wear mascara while I did them.  She made me stand up for myself and believe in myself and when I was lying at rock bottom, she was standing over me in a pink and leopard print halter top telling the psycho that left me there to back up or die. 

And then there was Kathryn.  Sweet Kathryn who kept me grounded and sane and laughing at imaginary kittens and the new girlfriends of old boyfriends.  She wrote notes to me during chapter meetings and was marching right behind me when I figured out that I wasn’t made for the sorority life.  And when I came home from Australia and said I was moving to Oxford because I wasn’t strong enough to go back to Starkville, she said, “Then I’m coming, too.” 

I don’t remember exactly when I started writing down the list, but I know I did it because of them. 

Maybe it was in a dorm room on the sixth floor of Rice or maybe it was when we were making folders for all of our travel plans.  Or it could have been when we went on that scandalous trip to the beach.  Or one night in that purple Accord with its windows down.  Or in Granny and Pop Pop’s house on a long weekend.  On top bunks and futons or in the midst of The Intervention.  At the reservoir eating sticky buns.  In Derek and Craig’s living room floor.  Over bread pudding at Oby’s. 

So, here’s what I wrote down on some random day when I was 18 or so.  A list of all the things I wanted to do before I turned 30.  My little List o’ Dreams.

Back then, 30 sure seemed far away.