The band was playing at the Winn Dixie

Only in New Orleans will you find the local supermarket hopping on a Friday night. There was a jazz band and people handing out fondu, rootbeer floats, wine, beer, cheese, meat, and king cake. Mardi Grais is ubiquitous, if not great! I was there looking for pet deoderizer and soft foods. Sydney pissed on the carpet and Alli was stuck in bed with swollen jaws.

We have two jaws, right?

Anyway, believe this: Sydney is a good dog, but was taught to piss on rugs by a bad dog. Yup, before Sydney met Tess, she never tried to hop on a couch, bed, or person. Tess has spoiled her. That's the end of their playdates while their owners are at work.

And Alli had her wisdom teeth removed. She's in rough shape, but so cute with puffy cheeks and sleepy eyes. She has slept all night. I've fed her a milkshake, and 8 spoonfuls of tomato soup, and 3 oxycodene pills. It's the super model diet.

I've started this blog to really focus on my experience teaching in the recovery school district. I think I need to recap the first couple of months first. I'll start with Aug/Sept:

After one week of inservice, I raised my hand and asked, "What will the daily schedule be like." Our school leaders hmmmed and hawwed and said they'd get back to me. School started the following Monday.
We all convened in the basement of the school. I was presented 23 students and told to bring them up to my classroom. This would be my 8th grade homeroom and English class.
My style, as a first year teacher, was gimmicky. I didn't call it English, I called it Supercalafragalistics. We didn't have grammar, we had supercal science. There were not journals, but instead, studio workbooks. We didn't have discussions, but sophisticated salons. This faded to plain old Language Arts, but only after saving my ass with activities for the first couple of days.
That schedule never did come. And either did lunch. Or water. There was no plan, no cafeteria tables, and no water fountains in the whole building. These kids all qualified for free lunch. I had dry fruit and peanut butter and bread, which I shared with those who would take it. We stayed in our classroom from 7:30 until 2:45. Scrounging around for food, trying to get to know one another, while establishing hierarchy and roles, made the whole thing feel like a marooned ship...and I was scared of mutiny.
I was scared! What did they think of me? I was white. They were black. The whole school was this rich brown, and I felt like birdshit. Or lice. Or dandruff. And the last place I could tell them lived was Alaska, in some cabin, where I trained sled dogs. Nothing happened the first few days, but my control of the class was an illusion. Still is, in some regard.
For 3 days, we never changed classes. It was supercal all day. And we had no books. We never got books until October, and even then it was one set to be shared between 200 students. 27 books between 200 students. So I taught them Japanese. And we read Thich Nhat Hann.
Things got better, but lunch took a month to become regular. We didn't get water fountains for 2 months. We still don't have a sink in the boys bathroom.
And I show up everyday. And It's only when I write this do I realize how flawed things are. And I still love my job. I love my kids.