november 23, 2001. Argh. Staying home from school today in the hopes that this hideous seahag of a cold will go away. I had to leave early yesterday after dripping & wheezing & staring blankly throughout the morning. I'm still glad I went, tho' - got a lot more practice with their names & had some very interesting experiences with some kids who are doing poorly. The spectrum of learning difference at this age is just fascinating; last year I was in with senior high, and by that time a lot of these kids are routed elsewhere or have given up on school in disgust. I also feel much better equipped to handle it this year than last - that extra Inclusion class really got my ducks in a row on the whole layered curricula thing (layered curricula is when you do the same lesson or theme for the whole class, but tailor the work to different levels of learning ability. It's a beautiful thing when it works.) Still, I was a bit shocked when I found out that one student has an assessed reading comprehension gap of over 5 years when compared to peers. It's just not something you ever think about in Grade 12, although some of them turned in work that was identical to the best products of these Grade 7's, so I suppose it's a bit naïve to think that it ever completely goes away. Next week I start Geography, English and PDR lessons...which seems a piece of cake next to the task of learning their individual education eccentricities, something their regular teacher has down cold. It's intimidating, it is. I never thought I'd say this, but my teacher is too damn good and it's hard to measure up to giants. Returning to the subject of sickness, it's been an awfully difficult couple of days. I don't want to be away from practicum, but I know that I need bedrest or I'll never get back to practicum. Today it was awfully hard for me to string a coherent thought together, one above the level of head hurts. neck sore. nose wet. sooo sleepy. Food has been at the toast and tea level, and although I suppose I could heat up some lasagne from Monday, I can't be bothered. ...break... Oh, dear Lord. A woman from the church just came by out of the blue with some frozen chicken soup for me. Her sympathy was aroused by my amazing sneezing extravaganza during Wednesday's official board meeting, when I used up about 15 kleenexes in my pocket & had to start in on the after-service coffee napkins. Frozen chicken soup, and me with my mom too far away to care for me. The best thing we've done in years is walk down that hill & start going to church. Sorry everyone, but this makes it official. I can never leave this town. ...break... I know that I'll be feeling better next week, which is a good thing, but it also means that I need to plan next week's lessons this weekend. Fortunately, my strength shot up in mid-afternoon until I almost felt normal again, and I was able to make the wander down without noticeable misery. I've been lucky; this week has been very mild & winning with nary a hint of the ice that awaits and not only was it a comfortable walk but I was able to get out the door without my beloved highschool mittens. I had timed my entrance to coincide with the last homeroom period of the day, hoping that the flurry of noise and packing would mask my distracting presence. I was very noticed, though, and a handful of students asked where I had been, which made me all glowy inside. Must...get rid...of...this...pathetic...need...to be loved...unconditionally...by students! 'Twill only hurt more when I meet those who don't and won't love me. In all the hurly burly of field experience, a rather important anniversary has passed by unmentioned. 3 years ago last Tuesday the Boy & I reunited after the longest 2 ½ days of my life. I've been thinking about that all week, specifically about the strange halo that falls around a moment when you think it is that last time together, and the first moment when you realize that it might not be over after all. I know that I take most things about the Boy for granted: that he'll come home at the end of the day; that he'll still love me and want to tell me all about his day; that we'll usually eat together, usually celebrate the same things and usually be happy to see each other first thing in the morning. So I've been experimenting with this smugness, seeing if I can pull it back for a few moments and return to the ecstatic gratitude I once had for every moment. This anniversary is, in some ways, even more important than anniversary of the first time we kissed, the anniversary of our engagement or even our wedding anniversary. It's the anniversary of uncertainty and pain, and also of the relief of those two things. It's the anniversary of joy. I never want to forget it. this time 2 years ago: Convocism