Middle School

Middle school is rough. Don't get me wrong; I had a great time doing yoga before school, decorating for school dances (shout out to Stinz - she had visions of streamers and glitter that the rest of us can only hope to achieve), and chatting for hours on end on AIM (jordistar863, hit me up). But it's still a really weird age & I'm fairly certain I never want to be 12 again. I do, however, have the privilege of spending the entire week with 11-14 year olds, so I have picked up on some long-forgotten middle schoolisms. It's also been nearly a full decade since my middle school days, so the kids watch Jersey Shore instead of Lizzie McGuire now, wear Jordans instead of overalls, and text instead of calling on the home phone. Therefore there are some new middle school quirks I am just discovering.

And so I present.... Middle School:

Weirdness: A few weeks ago one of my students told me I was "niquer." First reaction was, uhh, racial slur? Alas, according to the dictionary of her mind, it means someone who is happy, creative, and likes to do things. So then yes I will gladly add niquer to my list of adjectives.

Giggling + other noisemaking: Everything is funny. I mean EVERYTHING. Someone falling has gotten the most prolonged and extreme reaction, but I find falling hilarious too, so I can't blame them for that. But there is always some noise being made, with pencils, hands, feet, mouth, erasers, silverware, etc. Just quit it! Just stop. And don't start again. I can STILL hear you making the same noise. STOP.

Black Ops: My 8th graders are addicted to this game. They talk about it every chance they get. Their kill to death ratio is out of this world, supposedly. Everytime I ask, "What did you do this weekend?" the answer is. "Ummmm. Played Black Ops." Cool! I get it, though. I have a 14 year old brother who mutters aggressively into his headset for hours at a time, ignoring the real world and laughing maniacally when he kills an innocent elderly woman standing on the sidewalk.

Couples: Ah yes, the middle school romance. There are some serious couples here. One just celebrated their one year anniversary which in the real world is like a decade. My 8th grader is constantly turning back to stare at his girlfriend, who comes by our table to take his pencil pouch, which he pretends to hate but clearly loves. Every day he walks her to the train station and then slowly makes his way back to school even though his mom is always waiting to pick him up. Every day he lies and says he was doing his homework in the park and that's why she couldn't find him. What makes them the power couple is that he is a big shot on his neighborhood pop warner football team and she's a cheerleader for the team. I love fulfilled stereotypes.

Bragging: Something I don't worry about for most of my kids: confidence. They think they are God's gift to earth, infallible and always correct. Even when I show them, step by step, the correct way to solve a linear equation, they are positive that they are correct and me, the principles of mathematics, and the laws of nature are all wrong. They know beyond a shadow of a doubt that aliens exist and that it's Kember Walker. Okay fine I can get on board with the aliens but Kember? Really?

Smelliness: You remember. Everybody is starting to smell bad and then they start to overcompensate with the Axe body spray. It's just an assault to my senses sometimes.

Slang: There's a lot of "mad," of course, but then there's "aggro" as in aggravating, "forcin it" which means inappropriately making them do something, and "chips," which I still don't really understand but I've gathered that it's not a good thing.

Simplicity: I play UNO every single day with my 8th graders. Every. Single. Day. At 8:30 am. And they love it. They have to earn it by working hard in math tutorial, and it's only for 5-10 minutes, but they live for it. When they are being lazy/rude/annoying I take UNO away and the tension is palpable. I love this power.

Moodiness: I swear, in two months, I have seen every extreme of every kid. Even the well-mannered ones have had crying days, shut down days, and mean days. I witness uncontrollable laughter at 9:45 and by 10:06 somebody is tearing up. Boys, girls, doesn't matter. They are all up in their emotions and it is exhausting.

Pencils: In my middle school days, I took a lot of pride in my nice mechanical pencils and clicky erasers (you know what I'm talking about, the kind Mrs. Straus hated). My kids now always have a stub of a pencil or one without an eraser and it's just a constant conversation about having a normal, functional pencil.

Personal responsibility: Doesn't exist in middle schoolers.

Bathroom: It's always an emergency. Always.

Honesty: My 7th grade girls are the barometer of my appearance. When I'm having a good hair day, they'll tell me. When I look tired, they'll tell me. "Ms. Carter are you sick?? You have huge black circles under your eyes." THANKS! On the first day of school when I had the extreme rash on my face, they kept a running commentary on its progress. When they didn't comment one day, I knew I was in the clear. It's harsh but at least I know they'll keep me in check.

And now I'm going to think about how old I am because Lizzle McGuire is preggo, overalls have cycled through and are semi-trendy again, and my kids mock me for not understanding how to use my iPhone (which I'm obsessed with and will talk about any chance I get).

The View From Saturday

Did anyone else love that book? Since starting work at a middle school, my reading tastes have shifted accordingly. I mean, I was already into The Hunger Games (looking at you Eric) but I have now reread Stargirl, which may be my all time favorite book. Have you read it? You should. I'll keep the recs coming because, face it, you don't know what's cool until I tell you to do it.

Back to Saturday. Saturdays are so valuable now. The whole weekend is. At WashU I forgot that people even function on Fridays and I chose to use the day for sleeping, TV, and eating. A simpler time. Needless to say, it was a bit of a shock to realize that Friday is part of the work week after all. So when I found out we got Columbus Day off, I said to myself, "Will I really celebrate the man who smallpoxed all the Native Americans and then stole their land?" And then I said to myself, "Yes, and I will do it in the most profoundly American way possible."

Sam Adams brewery tour. Because our America is better than the Native Americans' ever was.

But that, as you government employees (HI MOM) will note, is Monday. So back to Saturday.

If you read this blog carefully, and you do, you remember that the weather of Boston is similar to that of my 6th graders - unpredictable and bizarre. But when it was 85 degrees on Saturday after being 50 degrees on Wednesday, I rolled with it. I rolled right down to Beacon Hill, a super old neighborhood in the heart of Boston. It was once a bigger hill before they took the land to fill in the water, blah blah more historical facts. The point is that it's mad expensive* and all your famous historical Bostonians have cribs in Beacon Hill.

*I use "mad" as an adverb now because I'm on the east coast and I spend my days with preteens.

Louisa May Alcott's house. She seems like the haunting type so I like to think she's just chillin on the top floor. John Kerry lives on this street too.

After walking the cobblestone streets, I meandered across the street to Boston Common, where I began Profiles in Courage because what is more Bostonian than JFK? Then I realized I have little to no brain power left to decode words above the 8th grade reading level, so I listened to music and people-watched instead.



I read in a guidebook that Boston is at its best in October. After further review, this is a true statement. My goals for the rest of October include a "Haunted Footsteps" tour of Salem and the Head of the Charles Regatta. And of course, the third best holiday of the year, Halloween*.

I love fall. I love New England fall even more.

Although I want you to believe I am constantly thinking deep thoughts and going to cool places, that is far from the full picture. Often you can find me lying on our dirty couch in my KU snuggie watching the Kardashians and eating cheese. Boston can't change who I am at my core.

And it can't change the things I love and miss most about Kansas.


*Thanksgiving & St. Patrick's Day, duh.

"you're a kansan? so you're from canada?"

East coasters do not believe in the midwest. Neither do west coasters, but they're less pretentious about it. YEAH I said it. For those who live on the perimeter of our fair country, the central states are just vast stretches of nothingness to fly over while watching Mean Girls until you arrive at your real destination.

But an entity is nothing without its heart, and Kansas, my friends, is heartland to the max. I am a born and bred Kansan, even if my middle schoolers do not know what that means and think I'm from Canada, and I really despise when people endlessly hate on the state and swear they're gonna leave and never come back.

Note: People who say that are always, I mean always, the ones who come back. But that's another blog post.

True devotion to the state

As much as I love Kansas, though, I have always known there is much more to see in this world besides Sonic and sunflowers. What? I talk about Sonic too much? Have you HAD one of their cherry limeades? No? Suck it. So when the opportunity arises, I like to peace out and experience life outside the middle. Boston seemed like a cool place to check out.

And cool it is. Boston definitely has the upper hand in some respects, but lest you count out dear ole Topeka, I will present a balanced list, a tale of two cities, if you will.

Top City has: friendlier people. Yeah, it’s true. We’re just nicer people. In my six weeks here, I have experienced the worst customer service I’ve ever had. No charm to be found here. Charmless.

But Boston has: meaning. It feels like every place I go to in Boston has been around since the 1600s. The people we read about in history class are people whose graves I walk by.

Sam Adams in the flesh (bones)

Everything here is “America’s First!” America’s First Public School! America’s First Pub! America’s First Extreme Massacre of a Marginalized Group! There is really no building in Topeka that has any historical meaning, barring the Brown v. Board school and maybe T-High for the Trojans among us. Boston is just so old, in the coolest way.

More really old dead people

Just strolling past the balcony where they first read the Declaration of Independence

Boston has: things to do. The city is smaller than I anticipated, but it’s still much more legit than Topeka and St. Louis… combined. Last weekend I sat down and wrote out a list of things I wanted to do while I’m here, including a Salem witch tour, a Boston Tea Party reenactment, and a Red Sox game. There is always something new to do or see, and man, the food is on point. If I could afford it, I would eat at a new restaurant every night. Shout out to Maddie for taking me to The Rattlesnake, where I had the most delish nachos.

But Topeka has: normal weather. Here I either wake up sweating or shivering, and whatever weather you think it’s going to be for the day, you’re wrong. Sometimes it’s 50 degrees when we leave the house and a solid 85 when we come back. That’s not okay. Also I feel like it rains a lot here. A feeling that’s amplified by 15 minute walks to work during which many a bus honks at me, as if to warn me of impending doom, flies past me, and soaks me head to toe. Needless to say, the pass and splash has gotten old.

Topeka has: my car. Oh sweet sweet Linda, how I miss being able to hop in you to take a jaunt to Target, or Panera, or Sonic. Yes, again with the Sonic. 2-4 happy hour. Do it. When I want to go to the grocery store, I have to walk to the station (granted, it’s across the street… but still), wait for the T, sit on the T, walk to the store, and basically live life on someone else’s schedule. I haven’t even been to Target since the first day because the planning process exhausts me. Tragic. Baby violins.*

*Baby Violins: during times of complete silence at school, the 6^th graders are encouraged to express their disappointment through a quick mimed performance on their baby violins.

But Boston has: legit public transportation. I don’t believe I’ve ever taken a bus or a cab in Topeka. I’m fairly certain I’d rather walk than take that risk. As much as I miss having a car, the T can actually take me anywhere I need to go, pretty quickly, and I don’t have to parallel park (a sight no one should witness), get completely lost in a skeezy neighborhood, or buy gas. So maybe this one’s a draw.

Boston has: Progressive people. During training, one of the teachers gave us a quick bio and mentioned that she and her wife had just returned from a trip. Her wife!! It’s like people here actually believe in basic civil rights. MADNESS. I’m already gearing up for the massive pride parade later this year. The east coast liberal elite is my kinda crowd.

But Topeka has: No. We have the Phelps.

Kansas will always have an advantage in the two most essential categories: loved ones and college basketball. But for now, Boston is right where I should be.

Home sweet home

the new yorker

You may be familiar with a frequent character in my blog, Jeanenne, one of my freshman year roomies and a fellow Australian abroadee. She is also one of the first New Yorkers I met, & I had the distinct pleasure of staying with her fam on Long Island the summer after freshman year.

Ah, youth.

Well, this year, as Labor Day rolled around, J-Rod mentioned that she was going to the US Open and said she might have an extra ticket. After I checked my booming social calendar, I realized I had several major commitments, so I politely declined. Then Beyonce got all preggo and had to cancel our weekend in the Bahamas, and I was like, fine, Jeanenne, stop begging me, I'll come.

Because we are "adults" now, we did "adult" things. Exhibit A: wine, cheese, and salami galore at Eataly.

No chairs here. Everyone stands. So chic.

We ventured to Magnolia Bakery and had a peanut butter cupcake and a chocolate cupcake. Cupcakes are so underrated.

Cupcake line-up.

When we weren't eating, we were sleeping. Rephrase: I was sleeping. When you wake up in the 5s and go to bed in the 10s, it's really hard to stay up past midnight! Did you hear me, mother?! I understand you now! The moments I did manage to stay awake, however, were pretty badass.

The US Open is quite an event. I have never watched tennis, ever. Last year I took a beginning tennis class because it was second semester senior year and I wasn't trying to do anything useful. While taking the class, I learned that 1) tennis is exhausting, 2) hitting the ball with both force and accuracy is difficult, and 3) St. Louis has very few comfortable-weather days between February and May. Just kidding - I learned that last nugget of wisdom February of my freshman year when I left my dorm wearing shorts and flip flops and came home in the snow.

But I keep up with the news, and the Kardashians, and I knew this event was major. High brow, fancy pants stuff. I mean, Mercedes Benz was a sponsor. People who drove their Mercedes got free parking. Vince would have squealed with joy. Anything to save money.

We saw a bunch of matches. Women's singles, women's doubles (I love you Sania Mirza), mixed doubles, men's singles, and men's doubles. But my fave match, featuring my future husband (one of many, to be sure) was Tecau and Lindstedt playing some angry Italians.

Our Romanian children will be superathletes.

What I expected to be the grand finale of our night was only the penultimate (vocab word) experience. We cheered for John Isner, the tallest man on earth. Johnny won. It was awesome. It was here that I fully realized that what makes tennis so bizarre is that the fans do their raucous cheering for about five seconds, and then you have to abruptly stop as the next serve begins. Talk about pressure, playing in complete silence. I felt like a true WASP, watching tennis over Labor Day weekend, clapping in silence. I knew I had it in me.

Isner was fun, but we then saw the most intense back-and-forth match in history (in my history of watching tennis) between Sam Stosur and some Russian chick. No, not Maria Sharapova, don't you know anything about tennis?

We love SS because she's from Brisbane, Australia, and if you want to know why I love Brisbane, you should read the rest of this blog because it is essentially a love letter to Oz. Stosur pulled through, we heard the accent, we cried because we miss Australia, etc. Fast forward a week and Stosur beats Serena Williams in the finals and wins her first US Open!!

Even though I am a true Bostonian now (does it scream "I'm definitely not from Boston!!" to buy that ubiquitous B hat? yes? too bad, I'm doing it anyway), I had a lovely time in New York with J-Rod. My next goal is for her to invite me to an A-list movie premiere in NYC. Start planning, Jeanenne.

beantown basics

Let me first take a moment to marvel at modern technology. As I write this, I am sitting on a bus somewhere between Boston and New York. I'm on the Internet! On a bus! Between the interwebz, the outlets, and the peacefully slumbering man next to me -- not to mention the $30 round trip tix I scored -- I am feeling swell about this journey. In a few hours I will be sipping pina coladas and reminiscing about WashU with Jeanenne, wondering how we went from sleeping til 2 pm (okay that was mostly me) to waking up at 5:30 am every day (I just... can't believe this is my life). But before we slip into the past, here is the present:

The Home. I live in a big yellow house in Jamaica Plain, a cozy neighborhood in southwest Boston. Still unsure of the vibe of JP (official initials), as it has its WASPy elements as well as its urban swag. As of yesterday, there are 8 of us living in our Real World: JP pad. We are living in what I would call a dual-family home - at least that's what they call it on House Hunters - and we have the top 2 floors. There are 5 bedrooms and a bathroom on the third floor, and on the second floor we have another bathroom, a kitchen, dining area, living room, and a back porch. I would say that my favorite part of the house is that it has character, but we all know that when people say that, they mean there's a mouse problem and a non-functioning dryer.

OH WAIT. SOUNDS ABOUT RIGHT.

I mean, there was a mouse. Or maybe two. I'm not on mouse duty. I'm on "stand in the corner and squeal til someone else fixes the situation" duty. And to be fair, the dryer was fixed today. But the fact that we don't have air conditioning is real tough. I am literally sweating from the time I wake up to the time I go to bed. And they said Boston was cold...

The Homies. There are 50 Corps members in my program, most of whom are fresh out of undergrad. The Cou gang (I wanted to be alliterative and say clan, but for obvious reasons, I’m going to refrain), which is my house, well, we spend literally every minute of every day together. We walk to work together; see each other throughout the work day; walk home together; sit on the couch together, talking about how tired we are; watch Cupcake Wars and Jersey Shore together; and crawl back into bed together… I mean, no. I love my housemates and when I upload pix onto my computer, I will be sharing some images of the best-looking people in Massachusetts.

The Job. Unlike the last adventure I was on, down in Australia, they actually expect me to be a productive member of society here. Our middle school is a no-excuses charter school, which means that we do things just a tad differently than the ol 501 school district (what up T-town). Some examples: silent transitions from class to class, with everybody walking clockwise to efficiently get around; school days that go from 7 am to 4 pm; and two hours of intensive 1 on 2 tutoring Mon-Thurs. That's where we come in. As tutors, we are responsible for 5-6 kids. I have two 8th graders, two 7th graders, and two 6th graders. Every day we meet with each grade for both math and English tutorials. The tutorials are pretty structured, but the goal is to infuse energy and creativity into them so that algebra feels like an opportunity, not a chore. On top of tutorials, we also have secondary duties and school responsibilities. So I eat lunch with a 6^th grade homeroom (today was Fish Friday, and before you gag, know that these meals are on point for school lunch and I take an extra one every day for myself), deal with the group of kids who get picked up in cars (versus taking the T or the school bus), and do a lot of random tasks with the operations team. Last week the team and I built cubbies until my fingers fell off.

The Kiddos. After two looooong weeks of training, I was anxious to actually meet my tutees. I don’t want to be the creepy adult divulging personal info about children on the internet, so maybe I’ll just go initials when referring to my babies. Yes, my babies. I love them already. MJ and MG are 8^th grade boys who are good kids but feel like they’re too cool for school. It’s my job to show them that they aren’t. MN and BP are 7^th grade girls who are such 7^th grade girls. They’re the ones who called me out on my flesh-eating rash* and I can tell we are going to have some really lovely bonding moments and some really rough patches. My 6^th graders, NS (girl) and JP (boy, not to be confused with Jamaica Plain), are clearly new to the structure of our school and have a lot of catching up to do academically. After only three days of tutorials, I am already fiercely protective of my cubs and may have secretly chosen professions and long-term aspirations for all of them.

Mr. Sleeping Asian is so peaceful that he has convinced me it is time for me to nap as well, and although I’m sure you’re hanging onto my every word this lovely Friday night, I will save the rest of my insights for the next post. Expect an in-depth comparison on Boston vs. Topeka (spoiler: they have nothing in common).

*Allergic reaction + the first day of school = freakish monster face.

young money

Money is awesome.

It has allowed me to do some pretty fabulous things. Going to Aruba in June was the most recent fabulous thing.

Beyond the Caribbean adventures, my next level obsession is the Melting Pot. Cheese fondue, filet mignon, chocolate-dipped everything = the best meal, but maybe not the most economical. And then there's the simple purchases. You know what I mean: you go to Target for shampoo, & you come out with shampoo, conditioner, makeup, a book, a dress, and some containers. Because I love containers.

The thing about money, though, is that it isn't free. Somebody has to work for it. WHAT? And now that I am officially Working Woman, that's going to be the money I worked for. And for some reason, recklessly spending the money I busted my buns to earn sounds a whole lot less appealing than spending my parents' money or the dwindling remains of my graduation money.

That is why, beginning August 1, I am becoming responsible.

{ responsible: /adj./ saving money instead of spending it; cooking instead of eating out; saying no to a fourth pair of pastel J. Crew shorts; being boring and old }

So I am going to have a budget. I'm going to cook (most of) my own meals. I'm going to find the freest - yo, I tried to make free-est a word; why am I teaching at a school? - activities in Boston.

Starting August 1. Until then...

Oh, hello, friend.

here we go again

Well hello there, my loyal blog-readers. If you've been constantly refreshing your browser for the past 15 months hoping for a glimpse into my post-Australia life, today is your lucky day!!

I have managed to secure a job for next year. That's right: a job. I, whose employment resume includes one summer stint as a high school secretary (a job which I dominated) and a winter break stint as an American Eagle employee (a job which I less than dominated), got a real life paying job. I was 97% sure I'd be running around Topeka in August, begging government offices and mediocre clothing stores for any sort of work and calculating how disappointed my parents were, but alas: the early bird (me) has caught the worm (job).

Beginning in August, I will be working at a school in Boston. I'm sure they will give us a whole presentation on disclosing information via the interwebs, & I don't want to be that confidentiality-breaching girl, so I'll wait to figure out what's approp. But basically I'll be in Boston for a year, teaching middle schoolers and living with other college grads and doing cool Boston things.

Tomorrow is Eric and my 5 year anniversary. Graduation is in less than 3 months. I'll be off to a brand new city in 6 months. Time and space and milestones and AH, it's all so crazy and scary and exciting that it reminds me of the time before my last epic adventure, the one that sparked this oh so popular blog. Australia is still the best thing I've ever done, ever. Not a day goes by I don't have a memory of the beach, or the dorms, or the city, or the ferry, or the pubs, or the people -- mostly the people. I still squeal every time someone mentions Oz because it was home. I will go back, this I know for sure. But for now, time for another adventure!