domestic bliss is a misnomer. the two words in conjunction almost NECESSARILY cancel each other out. when one is domestic, one can never be truly blissful. when one is blissful, it seems that domesticity (and domestication) fly out the window (poor idiomatic expression/pun intended). in order to "get shit done", i need to be undomesticated. i spent all day yesterday and part of today cleaning apartment, classroom, car, then self. okay, the "self" got cleaned more than once, seeing as the act of cleaning causes oneself to become ironically dirty...like a never-ending mobeus strip of housework. sigh. the mind reels. i was far from domesticated, arms and scrub brushes flailing scarecrow-like (anyone else hearing "the wizard of oz? "if i only had a ma-a-a-a-a-a-aid!"). my off-key singing always sounds like a screeching, feral yowling that terrifies my pets and neighbors, but it helps me feign the enthusiasm i need to keep my cleaning inertia. did i mention "sigh"?
sigh.
add to that the latest plumbing catastrophe (still drying out the ceiling), the task of replacing batteries in every, single smoke detector (which screamed for attention at 4 a.m. today), AND
the herculean job (LOVELOVELOVE the word "herculean". roll it around your vocal chords for a while...her-KYOO-lee-un) of reorganizing my classroom after two months of blissful neglect, and you have a very tired puppy, indeed.
but, as life is wont to do, negative capability has stepped in and revived me. we got our test scores back...remember the "high stakes" standardized tests that (cough) leave no child behind? (snicker...snickersnicker...snicker) there were the obligatory shuffles, some kids improved, some declined. much of the shifting can be directly attributed to "how the kids were feeling that day".
...honestly.
picture this: he is a gang-banger. he is all bravado as substantial as spun sugar. his swagger enters the room before he does and kicks each desk on the way by. each step is a challenge, scuff, scuff, scuff; he is daring me NOT to be afraid of him. i'm not. he tips his head back, aims his chin downward, and evaluates me down the bridge of his nose. then it comes, "i ain't gon' learn nuffin'. you can't make me", followed by the mother of all preemptive strikes, "besides, i'm dumb anyway."
THERE it is.
i'll spare you all the dangerous minds/lean on me/freedom writers/"IF I CAN JUST REACH THIS ONE KID"-type of psuedo-inspirational film montages. fast forward to the day of the test. same pose--head back, chin down, staring at me over the bridge of his nose as i hand out the tests...he smiles. the upshot? this kid, this self-proclaimed "dummy", this behemoth of enormous self-doubt and tiny rage jumped 40 points in his test scores to land in a new bandwidth. in case you're wondering what this means, the state labels the kids using categories ranging from "far below basic skills" to "proficient" to "exemplary". this kid who has existed in a world "far below basic" has jumped and landed with both gigantic feet in the world of "proficient". sometimes, being told you are "good enough" feels like being told you are unstoppable. i hope he believes me NOW. way to go, kid.
today's word of the day is actually a phrase... coup de maitre.
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