Recommended reading: Educating Esme. It is an interesting, fun, easy read… diary of a woman as a first year teacher in inner city Chicago.
I am really glad this weekend is over. I had been dreading it, preparing for it, and dreading it some more for the entire month. Huge sigh of relief. No matter the outcome, at least it is OVER. Well, this part, anyway.
All last week was my last minute studying for the Multiple Subjects CSET. This test is supposed to be easier than the single subject tests, though, you must know a LITTLE bit about EVERYTHING. I also had to take all three subsets (English/History, Math/Science, Art/Music/PE/Ed. Theory). While the actual content of the tests were not that difficult, you had to be prepared for anything… whether your essay was on Charlemagne , the origins of Shinto, or the locations of all the different Native American tribes and their time periods. The good thing about the CSET is that your goal is simply to PASS it. I think I passed the English/History subset, and the Art/Music/PE/Ed. Theory subset, but the Math and Science could honestly go either way.
I was banking on knowing enough about Chemistry and basic Biology to be able to just guess on the Physics questions. Sadly for me, there was an ESSAY question that began “Using your knowledge of Physics…” and then a second ESSAY about Artificial Selection of Tomatoes. Hm. Hmmmmmmm. Innnnteresting. Good thing I’m verbose and can fill up a page about nothing and throw in any physics word I know in the mix, that way I can at least get a 1 or 2 on them.
Mark was adorable, sweet, and supportive and insisted on driving me to and from both the test on Sat. in Woodland Hills, and the interview on Sun in Inglewood. He even took me out for celebratory Indian food on Sat post test… and I promptly passed out afterwards from sheer exhaustion. I had been up late every single night, and the morning of the test was up at 5. Add a little Bengal Dal and samosas, and super happy Sheridan passes out.
Despite lacking the carpentry skills, Mark invoked Jesus’ giving spirit, sacrificing his life for mine on Sunday. Again, I was up late putting together my lesson plan on the Gettysburg Address. There were all sorts of debacles involving the printer… Mark getting very frustrated as usual, but nothing compared to what would come on Sunday.
The interview day went well, nothing spectacular nor humiliating to report. I did reflect that the “shitty” high school I took the CSET in, was the Taj Mahal compared to the building in Inglewood. I also just realized how much I LOVE being in a school. Don’t know what it is. Maybe the smell of school supplies?
Mark picked me up at the school, with my sweet treat surprise… my FAVORITE thing… a frosted sugar cookie from the bakery! As we are driving back towards the 405, remarking on the low flying planes (this high school might as well have been directly on an LAX runway), I look at the cookie a little bit confused. It didn’t have the traditional, thin and buttery white sugar cookie look. I just start looking at the label of the container. No big deal.
Mark: WHAT? WHAT IS IT?! WHAT’S WRONG?
Me: Oh. Nothing. Just checking the label… it kind of looks like a peanut butter cookie.
Mark: Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking serious? I THOUGHT SO TOO! I ASKED THE WOMAN? I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND AND GO BACK AND SLIT HER FUCKING THROAT!!!!!!!
Um. What? Trying not to laugh. Also thinking even if this SOB cookie is peanut butter, I am pretending it is a sugar cookie… as apparently mixing up cookie types is justifiable homicide.
Me: Oh, no, never mind. It’s totally a sugar cookie. Just thicker! It’s delicious!
Mark: *SIGH OF RELIEF, TEARS IN THE EYE* DON’T FUCKING JOKE WITH ME ABOUT THINGS LIKE THAT!!!!!!!!
Hm. Do you mean all foods or just baked goods?
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Mark (in a sing-song voice, peppy): How’s baby’s cookie???!
I bring up the fact that therapy MAY be in order, because his responses aren’t quite appropriate. The cause is not quite worthy of his effect. This becomes clear later at night, when I am opening up a trader joe’s bag of salad… and I hand it to him to open as it is tough for me.
He tries. Tries. Tries. Sighs.
Mark: Do you have a scissor in here???
First of all… I say “scissors”. The world is divided into those who say “a scissor” or “scissors”.
Me: No, in the kitchen drawer.
I can hear Mark yelling in the kitchen…
“NEVER BUY THIS KIND OF SALAD AGAIN!”
I start laughing.
“I’m serious!!!”
Oooooooooookay, diva! I almost dissolved one of my anti-depressants in his hawaiian punch.
Fortunately, he was able to laugh about it later when I brought it up that those kind of reactions are NOT NORMAL. We were both crying in ULS.
Off to Aroma Cafe for dinner… yum! I think I am going to bike there! I hope they have sugar cookies!
