I Survived Institute 2011 in the Desert

I survived Institute 2011 in the desert.

I seriously need a shirt with that caption. I just survived the most intense, stressful, sleepless, busy, crazy, ridiculous training of my life. I averaged 3 hours of sleep per night (what I refer to as "naps" rather than real sleep) for the last 5 weeks, braved the desert sun (one day it was 125 degrees, people!!!), and was pushed pretty close to my limit...and I am a better person for it. A better teacher. It forced me to put in 110% and be the absolute best person I am capable of being. Talk about reaching your potential!

So check it: I am officially an Elementary teacher. I had 20 little 4th grade faces that I was in charge of all summer; 20 little human beings that needed BIG change in their lives, who needed someone who was willing to go to all lengths for them. I had the honor of being that person. And I fell in love. I fell in love with 20 little babies who I absolutely adore and unfortunately have to leave...because I have 20 new babies waiting for me in Tulsa.

My fellow 4th grade teachers (I'm 3rd from the left!)

Homegirl never found balance this summer, so unlike the awesome Corps Members who blogged during the whole process, I'm going to have to catch you up.

Day (or shall I say night) 1: Homegirl arrives to campus around 11:30pm with no idea where to go. Roomie & TFABFF (That's Ashley Lite) rescue me. TFA peeps hand me a 500+ page book named BARB (Big Awesome Red Book) and tell me to be ready to go in a few hours--oh and p.s. I need to read this book cuz I'm a 4th grade teacher starting next week. Go!

Week 1: NEVER sleep. For rizzle. TFA gives us pipe cleaners and play-do to play with during training sessions, because there is no way in HECK that we are staying awake all week running on 2-5 hours of sleep each night. They tell us to stand in the back of the room if we just simply can't stay awake; no hard feelings. I stand in the back of the room. I make flowers out of pipe cleaners. I make a pretty awesome play-do man.

Week 2-5: NEVER sleep. Wake up at 5:15am & shower. Head down to Teacher lunch line: pack your lunch in a line up with 600+ other CMs...don't be late because then you don't get an ice pack. And let me tell you, warm turkey sandwich ain't good on the tummy come lunch time! Grab hot breakfast (holla!) & a hot tea for the road before gettin' on the Teacher Mobile (aka sweet coach buses we get to ride to school).

**NOTE: Hot tea calms my nerves. I drink it on the bus to school. I drink it after dinner. I do this to settle my nerves and emotions, which are running HIGH, my friends. We're talkin' Hot-crying-mess if sandwich man (My good man, Anthony, who likes when I tease him--I swear!) doesn't make my turkey-cheese-sandwich-dinner (cuz homegirl can hardly ever eat anything else) right.

Back to Weeks 2-5: Get to school & teach my 4th grade babies who I LOVE and TRACKTRACKTRACK 'yo data, struggle to stay awake during afternoon/evening training sessions, then RUN to the bus. This part is important, 'ya gotta RUN to the bus, people. If you don't run, then you won't get a seat in the front, which means you don't get off the bus first, which means your ass isn't gunna beat the dinner crowd to the Caf (= cafeteria), which means you're standing in line for a good 45+ minutes for that turkey-cheese-sandwich-dinner. Eat dinner with adopted colab & personify everything in sight with Kylia (it's our thing, okay). Drink hot tea as you lesson plan the night away. Make the trek over to the copy center before they kick your butt to the curb at midnight (if you're not in by 11:40pm, you're not getting in, my friend). Pass out on bed for 2-3 hours. REPEAT.

Adopted Colab...me not pictured.

 (Kylia, my personifying superstar, is on the left)

 

Last day: Nearly cry when you have to leave the non-Tulsa people (WHY does TFA do this to us?! Why do they make us meet and work with awesome frickin' people only to be like "JK! They aren't in your region."???!!). Have a heart attack when you realize the clothes that you mailed are soooo not fitting into your 3+ suitcases (listen, the plus is my "personal item", okay? Backpacks totally don't count as a carry-on, they are a PERSONAL ITEM.) and throw out a third of your shit so that your suitcase will actually close. Get to airport and discover your bags are over the weight limit and open up all 3 of your suitcases in front of a crowd of strangers (yes, dude behind me, it is a little creepy that you're checking out my lacey black bra & undies that are conveniently packed on top) and start moving clothes around between the 3 of them to even them out so you don't get charged a MEGA fine (yo, Delta wanted to charge me $90, homeskillets...fly SouthWest). Dignity lost? Check. Do I have any shame? Nada. Finally, board your plane. Say peace to the desert.

Peace, desert.