Freckled Freedom

I feel like one becomes a true island girl when she experiences her first wood slave kill... all whilst frantically swatting a broom with one foot on her tall wicker chair and the other on her bar countertop. Two nights ago, we encountered each other. Well, perhaps he didn't notice me but I sure stared him down. He had made himself cozy perched on the highest point of the kitchen ceiling. I grabbed the broom, slamming it into the wall and watched as he scurried away, taking residence upon my cabinets. I closed the lights... until we meet again little wood slave, until we meet again.  I remember the first time a wood slave scaled his way from the balcony into my apartment. Just shy of a week into my new life in Anguilla, I was confronted with the character, suctioning himself to the wall watching the silly American contemplate how she would remove his scaly body. At that moment, Janiera, board member and buddy, called to check in and see how I was settling in. I told her of th...

...Said no teacher ever. When most people think of teaching, they picture out-by-3:30 workdays, never-ending holidays, snow days, coloring, counting, playing all day long, and the oh-so-divine summer break. However, when a teacher thinks of the profession, and I'm talking a real teacher-  not the rubber-room, authoritarian, my-way-or-the-highway, paycheck collector- this teacher thinks of the profession in a completely different light. This teacher thinks of the endless TO DO list that never seems to decrease, the constant need to improve, what worked well but more often what could have been better. This teacher thinks of the mountainous stack of grading that continues to grow, the charts and bulletin boards yet to be created, the activities that were once dreamed of that require more time to prepare than available, overly-priced supplies purchased out of a petite pocket. This teacher thinks of late nights gathering ideas on Pinterest, cramming in curriculum, Sunday ...