Pop Quiz, Hotshot!

Oh the joys of planning lessons (read: choosing stories and poems) for a literature survey course.

My warm and cozy nook.  This was after I ate ALL THE COOKIES.

First you sit down and figure out exactly how many class periods you will have for the semester.  Then you look at that giant, doorstop of a textbook and start making some hard choices.  (This involves lots of sticky tabs.  Did I mention I LOVE office supplies?)  What do you leave out?  It can't be Flannery O'Connor.  And certainly not Nathaniel Hawthorne--everyone should have to read "Young Goodman Brown" at least fifty times in college.

All this decision-making isn't made any easier by the lovely sampling of contemporary writers that are included--Nathan Englander, Junot Diaz, Annie Proulx, and don't forget that Peter Meinke story that makes everyone cry. ("The Cranes")  Balance must also be considered: Am I including a significant number of female authors?  People of color?  Is Sherman Alexie really not in there?  This is hard.  I want to include all the stuff.  All the stories.

But this is not just a fiction course.  There's poetry.  And drama.  I love poetry--drama, not nearly so much.  Maybe we could read a few poems, watch a movie, and call it day.  Read more stories!  If we read a story about a person who writes poetry, does that count? (Just kidding, poet friends.  We'll be reading lots of good stuff.)

And because all of this wasn't challenging enough, I asked for some sample syllabi to make sure I cover everything required.  What do they send me?  Just the syllabus of one of the most awesome English professors I ever had, you know the kind: Her syllabus is detailed and perfect.  You can read the words/instructions in her voice and feel instantly inept as you imagine yourself attempting to teach the same subject matter.  Is it too late to back out?

I'm trying not to even think about making up tests.  The classes I've taught so far have all been writing courses.  I can grade a paper with the best of them. (Well maybe not with the best, but I can certainly manage it.)  I've never written a test before.  Will I over empathize and make it too easy?  Will I be subconsciously angered by perceived student apathy and make it too hard?  Will half the class simply refuse to show up for the midterm?  (Sorry, I was having flashbacks to last semester.)

Of course, the good part about having the SuperProfessor syllabus is that I can steal/borrow her awesome ideas, namely, I'm totally making my students memorize and recite a poem.  (My husband asked if it could be a limerick or haiku.  Pretty sure he's a college freshman in disguise.)  We're definitely going to attend the theater department's spring production (though admittedly, the name of it didn't really kindle anticipation and excitement in my heart.)  And I'm absolutely requiring them to submit PCQs on their readings. (Pre-class questions, for the uninitiated in Dr. Brown's amazing classes.)

One thing I'm really looking forward to is the quizzes.  There will be so many quizzes.  Planned quizzes.  Secret quizzes.  Hard quizzes.  Short quizzes.  If there's one thing I learned last semester, it's that freshmen will not do their homework unless moved by intense fear.  And so I will strike fear in their hearts with quizzes.  I will show no mercy with multiple choice answers.  It will be short answer.  It will be timed.  And most importantly, it will be at the very beginning of class, you late slackers.  Muwaaahaaa.  Is it wrong that I'm looking forward to the first student who wanders in five minutes late and misses the quiz?  Probably.  Do I care?  Not so much.

So that's pretty much my weekend.  Oh, yeah, there's also a ton of snow outside my window (at least a ton by SC standards.)  But that's more my husband's and Kiddo's domain.  I remain in my little hole, planning (plotting?) in front of my personal heater.  And when I start to feel overwhelmed by all the possibilities (Donne? Shakespeare? Keats? Eliot?), I just sit back and imagine all those sweet freshman sliding down snowy hills, sipping steaming drinks, laughing with friends, all completely and blissfully unaware of the quizzes that await them.

Also blissfully ignorant of my evil plans.

Snowpocalypse? Not so much.

When I got up this morning, there was a lovely blanket of white covering everything, making our ugly backyard beautiful, covering up the rusty wheelbarrow and the old charcoal grill that needs to go to the dump.  Even those stupid wild onions that pop up in our front yard every winter are hidden by the snow.  Unfortunately, that picturesque moment has been pretty much obliterated by a steady fall of freezing rain ever since.  The snow is still under there somewhere, but I don't think any cute kids will be asking if they can sled down our hill this afternoon.

View from the porch (as far our as I intend to venture.)

And while we're on the topic of plans and visions going awry...the weather has also put a stop to my work/reading bonanza of a weekend.  My husband and Kiddo were planning to go to visit grandparents sans mommy this weekend, leaving me to be productive and bask in the quiet solitude of an empty house.  Don't get me wrong--I'm glad they're home safe, but there is a small part of me that is mourning my lost weekend.

On the upside, you haven't lived until you've heard a six year old waking up to snow outside the window. Excited doesn't begin to cover it.  She's been asking to go outside every five minutes since her feet hit the floor.  The child has no understanding of sleet and freezing rain.  Looks like we may have to let her find out the hard way.  At least my husband is off from work and can take her out in the mess whilst I stay warm and cozy in front of my heater.

The furry members of our family have opinions about the weather too.  The Big Dog LOVES cold weather, and snow is even more magical for him than Kiddo, I believe.  You're trying to walk him, and all he wants do is FROLIC.  He has no appreciation of our distaste for icicles on our eyebrows.  Kitten Murderface, however, is just happy that all the blinds are open, the better to wreak havoc on all the cords and slats, all while being highly suspicious of the tink, tink of ice on the windows.

The best part of this most un-Snowmaggedon of days, however, is that we can't/won't go ANYWHERE.  Never one for flitting here and there, I've progressed to nearly hermit levels as I've gotten older, and leaving the house is one of my least favorite things.  So today there was no hauling Kiddo to school before the sun is fully up, or waiting in car line for nearly an hour.  I don't even have to put on pants! (I did, though.  Can I collect my prize now?)

So, while my productivity may be slightly less (especially following a work/teaching related hiccup discovered this morning) and my peace and quiet significantly reduced, at least all my clothes are cotton and have elastic.  My socks are fuzzy.  My tea is hot.  And Kiddo wears fleece footie pajamas at night that make her look like a cuddly stuffed animal.  Snow Day FTW!