Bad news. It seems that Captain Phlegm and his evil Larynx Lancers have managed a hostile takeover of my voice box. I was all fine and good this morning, making phone calls, teaching class, when...dun, dun, dun! [this is how my students write "scary music" into their stories] So, dun, dun dun! I found myself rendered mute. Mute! Mid-lesson.
This caused great excitement among the fourth grade youth in my class. "She can't talk! She can't talk!"one Einstein stated the obvious for everyone in earshot. "Hey! Mrs. R! Can you hear me?" (waved hand in my face). I opened my mouth to chastise the freak, ahem...sweet darling child, and of course, nothing came out. "She looks like a mime," one uttered reverently, staring. "Hey, Mrs. R...go like this!" He began pressing his hands to the sides of an imaginary box. I gave him my most withering glare and headed for my bell. After a sharp ding to the bell, the kids seemed to understand that I meant business, but remained fascinated by my condition.
It was a long day, but this is the most conversation I've had! It's freeing just to be able to get words out. Ahhhh....I hope the phone doesn't ring. I can't bear not to answer a phone.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Captain Phlegm
I'm sick. I am personally offended by this cruel assault on my immune system. I feel slighted because I work so hard to do everything right regarding illness prevention. I read Glamour and Cosmo every single month. Clearly, this is the first step to good health care. I always pay close attention to the "Keeping Yourself Healthy in 2005!" articles.
Take a multi-vitamin, they say. Check! The Target-brand Multi. Every day.
Drink lots of water. Check! Well, I carry a gallon thermos of well-intended water to school with me every single day without fail. Sometimes I even drink it. It's just if I drink too much, then I have to go to the bathroom and I can't do that with the group of kids I have this year. So maybe not-so-much-check on that one. But, the list continues.
Wash hands regularly. Okay, I win this one. I'm a hand-washing fool. I have a sink in my classroom and hand sanitizer everywhere I go. We even have foam soap this year, and that stuff is good fun to use. Double check!
Avoid using cloth handkerchiefs. Well, CLEARLY. This habit has got to be one of the most repulsive, archaic methods of mucus control in existence. I'd like to meet the individual who thought it would be a clever idea to blow snot onto a cloth and then store it in their pocket for future exploits. (My dad is a big proponent of this practice.) (My mom is also famous for pulling used kleenexes from the depths of her purse during church and passing them my sister and me to use. *shudder*) (It's amazing I turned out as well-developed in the hygiene arena as I did, now that I'm thoroughly analyzing my gene pool.) Anyway, check.
Stay away from other people who are ill. Well, slight job hazard here, but I really do my best. My students are well-trained in illness prevention. When one of them launches one of those snot rocket sneezes in which the ill student winds up with an embarrassing mass of mucus about the face, we have all practiced keeping the display carefully covered with one hand and raising the other with a polite gesture to the kleenex box. So, kind of check. Best-I-can-do check.
Get plenty of rest. I am the best at rest. The supreme snoozer. The fiesta of the siesta. I can take a 10 minute catnap any day of the week. I'm in bed by 10 and up at 6. I get an A+ on rest. Check.
Avoid breathing dry air. Well. I may not get a check for this one. I live in Texas. There's only so much I can do about the climate. I do sleep with a Vicks Humidifier in my room at night though. Just like a baby. It makes nice churgling noises while I sleep. Which! Aids in my slumber, thereby helping with the previous tip. So, check. The only other advice is to not touch your face and to be aware that germs exist in mass quantities on doorknobs and grocery carts. I try, and I am aware. So, check check.
So, why am I sick? I think I am very aware of my surroundings and take many steps in disease prevention. Yet, here I am. Diseased. My throat is raw and my lungs have been taken over by Captain Phlegm. (Who made that word up? What a wretched-sounding word. Phlegm.) Cough. Wheeze. Based on these findings, my conclusion is that I am a victim of my job.
I am definitely not missing a day of school for this. This is the perfect opportunity to do some selective breathing upon kids. Plus, I'm not one to use my sick days when I'm sick...that's a waste of a day off. It's not worth it to write sub plans to take a day off sick. So, it turns out that I am a contributor to the problem. I'm certain that last on the list of advice would be Stay home when you are sick to prevent the spread of germs to others. Bygones. If the teacher ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Cough.
Take a multi-vitamin, they say. Check! The Target-brand Multi. Every day.
Drink lots of water. Check! Well, I carry a gallon thermos of well-intended water to school with me every single day without fail. Sometimes I even drink it. It's just if I drink too much, then I have to go to the bathroom and I can't do that with the group of kids I have this year. So maybe not-so-much-check on that one. But, the list continues.
Wash hands regularly. Okay, I win this one. I'm a hand-washing fool. I have a sink in my classroom and hand sanitizer everywhere I go. We even have foam soap this year, and that stuff is good fun to use. Double check!
Avoid using cloth handkerchiefs. Well, CLEARLY. This habit has got to be one of the most repulsive, archaic methods of mucus control in existence. I'd like to meet the individual who thought it would be a clever idea to blow snot onto a cloth and then store it in their pocket for future exploits. (My dad is a big proponent of this practice.) (My mom is also famous for pulling used kleenexes from the depths of her purse during church and passing them my sister and me to use. *shudder*) (It's amazing I turned out as well-developed in the hygiene arena as I did, now that I'm thoroughly analyzing my gene pool.) Anyway, check.
Stay away from other people who are ill. Well, slight job hazard here, but I really do my best. My students are well-trained in illness prevention. When one of them launches one of those snot rocket sneezes in which the ill student winds up with an embarrassing mass of mucus about the face, we have all practiced keeping the display carefully covered with one hand and raising the other with a polite gesture to the kleenex box. So, kind of check. Best-I-can-do check.
Get plenty of rest. I am the best at rest. The supreme snoozer. The fiesta of the siesta. I can take a 10 minute catnap any day of the week. I'm in bed by 10 and up at 6. I get an A+ on rest. Check.
Avoid breathing dry air. Well. I may not get a check for this one. I live in Texas. There's only so much I can do about the climate. I do sleep with a Vicks Humidifier in my room at night though. Just like a baby. It makes nice churgling noises while I sleep. Which! Aids in my slumber, thereby helping with the previous tip. So, check. The only other advice is to not touch your face and to be aware that germs exist in mass quantities on doorknobs and grocery carts. I try, and I am aware. So, check check.
So, why am I sick? I think I am very aware of my surroundings and take many steps in disease prevention. Yet, here I am. Diseased. My throat is raw and my lungs have been taken over by Captain Phlegm. (Who made that word up? What a wretched-sounding word. Phlegm.) Cough. Wheeze. Based on these findings, my conclusion is that I am a victim of my job.
I am definitely not missing a day of school for this. This is the perfect opportunity to do some selective breathing upon kids. Plus, I'm not one to use my sick days when I'm sick...that's a waste of a day off. It's not worth it to write sub plans to take a day off sick. So, it turns out that I am a contributor to the problem. I'm certain that last on the list of advice would be Stay home when you are sick to prevent the spread of germs to others. Bygones. If the teacher ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Cough.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
This is Serious.
I'm going to take a moment and step away from my usual idiotic ramblings about leg hair, weird kids from my class, and beagle antics. I'm going to be serious for a minute. Well, for as long as I can make my serious muscle focus. It doesn't get a lot of exercise.
A post on MadHatter's blog called "Insulting" got me all riled up. I think this is something of which people really need to understand the implications. On paper and in the politics of the general public, it appears that the state of Texas and Governor Perry are doing a really good and noble thing. It appears that they are trying to increase teachers' much deserved pay and improve schools and the quality of teaching. The plan in the works is to "give pay raises to only the "best and brightest" teachers with "incentives tied to student results." Student results being test scores on the end of grade TAKS tests.
The general public is going to view this as a great way to help kids and teachers simultaneously.
Here is what is really going to happen:
1. The teachers who teach in middle class to rich, primarily white, suburban schools are going to receive incentive pay because their students are going to perform well on the state mandated TAKS exams.
2. The teachers who teach in inner-city, primarily minority/economically disadvantaged schools are not going to receive incentive pay because when compared to their suburban counterparts, they are not going to perform as well.
3. Any good teachers from the low-performing schools are going to migrate to the high-performing schools so that they can earn their rightful incentive pay which they deserve for being good teachers. They will not have a problem getting hired.
4. The inner-city schools are then left with a combination of bad teachers who cannot get a job in the wealthier districts and new, inexperienced teachers to teach the neediest students in the area. These students speak less English, have less money, and have less of a chance to begin with.
5. The performance gap between the two classes of schools is widened again, even worse that it is already. This will bring us around to my rant on No Child Left Behind again.
An editorial covering these five points will appear in the newspaper to which an Oprah-loving, feel-good, warm-fuzzy of a person will respond, "But what about those 90/90/90 schools?" These schools are environments that have been studied in which 90%+ of the students are minority, 90%+ students are economically disadvantaged, but they are able to maintain scores that are in the 90th percentile. Oprah likes to spotlight these schools, which I think is fabulous, except that one of the ones that she loves to rave about the most is in Houston and was recently put under investigation for high instances of TAKS cheating.
TAKS cheating has become a big issue in the past year. So much emphasis has been placed on TAKS scores that teachers, not students, have taken to regular cheating. A school near Dallas in which the majority of students do not speak English had the highest 3rd grade Reading TAKS scores in the state. The principal said they just "worked really hard." The year before they were something like the 3rd percentile in the state. That's quite a year of growth!
6. Teachers in low-performing schools will begin cheating and trying more desperate measures to reach the unlikely goal that has been set for them and has limited their pay.
Which brings me to my point. When I taught in North Carolina, we also had state testing. The teachers were offered incentive pay and it was extremely effective. Because. The pay was based on growth of the individual school. When I began at my first teaching job, it was at a school that had such poor performance that it was turned over to the state. It had a 45% pass rate of the state tests. Our state-set goal that year was to increase our pass rate to something like 65%. If we met our goal, each teacher received $750. If we beat it, it doubled to $1500. I got my $1500 bonus every year for the next four years, and when I moved to Texas, the state-set goal for that school was up to over 90%. That school was not a lily-white middle class suburban school, but we were motivated to teach there. At the upper-class richer schools, the kids performed at their highest every year. That meant that every year, they had to acheive a 100% pass rate to even meet their goal. Do you know how difficult that is? Even with super-smart kids? Hard. I don't know if NC still uses incentives that way, but it certainly worked for me and it worked for that school.
So that's the end of my diatribe. If Texas is going to tie incentive pay to test scores alone, they are doing their most needy students and the morale of their teachers a tremendous disservice. They need to expect the wealthy to do better and the poor to do worse. They need to expect an onslaught of institutionalized cheating. That's all I have to say about that. My serious muscle is aching. We will now be going somewhere to tell bad jokes.
A post on MadHatter's blog called "Insulting" got me all riled up. I think this is something of which people really need to understand the implications. On paper and in the politics of the general public, it appears that the state of Texas and Governor Perry are doing a really good and noble thing. It appears that they are trying to increase teachers' much deserved pay and improve schools and the quality of teaching. The plan in the works is to "give pay raises to only the "best and brightest" teachers with "incentives tied to student results." Student results being test scores on the end of grade TAKS tests.
The general public is going to view this as a great way to help kids and teachers simultaneously.
Here is what is really going to happen:
1. The teachers who teach in middle class to rich, primarily white, suburban schools are going to receive incentive pay because their students are going to perform well on the state mandated TAKS exams.
2. The teachers who teach in inner-city, primarily minority/economically disadvantaged schools are not going to receive incentive pay because when compared to their suburban counterparts, they are not going to perform as well.
3. Any good teachers from the low-performing schools are going to migrate to the high-performing schools so that they can earn their rightful incentive pay which they deserve for being good teachers. They will not have a problem getting hired.
4. The inner-city schools are then left with a combination of bad teachers who cannot get a job in the wealthier districts and new, inexperienced teachers to teach the neediest students in the area. These students speak less English, have less money, and have less of a chance to begin with.
5. The performance gap between the two classes of schools is widened again, even worse that it is already. This will bring us around to my rant on No Child Left Behind again.
An editorial covering these five points will appear in the newspaper to which an Oprah-loving, feel-good, warm-fuzzy of a person will respond, "But what about those 90/90/90 schools?" These schools are environments that have been studied in which 90%+ of the students are minority, 90%+ students are economically disadvantaged, but they are able to maintain scores that are in the 90th percentile. Oprah likes to spotlight these schools, which I think is fabulous, except that one of the ones that she loves to rave about the most is in Houston and was recently put under investigation for high instances of TAKS cheating.
TAKS cheating has become a big issue in the past year. So much emphasis has been placed on TAKS scores that teachers, not students, have taken to regular cheating. A school near Dallas in which the majority of students do not speak English had the highest 3rd grade Reading TAKS scores in the state. The principal said they just "worked really hard." The year before they were something like the 3rd percentile in the state. That's quite a year of growth!
6. Teachers in low-performing schools will begin cheating and trying more desperate measures to reach the unlikely goal that has been set for them and has limited their pay.
Which brings me to my point. When I taught in North Carolina, we also had state testing. The teachers were offered incentive pay and it was extremely effective. Because. The pay was based on growth of the individual school. When I began at my first teaching job, it was at a school that had such poor performance that it was turned over to the state. It had a 45% pass rate of the state tests. Our state-set goal that year was to increase our pass rate to something like 65%. If we met our goal, each teacher received $750. If we beat it, it doubled to $1500. I got my $1500 bonus every year for the next four years, and when I moved to Texas, the state-set goal for that school was up to over 90%. That school was not a lily-white middle class suburban school, but we were motivated to teach there. At the upper-class richer schools, the kids performed at their highest every year. That meant that every year, they had to acheive a 100% pass rate to even meet their goal. Do you know how difficult that is? Even with super-smart kids? Hard. I don't know if NC still uses incentives that way, but it certainly worked for me and it worked for that school.
So that's the end of my diatribe. If Texas is going to tie incentive pay to test scores alone, they are doing their most needy students and the morale of their teachers a tremendous disservice. They need to expect the wealthy to do better and the poor to do worse. They need to expect an onslaught of institutionalized cheating. That's all I have to say about that. My serious muscle is aching. We will now be going somewhere to tell bad jokes.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Two Balls
The week has gone by fairly quickly. Overall, I'd give the week a 9 out of 10. I got my shoulder mangled with and it's almost entirely better. I had my yearly eye doctor check up and found out that my vision is still correctable. (quite an iffy game with my -10.5 eyesight) I found out that science, that wonderful science, has continued to advance and has yet again come out with an even higher index lens for glasses so that I might stand a chance to wear glasses that don't make me look like a member of the special population. My students took a mock writing test and no one failed. My worst student might be moving to Alaska. FWK's molars finally came in. My tennis match got cancelled on the night that I had my shoulder worked on. The only thing Gus destroyed this week was a pencil. I convinced the parent of the worst case of ADD I've ever seen (who doesn't believe in medication) to go to the doctor today and put her kid on medicine without ever uttering the words "medicine," "doctor," or "your kid is a social retard." All in all a quite satisfying week. And my People magazine is sitting on the coffee table in front of a cozy fire on a rainy 41 degree night. I'm set.
A couple clips from my day:
1. I had all the kids gathered on the floor and I was about to start read aloud when a little boy looked up at me out of the blue and goes, "Do you have any children?" I told him no, that the 44 of them, plus Gus were about all I could handle right now. He thought about that for a minute and then he goes, "So, do you have any grandchildren?" Um hmm. Yeah. You're super-smart.
2. I was sitting in on a novel discussion group, evaluating my students' participation. I always try to sit to the edge of the group, as not to influence their discussion - I like it to be as natural as possible so that I can hear how they're thinking. Today, however, was a bit too natural and I got so tickled that I almost lost it. I'm pretty good at keeping a straight face most of the time, but today just struck me for some reason.
They were talking about the book Maniac Magee, in which a child is orphaned and sent to live with his aunt and uncle who hate each other. They have divided the house in half and had two of everything so they never had to communicate. The boy would take turns eating with them, sleeping on their side of the house, etc.
One of the kids had posed the discussion question, "What would be good about living in that environment?" And another kids blurted out, "You'd get to have two of everything! You'd get to have, like...two balls or whatever!" and all the other kids were immediately rolling on the floor laughing except for him and one other little girl who didn't get the joke. I was feverishly writing comments on another paper and trying to make my mind focus on the formation of letters, meaningful feedback, anything but laughing with these kids! It was horrible. I got a stomachache from trying to keep from laughing. And then had to continue to sit there while the two clueless kids repeated, "What's so funny? Mrs. R! We don't get it! Why are they laughing?" Hee.
Then on the playground a student told me a joke that started out, "A blonde and a brunette were sitting in a bar..." When I was in fourth grade I was only concerned with my plastic charm necklace and what happened the night before on You Can't Do That on Television! Ah, well.
A couple clips from my day:
1. I had all the kids gathered on the floor and I was about to start read aloud when a little boy looked up at me out of the blue and goes, "Do you have any children?" I told him no, that the 44 of them, plus Gus were about all I could handle right now. He thought about that for a minute and then he goes, "So, do you have any grandchildren?" Um hmm. Yeah. You're super-smart.
2. I was sitting in on a novel discussion group, evaluating my students' participation. I always try to sit to the edge of the group, as not to influence their discussion - I like it to be as natural as possible so that I can hear how they're thinking. Today, however, was a bit too natural and I got so tickled that I almost lost it. I'm pretty good at keeping a straight face most of the time, but today just struck me for some reason.
They were talking about the book Maniac Magee, in which a child is orphaned and sent to live with his aunt and uncle who hate each other. They have divided the house in half and had two of everything so they never had to communicate. The boy would take turns eating with them, sleeping on their side of the house, etc.
One of the kids had posed the discussion question, "What would be good about living in that environment?" And another kids blurted out, "You'd get to have two of everything! You'd get to have, like...two balls or whatever!" and all the other kids were immediately rolling on the floor laughing except for him and one other little girl who didn't get the joke. I was feverishly writing comments on another paper and trying to make my mind focus on the formation of letters, meaningful feedback, anything but laughing with these kids! It was horrible. I got a stomachache from trying to keep from laughing. And then had to continue to sit there while the two clueless kids repeated, "What's so funny? Mrs. R! We don't get it! Why are they laughing?" Hee.
Then on the playground a student told me a joke that started out, "A blonde and a brunette were sitting in a bar..." When I was in fourth grade I was only concerned with my plastic charm necklace and what happened the night before on You Can't Do That on Television! Ah, well.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
8:20-8:35am
Bell rings. Day commences. Gaggle of youth rush through door(way) (okay, big space in wall posing as a doorway) (okay, massive void directly into hall). Brace for oncoming traffic and...
Student #1: Mrs. R! Mrs. R! Guess what? I got my first pimple! [jabbed finger aggressively at white head beneath nose] Look!
Me: Wow! It's like you're a teenager now! [She beamed proudly and strutted away with her zit and her purse - a true sign of teenage-ness]
Student #2: [FreakyWeird!Kid from the other day] My molars? In my mouth? They hurt...it's like a heartbeat... [feels face]
Me: Mmmmmhmmmm.
Student #3: [hugs me with excitement] I got a fortune! Read it! Read it! It says, "You will be suc-suc-suc-cessful in all that you do." I'm gonna start collecting 'em! Isn't it awesome? They’re small.
Me: Mmmmmmmhmmmmm! [Think to self: Bless your little heart and your little 72 IQ. At least you're too dumb to know. You'll be suc-suc-something, I'm sure.]
Student #2/FWK: I think my mouth is bleeding...these molars? [Pats face]
Student #4, who has been listening: I collect cow bones.
Me: [Ya freak!?] Cool! How unique! Have you unpacked?
Student #3: Guess what else? Everybody in my family has the flu but me! [Grins proudly, heads to me for another hug. I pulled a duck and turn and spun her towards the line. Washed hands.]
Colleague rushed in, thrust a chicken-scratched note into my hand and said, "Deal with this please." I read it. Dear (William), We think you are cute! WHAT A MAN! We as in two girls. We're not telling! Love, ? and ?
Oh joy. I squinted at the handwriting, trying to place a face with the style. I narrowed it down to two possibilities. I called them over and waited expectantly while I stared at them, note in my hand. Their eyes darted toward the note and "My mom already knows!" one blurted. "Did I mention your mom?" I asked. "Oh. No. Well....I didn't write it," she changed gears lamely. "Write what?" I asked innocently. "That note to William," she gave me an innocent look. "How did you know it was to William?" I smiled. Their faces fell. "We'll talk about this later. Go unpack." They slumped away, sulking and muttering under their breaths.
Chronically disorganized disaster (CDD) of a student walked in. "Hey buddy!" I called. "Do you have everything you need for today?" He nodded enthusiastically, flopping to the floor to get in line for music. "Got your pencil?" He stood up and headed back to his locker.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...drop it like it's hot...
Student #6: I think I'm gonna throw up... [inexplicably moved closer to me.]
Me: Step off! Bathroom! Move! Now! Get! Clear a path! [Shoo him away, wash hands]
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...
CDD returned. "Got your homework folder?" I reminded. He slapped himself on the forehead, grinned, and returned to locker.
Student # 6: I threw up. [groans and wipes tears from eyes]
Me: Did you make it to a toilet? [first things first]
Student #6: Mostly... he groaned miserably. [okay, details I didn't need] Sent child to nurse with other child. Washed hands again.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...drop it like it's hot...
The rest of the students walked in, one still wearing his bicycle helmet. I knocked on it and smiled at him. "Planning to crash?" I asked. "Aw! I always forget!" He removed chin strap and headed back to locker just as CDD walked back in with his math book. "This is language arts," I reminded him with a smile. "I know!" he said. I pointed to his math book. "Oh! Duh!" he grinned and headed back.
Student #2/FWK: Can I go to the nurse? About my molars? [He pointed to his cheeks in case I missed his earlier gestures of pain]
Me: You just got here and your molars are fine. Go get in line.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot... [what might have been attempt at dance move]
Student #2/FWK: But they hurt! Owwwww.... [rubs face]
Me: No, they don't. Go get in line. Go! [wave him away]
Suddenly in a flurry of motion, many 4th grade girls entered, waving letters in my face, apparently for me. I felt the drama move through the room. "These are all our witness letters about what TIARA did to us! We are WITNESSES! We wrote it all down so you'll know what really happened." All five had hand-on-hip attitude stances. Clearly, they'd been very, very wronged by Tiara. I assured them that I would peruse their witness letters and give the state of affairs my full attention while they were in music. I encouraged them to get in line.
CDD returned and triumphantly sat in line. "Do you have everything now?" I asked. He nodded proudly. I gazed at his white gym sock. "Where is your shoe?" I asked pointedly. He looked at his foot as though it didn't belong to him, then turned back to me. "Your shoe? It was on your foot? Looks a lot like the one on your other foot?" I prodded. He nodded gravely. He understood that his shoe was missing. He began to look around him on the floor as though it may have wandered off.
The announcements began. Honor the Texas Flag. I pledge allegiance to thee, Texas, one and indivisible. We pledged and saluted and had our minute of silence. The line began to meander out of the room, off to music class. I felt a look of bliss take over my face. All be-pimpled, molared, half-shod, helmeted, non-vomiting, and somewhat happy. Leaving the room. I had found my happy place. Fifteen minutes done and behind me, only six hours and 45 minutes to go.
Student #1: Mrs. R! Mrs. R! Guess what? I got my first pimple! [jabbed finger aggressively at white head beneath nose] Look!
Me: Wow! It's like you're a teenager now! [She beamed proudly and strutted away with her zit and her purse - a true sign of teenage-ness]
Student #2: [FreakyWeird!Kid from the other day] My molars? In my mouth? They hurt...it's like a heartbeat... [feels face]
Me: Mmmmmhmmmm.
Student #3: [hugs me with excitement] I got a fortune! Read it! Read it! It says, "You will be suc-suc-suc-cessful in all that you do." I'm gonna start collecting 'em! Isn't it awesome? They’re small.
Me: Mmmmmmmhmmmmm! [Think to self: Bless your little heart and your little 72 IQ. At least you're too dumb to know. You'll be suc-suc-something, I'm sure.]
Student #2/FWK: I think my mouth is bleeding...these molars? [Pats face]
Student #4, who has been listening: I collect cow bones.
Me: [Ya freak!?] Cool! How unique! Have you unpacked?
Student #3: Guess what else? Everybody in my family has the flu but me! [Grins proudly, heads to me for another hug. I pulled a duck and turn and spun her towards the line. Washed hands.]
Colleague rushed in, thrust a chicken-scratched note into my hand and said, "Deal with this please." I read it. Dear (William), We think you are cute! WHAT A MAN! We as in two girls. We're not telling! Love, ? and ?
Oh joy. I squinted at the handwriting, trying to place a face with the style. I narrowed it down to two possibilities. I called them over and waited expectantly while I stared at them, note in my hand. Their eyes darted toward the note and "My mom already knows!" one blurted. "Did I mention your mom?" I asked. "Oh. No. Well....I didn't write it," she changed gears lamely. "Write what?" I asked innocently. "That note to William," she gave me an innocent look. "How did you know it was to William?" I smiled. Their faces fell. "We'll talk about this later. Go unpack." They slumped away, sulking and muttering under their breaths.
Chronically disorganized disaster (CDD) of a student walked in. "Hey buddy!" I called. "Do you have everything you need for today?" He nodded enthusiastically, flopping to the floor to get in line for music. "Got your pencil?" He stood up and headed back to his locker.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...drop it like it's hot...
Student #6: I think I'm gonna throw up... [inexplicably moved closer to me.]
Me: Step off! Bathroom! Move! Now! Get! Clear a path! [Shoo him away, wash hands]
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...
CDD returned. "Got your homework folder?" I reminded. He slapped himself on the forehead, grinned, and returned to locker.
Student # 6: I threw up. [groans and wipes tears from eyes]
Me: Did you make it to a toilet? [first things first]
Student #6: Mostly... he groaned miserably. [okay, details I didn't need] Sent child to nurse with other child. Washed hands again.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot...drop it like it's hot...
The rest of the students walked in, one still wearing his bicycle helmet. I knocked on it and smiled at him. "Planning to crash?" I asked. "Aw! I always forget!" He removed chin strap and headed back to locker just as CDD walked back in with his math book. "This is language arts," I reminded him with a smile. "I know!" he said. I pointed to his math book. "Oh! Duh!" he grinned and headed back.
Student #2/FWK: Can I go to the nurse? About my molars? [He pointed to his cheeks in case I missed his earlier gestures of pain]
Me: You just got here and your molars are fine. Go get in line.
Student #5: Drop it like it's hot... [what might have been attempt at dance move]
Student #2/FWK: But they hurt! Owwwww.... [rubs face]
Me: No, they don't. Go get in line. Go! [wave him away]
Suddenly in a flurry of motion, many 4th grade girls entered, waving letters in my face, apparently for me. I felt the drama move through the room. "These are all our witness letters about what TIARA did to us! We are WITNESSES! We wrote it all down so you'll know what really happened." All five had hand-on-hip attitude stances. Clearly, they'd been very, very wronged by Tiara. I assured them that I would peruse their witness letters and give the state of affairs my full attention while they were in music. I encouraged them to get in line.
CDD returned and triumphantly sat in line. "Do you have everything now?" I asked. He nodded proudly. I gazed at his white gym sock. "Where is your shoe?" I asked pointedly. He looked at his foot as though it didn't belong to him, then turned back to me. "Your shoe? It was on your foot? Looks a lot like the one on your other foot?" I prodded. He nodded gravely. He understood that his shoe was missing. He began to look around him on the floor as though it may have wandered off.
The announcements began. Honor the Texas Flag. I pledge allegiance to thee, Texas, one and indivisible. We pledged and saluted and had our minute of silence. The line began to meander out of the room, off to music class. I felt a look of bliss take over my face. All be-pimpled, molared, half-shod, helmeted, non-vomiting, and somewhat happy. Leaving the room. I had found my happy place. Fifteen minutes done and behind me, only six hours and 45 minutes to go.
Monday, January 24, 2005
With a Capital H
Hey guess what? I found out what trigger point injection is! And it hurts! But more about that later. I talked to the doctor and he was appropriately sympathetic and apologetic about his front office staff and even asked me if it was "the big one named Vonda." HA! Then he gave me his personal extension and told me to make my appointments through him if I would stay. THEN, he did my follow up, PLUS my treatment which was supposed to be two separate visits and two copays. Nice, huh? So I am happy with my reparation.
However, let's talk about this trigger point injection because that's really my Big News. He was alarmed that I still had knots in my shoulder after all my physical therapy, so he suggested a little trigger point. Now, I don't know about you, but that name just sounds gross to begin with."A little trigger point," he says. Making it sound like a fun game, really. I asked what this little ditty entailed and he suggested I let him do it, then he'd tell me. Never a good sign. But I was all trusting with afterglow of my two-in-one copay deal I'd scored. So I agreed.
And the sadist began his little game. He figured out which of my muscles were still sore and tight. He then plunged a needle into one. ("A little pinch," he said.) That would have been okay. I'm not squeamish about needles and I don't mind blood. However.
I do have slight issues with what came next. As I sat there [in little gown on cold doctor table, mind you] he began to squirrel the needle around inside my muscle. That's right, campers! Squirrel. As in, poke and jab and break stuff up. He later told me that he was, "heh, heh, actually physically breaking up the knots in there." With a needle! After several moments of this kicky little bit 'o fun, he started to swing the needle from side to side until - HELLO! - he caused the muscle to spasm. "Found it!" he announced as though he had struck oil. Then he injected a whole bunch of Something Really Important That Will Cure Me in there. Yummy.
"Now let's do the other one!" he says giddily and starts plundering away somewhere between my neck and shoulder. And we repeated the fun-ness all over again!
Well, that was nifty! Good fun for sure. Now I'm home and it's several hours later and it Hurts. Capital H hurts. Of course it hurts, you ninny, he ripped your muscle apart so you could feel better! Silly Ginny. I'm supposed to play tennis tomorrow night. We'll see how that goes.But there is some good news: I can bend my head to the right for the first time since June! So, thumbs up for this procedure! Now if I can just lift my left arm off the keyboard where it's resting heavily. Will need other hand...yes. There. Happy Tuesday!
However, let's talk about this trigger point injection because that's really my Big News. He was alarmed that I still had knots in my shoulder after all my physical therapy, so he suggested a little trigger point. Now, I don't know about you, but that name just sounds gross to begin with."A little trigger point," he says. Making it sound like a fun game, really. I asked what this little ditty entailed and he suggested I let him do it, then he'd tell me. Never a good sign. But I was all trusting with afterglow of my two-in-one copay deal I'd scored. So I agreed.
And the sadist began his little game. He figured out which of my muscles were still sore and tight. He then plunged a needle into one. ("A little pinch," he said.) That would have been okay. I'm not squeamish about needles and I don't mind blood. However.
I do have slight issues with what came next. As I sat there [in little gown on cold doctor table, mind you] he began to squirrel the needle around inside my muscle. That's right, campers! Squirrel. As in, poke and jab and break stuff up. He later told me that he was, "heh, heh, actually physically breaking up the knots in there." With a needle! After several moments of this kicky little bit 'o fun, he started to swing the needle from side to side until - HELLO! - he caused the muscle to spasm. "Found it!" he announced as though he had struck oil. Then he injected a whole bunch of Something Really Important That Will Cure Me in there. Yummy.
"Now let's do the other one!" he says giddily and starts plundering away somewhere between my neck and shoulder. And we repeated the fun-ness all over again!
Well, that was nifty! Good fun for sure. Now I'm home and it's several hours later and it Hurts. Capital H hurts. Of course it hurts, you ninny, he ripped your muscle apart so you could feel better! Silly Ginny. I'm supposed to play tennis tomorrow night. We'll see how that goes.But there is some good news: I can bend my head to the right for the first time since June! So, thumbs up for this procedure! Now if I can just lift my left arm off the keyboard where it's resting heavily. Will need other hand...yes. There. Happy Tuesday!
Today is the day
when I go back to that crazy doctor's office that stirred so many people up last time I wrote about it. I did decide to make an appointment and at least get my follow up taken care of. I also do plan to give that doctor a piece of my mind. Maybe I should print out the previous post and just hand it to him? Hmmm. We'll see what happens...wish me luck! I'll report after school.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
I Heart TiVo
Do you know I am actually excited about television coming on tonight? American Dreams and Desperate Housewives are my two favorite shows on TV and they both come on on Sunday night. Unfortunately, Sunday night always - no matter how old I get - will be homework night. About 7pm I get that sinking feeling in my gut when I realize the weekend is fading away and I have to get up at 6am and go to work. I have to make my stupid lunch and pick out my stupid clothes and go to bed at a reasonable hour, at which time I will not be able to fall asleep because I slept in on the weekend and stayed up too late. However, the knowledge that American Dreams and Desperate Housewives will be on is comforting to me and helps me to plod through the misery that is a Sunday night. And if I am busy ironing for the week and laying out my clothes, TiVo is there for me like a trusty friend. Then I get to skip the commercials too. What more could I dream of?
Get a Good Doors Song in Your Head...Now Read
I just had this come back to me from last week. Like flashbacks. See, there's this FreakyWeird Kid in my class who allegedly has an average IQ, but acts like he has taken massive quantities of mood-enhancing drugs and is just stoned all the time. He can't focus, can't remember, and can't follow directions to save his life. He's much like a kindergartener trapped in a ten year old body. And he looks like Alfred E. Newman.
So everyday after we switch classes, he comes up to me to share some insightful bit of information. It's our special little routine. On Thursday it went like this:
FWK: Mom? I mean Mrs. R? [hand pats me on arm]
Me: Good morning! [fake smile, suppress eye roll] What is it?
FWK: Today? [spacy, wandering eyes drift around me as though taking in my aura] Today? It makes me think of yesterday.
Me: Mmmmmhmmmm... [raise eyebrow, stare quizzically at child.]
FWK: [glassy-eyed stare, why-can't-we-all-just-be-friends smile]
Me: How's that? What do you mean? [may as well egg him on now, just for kicks]
FWK: It's like yesterday...but it's today. [looks to me for approval of his profundity]
Me: Well, how 'bout that? You'd better go get unpacked! [my now patented awkward choking chuckle that I still can't get a handle on.]
FWK: [Long pause. More staring.] I laughed a lot today. [WCWAJBF smile]
Me: So, did you laugh a lot yesterday too, then? [Wait, I'm on to something! I have found a clue! Penny! Brain! Come quickly before we lose it!]
FWK: What?
Argh! So that's that. Every. Day. Just a little piece of the magic.
So everyday after we switch classes, he comes up to me to share some insightful bit of information. It's our special little routine. On Thursday it went like this:
FWK: Mom? I mean Mrs. R? [hand pats me on arm]
Me: Good morning! [fake smile, suppress eye roll] What is it?
FWK: Today? [spacy, wandering eyes drift around me as though taking in my aura] Today? It makes me think of yesterday.
Me: Mmmmmhmmmm... [raise eyebrow, stare quizzically at child.]
FWK: [glassy-eyed stare, why-can't-we-all-just-be-friends smile]
Me: How's that? What do you mean? [may as well egg him on now, just for kicks]
FWK: It's like yesterday...but it's today. [looks to me for approval of his profundity]
Me: Well, how 'bout that? You'd better go get unpacked! [my now patented awkward choking chuckle that I still can't get a handle on.]
FWK: [Long pause. More staring.] I laughed a lot today. [WCWAJBF smile]
Me: So, did you laugh a lot yesterday too, then? [Wait, I'm on to something! I have found a clue! Penny! Brain! Come quickly before we lose it!]
FWK: What?
Argh! So that's that. Every. Day. Just a little piece of the magic.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Mission: Bath Time
Giving Gus a bath and taking care of his basic needs ought to be a task that soldiers headed into combat should accomplish before departure as part of their training. Today was the Big Day and Gus and I are no longer on speaking terms. He is currently pouting on a guest room bed and glaring at passersby between bouts of howling.
The dog acts as though I am trying to remove his entire leg when I am clipping his toenails. He bites, he claws, he growls. I barely clip off the ends and I have never once drawn blood. He's a paranoid nutcase.
The bath is actually what put him over the edge. If he were a normal animal, he might let me pour water on him to get his fur wet for the shampoo. Not Gus. Gus races back and forth in the bathtub, dodging the cup and growling. So I am forced to moisten him a with a bit less civility: I grab his legs that are farthest from me and flip him over on his back, where he writhes around in the water until sufficiently wet. Then we suds and rinse in the same fashion. Cleaning his ears isn't too bad, but brushing the teeth is another story. Gus loves anything cotton and spends the entire brushing trying to eat my hand, the cotton ball...anything to make me stop. Then he licks and smacks and glares as though he has been wronged in ways that words cannot describe. He hates to be dried off, preferring to squirrel himself around on the floor or in his bed or anything laden with his previous preferred stench.
So now he is fuming in isolation. Whenever I get within 10 feet of him, he races away at warp speed and tries to cleverly conceal himself behind furniture.
He's now moved on to the stage of the game in which he seems to forget about the bath and he can't figure out how this water got on him. He has his nose under his stomach and is chasing his nether region around in circles while growling at it ferociously. I, on the other hand, must go change clothes, because I am soaking wet and covered in dog hair. Good times were had by all.
The dog acts as though I am trying to remove his entire leg when I am clipping his toenails. He bites, he claws, he growls. I barely clip off the ends and I have never once drawn blood. He's a paranoid nutcase.
The bath is actually what put him over the edge. If he were a normal animal, he might let me pour water on him to get his fur wet for the shampoo. Not Gus. Gus races back and forth in the bathtub, dodging the cup and growling. So I am forced to moisten him a with a bit less civility: I grab his legs that are farthest from me and flip him over on his back, where he writhes around in the water until sufficiently wet. Then we suds and rinse in the same fashion. Cleaning his ears isn't too bad, but brushing the teeth is another story. Gus loves anything cotton and spends the entire brushing trying to eat my hand, the cotton ball...anything to make me stop. Then he licks and smacks and glares as though he has been wronged in ways that words cannot describe. He hates to be dried off, preferring to squirrel himself around on the floor or in his bed or anything laden with his previous preferred stench.
So now he is fuming in isolation. Whenever I get within 10 feet of him, he races away at warp speed and tries to cleverly conceal himself behind furniture.
He's now moved on to the stage of the game in which he seems to forget about the bath and he can't figure out how this water got on him. He has his nose under his stomach and is chasing his nether region around in circles while growling at it ferociously. I, on the other hand, must go change clothes, because I am soaking wet and covered in dog hair. Good times were had by all.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
License to Forward
Just a thought...Mike and I had this conversation at dinner last night. We have decided that you should have to pass a competency test and receive a license to forward emails to people. You should have to establish that you can tell the difference between something funny and something that is a waste of time. Not that I have anything against wasting time, mind you. Look at this blog situation I find myself in. There are several genres of forward that irritate me. I'll rank them, I will! Letterman-style.
#5 The Answer 50 Questions About Yourself and Cut and Paste forward. I rank this one fifth, because I secretly enjoy reading other people's. I solved this problem for myself by posting one on my blog so that I can just refer people to it as necessary. Of course, since I've done that no one has sent me one, so maybe that wasn't so clever.
#4 The "I'm Doing a Science Project" forward. Seriously, has everyone in the human race not seen this one yet? Add your name to the list...forward so we can see where all it goes...reply to this one poor soul whose inbox rejects everything because it's so full. And so on. Unnecessary waste of resources.
#3 The After You Forward This Message, an Amazing Picture Will Appear on Your Screen! forward. This one really burns my biscuits. How could someone be able to tell you that an amazing picture will appear if they have not clicked send??? Argh! I have VERY little patience for that one.
#2 The If You Forward this to 17 People [Insert Gap, Blockbuster, AOL, or Bill Gates here] will Send You $237! I swear it works! foward. Come ON. Why do people insist on continuing this one? Why? Clearly, NO ONE is going to send you money. They're just not. My favorite one is the Bill Gates one because they allude to the fact that there is magical software embedded in the message and that is how Bill Gates will know where to send your money. Riiiiiiiiiiiight. MmmmOHkay! And I've got some beach property in Arizona for ya.
#1 The If You Don't Forward this to 35 of Your Closest Friends, You Will Die in 3 Days forward. Other versions include an unfortunate bout of luck or that you might contract a severe form of leprosy. I just don't like forwards that threaten my well-being. First of all, I've never sent one of those on and I'm still doing just fine. Second of all, that's just mean! Why would you send that to a friend?
Now out of all of this, the worst thing of all is the person who forwards things not only to friends and family, but - in a workplace - includes that "all staff" feature to the list. That's just plain unprofessional. The only thing worse are the people who Reply All to the entire staff over the most inane things. In our school it's always something like this: Message 1: "I'm looking for a copy of the book "Holes." Messages 2-14, always Reply All: "I have one you can use!" Message 15 (Reply All, naturally): Thanks to everyone who replied! I got the book from _____. Thanks! Message 16, Reply All: You're welcome!! ARGH!!!
#5 The Answer 50 Questions About Yourself and Cut and Paste forward. I rank this one fifth, because I secretly enjoy reading other people's. I solved this problem for myself by posting one on my blog so that I can just refer people to it as necessary. Of course, since I've done that no one has sent me one, so maybe that wasn't so clever.
#4 The "I'm Doing a Science Project" forward. Seriously, has everyone in the human race not seen this one yet? Add your name to the list...forward so we can see where all it goes...reply to this one poor soul whose inbox rejects everything because it's so full. And so on. Unnecessary waste of resources.
#3 The After You Forward This Message, an Amazing Picture Will Appear on Your Screen! forward. This one really burns my biscuits. How could someone be able to tell you that an amazing picture will appear if they have not clicked send??? Argh! I have VERY little patience for that one.
#2 The If You Forward this to 17 People [Insert Gap, Blockbuster, AOL, or Bill Gates here] will Send You $237! I swear it works! foward. Come ON. Why do people insist on continuing this one? Why? Clearly, NO ONE is going to send you money. They're just not. My favorite one is the Bill Gates one because they allude to the fact that there is magical software embedded in the message and that is how Bill Gates will know where to send your money. Riiiiiiiiiiiight. MmmmOHkay! And I've got some beach property in Arizona for ya.
#1 The If You Don't Forward this to 35 of Your Closest Friends, You Will Die in 3 Days forward. Other versions include an unfortunate bout of luck or that you might contract a severe form of leprosy. I just don't like forwards that threaten my well-being. First of all, I've never sent one of those on and I'm still doing just fine. Second of all, that's just mean! Why would you send that to a friend?
Now out of all of this, the worst thing of all is the person who forwards things not only to friends and family, but - in a workplace - includes that "all staff" feature to the list. That's just plain unprofessional. The only thing worse are the people who Reply All to the entire staff over the most inane things. In our school it's always something like this: Message 1: "I'm looking for a copy of the book "Holes." Messages 2-14, always Reply All: "I have one you can use!" Message 15 (Reply All, naturally): Thanks to everyone who replied! I got the book from _____. Thanks! Message 16, Reply All: You're welcome!! ARGH!!!
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Flirting, Flu, and Teeth
Today was a weird day. One of our classes had to get the "You are only in 4th grade. Your job is to come to school and learn, not chase boys, write notes, or flirt" speech. Lucky for me (sneer), I have the immature class! So, we will continue to have our regular "Come to Jesus" meetings as needed on other, more repetitive subjects such as being respectful to adults, avoiding the use of words like "crapface" or "the A-word" and actually doing and turning in homework, despite the fact that there are no grades or punishments. Without discipline, management or grades in the school, I have become the master giver of the Come to Jesus talk. I can lay the guilt on as thick as a Jewish mother. At least once a week, I mention the likelihood that I will certainly lose my job if they don't shape up. This technique usually works for at least a whole day.
Then...then! in the height of flu season, I got in trouble for sending too many kids to the nurse (3). We received one of those nasty school-wide emails that you just know are directed at one person, but you think she means you. It turns out she had to see FIFTY sick children today. Fifty! And her being the nurse?? Who would expect that of her? Silly nurse! Your job is to see all the sick children! It really cut into her time spent sending us email forwards we had to delete, so it actually improved my time on task.
Oh, gross, I forgot this. So, age ten is apparently when all your big teeth start falling out. As in the big honkin' blood spurting molars at the back? Yeah. Well, I don't do teeth. Teeth totally repulse me. I hated losing them as a kid for two reasons. One, because they were a part of me and it made me sad to see them all dead like that, so I saved them all in a TicTac box. (I'm very well adjusted, no?) And two, because the feeling of a Kleenex squeaking around a wiggly tooth hanging by a thread made/makes me want to blow chunks. I have no problem with blood. It's that Kleenex against a tooth. Shudder. Have you ever held a clean towel between your teeth for a second? BLAGH! Revolt. Nasty. Foul. That squeaky scrapy sound? Yeah. So, young man in my reading group today squeaked his out with that nasty tissue right in front of me. At my table. During a reading passage. One minute it's "Roald Dahl Fighter Pilot and Author!" comprehension, the next it's...spurting. There was definite spurting. All I could think about was the bloodbourne pathogens video we have to watch every August. And children love to show me the progress they made the night before- "Hey Mrs. R! Look how far I can turn it!" or "Look! It'll turn all the way upside down!" Then they invariably head for a tissue.
So that was a big part of my day. Now I'm home and relaxing and Gus the Beagle is staring at me mournfully, so it's time for me to entertain him for a while. At least his teeth don't fall out. Well, they did. When he was a puppy. But dog's teeth literally just fall out. On the floor. And being a beagle, he ate most of them. That's what children should do.
Then...then! in the height of flu season, I got in trouble for sending too many kids to the nurse (3). We received one of those nasty school-wide emails that you just know are directed at one person, but you think she means you. It turns out she had to see FIFTY sick children today. Fifty! And her being the nurse?? Who would expect that of her? Silly nurse! Your job is to see all the sick children! It really cut into her time spent sending us email forwards we had to delete, so it actually improved my time on task.
Oh, gross, I forgot this. So, age ten is apparently when all your big teeth start falling out. As in the big honkin' blood spurting molars at the back? Yeah. Well, I don't do teeth. Teeth totally repulse me. I hated losing them as a kid for two reasons. One, because they were a part of me and it made me sad to see them all dead like that, so I saved them all in a TicTac box. (I'm very well adjusted, no?) And two, because the feeling of a Kleenex squeaking around a wiggly tooth hanging by a thread made/makes me want to blow chunks. I have no problem with blood. It's that Kleenex against a tooth. Shudder. Have you ever held a clean towel between your teeth for a second? BLAGH! Revolt. Nasty. Foul. That squeaky scrapy sound? Yeah. So, young man in my reading group today squeaked his out with that nasty tissue right in front of me. At my table. During a reading passage. One minute it's "Roald Dahl Fighter Pilot and Author!" comprehension, the next it's...spurting. There was definite spurting. All I could think about was the bloodbourne pathogens video we have to watch every August. And children love to show me the progress they made the night before- "Hey Mrs. R! Look how far I can turn it!" or "Look! It'll turn all the way upside down!" Then they invariably head for a tissue.
So that was a big part of my day. Now I'm home and relaxing and Gus the Beagle is staring at me mournfully, so it's time for me to entertain him for a while. At least his teeth don't fall out. Well, they did. When he was a puppy. But dog's teeth literally just fall out. On the floor. And being a beagle, he ate most of them. That's what children should do.
Cool Things from the 80's That I Miss:
I was an innocent child of the 80's in middle school. I didn't know it was ugly. It was great at the time. Most of it I would avoid now, but here are a few things I miss. Or can at least laugh about now.
- Those ribbon barrettes with the long strings
- Garbage Pail Kids
- New Kids on the Block
- Plastic charm necklaces with all the garbage hanging on them
- Jellies
- My hot, hot, hot Kirk Cameron poster that I got from a book order
- French rolling my jeans and double stacking socks in different colors
- Mall hair
- Saying, "Grody to the max!" when it was still cool.
- Inspector Gadget
- My Brooke Shields eyebrows
Those were my personal favorites. They all demonstrate my maturity level during that decade. Although, I still like to have the opportunity to say, "Grody to the max." It doesn't come up nearly often enough.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Are you LoL-ing?
On the playground today, two little girls were running around being silly with a big blanket they had borrowed from another teacher. (It was really cold) (Okay, it was Texas really cold; it was only 45 degrees) (Why is there not a degree symbol on a keyboard? That bugs me.) (Or a cents sign?) Anyway.
These kids were trying valiantly to get the attention of myself and another teacher and we were just as valiantly trying to ignore them and get some adult conversation in.
Finally, the blanket-covered duo walked directly up to us and poked their heads out from the folds of blanket with these sad little hurt puppy dog expressions on their faces.
We looked at them, mildly amused. "Yeeees?" I asked with a smile. "May we help you?"
One of them looked at the other and back at us, confused, and said, "We're being funny! Why aren't you LoL-ing?"
At which point, I obviously did. Since when did email/IM/blog lingo become so mainstream that kids say it within dialogue? It was the funniest thing I've ever heard! Well, except for the bubbles thing. Clearly.
These kids were trying valiantly to get the attention of myself and another teacher and we were just as valiantly trying to ignore them and get some adult conversation in.
Finally, the blanket-covered duo walked directly up to us and poked their heads out from the folds of blanket with these sad little hurt puppy dog expressions on their faces.
We looked at them, mildly amused. "Yeeees?" I asked with a smile. "May we help you?"
One of them looked at the other and back at us, confused, and said, "We're being funny! Why aren't you LoL-ing?"
At which point, I obviously did. Since when did email/IM/blog lingo become so mainstream that kids say it within dialogue? It was the funniest thing I've ever heard! Well, except for the bubbles thing. Clearly.
Dear Leg Hair,
We need to talk. I want to again commend you on your award-winning growth performance and gently remind you that this is not a competition. And if it was, you've already won. I submit. *waving white flag* In fact, you are the eternal reigning champion. There is no need to continue competing, we all revere your remarkable abilities.
Though you frequently hear me express praise for Gus the Beagle's soft fur, I do not actually want any for myself. Especially not that which curls like a man's hair. I can simply put on a coat if I am chilled. I must also repeat to you that Saturday is the winter schedule leg shaving day. We will not be shifting to the semi-spring capri length daily shave until at least March. So if you are able to just hold off until then, that would be great.
Now, a few reminders. First, when I do shave on Saturdays and I inevitably sneeze as soon as I am finished, that is in no way a summons alarm for all of you to stand up and salute. This action completely eradicates my purpose in shaving.
Second, when I use a razor to shave you off, I am in no way trying to personally offend you. Therefore, please stop diving back down into the skin and forming an irritated red bump. This is a very unattractive way to pout.
Third, I am VERY aware that you are present. There is no need to hang yourself on my pants or hose or tights to declare your existence. This hurts and causes me to leap about like a fool in a way that I cannot explain in a professional situation. Then I am forced to come up with some silly excuse such as a charley horse. People already think me odd, there is no reason for you to exacerbate the situation.
So, in closing, I am thankful for your efforts, but I am granting you some paid leave. Any help you can give me would be gratefully accepted. I promise that if I ever find myself in a sub-zero survival situation, you will be the first one I call upon.
Thanks again,
Your host,
Ginny
Though you frequently hear me express praise for Gus the Beagle's soft fur, I do not actually want any for myself. Especially not that which curls like a man's hair. I can simply put on a coat if I am chilled. I must also repeat to you that Saturday is the winter schedule leg shaving day. We will not be shifting to the semi-spring capri length daily shave until at least March. So if you are able to just hold off until then, that would be great.
Now, a few reminders. First, when I do shave on Saturdays and I inevitably sneeze as soon as I am finished, that is in no way a summons alarm for all of you to stand up and salute. This action completely eradicates my purpose in shaving.
Second, when I use a razor to shave you off, I am in no way trying to personally offend you. Therefore, please stop diving back down into the skin and forming an irritated red bump. This is a very unattractive way to pout.
Third, I am VERY aware that you are present. There is no need to hang yourself on my pants or hose or tights to declare your existence. This hurts and causes me to leap about like a fool in a way that I cannot explain in a professional situation. Then I am forced to come up with some silly excuse such as a charley horse. People already think me odd, there is no reason for you to exacerbate the situation.
So, in closing, I am thankful for your efforts, but I am granting you some paid leave. Any help you can give me would be gratefully accepted. I promise that if I ever find myself in a sub-zero survival situation, you will be the first one I call upon.
Thanks again,
Your host,
Ginny
Monday, January 17, 2005
Denying the Bell Curve: No Child Left Behind
Love the sentiment. Love Dubyah. Love children. But No Child Left Behind is denying basic principles of the human population. Survival of the fittest. The Bell Curve. The American Spirit. The Land of Opportunity. Yada yada.
I wholeheartedly agree that all efforts should be made to give every child the chance to succeed and not fall through the cracks. And this is my job as a teacher and it's what most teachers strive to do everyday. HOWEVER. People need to be aware of this fact that No Child Left Behind doesn't ever mention:
There are people in this world with a 70 IQ who do not qualify for special education services and are unable to work above a 4th grade level. Period.
That's just life. That's the bell curve. We can't have people who are super-gifted if we don't have their counterparts to balance out the scale. I started thinking about this after I read a blog about schools trying to close the achievement gap and it got me all wound up. The state of Texas expects children who have a 70 IQ (one point above MR) to work on the same level as their average peers (IQ 100). They are expected to pass the same rigorous reading/reasoning tests. These kids sit at my table with me ALL. DAY. LONG. and get retaught and retaught and tutored and remediated until they are so frustrated they want to give up. They are hard workers, but simply unable to meet the standard for their age group.
Should these kids be punished with retention? I don't think so. Nothing is going to change in their ability level next year. A lot of these kids enter my fourth grade reading on a first grade reading level. If they are reading at a second or third grade reading level when they leave my class, I consider that to be a tremendous achievement. Will they pass the fourth grade reading test? No! They can't read that high! So those kids receive a mixed message. I am so proud of their hard work and growth and boy do we celebrate. But then the last day of school they get their state test scores back and realized they have failed and feel like failures.
I fear that this system is going to look effective on paper in a few years because the kids who would have been "left behind" are just going to drop out from sheer frustration.
There is nothing in place for kids who are simply low IQ, but not learning disabled. In order to be considered learning disabled, you must have a 15-16 point gap between your IQ and your performance in a subject area. Therefore, most truly learning disabled kids are actually of average or above average intellect. The No Child Left Behind pumpkins get tested and usually have results such as, "Well, he has an IQ of 72 and he's performing at a 75 in math, so he's actually working above his level!" [what-a-little-trooper smile!]. Sigh.
Like I said before, the sentiment is great. I wish we could make it happen for everyone, but for some kids it's never going to happen. At least not at the level that the state expects. All NCLB does is make it look like teachers aren't trying hard enough and believe me, that is NOT the case. With modifications and a program based on yearly growth instead of one set expectation for every child with an IQ between 70 and 180, those kids could at least receive a diploma that would help them get a job someday. So, harumph. That's my vent for the day.
I wholeheartedly agree that all efforts should be made to give every child the chance to succeed and not fall through the cracks. And this is my job as a teacher and it's what most teachers strive to do everyday. HOWEVER. People need to be aware of this fact that No Child Left Behind doesn't ever mention:
There are people in this world with a 70 IQ who do not qualify for special education services and are unable to work above a 4th grade level. Period.
That's just life. That's the bell curve. We can't have people who are super-gifted if we don't have their counterparts to balance out the scale. I started thinking about this after I read a blog about schools trying to close the achievement gap and it got me all wound up. The state of Texas expects children who have a 70 IQ (one point above MR) to work on the same level as their average peers (IQ 100). They are expected to pass the same rigorous reading/reasoning tests. These kids sit at my table with me ALL. DAY. LONG. and get retaught and retaught and tutored and remediated until they are so frustrated they want to give up. They are hard workers, but simply unable to meet the standard for their age group.
Should these kids be punished with retention? I don't think so. Nothing is going to change in their ability level next year. A lot of these kids enter my fourth grade reading on a first grade reading level. If they are reading at a second or third grade reading level when they leave my class, I consider that to be a tremendous achievement. Will they pass the fourth grade reading test? No! They can't read that high! So those kids receive a mixed message. I am so proud of their hard work and growth and boy do we celebrate. But then the last day of school they get their state test scores back and realized they have failed and feel like failures.
I fear that this system is going to look effective on paper in a few years because the kids who would have been "left behind" are just going to drop out from sheer frustration.
There is nothing in place for kids who are simply low IQ, but not learning disabled. In order to be considered learning disabled, you must have a 15-16 point gap between your IQ and your performance in a subject area. Therefore, most truly learning disabled kids are actually of average or above average intellect. The No Child Left Behind pumpkins get tested and usually have results such as, "Well, he has an IQ of 72 and he's performing at a 75 in math, so he's actually working above his level!" [what-a-little-trooper smile!]. Sigh.
Like I said before, the sentiment is great. I wish we could make it happen for everyone, but for some kids it's never going to happen. At least not at the level that the state expects. All NCLB does is make it look like teachers aren't trying hard enough and believe me, that is NOT the case. With modifications and a program based on yearly growth instead of one set expectation for every child with an IQ between 70 and 180, those kids could at least receive a diploma that would help them get a job someday. So, harumph. That's my vent for the day.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Hang Ups
I have a hang up about grammar and spelling. I know it's rude to correct people and I bite my tongue a lot, I really do. However. There are some things that I believe any educated adult should know. Sometimes people learn things wrong from childhood and it's just hard to break the habit, such as my problem with the incorrect phrases "might could" and "used to could." I think these are examples of regional dialect and that's not really the issue I'm talking about.
By writing this post, I'm guaranteed to make some sort of grammar or spelling error just because that's the kind of luck I have, but here goes.
By writing this post, I'm guaranteed to make some sort of grammar or spelling error just because that's the kind of luck I have, but here goes.
- You're = a contraction of you are. Your = possessive.
- A lot is two words. A dog, a cat, a lot. Make note of it.
- Too = also or excess. To = an infinitive.
- It's = a contraction of it is. Its = possessive.
- They're = a contraction of they are. Their = possessive. There = location.
- It's supposedly, not supposably.
- It's agreement, not agreeance.
- Apostrophes show possession, not that an object is plural. It drives me insane to see it on stores. "We sell T-shirt's!" or "Farmers Market: fresh green bean's." The farmer doesn't own the market, but those beans own something, buddy.
I try really hard not to hound people for these things because it just makes you feel bad when you are corrected. I just wish that people would realize that when you are writing or saying something to other people, that takes away so much from your message and lessens your credibility. Plus, except for supposedly and agreement, they are all fourth grade skills.
Little kids have cute ones that they do. These are no longer cute when you reach adulthood.
- Pacific: "Well, you weren't very pacific when you gave us that assignment!"
- Pasketti: "My mom made pasketti and garlic bread last night!"
- Liberry: "Can I go to the liberry? My books are overdue." [related to the raspberry]
That's all I can think of off the top of my head. I hope your not to mad that I said alot of pacific thing's about bad grammar. Its just me trying to make a difference out their. Supposably.
Things That Deserve Their Patent
1. That lint roller that's basically made up of big pieces of masking tape wound around a roller. Critical for a dog owner.
2. The Clorox Bleach Pen. Bleaches away all untended mold issues in shower if one should happen to be afflicted with these. (not me, of course)
3. The conditioner that comes with Feria hair dye. I no longer dye my hair, but I am fortunate that Steph only uses a wee bit of it and then passes it along to me. It calms down my mane to guarantee me a good hair day.
4. The Ear Bud. 'Nuf said. Can do all my chores while mom is on the line. (:o) Hi mom!)
5. TiVo! I'm not entirely sure how I lived without it in my former life.
2. The Clorox Bleach Pen. Bleaches away all untended mold issues in shower if one should happen to be afflicted with these. (not me, of course)
3. The conditioner that comes with Feria hair dye. I no longer dye my hair, but I am fortunate that Steph only uses a wee bit of it and then passes it along to me. It calms down my mane to guarantee me a good hair day.
4. The Ear Bud. 'Nuf said. Can do all my chores while mom is on the line. (:o) Hi mom!)
5. TiVo! I'm not entirely sure how I lived without it in my former life.
Friday, January 14, 2005
I Bet You Try It!
According to this Death Test I will live to be 86.6 years old and I will likely die of cancer. Isn't that cheery? I have already lived 33% of my life. Cheers!
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
So much for that idea...
Oh...Gus? The Wicked Beagle? After about a week of muzzle-induced silence, he has learned to both bark and howl with the muzzle in place. Tightly. He's mighty proud of himself.
Confessional
I watch Days of Our Lives. Every day. And I started watching in the fourth grade. Back then, it wasn't a regular addictive situation, I would just go to my friend Dana's house and watch it with her sister Marisa who was SIXTEEN(!). It was clearly a cool thing to do. Then I got a VCR in about ninth grade and it's been downhill ever since. I think that I have lost a considerable amount of brain cells and some logic in dealing with reality. It's so odd that in our real lives, when people die, they never come back! And when you get married, you aren't "kinda" related to that person already.
When reality TV came out, I must have been trying to get away from the ridiculous nature that is a soap opera, because I began to watch waaaay too much of that too. Except I think all the years of Days must have impaired my ability to choose quality television. I confess that I watch High School Reunion. I'm taking a stand this season and not watching another season of the Bachelor. Or Survivor. Nope. Not doing it. Except Steph just told me that the Bachelorette seems to be pretty good this season. But no Survivor! No sirree Bob. I'm taking a stand on this matter.
On a similar loser-ish note, a friend of mine who shall remain nameless, discovered a forum completely devoted to the discussion of the Babysitter's Club books, another fixation I had for an extended period of time. Guess who spent a good 30 minutes there?
So, I'm a dork. I tell my students I'm a dork all the time and they immediately hurry to assure me that I'm not, that I'm in fact very cool. [This is not particularly reassuring when I'm up against a bunch of middle-aged, apple jumper-wearing goobers.] What they don't understand is that I'm content in my dorkdom! I embrace it. I'm a relatively well-rounded person. I look fairly normal, I can swim and play tennis, I can cook. I'm just a happy-go-lucky dork.
When reality TV came out, I must have been trying to get away from the ridiculous nature that is a soap opera, because I began to watch waaaay too much of that too. Except I think all the years of Days must have impaired my ability to choose quality television. I confess that I watch High School Reunion. I'm taking a stand this season and not watching another season of the Bachelor. Or Survivor. Nope. Not doing it. Except Steph just told me that the Bachelorette seems to be pretty good this season. But no Survivor! No sirree Bob. I'm taking a stand on this matter.
On a similar loser-ish note, a friend of mine who shall remain nameless, discovered a forum completely devoted to the discussion of the Babysitter's Club books, another fixation I had for an extended period of time. Guess who spent a good 30 minutes there?
So, I'm a dork. I tell my students I'm a dork all the time and they immediately hurry to assure me that I'm not, that I'm in fact very cool. [This is not particularly reassuring when I'm up against a bunch of middle-aged, apple jumper-wearing goobers.] What they don't understand is that I'm content in my dorkdom! I embrace it. I'm a relatively well-rounded person. I look fairly normal, I can swim and play tennis, I can cook. I'm just a happy-go-lucky dork.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Reading Logs and Fecal Bandits
"Why didn't you turn in your reading log?" I asked the first child in line.
"Reading log? Oh! I left it in my locker!" smiled cherub #1 sweetly. "Want me to go get it?" I nodded slowly and deliberately to emphasize my inconvenience over the delay.
I turned to the next child. "Why didn't you turn in your reading log?" I tried again.
"Oh, I had soccer," the child nodded knowingly as though this explained everything. He turned and began to walk back to his seat, as though somehow excused by Soccer. I reached for him and guided him back into place.
"All week?" I asked searching his eyes. "You had soccer all week?" I raised my eyebrow and tried to get a reaction as I gazed quizzically at the child. His forehead furrowed as he tried to remember if he had, in fact, had soccer all week.
"Noooo… I had soccer last night," he explained slowly, his teacher obviously quite dim. His tone had a distinct practiced "duh, lady" condescending quality to it.
"You are allowed seven days to do five entries in your reading log. Since last night wasn't a good night, perhaps you should have planned ahead, huh?" I tried to charm the little guy punching him playfully in the shoulder as I recorded his zero.
"But it's not fair! I had soccer last night!" he argued. I sighed and gazed at him sadly, shaking my head to show my great disdain.
"Here's mine!" Cherub #1 charged back into the picture waving her reading log valiantly in my face. I opened it, looking for an example to show Soccer Boy, only to find hers blank as well.
"I'm sorry...why did you not do your reading log?" I asked, detecting a slightly crazed quality to my voice.
"My mom said I didn't have to, because I'm already a good reader," she grinned charmingly, waiting for me to heap accolades upon her for her Master Reader Status.
"Sorry, what?" Surely, I had misheard this last comment. I leaned in. "Your mom said what?"
She began to twirl her finger in her hair. "Well, see, Mom said we were too busy this week. I had Girl Scouts on Monday and church on Tuesday night. We had story night. This one lady…she got up on stage all dressed up as a….Hey! Hey! Courtney! What was that lady at church dressed- What?" She caught my look of distress and rushed to my side. "Do you need a hug?" she put her face directly in front of mine, her eyes searching for signs of life. She reached around and squeezed my shoulders. "Want a back rub? My teacher last year let me give her backrubs all the time." She began to rub my shoulders, so I gave up on her and went on to the next child.
"Why don't you have your-" I began again.
"I forgot." He stared back at me. Just stared. Direct eye contact. A dull, lifeless, unaccountable, uncaring gaze.
"Looks like you forget last week," I queried, checking my grade book.
"Uh huh." More stares. Blank ones. He's clearly concerned about his future as a reader.
"I'm going to have to call your mom, you know," I semi-threatened, throwing the eyebrow.
"'Kay." He shrugged and trudged back to his seat. I watched him go with mild interest and momentarily enjoyed my shoulder massage. I began to drift…just let the reading logs go…relax…enjoy the free massage...DING! I jolted up in my chair, startling my masseuse, who went scurrying back to her seat, now free of reading log burdens.
DING! My email was insistent. I had just received a red flagged email from the principal entitled "#2 Patrol." This had potential. I clicked on it with interest and began to read.
What a delightful subject, I know...but we need to all be on "poop patrol." We had an incident yesterday in the boys' bathroom next to second grade. A not very nice word was spelled out on the wall with feces..yuk...I know......Also, the same kind of thing happened one day last week in the boys' restroom near the gym. So....for now...don't make a big issue out of it with the kids, but we do want to catch the culprit....more so because this person obviously needs some help. If you have any "suspects" please monitor their comings and goings closely, but discretely. Just give general reminders to all kids about treating our building respectfully, which would include keeping the restrooms and hallways, cafeteria...clean. Thanks for your help!
I stifled a giggle and looked around my room to see if any of them looked suspicious. Perhaps the Fecal Bandit was in my class! The day suddenly became more interesting. I began to eye my students signs of banditness. Best to abandon the reading log quest for the week. I'm bringing out all the bells and whistles on Monday, so until then I'm going to be the school's best Poop Patrol. How important are those reading logs anyway? It's not like the kids get grades! Who needs that headache every week? This is much better suited for me. In this endeavor, I know I can really make a difference!
"Reading log? Oh! I left it in my locker!" smiled cherub #1 sweetly. "Want me to go get it?" I nodded slowly and deliberately to emphasize my inconvenience over the delay.
I turned to the next child. "Why didn't you turn in your reading log?" I tried again.
"Oh, I had soccer," the child nodded knowingly as though this explained everything. He turned and began to walk back to his seat, as though somehow excused by Soccer. I reached for him and guided him back into place.
"All week?" I asked searching his eyes. "You had soccer all week?" I raised my eyebrow and tried to get a reaction as I gazed quizzically at the child. His forehead furrowed as he tried to remember if he had, in fact, had soccer all week.
"Noooo… I had soccer last night," he explained slowly, his teacher obviously quite dim. His tone had a distinct practiced "duh, lady" condescending quality to it.
"You are allowed seven days to do five entries in your reading log. Since last night wasn't a good night, perhaps you should have planned ahead, huh?" I tried to charm the little guy punching him playfully in the shoulder as I recorded his zero.
"But it's not fair! I had soccer last night!" he argued. I sighed and gazed at him sadly, shaking my head to show my great disdain.
"Here's mine!" Cherub #1 charged back into the picture waving her reading log valiantly in my face. I opened it, looking for an example to show Soccer Boy, only to find hers blank as well.
"I'm sorry...why did you not do your reading log?" I asked, detecting a slightly crazed quality to my voice.
"My mom said I didn't have to, because I'm already a good reader," she grinned charmingly, waiting for me to heap accolades upon her for her Master Reader Status.
"Sorry, what?" Surely, I had misheard this last comment. I leaned in. "Your mom said what?"
She began to twirl her finger in her hair. "Well, see, Mom said we were too busy this week. I had Girl Scouts on Monday and church on Tuesday night. We had story night. This one lady…she got up on stage all dressed up as a….Hey! Hey! Courtney! What was that lady at church dressed- What?" She caught my look of distress and rushed to my side. "Do you need a hug?" she put her face directly in front of mine, her eyes searching for signs of life. She reached around and squeezed my shoulders. "Want a back rub? My teacher last year let me give her backrubs all the time." She began to rub my shoulders, so I gave up on her and went on to the next child.
"Why don't you have your-" I began again.
"I forgot." He stared back at me. Just stared. Direct eye contact. A dull, lifeless, unaccountable, uncaring gaze.
"Looks like you forget last week," I queried, checking my grade book.
"Uh huh." More stares. Blank ones. He's clearly concerned about his future as a reader.
"I'm going to have to call your mom, you know," I semi-threatened, throwing the eyebrow.
"'Kay." He shrugged and trudged back to his seat. I watched him go with mild interest and momentarily enjoyed my shoulder massage. I began to drift…just let the reading logs go…relax…enjoy the free massage...DING! I jolted up in my chair, startling my masseuse, who went scurrying back to her seat, now free of reading log burdens.
DING! My email was insistent. I had just received a red flagged email from the principal entitled "#2 Patrol." This had potential. I clicked on it with interest and began to read.
What a delightful subject, I know...but we need to all be on "poop patrol." We had an incident yesterday in the boys' bathroom next to second grade. A not very nice word was spelled out on the wall with feces..yuk...I know......Also, the same kind of thing happened one day last week in the boys' restroom near the gym. So....for now...don't make a big issue out of it with the kids, but we do want to catch the culprit....more so because this person obviously needs some help. If you have any "suspects" please monitor their comings and goings closely, but discretely. Just give general reminders to all kids about treating our building respectfully, which would include keeping the restrooms and hallways, cafeteria...clean. Thanks for your help!
I stifled a giggle and looked around my room to see if any of them looked suspicious. Perhaps the Fecal Bandit was in my class! The day suddenly became more interesting. I began to eye my students signs of banditness. Best to abandon the reading log quest for the week. I'm bringing out all the bells and whistles on Monday, so until then I'm going to be the school's best Poop Patrol. How important are those reading logs anyway? It's not like the kids get grades! Who needs that headache every week? This is much better suited for me. In this endeavor, I know I can really make a difference!
Monday, January 10, 2005
Thoughts from a very tiring day.
1. How is it that you can go into Target for a birthday card and come out $85 later?
2. Why is it that whenever I have to use the restroom at work, someone else has just taken a stinky?
3. How is it possible for a child to be so smart and a parent to be so stupid? Yet the stupid parent spends copious amounts of their own time trying to make excuses for all of the work that their smart child did not do?
4. Why must Gus try to eat all the rabbits in the neighborhood?
5. Why must Texas weather oscillate from the 70's to the 30's every 3-5 days?
2. Why is it that whenever I have to use the restroom at work, someone else has just taken a stinky?
3. How is it possible for a child to be so smart and a parent to be so stupid? Yet the stupid parent spends copious amounts of their own time trying to make excuses for all of the work that their smart child did not do?
4. Why must Gus try to eat all the rabbits in the neighborhood?
5. Why must Texas weather oscillate from the 70's to the 30's every 3-5 days?
Sunday, January 09, 2005
My New Addiction...and Things to Do Whilst I Surf
So, this whole Blog Explosion thing is strangely addictive and kinda fun. I really like finding interesting or funny blogs to read while I pass my mandatory 30 seconds to earn my little point or whatever. Unfortunately, there's also a lot of heinously boring blogs out there. Business Strategies? Buy My Body Piercings? Roleplaying in the 1700's? Here's a Picture of My Yard? (I know, I know. I put Gus pictures up, but he's CUTE! and funny all elaborately strapped into that muzzle.) I'm particularly annoyed by the sites masquerading as blogs, but really they're selling stuff.
But, when someone gives you lemons, you should make lemonade. I'm developing a whole new set of skills! First, I can almost to the second tell you when 30 seconds have passed without looking. Just think how convenient that could be in, say...cooking? Timing a foot race? You never know.
I have also mastered a set of tasks that I can complete within 30 seconds in case I hit a lackluster blog. I can write a check, put a muzzle on a dog, check my email, read a page from a book, grade a paper, or organize my pens! Each within 30 seconds!
There are other things you can do more continuously betwixt reading blogs, such as make a grocery list, plan your week, write an email, upload some pictures, or call your mom. The possibilities are endless! This new venture has given new meaning to time management and its perks are reaching far beyond my blog. Imagine the lucky soul who is in need of a timer and instead, they come across...me!
But, when someone gives you lemons, you should make lemonade. I'm developing a whole new set of skills! First, I can almost to the second tell you when 30 seconds have passed without looking. Just think how convenient that could be in, say...cooking? Timing a foot race? You never know.
I have also mastered a set of tasks that I can complete within 30 seconds in case I hit a lackluster blog. I can write a check, put a muzzle on a dog, check my email, read a page from a book, grade a paper, or organize my pens! Each within 30 seconds!
There are other things you can do more continuously betwixt reading blogs, such as make a grocery list, plan your week, write an email, upload some pictures, or call your mom. The possibilities are endless! This new venture has given new meaning to time management and its perks are reaching far beyond my blog. Imagine the lucky soul who is in need of a timer and instead, they come across...me!
What's Going On???
I saw the most wonderful thing in a restaurant last night that I have not seen since I moved here...the disciplining of children! We were eating a lovely Mexican meal when a little boy, about 2 and a half or so, started in to one of those whiny-moany deals that increase in volume until everyone in the restaurant is ready to leave. Now, I completely understand that the behavior of young children is generally out of parents' control, especially babies. In this situation, I'm referring to kids in the 3-10 age range who can be taught to know better.
Back to the scene. Usually what I see in public is a parent speaking to the child. Or trying to reason with them. Goes something like this: "No, honey! Sssshhhhh...no." [parent casts exasperated look at those around them, people glare back.] "Would you like a piece of gum? Would you like to sit with Mommy?" Screaming obviously continues, because parent is giving child what they want, attention, and they are ready for some more of it.
But what I witnessed last night? Beautiful. Return to young boy (really young even!) attempting whiny/moany behavior. Whine lasted approximately 6 seconds when Dad picked him up and carried him to the bathroom. My eyes met Mike's and we both smiled in surprise! Dad returned in less than a minute with a quiet, slightly resentful child in tow. Dinner continued until about 15 minutes later, same child began noise again. Dad put down fork, carried child to bathroom, and returned once more with a peaceful child who lasted through the meal. I wanted to go over and shake their hands! Mike said this would be perceived as odd, inappropriate behavior and guided me out the door instead.
I don't know what went on in that bathroom, but I want to see some more of it! What has happened to that? It's the same thing at school - parents come in for a conference and their children are just HORRIBLE! I have disciplined so many kids in front of their parents and it's really embarrassing for me to have to do that. But, unlike their parents, I'm not going to let them think they can get away with something or they'll try it again in school.
So what's going on in this world? When I was little no one wanted to even dare get in trouble at school because everyone knew it was guaranteed to be even worse at home. Now, kids get in trouble at school, I am not allowed to spank them, yell at them, put their name on the board, give them silent lunch, or take away their recess because all of these things might hurt their self-esteem. I can, however, call their parents, who will the defend their child's behavior and make excuses for them (unmedicated ADD, dad's out of town, big soccer game that night, etc.) Then if I persist, they call the principal to alert her that I'm picking on their child. I am permitted, however, to positively praise them for something else that they did which was good and help them talk through their feelings about the thing they did that was bad. Which goes back to reasoning with a child.
We were also in Target last night (it really was a rockin' good Saturday night with Mike and I, we should've sent an Evite) and saw another mother who was trying to reason with her child about why he couldn't have a toy from the shelf. In her hands already was a PlayStation game and three pairs of child-sized long droopy basketball shorts. The (7 or 8 year old) child was adorned with more bling than Snoop Dogg. He had a silver sparkly medallion around his neck which hung from a psuedo-silver/diamond rope chain to his waist, an iced out watch with a face twice the size of his tiny wrist, and a huge diamond stud earring sparkling from his left ear. The kid was as tall as my waist and completely blinged out from head to toe. The mother finally lost her cool on the reasoning and yells [in line, in public], "It's not all about you! When are you going to learn that!?" Um...it clearly is all about him. You've already spoiled the child rotten by fulfilling all of his, um, wardrobe wishes, you're carrying even more in your hand, plus a game for this kid who is being a brat. Am I the only one who sees this? These are the same kids I work with every day. My partner teacher and I "censused" my homeroom this week and discovered that 17 of my 21 kids genuinely believe that the world revolves around them! (Her class has a much better ratio, I just had back luck this year.)
What is going to happen when these kids reach the work force? I don't see how they can possibly make it to college! What with no grades, no discipline, no parenting? These are people who could be taking care of us when we're old! So what do you think it is? Just "kids these days"? Society? TV? Parenting? Just please don't say it's the teachers, we're doing all we can.
Back to the scene. Usually what I see in public is a parent speaking to the child. Or trying to reason with them. Goes something like this: "No, honey! Sssshhhhh...no." [parent casts exasperated look at those around them, people glare back.] "Would you like a piece of gum? Would you like to sit with Mommy?" Screaming obviously continues, because parent is giving child what they want, attention, and they are ready for some more of it.
But what I witnessed last night? Beautiful. Return to young boy (really young even!) attempting whiny/moany behavior. Whine lasted approximately 6 seconds when Dad picked him up and carried him to the bathroom. My eyes met Mike's and we both smiled in surprise! Dad returned in less than a minute with a quiet, slightly resentful child in tow. Dinner continued until about 15 minutes later, same child began noise again. Dad put down fork, carried child to bathroom, and returned once more with a peaceful child who lasted through the meal. I wanted to go over and shake their hands! Mike said this would be perceived as odd, inappropriate behavior and guided me out the door instead.
I don't know what went on in that bathroom, but I want to see some more of it! What has happened to that? It's the same thing at school - parents come in for a conference and their children are just HORRIBLE! I have disciplined so many kids in front of their parents and it's really embarrassing for me to have to do that. But, unlike their parents, I'm not going to let them think they can get away with something or they'll try it again in school.
So what's going on in this world? When I was little no one wanted to even dare get in trouble at school because everyone knew it was guaranteed to be even worse at home. Now, kids get in trouble at school, I am not allowed to spank them, yell at them, put their name on the board, give them silent lunch, or take away their recess because all of these things might hurt their self-esteem. I can, however, call their parents, who will the defend their child's behavior and make excuses for them (unmedicated ADD, dad's out of town, big soccer game that night, etc.) Then if I persist, they call the principal to alert her that I'm picking on their child. I am permitted, however, to positively praise them for something else that they did which was good and help them talk through their feelings about the thing they did that was bad. Which goes back to reasoning with a child.
We were also in Target last night (it really was a rockin' good Saturday night with Mike and I, we should've sent an Evite) and saw another mother who was trying to reason with her child about why he couldn't have a toy from the shelf. In her hands already was a PlayStation game and three pairs of child-sized long droopy basketball shorts. The (7 or 8 year old) child was adorned with more bling than Snoop Dogg. He had a silver sparkly medallion around his neck which hung from a psuedo-silver/diamond rope chain to his waist, an iced out watch with a face twice the size of his tiny wrist, and a huge diamond stud earring sparkling from his left ear. The kid was as tall as my waist and completely blinged out from head to toe. The mother finally lost her cool on the reasoning and yells [in line, in public], "It's not all about you! When are you going to learn that!?" Um...it clearly is all about him. You've already spoiled the child rotten by fulfilling all of his, um, wardrobe wishes, you're carrying even more in your hand, plus a game for this kid who is being a brat. Am I the only one who sees this? These are the same kids I work with every day. My partner teacher and I "censused" my homeroom this week and discovered that 17 of my 21 kids genuinely believe that the world revolves around them! (Her class has a much better ratio, I just had back luck this year.)
What is going to happen when these kids reach the work force? I don't see how they can possibly make it to college! What with no grades, no discipline, no parenting? These are people who could be taking care of us when we're old! So what do you think it is? Just "kids these days"? Society? TV? Parenting? Just please don't say it's the teachers, we're doing all we can.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Grocery Chic
I was just in the grocery store and I saw a woman wearing capris and socks and sandals. That is a severe fashion error on so many levels I can't begin to even make fun of her. Aren't I awful? I just stared and stared while I waited in line. Mike wasn't there to stop me, so I just reveled in my ogling. It was clearly a compulsory gawking event.
I'm sorry I keep putting these up, but he just cracks me up in this thing. It's a magnificent training tool for this stubborn dog. Anytime he starts barking incessantly in the house, I just strap him in and he spends five minutes gazing pitifully at me and trying to lick the muzzle off. It's a shame that it's had to come to such drastic measures, but we would like to maintain civility with our neighbors.
Things Worth Paying For
I read on someone else's blog about their dog being ready for an anal gland expression, a delightful little treat that Gus has undergone about every 3 months when he starts dragging it around on the carpet to scratch. This triggered my thought that there are some things in life that are absolutely worth paying for.
I am possibly one of the cheapest, most frugal people my age, despite my unrelenting quest for clothes and purses. (All must be on sale, the best outfits are great brands on a supercheap knockdown sale. It's a sickness, I really get a high off of saving money.) The point is that even I, The Parsimonious Ginster, agree that there are some things worth paying someone to do. There are also some things that you mustn't ever buy generic.
Here are a few worth paying for:
I am possibly one of the cheapest, most frugal people my age, despite my unrelenting quest for clothes and purses. (All must be on sale, the best outfits are great brands on a supercheap knockdown sale. It's a sickness, I really get a high off of saving money.) The point is that even I, The Parsimonious Ginster, agree that there are some things worth paying someone to do. There are also some things that you mustn't ever buy generic.
Here are a few worth paying for:
- Anal gland expression on dog. (They mentioned once that I could do it at home for free. I already clean the dog's ears, brush his teeth, and clip his nails. Let us draw the line somewhere sane.)
- Staining and sealing the fence. Two people did the front and back of ours, which involves fighting through a jungle of vines and snake-ridden brush along the edge of a corn field, for $225 in under two hours. If I hadn't coughed up that money, I would have been enlisted to assist and I simply don't do manual labor. It would not have been completed in under two hours.
- Bounty papertowels
- Cottonelle toilet paper
- Real Coke. Never, ever skimp on real Coke. Never buy anything labeled "cola."
- Peanut Butter
- Professional Carpet Cleaning. We used to do this ourselves, with sketchy results and copious labor.
That's all that come to mind right now. I'm really pretty cheap. It's a sickness. But hey! I just figured out how to put a cute little counter on my blog. Aren't you impressed? And don't you like how it' s sponsored by a toothbrush? And that made it free! Good way to wrap up this cheap post.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Mah-wedge! It's what bwings us togevah today...
Name that movie! (since only Beth got Clue the other day.) This is a quick story of marriage. Mike and I go out to dinner and I'm having a fine and dandy conversation about something that was surely riveting...with myself. Mike's eyes have glazed over and I realize he's managed again to pull off what he always manages to accomplish in a restaurant: sit facing the TV. Sigh. This situation requires strategy.
Like any persistent conversationalist, I begin bobbing my head around, leaning left, leaning right, sitting up straight - anything to get in his line of vision - until finally, I begin waving my hand around and erupt with a demanding, "Helllooooooo-oooo?!" which is the modern girl's equivalent of my grandmother's "yoooooooo hoooo!"It was at this point that Mike achieved a new level of Guy Dining Garishness (GDG) when he explained, "Hang on. I've been wanting to see this commercial. They were talking about it on ESPN Radio this morning."
A commercial? Are you kidding me? I got glazed over in public for a commercial? At least make it a playoff game of some sort. This is a whole new low. Blasphemy.
Like any persistent conversationalist, I begin bobbing my head around, leaning left, leaning right, sitting up straight - anything to get in his line of vision - until finally, I begin waving my hand around and erupt with a demanding, "Helllooooooo-oooo?!" which is the modern girl's equivalent of my grandmother's "yoooooooo hoooo!"It was at this point that Mike achieved a new level of Guy Dining Garishness (GDG) when he explained, "Hang on. I've been wanting to see this commercial. They were talking about it on ESPN Radio this morning."
A commercial? Are you kidding me? I got glazed over in public for a commercial? At least make it a playoff game of some sort. This is a whole new low. Blasphemy.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Ah, Gus. He has again pushed the envelope too far. The Mask was affixed and the barking ceased. I think after three years, the dog finally knows what "No barks!" means. He was quite perplexed to find himself in this situation, but I must say, it's some of the most pleasant time I've spent with him in a while. I highly recommend the size 2 muzzle to any fellow beagle owners. $8.99 well spent.
Miscellany
Your school district needs to re-evaluate a few things. Who decides the
'policy?' Aren't most administrators ex-teachers? What are they thinking?
Aw...sweet Katie. What a lovely thought: administrators who understand the job of those they supervise. Some administrators are indeed ex-teachers. In fact, most of them were such "solid" ex-teachers that they were "encouraged" to head for administration. I don't think that's true in all districts, but mine seems to use the program as a way to funnel out the ineffective teachers. Not always! But lots. Our central office is a scary collection of people with a lot of degrees and no sense. OH, and in answer to your other question, they aren't thinking. That's not part of the job description.
Anyhoo. No news to deliver today. The checkbooks were a big hit. Something bizarre happened to the weather and the high today was only 34 degrees. I think it was winter. We had inside recess for the fourth day in a row, which makes me want to put my head in a blender. Then I had to play tennis in said 34 degree weather. I lost. I blame my numb appendages. PLUS! Someone called my cell during the game, a Raleigh area code, and didn't leave a message. Don't know the number. Then I got home and they had called here too! Who called me?
I have a mail/phone fixation. It's genetic - my mom calls it her family's gene. But I justLOVE to get mail. Even bills. I just like to check the mail. In the summer when I'm home, I check my email compulsively all day. So this blog-gig? Just wait. Next summer, it's going to be explosive. I'll fill you in on every detail of my day. And it will be riveting, I can assure you.
This Orthopaedic Associates of North Texas appointment card is leering at me. I am still perplexed about the situation. I haven't gotten home before 5:00 since the day of The Public Shaming, so I haven't called them to cancel or otherwise. Maybe I'll mail them some poop. That's a strategy I kick around a lot when I'm angry.
Well, sorry to be boring today, but I must dash. My 11,457 steps I've taken today have really taken a toll. (Our school gave us pedometers and mine has turned me into a bigger nerd than usual.) Ta ta!
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
I'll Show 'Em!
Hmmm. That was interesting. I didn't know my doctor's office escapade would be so controversial! I was craving some comments and I didn't realize that all I had to do was RILE people up! After reading the suggestions, it is clear to me that y'all need a review of some Things About Me. First, I am unable to be mean to someone's face. Talk about them behind their back? I'm your girl. But to the face, I'm waaaaaay too nice. I was downright affable to 'ol Vonda before I hung up on her. Secondly, I can do almost any foolish thing in front of kids, but I will not cause a scene in front of adults I don't know. Unless it's really funny. Which this was clearly not. So, based on all of the clever advice (my favorite being Joel's) I am deciding between two options.
1. I will go to my appointment, see the doctor, and then tell him why I am leaving his practice after getting my treatment.
2. I will cancel my appointment, stating the reason why, then I will write a letter politely, but firmly and mail it to the office and copy it to someone important.
That sounds threatening, doesn't it? "You'd better straighten up because I'm copying this to someone...really important!"
Say, that reminds me of my situation at work. In addition to my school not believing in grades, doors, or the teaching of spelling, they also frown upon classroom management. That is, you are encouraged to reward children (positive reinforcement), but you may not actually discipline them. This practice could be damaging to their self-esteem. WELL. I'm not really into self-esteem. I like kids and kids like me, but this feel good stuff is for the birds. This sugary sweet scenario just doesn't fly in my world, so my team and I came up with a behavior checkbook "system" cleverly disguised as positive reinforcement (technically, we could give them money for being chipper little dumplings and pleasing us, I suppose, but please.). In this Plan, we dangle a Super-Fun! privilege in front of them at the end of each quarter which they may only attend if they have the cash flow to afford it. Then we snatch all their money when they're bad. Mwa-ah-ah! But obviously, you clever readers, that's not listed in the system description submitted to the proper authorities.
Anyway, our last reward was the day before Christmas, so we have returned to - gasp! - no system. So I've spent my days delivering these lame empty threats in an increasingly daunting tone. Some of my milder ones began with "Stop it" or "Quit that" or "Knock it off." They have steadily increased to "If you don't straighten up, I'm gonna...I'm gonna...I said stop it" and "Cut it out or else...else...just quit it!" So you can see how truly intimidating I am capable of being. I stayed late today to get their new checkbooks copied so that the new system will be firmly in place tomorrow and I can resume saying things like, "Hey guys, I'm starting a new service! I'll put your chairs up FOR you for a reasonable fee of two dollars!" or the more chilling eye squint combined with a, "Bring me your checkbook" growl.
That's really been the highlight of my day. I have nothing clever nor witty to deliver. But you can see from my menacing intimidation tactics just what a dodgy dame I could be if I decided to lay waste to that doctor's office. I could! I could really smack it to 'em! I'd...I'd...well. You know.
1. I will go to my appointment, see the doctor, and then tell him why I am leaving his practice after getting my treatment.
2. I will cancel my appointment, stating the reason why, then I will write a letter politely, but firmly and mail it to the office and copy it to someone important.
That sounds threatening, doesn't it? "You'd better straighten up because I'm copying this to someone...really important!"
Say, that reminds me of my situation at work. In addition to my school not believing in grades, doors, or the teaching of spelling, they also frown upon classroom management. That is, you are encouraged to reward children (positive reinforcement), but you may not actually discipline them. This practice could be damaging to their self-esteem. WELL. I'm not really into self-esteem. I like kids and kids like me, but this feel good stuff is for the birds. This sugary sweet scenario just doesn't fly in my world, so my team and I came up with a behavior checkbook "system" cleverly disguised as positive reinforcement (technically, we could give them money for being chipper little dumplings and pleasing us, I suppose, but please.). In this Plan, we dangle a Super-Fun! privilege in front of them at the end of each quarter which they may only attend if they have the cash flow to afford it. Then we snatch all their money when they're bad. Mwa-ah-ah! But obviously, you clever readers, that's not listed in the system description submitted to the proper authorities.
Anyway, our last reward was the day before Christmas, so we have returned to - gasp! - no system. So I've spent my days delivering these lame empty threats in an increasingly daunting tone. Some of my milder ones began with "Stop it" or "Quit that" or "Knock it off." They have steadily increased to "If you don't straighten up, I'm gonna...I'm gonna...I said stop it" and "Cut it out or else...else...just quit it!" So you can see how truly intimidating I am capable of being. I stayed late today to get their new checkbooks copied so that the new system will be firmly in place tomorrow and I can resume saying things like, "Hey guys, I'm starting a new service! I'll put your chairs up FOR you for a reasonable fee of two dollars!" or the more chilling eye squint combined with a, "Bring me your checkbook" growl.
That's really been the highlight of my day. I have nothing clever nor witty to deliver. But you can see from my menacing intimidation tactics just what a dodgy dame I could be if I decided to lay waste to that doctor's office. I could! I could really smack it to 'em! I'd...I'd...well. You know.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Request for Advice
Okay, I am outraged. For real this time. I have been trying to get an appointment with my orthopedist doctor guy since October and today I was WRONGED. Wronged, I tell you. Here's the situation. And I want to know what I should do here too, so pay attention.
Mid-August: Went to orthopedist upon referral from regular doctor. Had chronic shoulder/neck pain.
Late August: Began 4-8 weeks of physical therapy for shoulder. Was supposed to return to orthoguy for follow up visit Sept. 9th.
Early September: Physical therapist says I have only had 2 weeks of my 4-8 weeks and advised I change ortho appointment to later date for best results.
Same day: Call orthopedist guy. Wait on hold for unprecedented amount of hold time, then connect to voice mail because they closed. Left message on voice mail to cancel appointment, requested a call back to reschedule. Even suggested they just leave any old appointment on my machine and I'd be there.
Next two months: Never hear from orthopedist again, continue PT. Attempt 3 separate times to call ortho-guy only to meet excessive wait times. At one point, I did two loads of laundry while on hold. Eventually began pushing buttons to get any extension and spoke expressively to business manager about their practices and she promised to get a message to them to call me back in the morning. Nothing.
November: Released from physical therapy. Therapist empathizes with my frustrations of not being able to reach psycho-ortho-doctor and say she will send an email detailing the treatment she feels that I need next and asking them to call me to set up appointment. Nothing.
Today: Had a doctor's appointment in the same building, so I just stopped by. I thought maybe if I placed myself in front of their little window, I'd get somewhere. I relayed all of the information above to the receptionist. She picked up a phone and called someone named Vonda to "deal" with me. I then had to talk on the phone to Vonda while leaning in the little window with everyone in the waiting room hanging on my every word. Vonda said, "You had to hold for over 30 minutes?" I said, "Yes." Vonda said, "I find that hard to believe since we have 13 lines." Aahhh! [offended Miss Piggy noise] I was appalled! Who is this Vonda and what right does she have to question my hold times?! And I couldn't say anything too ugly or foolish because all these people were staring at me, the Freak Who Had to Talk on the Window Phone with Vonda. Then, THEN!! she goes, "I see here that you were a no show for your Sept. 9th appointment, so why are you just now getting around to calling?" Flames...on the sides of my face...heaving breaths...flames... [10 points if you can name that movie reference]
WHAT THE @!#*& WAS THIS WOMAN'S BEEF WITH ME???? This...this....VONDA? A no show? I had left them a message because their STOOPID hold time cut off and sent me there! I take pride in never being a no show because it's rude! Do they not accept messages? Do they tell people that? I was livid with her, so I hung up the phone and told the receptionist that Vonda was being rude to me, could she please just make me an appointment. But now I don't want the appointment! I don't want to go back there again! So I have to find another doctor.
But I'm not done with that one. What can I do? They don't have the right to treat patients that way. People who are in pain. It's just mean! What's the Better Business Bureau for medical facilities? Or is it the same? Should I write a letter? And get their parents to sign it? What would YOU do? I'll accept both realistic and creative answers. I'm flummoxed. And angry.
Mid-August: Went to orthopedist upon referral from regular doctor. Had chronic shoulder/neck pain.
Late August: Began 4-8 weeks of physical therapy for shoulder. Was supposed to return to orthoguy for follow up visit Sept. 9th.
Early September: Physical therapist says I have only had 2 weeks of my 4-8 weeks and advised I change ortho appointment to later date for best results.
Same day: Call orthopedist guy. Wait on hold for unprecedented amount of hold time, then connect to voice mail because they closed. Left message on voice mail to cancel appointment, requested a call back to reschedule. Even suggested they just leave any old appointment on my machine and I'd be there.
Next two months: Never hear from orthopedist again, continue PT. Attempt 3 separate times to call ortho-guy only to meet excessive wait times. At one point, I did two loads of laundry while on hold. Eventually began pushing buttons to get any extension and spoke expressively to business manager about their practices and she promised to get a message to them to call me back in the morning. Nothing.
November: Released from physical therapy. Therapist empathizes with my frustrations of not being able to reach psycho-ortho-doctor and say she will send an email detailing the treatment she feels that I need next and asking them to call me to set up appointment. Nothing.
Today: Had a doctor's appointment in the same building, so I just stopped by. I thought maybe if I placed myself in front of their little window, I'd get somewhere. I relayed all of the information above to the receptionist. She picked up a phone and called someone named Vonda to "deal" with me. I then had to talk on the phone to Vonda while leaning in the little window with everyone in the waiting room hanging on my every word. Vonda said, "You had to hold for over 30 minutes?" I said, "Yes." Vonda said, "I find that hard to believe since we have 13 lines." Aahhh! [offended Miss Piggy noise] I was appalled! Who is this Vonda and what right does she have to question my hold times?! And I couldn't say anything too ugly or foolish because all these people were staring at me, the Freak Who Had to Talk on the Window Phone with Vonda. Then, THEN!! she goes, "I see here that you were a no show for your Sept. 9th appointment, so why are you just now getting around to calling?" Flames...on the sides of my face...heaving breaths...flames... [10 points if you can name that movie reference]
WHAT THE @!#*& WAS THIS WOMAN'S BEEF WITH ME???? This...this....VONDA? A no show? I had left them a message because their STOOPID hold time cut off and sent me there! I take pride in never being a no show because it's rude! Do they not accept messages? Do they tell people that? I was livid with her, so I hung up the phone and told the receptionist that Vonda was being rude to me, could she please just make me an appointment. But now I don't want the appointment! I don't want to go back there again! So I have to find another doctor.
But I'm not done with that one. What can I do? They don't have the right to treat patients that way. People who are in pain. It's just mean! What's the Better Business Bureau for medical facilities? Or is it the same? Should I write a letter? And get their parents to sign it? What would YOU do? I'll accept both realistic and creative answers. I'm flummoxed. And angry.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Welcome Back
Now, that's what I call good censing. I consider you all censed, although I suspect there's some wimps out there who are afraid to 'fess up. I call them noncensors. Hee! Off with their heads! Even that nice man down in Ocean Isle (lucky dog!) got himself censed and he doesn't even know me. [However, he is a former shagger and should check my parents out, because they are the true shaggers. I just tag along so I can go to the beach and try not to look too foolish.]
So, today I went back to school. I feel as though I have been flogged with a cane. Going back the first day is the worst. The kids seem to have forgotten all the rules that I spent 5 long months training them in so tediously. My morning class was okay because they were sleepy, but here was my afternoon class as I passed out their homework and tried to get things put away in the appropriate folders (these would be the same folders we've been using all year, there is nothing new and surprising here)
Me: Okay, guys, put your writing passage in the writing section of your notebook and your homework in your homework folder.
Attention-Starved Kid: Which one's our notebook?
Me: [scathing glare, level one] Your binder? The one you used all year? [eye roll at kid, quick glance at hallway to check for administration to avoid getting fired for eye roll/sarcasm combo]
3 apparently deaf kids in unison: Do we put it in reading or writing?
Me: [grit teeth] Is it a reading or a writing assignment? [clench arm rests]
Smart Mouth: Well it's writing, but you have to read to do it! [titters with laughter] [no one else laughs because they are smarter than he is.]
Me: [scathing glare, level three - Code Red! Code Red! Step away from the teacher!]
Smart Mouth ducks head and begins filing papers obediently. I relax a smidgen and peer around the room. My gifted-to-the-point-of-insanity kid was balancing each end of the spine of his book (Captain Underpants and the Big, Bad Battle of the Bionic Booger Boy, Part 1: The Night of the Nasty Nostril Nuggets) on the tips of his fingers when he tumbled from his chair in an effort to keep the book balanced. Clearly, balancing his snot book was more critical that anything I had to say or anyone's opinion of him as he crashed out of his chair and onto the floor. He looked genuinely shocked to find himself there. I watched him for a moment with amusement and then I let this sad display of not listening the first time and having to ask ten bagillion questions go on for about ten minutes before I alerted them to the fact that we would be making all of this time up during their recess since I hadn't actually started teaching yet and we were still enjoying their fun time. I smiled sweetly and crossed my hands over one knee and began to rock gently...I had all day! I wanted them to enjoy their time. Really.
Kid who thought he was hilariously funny 3 minutes ago: I forgot how weird she was in two weeks. We're NEVER gonna get to go outside.
But suddenly, everyone was ready to learn. Who knew? So I'll be "weird" all I have to be if that gets the job done. So there. Pbbbbbbbbbbbbt!
So, today I went back to school. I feel as though I have been flogged with a cane. Going back the first day is the worst. The kids seem to have forgotten all the rules that I spent 5 long months training them in so tediously. My morning class was okay because they were sleepy, but here was my afternoon class as I passed out their homework and tried to get things put away in the appropriate folders (these would be the same folders we've been using all year, there is nothing new and surprising here)
Me: Okay, guys, put your writing passage in the writing section of your notebook and your homework in your homework folder.
Attention-Starved Kid: Which one's our notebook?
Me: [scathing glare, level one] Your binder? The one you used all year? [eye roll at kid, quick glance at hallway to check for administration to avoid getting fired for eye roll/sarcasm combo]
3 apparently deaf kids in unison: Do we put it in reading or writing?
Me: [grit teeth] Is it a reading or a writing assignment? [clench arm rests]
Smart Mouth: Well it's writing, but you have to read to do it! [titters with laughter] [no one else laughs because they are smarter than he is.]
Me: [scathing glare, level three - Code Red! Code Red! Step away from the teacher!]
Smart Mouth ducks head and begins filing papers obediently. I relax a smidgen and peer around the room. My gifted-to-the-point-of-insanity kid was balancing each end of the spine of his book (Captain Underpants and the Big, Bad Battle of the Bionic Booger Boy, Part 1: The Night of the Nasty Nostril Nuggets) on the tips of his fingers when he tumbled from his chair in an effort to keep the book balanced. Clearly, balancing his snot book was more critical that anything I had to say or anyone's opinion of him as he crashed out of his chair and onto the floor. He looked genuinely shocked to find himself there. I watched him for a moment with amusement and then I let this sad display of not listening the first time and having to ask ten bagillion questions go on for about ten minutes before I alerted them to the fact that we would be making all of this time up during their recess since I hadn't actually started teaching yet and we were still enjoying their fun time. I smiled sweetly and crossed my hands over one knee and began to rock gently...I had all day! I wanted them to enjoy their time. Really.
Kid who thought he was hilariously funny 3 minutes ago: I forgot how weird she was in two weeks. We're NEVER gonna get to go outside.
But suddenly, everyone was ready to learn. Who knew? So I'll be "weird" all I have to be if that gets the job done. So there. Pbbbbbbbbbbbbt!
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Gus at his finest. He is chronically in a state of bark. Upon returning home, I bought him a muzzle, since the spanking, the beeping collars, and the general abuse hasn't worked in 3 years. We are calling the muzzle "The Mask" in an effort to protect his ego and make him feel cool, even dashing, in a muzzle. In all reality, he looks like a disturbed bandit.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Census
So, I feel a bit pressured to write something today. I was all happy, just blogging away, not realizing that there are people LURKING out there reading and not posting. Now I'm just uncomfortable. Who are you people? I discovered a couple at a New Year's Eve party last night of whom I wasn't aware. ["Hey! How are ya? I read your blog everyday. When are you going to write something new?"] While flattering, I was a bit surprised. So now I want to know. Who exactly am I talking to every day? I declare a census. Name, rank, serial number. Or at least who are you, do I know you, and where are you?
I demand posting. Stat. In honor of the New Year and all.
I really like when people post. It's fun to read when I get home from work. Which, by the way, I have to return to on Monday.
I demand posting. Stat. In honor of the New Year and all.
I really like when people post. It's fun to read when I get home from work. Which, by the way, I have to return to on Monday.
My Inevitable Return and Evaluation
I've had a nice break and I'm really not ready to go back. I have some new clothes to wear that I'm very excited about, but I'm sure they will be the subject of much scrutiny as ten year old girls seem to discover fashion over Christmas Break each year.
Even in the ghetto it was a topic of interest. [Walk into the classroom with a smile to welcome the kids back, not realizing they had already evaluated me, my clothing, and my attitude prior to my arrival.] "Yes she DO got on a red dress!" (confirmed from the other side of room) "Yeah she do. It RED. Snap!"
Who knew?
What about the time when...I stood before the line of squirmy nine and ten year olds patiently, giving my best, "I've got all day, it's your recess time" eyebrow, when "Ooh! Miss B! Why you got hair on yo arms like a man?" Tavario began petting my arm like one would a kitten. "It soft, but long!" He looks up to catch my eyebrow nearing my hairline and backed off. I took a deep breath and tugged at my sleeves. Resuming my line monitor stance, I felt another hand sneak dangerously near my fur."It DO feel soft!" confirmed Kesheria. "Do you use lotion? I do on my elbows. And my knees. They ashy." I narrowed my eyes at her as she smiled back at me. "Miss B, yo face bleeding. It red, do it itch?" A wayward pimple. Is nothing sacred? Now they're discussing my acne. At this point, I decide the line will be moving toward its destination whether it is ready to or not. You can see that this must come to an end.
Or, on the other hand, you have the suburban breed...
Kids enter the classroom and greet me good morning, but it is the girls who pause to give me my morning once-over.
"Mrs. R! Cuuuuuute outfit! Old Navy?" smiles one chipper student.
"Gap, duh," another student breezes in behind her, ignoring me, just taking in my clothes. I smile, not sure whether to tell her that it's actually Banana Republic, thank you very much, before I realize they have successfully distracted me already and it's only 7:30am. Focus. I read over our lessons on the board and start to stand up when I feel a small hand in my hair. Then a nose. An entire face. I turn around to see Jordan's beaming rapturous expression."Your hair smells sooooooooo good! What do you use?" she gazes at me, the fashion diva of the fourth grade. I open my mouth to tell her that it's obviously Herbal Essences and quickly snap it closed. I will not give in to this distraction!
Going back will be a breeze. There is a state writing assessment in just 7 short weeks, and all I have to do is teach these vermin how to write. Fabulous!
Even in the ghetto it was a topic of interest. [Walk into the classroom with a smile to welcome the kids back, not realizing they had already evaluated me, my clothing, and my attitude prior to my arrival.] "Yes she DO got on a red dress!" (confirmed from the other side of room) "Yeah she do. It RED. Snap!"
Who knew?
What about the time when...I stood before the line of squirmy nine and ten year olds patiently, giving my best, "I've got all day, it's your recess time" eyebrow, when "Ooh! Miss B! Why you got hair on yo arms like a man?" Tavario began petting my arm like one would a kitten. "It soft, but long!" He looks up to catch my eyebrow nearing my hairline and backed off. I took a deep breath and tugged at my sleeves. Resuming my line monitor stance, I felt another hand sneak dangerously near my fur."It DO feel soft!" confirmed Kesheria. "Do you use lotion? I do on my elbows. And my knees. They ashy." I narrowed my eyes at her as she smiled back at me. "Miss B, yo face bleeding. It red, do it itch?" A wayward pimple. Is nothing sacred? Now they're discussing my acne. At this point, I decide the line will be moving toward its destination whether it is ready to or not. You can see that this must come to an end.
Or, on the other hand, you have the suburban breed...
Kids enter the classroom and greet me good morning, but it is the girls who pause to give me my morning once-over.
"Mrs. R! Cuuuuuute outfit! Old Navy?" smiles one chipper student.
"Gap, duh," another student breezes in behind her, ignoring me, just taking in my clothes. I smile, not sure whether to tell her that it's actually Banana Republic, thank you very much, before I realize they have successfully distracted me already and it's only 7:30am. Focus. I read over our lessons on the board and start to stand up when I feel a small hand in my hair. Then a nose. An entire face. I turn around to see Jordan's beaming rapturous expression."Your hair smells sooooooooo good! What do you use?" she gazes at me, the fashion diva of the fourth grade. I open my mouth to tell her that it's obviously Herbal Essences and quickly snap it closed. I will not give in to this distraction!
Going back will be a breeze. There is a state writing assessment in just 7 short weeks, and all I have to do is teach these vermin how to write. Fabulous!
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