I Can See the Future: A Report From the Pig

My school district is so afraid of parents that they don't actually make or enforce rules. Despite the fact that I don't have a door to my classroom, parents are permitted to walk about the halls at any time of day and have conversations with one another just outside my teaching space. They have cell phone conversations and demonstrate their "cool" (Spice Girl-esque) ringtones to one another.
Say, speaking of cell phones, the students are allowed to have them in the building, on their person, turned on during class. This rule applies to kindergarteners through seniors. Yes, the phones are excessively disruptive. Yes, the phones cause theft, fighting, and rampant cheating. And, yes, one would think that an elementary school student has no need for a cellular device. Alas! All of this can be overlooked so that we do not anger any parents in the district. Heaven forbid! You know that they could sue you if they aren't able to reach their child instantly, nevermind the fact that they are, um, IN SCHOOL!
Most districts have strictly enforced dress codes or even uniforms. If you don't want your child to be scarred by the experience of a uniform or of - gasp! - having to tuck in their shirttail or cover their gams, then I invite you to my district. Here, children can wear crop tops, baggy pants, multi-colored hair, creative piercings, low cut cleavage-y shirts, and bedroom slippers. Oh, did I mention that I'm talking about 4th graders?
I fail to understand who it is that is so afraid of parents that they avoid making rules that might rock the boat, but I feel certain that this cannot bode well for the future of these children. Just a hunch.

You Know Your School Is Messed Up When....

You go to seek advice from the guidance counselor about the child in your class who you suspect could be experiencing some sexual abuse at home. She reaches for the child's cumulative folder, idly flips through it, and says, "Well, she passed both of her TAKS tests last year." End of discussion.

Out of Control.

I'm not sure when I went to school to become a child abuser, but I think that's what I did today. The testing of children is officially out of control.

Officially.
Out.
Of.
Control.

I think testing is a valuable way to get good information about what children have learned. I think that testing should be a part (a part!) of what earns a child a promotion to the next grade. I even think that testing is a good way to make sure that teachers are teaching what they are supposed to.

But I don't think that testing needs to include the following things when you consider that we are talking about 8-11 year old children in an elementary school:
1. No recess. They might talk about the test.
2. No specials. The P.E., music, and art teachers are assigned to guard duty. They cannot teach classes to any students, K-5, as they are very, very busy with an important duty. In teams of two, they are to....are you ready? Guard the bathrooms. This is to ensure that the children aren't able to talk about the test.
3. Silent lunch guarded by teachers and three glaring, arms-crossed, sargeant-like administrators. Assigned seating and no talking whatsosever. You know why? Because they might try to talk about the test.

Can I just tell you something? I promise you that the last thing on earth these children are going to want to talk about is the test. I don't even want to talk about the test, and it totally reflects on my teaching. (By the way, if I was to consider talking about the test - or heaven forbid, what the prompt was - I could lose my teaching license in three states and would be subject to a public stoning. So please don't ask me about the test.)

4. So when you add up no recess, no specials, and silent lunch, you get 100 children who have to sit in a chair from 9:00am until 3:30pm without talking, moving, making faces, or fidgeting. This requirement is a crime against nature.

When you have to post encouraging signs in the hallways to help the students "get through" the day, something is wrong. When you have to submit a list of eight possible meltdowns that could commence in your classroom during testing to the principal prior to the test just to warn her that those could conceivably be zeroes on the school scores, something's not right. When you have to talk a kid off the ledge at 3:15 because he's not even halfway finished and he has to stay until 5:00pm to finish, something is tragically wrong.

5. Rules that make me so paranoid about losing my license that my eyes dart quickly to the hallway before I bend down to give a struggling student a quick hug and a pat of encouragement, lest the powers that be accuse me of cheating. Rules that require me to monitor that my students are bubbling correctly, yet do not allow me to look at their papers.

I think my kids did as well as can be expected and I'm proud of them for sticking it out, but I just maintain that the lengths to which we are reaching to ascertain whether these kids have learned what they are supposed to learn are getting a little out of hand.

And? In closing? I also think it's really inappropriate when the principal who never graces my classroom - ever - except for the time I invited her just so I could be observed, stalks angrily around the room 4-5 times during the day while glaring at the students and authoritatively clenching a coffee cup. Because that might "scare" them into doing their best so her scores look good.

That's all I have to say about that.

Bahr?

Can somebody please explain to me how American Airlines can change my ticket time by two hours? What is the point of making a reservation and selecting the times that logically meet my flying needs when they are just going to change my flight? We're talking from 9:15am to 7:15am here. That's not small potatoes when the airport's an hour away and I have to get there an hour-ish before the flight. I am flummoxed. Simply flummoxed.

Blazing Fury

I continue to be weirded out by living in Texas. This is a place where I think it best that you are born and raised, but do not leave. Nor should any new folks come in. I think we should revert to the time in history when Texas was part of a state in Mexico and Santa Anna got all mad and huffy and said that no more immigrants could come from America to Texas.
Yup. That's what I think we should do. After I leave, of course. Or before I got here. This place is so strange that it will make you sick. (Please ignore knowledge that I am already sick and pretend that it was directly caused by these following factors)
It was 85 degrees on Thursday, February 16. Eighty-five. Clearly, that's not normal. But what really troubled me was looking at the newspaper and checking the day's weather prediction: High: 80, Low: 35. Umkay. So, everyone schlepps about in shorts and t-shirts until about 7pm, at which point they add their rarely used winter coat and (as witnessed inside a restaurant last night) a fur-covered hunting trapper cap. Did you catch that I said indoors? As though we are in dire, Alaskan blizzard conditions. I digress.
So to further the weirdness, my friend and I went for a walk to enjoy the pretty 80's on Thursday afternoon. As we were walking along, tanning the skin, wind in our hair, the sky suddenly darkened and smoke filled our lungs! Fire! Fire on the prairie! We looked right, we looked left. Clearly a field nearby was ablaze, probably moments from engulfing our homes in flaming fury. We coughed and wheezed and pondered what was going on as we made our way back home. We heard fire truck sirens, saw a fire truck and an ambulance circle the block not once, but twice! Still clouds of smoke filled the air. We saw no fire.
Three hours later, there was still no fire. Do you know why? Because the fire was in Oklahoma. The freaky-weird weather blasted our 80's out of here with a cold front the size of Montana that plummeted us into the 20's with a change of sleet. With the front apparently came Oklahoma's smoke. And THAT is why I am sick. Harumph.

While Tutoring Today...

I was sitting in the hall working with my student when one of my kids from last year walked by on her way home. (Bubbles, if any of you might recall her various problems in the nether regions)
"Bye, Mrs. Pigs!" she called happily as she swung her backpack from side to side.
"Bye, Bubbles! Have a good afternoon!" I waved at her and smiled.
"I love you!" she smiled affectionately. "Nah, just kidding."

Bah?! What's up with that?

One Track Mind

You know, it's funny....when you're sick your entire world and all of your priorities take a drastic shift. Two days ago I had all kinds of things to be worried about: the state writing test on Tuesday, my two kids that have no chance to pass it, Gus' breath, etc.

Yesterday? Only one priority: expelling mucus from my system. That was it. That was all I wanted. Some thoughts that have filled my mind in the last 24 hours:

1. Why is it that the entire right side of my head is dangerously clogged all day, yet when I sit down to watch TV, it magically shifts to the left side?
2. The directions say to put the Vicks VapoRub on chest and neck, but if I insert an application into my nostrils, might it work more efficiently?
3. If I insert the Kleenex into my nostrils, might it coax the snot out?
4. How can I capture the steam from the vaporizer instead of letting it drift to the ceiling and be lost?
5. If I attempt to cough this up, will I just gag, or might I actually vomit?

Number four actually resulted in the planning, development and contruction of a structure that I like to call Pigs' Steam Tent. Remember when you were little and you used to build forts? Yeah, well, I summoned those skills of yore and my structural engineer of a husband and crafted me up a fort. It involved a fitted sheet attached to the top of the couch and a chair. I slept in it and it worked so well that I woke up with a pleasantly moist shirt! Now that's good steam. Breathed all night.

Siiiiiiiiiiiick....

Would have rather dealt with the Valentine's Party. So sick. Can't write. Back to warm couch. Waaaaaaaaaah!

I'm almost 30 because...

1. When the school-wide digital clocks abruptly changed from 10:54 to 6:15, I failed to see the hilarity of the situation. I simply could not for the life of me realize why we could not just look at the "old-fashioned" clock with the hands to ascertain the time of day. Failing to see the humor in hilarious comments such as, "It's really dinnertime!" or "I should be watching Spongebob now!", I covered up the digital clock, thereby forcing my students to [gasp!] learn to tell time using hands once and for all.

2. I called the cops on some teenagers speeding through the neighborhood today. Seriously. And I did it the Crazy Old Lady way: In my sweatsuit and sock feet, I padded brusquely out to my garage, started my car, and tailed the perps down the street. I stopped my car blatantly in the middle of the road and let them see me copying their license number onto my trusty notepad, then I went home and called in a non-emergency citizen's report.

3. I am extraordinarily irritated because not one, but BOTH of my room parents just now - 5 minutes ago - bailed on me for the Valentine's Day soiree tomorrow. When I taught inner city kids, I would have never even considered having a parent to help me. I would've brought in some cookies myself, we would have made valentines in class, and we might have decorated a bag to hold said valentines. All by myself.
In Yuppieville, USA the Valentine's Day party is a fiesta! A fiesta which currently involves (as best I can tell, as I have not been even a remote part of this planning process) Valentine's mailboxes, a series of games (Spin the Bottle?!), and an ice cream sundae bar. Yes, sir. An ice cream sundae bar. And guess who allegedly gets to run this now??? ME! I am livid. This party is going to run like a military operation. You. Do. Not. Ditch. The. Teacher. On. Party. Day. When. You. Plan. A. Huge. Stinkin'. Party!!! [ungrit teeth] BAH!

It Does Matter and it is a Big Deal!

A conversation with Girlfiend has prompted me to write a quick guide for anyone attempting to name a human being. Naming a person is entirely different from naming a pet or a plant or a car. I find it perfectly acceptable that my dog's name is Augustus Mortimer. It's fitting for a regal beagle like himself. But children? Children will be judged their whole lives upon the name that you give them. And if you go and do something weird to it, like spell it all funky or adding an extra letter to give it flair, you've gone and messed up your kid in school. I can promise you that their teacher will look at it on their roster and laugh. Then they will assume that you, as the parent, are either uneducated or weird. It just makes you seem less intelligent to mess up your child's name.
I once taught an Ashle. It's not rocket science to slap a "y" on the end of that same to prevent it from being ASH-EL. The name Emily should not be spelled Emalie. That's just dumb. Biron? Zackari? Also dumb. I know that's just my opinion, but I happen to think it's a good one.
I would also like to make people aware of some names with stigma. Now, I'm not saying all people with these names are going to have these problems, but I'm just pointing out that I have noticed a suspicious pattern in my particular world over the last eight years.
We will make it simple. These names are just generally a bad idea: Brandon, William/Will/Willy/Billy, Austin, Brittany/Britney, Jacob, Zachary, Rebecca/Rebekah, or Heavy D. Of these names, I have found that Brandons, Wills, Zacharys and Heavy D's tend to be the worst. Girls names don't seem to follow quite the pattern that boy's names have in my experience, except for Brittany. I've never taught a nice one. And if you're wondering? I've only taught one Heavy D, but he was bad enough to add him to the list. When I met Heavy D for the first time the conversation went like this:
Me: Hi! Welcome to 4th grade, De'Andre!
Mom: He go by Heavy D.
Me: OooooOOOOOoooooh!
Mom: Go on, D. [nudge]
Then he began wreaking havoc on my classroom. So you can see that these opinions are based on vast research and depth of reasoning. I just wanted to put that out there. Did I miss any names?

Satisfaction

Did you ever have a principal hate one of your students? A student with whom you have worked incredibly hard to make a difference in his school life? Say, a student with severe behavioral problems who has been notorious grades K-3, yet when he gets to you, he finally has a good year? Has that principal ever said to you in front of a colleague one afternoon that you should have been writing him up all year for insubordination whenever he wouldn't write in class? Even though you told her that you would never do that because it would make him hate writing forever? And that you preferred to work with him and talk with him and try to make him a better person?
Right after a meeting like that, have you ever gotten a surprise from that same parent in your email? A surprise that she wrote a letter glorifying all that is good and wonderful about you? Did she mention that she sent it directly over your principal's head to the superindendent of the district? Have you ever had a satisfying experience like that?
'Cause I did today. And I gotta tell you that it feels REALLY good. [evil cackle]

Reason #37 to Start Shaving My Legs in Winter

You might accidentally stand for a while on a fire ant bed while on recess duty on the playground. 30-40 of said ants might infiltrate your shoe. The ants could then separate, some heading south into your shoe to burrow in the fleshy part of your foot, and some heading north up the trouser sock into more heavily wooded terrain to explore the jungles of your Winter Leg. Your predicament might just be spotted by a Concerned Parent™ and they just may begin swatting at your leg and hefting your pants leg up in an attempt to save you from a legion of ant bites. While very thoughtful, this act of kindness risks a visual of the aforementioned unshaven leg before the Concerned Parent™, fellow on-duty colleague, and various children. Clearly, this would be unacceptable. Therefore, it will become necessary to vehemently deny that ants are chewing their way up your leg and quickly make your way to the restroom where you might have to whip off your pants and squish the rest of the invaders by hand. You could then scratch and burn for the rest of the day and you might even find yourself with a wayward wandering adventuresome ant 30 minutes later in the Far North Deciduous Thigh Forest. Hypothetically.

Mad Skillz

You know, sometimes one might get a little frustrated, or might we say, jealous of people with those desk-sitting jobs. I don't really think that I want one of those jobs, but sometimes just for a day, I think I could make do.
It's an interesting juxtaposition when I am hearing this:

"Mrs.! Mrs.! Tony didn't use a Kleenex again! It's bad!"
"Hey, Mrs? I told you how my dog had puppies, remember? Well, did I tell you about when my two dogs were stuck together?"
"I found a simile! I found one! Look! Read it!" [book thrust in face]
"I need a pencil."
"Where do I turn this in?"
"When they got stuck together, they couldn't get apart! It was like a fight!"
"Or maybe it's a metaphor, but look! It says as."
"You can't say that in school! I'm telling!"

Yet I open my email and see this from my sister:


"I just wanted you to witness my mad skillz at solitaire." she writes from her desk.

Just For Kicks...

While I'm at school today formulating today's post, list for me some things that you think children under 3 should and should not be expected to do in someone else's home. I am trying to decide if my husband and I are just overly-anal retentive people with expectations that are too high. So if you would....just a thing or two that you would or would not expect from a child under the age of 3 (accompanied and supervised by both of its parents) visiting your home, say, during a Super Bowl Party. Hypothetically. Thanks.
Follow up around four o'clock.

Snicker

Rocky came up to me today during class. For the last couple of days, he's been having inexplicable stomachaches. Today he figured it all out.
Me: What's the matter, Rocky?
Rocky: I just wanted to tell you why I been havin' them stomachaches.
Me: Oh, really? Why?
Rocky: I been havin' the worms again. I got the runs too.
Me: [lips twitching]
Rocky: Can I go to the bathroom?