A Promise is a Promise

When I was in first grade, my mom went back to work. She was a teacher, and got a teaching job at the same school I went to, so that was nice. But in the mid-60s, it sure created a scandal. All of the moms on our street knew that we'd turn out to be hoodlums. We didn't.

I liked having my mom at the same school as me. But, as far as I can remember, there was only one time I missed not having a stay at home mom. Those times were field trip days. I really missed the fact that my mom could never be a field trip chaperone.

Now I have kids of my own and am also a teacher. Up until three years ago, I worked half-time, so I was able to volunteer in the kids' classrooms on a weekly basis (although I never enjoyed it). Then three years ago, my husband decided to go into teaching, and I knew I'd have to return to full-time teaching.

I made one promise to myself. As long as the kids wanted me along on field trips, and as long as my name was chosen to be a chaperone, I'd chaperone every field trip I could. And I have done that.

Yesterday Stella's class went on a field trip to see a play, and I was a chaperone. Stella was so happy. It made me happy. I'm keeping my chaperone-promise!

A "Duh" Moment

My nine-year-old read my last post, and informed me that even if Daddy read it, he'd figure out what we got him. Yes, I guess he would. I didn't think of that.

Merry Christmas Anyway

The other day I figured out what the girls and I should get for my husband. I knew he'd like it, because Emily has one and he likes to play with it. I'd say what it was, but in case he read my blog, I don't want him to find out.

But this is still a good story, even without knowing exactly what the item is...Yesterday, the girls and I drove over to this mega-electronics store to buy it. Since we had gotten Emily one last summer for her birthday, I knew where they'd be. We went straight to the back section of the store to get it.

Now, I hate these kinds of stores. I hate them as much as I hate the huge hardware stores...Lots of people, and you have to grab the help. Plus, these items are locked away behind actual bars. But I grab this young guy who barely spoke any English, and we finally made our decision. We got the newer model that is more expensive, but really it was only about $50 more than Emily's, and I knew it was something that my husband would really like.

We told the young guy which model we wanted, and he opened the bars with his key and got one. Now he heads over to a computer. We follow. "What's your phone number?" He asks.

I tell him. He gets it all wrong. I spend some time again retelling him my phone number until he gets it right. Then he turns and leaves without saying anything. Are we supposed to follow him, I wonder? He has our gift. So I follow. He goes to another computer, does stuff, and then comes back to the first computer. We follow. He has our gift.

Then he turns and goes back to the other computer. We still follow like sheep. He talks to another couple, and now I'm unsure who he is helping. He's not saying anything to me. "I hate this place," I say aloud, to no one in particular. The guy who seemed to be helping us goes back to the first computer, or the second, now I'm confused. But I am tired of following him, so the girls and I just stay put. I figure he's working on commission, and will find us.

Finally, he comes to us with our future purchase in hand. Now, having been through this with Emily, I knew that the store won't let us take it up to the register. Oh, no...we might pocket the item. They give it to another employee, who escorts us up to the front. He tells us to get in line, and he will give the item along with the computer printout with our name, to the people behind the counter. All I have to do is tell them my name and the item when I get to a cashier, and they'll get it for me.

I had also picked up an electric pencil sharpener, since my students broke my other one. I had the sharpener in hand, as the store doesn't care if I steal that. When I finally got to the register, the gal takes my sharpener and rings it up. "I also have another purchase..." I told her. I told her what it was and gave her my name. she goes to find it.

I wait. And wait. And wait. It seemed like forever, and I'm getting quite angry. If the store is so afraid that items like these will be stolen, so they have to put extra security steps in place, then at least they need to make sure it's a no-fail system. The cashier finally comes up to me to tell me she can't find it.

"This is ridiculous," I said. "Just because this store is so afraid that I will steal this particular item, it is now lost. Well, you know what? I'm going to go home and find an online website that I can order from. I'll find one, and won't have to pay shipping or tax. I'm also never coming back to this store. Merry Christmas." I turned and left, and also ranted to another employee who was stationed at the door.

We came home and I went to a website where we have recently made some tech-type of purchases. I saw what we wanted, for about $9 dollars more. But not tax. I did have to pay shipping, but I didn't want to go to an online store that I hadn't been to before. All in all, I probably spent about the same amount of money. But I feel good that I didn't give that one store my business.

Merry Christmas Anyway!

Old?

You know, these kids just don't ever let me down! Just when I'm thinking that nothing of interest is happening in my classroom to write about-BOOM! A student comes through for me...Here's what happened...

Today I had my kids get with a partner for a math activity. It was the follow-up extension of the activity I had done recently for my observation. This time, I let the kids choose a partner. The kids got with partners, and got started on the activity. I made the rounds, checking on the teams to make sure they were working, they knew what they were doing, and helping when necessary.

Several partner teams were not sitting next to each other but across a desk or two from each other. It makes it hard to work together that way, so I would tell them to be "elbow partners," which means I want them sitting next to each other. They'd comply. Then I came to a partner team of two boys. They were sitting across from each other. I asked them to move so that they were sitting next to each other, and I moved on.

A bit later I was back at their table, and the two boys were still sitting across from each other. I told them, more sternly this time, that I wanted and EXPECTED them to be sitting next to their partners, and I wanted them to move NOW. Then I left.

Fortunately, kids at this age still like to tattle on each other, and a girl who was sitting at their table came up to me. She told me that one of the boys said something mean about me. "What did he say?" I asked.

"He said, 'Shut up, Old Lady,'" she said.

So, I called him out into the hallway. "Did you say 'Shut up Old Lady'" after I left your table today?" I asked. He admitted he did say that. Well, I then laid on what I like to call "Mommy Guilt" pretty thick at that point. I don't hold back. I told him that I am nothing but nice to every kid in my class. I told him that I would never, ever say anything to a kid that would hurt their feelings. I told him he had hurt my feelings deeply. He was looking close to tears at that point.

I then wrote him a white slip for talking rudely/inappropriately to an adult. I sent him to the office.

Now, kids are going crazy lately, and many 6th grade boys have been getting into major trouble. This to me was not major. I wasn't happy with what he did. I expected him to get reprimanded, made to write an apology letter, and receive a phone call home. But at recess time I ran into a teacher at our school who was temporarily taking the place of our Education Assisstant while she was out for two days. He's pretty young, about 28 years old.

He slapped the white slip I had written against his hand, and said it was just an awful thing that that boy had said to me. He said he wanted to suspend him from school for two days, but our principal felt he should talk to me first. So, he asked, what did I want? One day, or two days?

A suspension? For something he said without thinking it through? Granted, it wasn't nice, but I think he said it more for showing off to his partner than anything. I think of suspensions as being something for a kid who picks fights and or swears at an adult or brings weapons to school...So I said I thought one day was fine. Then I went to check in a mirror for grey hair. Yup. It's time to go see my hair dresser...

But, in a bit I got a nice apology letter, and I do feel it was heartfelt. After school I saw him and told him to have a nice weekend and I'd see him Monday.

Now, of course my husband is having a great time calling me his "Old Lady..."

Any Unasked For Advice Is Critisism

One of my teammates is going to be a grandmother any day. She's very excited. It seems odd, since she is only about 3 years older than me, and I have a twelve year old daughter and a nine year old daughter at home.

She also has two daughters, but they are 23 and 17. Her 23-year-old daughter is due to give birth to a boy any day now. Her daughter had to stop working as hostess at a strip club, and now is just home waiting for the arrival of the baby. The father, a 38-year old man, has not even been to one birthing class. My teaching partner has attended them all with her daughter. Her daughter is not married to the father of her baby; they do live together. He may be at the birth if it fits into his schedule.

But, as I said, my teacher friend is excited to be a grandma. So, last Friday I realized that I needed to make her a "Grandma" scrapbook album. I went to the scrapbook store, bought a baby blue 8x8 album, lots of blue paper, and some cute baby boy-colored patterned paper. It was going to be a nice, but simple and quick, album.

That night I put it all together, and was quite pleased with the results. I titled it, "Just Grandma and Me." I put blue and yellow buttons on the album cover. Each page was done for one month of the baby's life, with the place for the picture on one side, and space for journaling on the other. I gave her a journaling pen and a box of adhesive to put the picture in with. She loved it.

Yesterday, I asked her if she still had it at school, because I wanted to show it to my principal. She said no, that she had taken it home already. I said ok, no, don't bring it back, it's fine. Then she said something that has hurt my feelings: "You know what would have been nice? A page for the birth picture..."

Yes, it would have been nice. But, hey. I put money into this, time, and thought. And it turned out very cute. And now you are telling me what would have made it better?

Well, next time your daughter has an illegitimate child, I shall remember to do a special page for the birth.

Still Nervous After All These Years

The other day I had my observation. Even after all of these years, I still get so nervous over these things...Even though I have the best principal ever whom I adore.

Anyway, my principal wanted to see a math lesson where the students used manipulatives in some form to learn/practice a math concept. It just so happens that one of my 6th grade team members is involved in this math study group, and she had just recently shared a lesson she wrote up for looking at patterns using colored cubes, and coming up with an algebraic equation to explain the pattern. It was a perfect lesson, and I didn't even have to stress over thinking it up! I just had to do it, and it seemed a no-fail lesson. I wrote it up, and submitted it to my principal.

I thought I was being so smart. This lesson involved the students, whom I had put into working pairs, creating a "cube train" of yellow and black repeating cubes (yellow, black, yellow, black, yellow, black, etc.). I planned on having a cube train of my own showing on the screen using my document camera as the kids began the lesson, so that I could easily show them what they were to do.

My principal showed up, and my lesson began. "Using the cubes, make a cube train like mine," I instructed. They began to quickly build their own cube trains. So far, so good, as expected. Then I asked them to talk in their teams, sharing anything they noticed about their cube trains. Partners shared everything from noticing that it was a repeating pattern to it looked "like a bumble bee..." I accepted all observations, like a good teacher.

Soon, I needed to get to the meat of the lesson, which involved the students looking at particular cubes. For instance, in this yellow-black-yellow-black combo, the FIRST black cube is the SECOND cube overall. The SECOND BLACK CUBE is the FOURTH cube overall, etc. They were to eventually fill out a table, look for the predictable pattern, and come up with a rule that could correctly predict which number of cube overall the nth black cube would be (n times 2).

This is where I realized I was in trouble. As I began to have them look at the first black cube in the cube train, I glance up at the image on the screen. And guess what? It was the REVERSE image of what I was looking at in front of me! Then I remembered that that is what would happen, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to correct this. I finally said to my class, and to my principal, "I cannot figure out how to do this backwards, so you'll just have to look up here for a minute..." And I held up my cube train, pointing out the things I wanted the students to pay atention to. The rest of the lesson went well, except for being called over the intercom to send in my attendance (math for me is first thing in the morning, and I'm always late with attendance), and the discovery that my electric pencil sharpener was broken (advertised as a "heavy duty" sharpener, it couldn't last four months of use by sixth graders).

Later, I was in the office to pay for my school vest order. As I was leaving, checkbook in hand, my beloved principal walked in. "You don't have to pay me for a good eval..." she said. I followed her into her office.

"I'm just hoping that after this morning, you are either thinking, 'Julie is spatially challenged,' or "Wow! Julie sure can problem solve and think on her feet!' I said.

Probably, she was thinking both.

The Nose Knows

I have a very sensitive nose. Odors easily affect me. Once, my husband, in order to save money, bought a cheaper brand of laundry detergent and dryer sheets from Costco. I put up with it as long as possible, until I could stand it no more. I bought my favorite Tide detergent and Bounce fabric sheets at the grocery store. Boy, was I happy when I took that first load of laundry out of the dryer, all fresh and warm, and smelling so good...!

Anyway, last year was my first year teaching at the school where I currently teach. The building is very old. My wing is a separate building that houses the 5th and 6th graders. It was built in the 70s, so is newer than the rest of the school. When I walked in to the building that first time, my nose prickled. What was that smell? I thought perhaps it was just that the building had been closed up all summer, and would soon go away once school started. Foolish, foolish me...

Once the school year started, the smell became worse. Added to the funky smell was the smell of 33 preteens in one room who are sweaty and stinky. Add to the smell the odor that remains after 33 students eat their lunch in the classroom (that's right; the building is too old to have a separate place for the students to eat. They eat in the room.). I was dying slowly.

But, I found the perfect solution. I bought this air freshener, probably by Glade, that you plug in the wall. It warms the oil, and the fragrance wafts around the room, covering the smelly odors with a pleasing scent. I chose "Vanilla Cream" for my scent. I took it to my room, plugged it in, and soon this wonderful smell filled the air. It didn't smell like vanilla to me, but it was a very nice smell. My kids loved it. The smell filled the room, and even wafted into the hallway, helping the building to smell much better.

At the end of the school year last year I packed my air freshener away. This year it was one of the first things I unpacked and set up. I bought refills of my favorite scent on sale. The year started, and everyone who walked into my room loved my scent. "Your room smells so good!" they'd exclaim. Only one student didn't really care for it, but since he said he wasn't allergic to it, I told him he was out-voted. At conference time, a common comment from parents was how good my room smelled. It still stunk in the hallway, and in other rooms. But mine was an olfactory experience!

Fast forward to yesterday. I learn that we had a surprise inspection of the school, and I cannot have plug in air fresheners. This has devastated me. When the kids came into the room in the morning, I broke the news to them. "I got bad news this morning," I said, with a very sad face.

"Did your cat die?" they asked. They made other guesses as to what the bad news might be. Finally, I told them that I had to get rid of my plug in air freshener. Anti climatic? Perhaps. But devastating for me just the same.

My Feng Shui for the Classroom book suggests using orange peels in an open-air container. So I tell the kids that I'm going to try it, and ask them to give me any peeling from oranges and tangerines. Later at lunch one student comes up with some tangerine peelings for me. Can you guess who? Miss Carol, who really dislikes me. She told me it was a Christmas present. I thanked her. I hope the peelings work. I shall miss my vanilla cream...

A Seinfeld Moment

Did you ever notice that life is like a Seinfeld episode? This is the second time an episode has come up by me at this blog. Today I went to Target. I went into the restroom, and into a stall. A woman had come into the restroom right after me, and went into the stall next to me.

"Excuse me," she said. "Do you have any toilet paper? They are out in this stall."

"Sure," I replied, and handed her the roll of toilet paper that was sitting on top of the toilet paper dispensers, because they, too, were empty. "Just return it!"

She thanked me, and soon it appeared under the stall divider. As I took it back, I said, "This is just like that one Seinfeld episode!"

Without skipping a beat, she said, "Can't you spare a square?"

I said, "I can give you one-ply of my two-ply..."

It was a Seinfeld Moment.

You Win Some, You Lose Some

So last week I had a student tell me she really disliked me. This week I get candy and a hug from another student. Life goes on. I just try to do my best.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T (That's All I Want...)

It ain't always pretty. Last Thursday, as the kids were leaving at the end of the day, Carol, who was the last out the door, turns to me and says, "I just want you to know that I really dislike you."

What?

"What?" I asked.

"I really dislike you. I just wanted to let you know," she stated again.

"And how am I supposed to respond to this?" I ask her.

"I don't know. I just had to tell you," she replied, and left.

Well, I was absolutely stunned. The fact that a student doesn't like me is not what is surprising. In my 20 years of teaching, I'm sure there has been one or two that didn't (and usually the feeling is mutual...). What really surprised me was that she told me. I went to my principal to tell her what had transpired.

My principal is a former counselor, so tried to figure out the intention behind that statement. I knew it was that she was a rude, disrespectful, horrible girl. "Do you want me to talk to her," my principal asked.

"I guess so. As long as the focus is on why she said that to me, not why she doesn't like me," I replied. But after I left school, and continued to think about it, because it did bother me, I knew that I had to follow through on this.

The next day was a half-day due to conferences, and was further complicated by the fact that the 6th grade team of teachers had a meeting at the school all morning. So I had a sub that day, and wasn't slated to be back in the class at all that day to see the kids. But, knowing that I had to deal with Carol that day, I skipped the bonding lunch out to make sure I was back in class in time to excuse the kids to lunch recess. I excused the kids table by table, then when I got to Carol's table, I excused the kids by name. Soon only Carol and I were in the room.

"Take out a piece of paper and a pencil," I told her. She did. "Now, please write down what you think the job of a teacher is, and what you think the job of a student is." I continued to organized things while she did this.

"I'm done," she said.

"Good. Now, what did you write for the teacher?" I asked. She read it to me, and it said something about a teacher's job being to educate the students. "OK. Now, what did you write for the student's job?" She read that, and again it was something about the student's job being to learn.

"I notice that nowhere did you state that either teacher or the student had to like each other. In fact, it doesn't really matter in least if a student likes the teacher, or if the teacher likes the student. It makes it easier, but it isn't necessary. It doesn't really matter to me whether a student likes me or not. Most do, but I know that not all of them will."

"What bothers me is that you found it necessary to tell me. That is probably one of the most disrespectful things I've ever seen a student do. It is for this reason that I am writing you a white slip. You have every right not to like me. I do not like every student I teach. But, I know better than to say it to the student. You, however, haven't learned that lesson. I think you have a problem with respect. I have seen you be disrespectful to other students in the room. I first thought I should have you in a friendship group with our counselor, but I don't think that is the problem. I'm going to talk to our counselor about forming a Respect group, and that is what you need to go to."

I wrote out the white slip, and gave her the copy for her parents (if she has both, I don't know) to sign and return. That little...

Before school started, I had this dream that I was so angry at a student, I bit him on the nose. Well, I really wanted to bite Carol on her little pug nose.

Forget This One...Please!

This past Saturday night we had dinner at my mother-in-law's house. Also in attendance was my cousin-in-law, whose husband is currently in Iraq, my niece (of questionable morals) and her boyfriend, and my brother-in-law. My brother-in-law has been separated for about two years, and the divorce was just finalized recently. He brought Sharon.

Sharon is 48. How do I know? Because she told me. In fact, she turned every conversation around to herself. And she talked incessantly. Here are the highlights of meeting Sharon:

*She talked continually about herself. At first I thought it was just nervousness. Then I realized it was her personality.

*She actually brought a photo album of herself with her two young boys, and made us all look at it. I'm amazed that she goes on these trips, since she only works as a substitute teacher. Perhaps they are paying subs much better now...

*She got excited to see that we had brought the game "Apples to Apples." However, she didn't like the way we played it.

For those of you who haven't played this fun game, everyone gets dealt 5 cards, each with a noun on it. The judge, who rotates, turns over a green card with an adjective on it. Each person selects a noun card that best fits the adjective, and gives it to the judge. The judge looks at all of the nouns, and chooses the noun card that he or she feels best fits the adjective. The winner keeps the green adjective card. The first player to collect 4 adjective cards wins.

We read in the rules that a player can try to convince the judge to pick a specific noun card. So half of the fun is telling the judge why your card is the best. When the girls and I did this, Sharon told us immediately that we couldn't do that.

"Yes we can," I replied. "We read it in the directions." I then read her the rule that stated this fact.

"You can try to convince the judge to choose a certain card," she said. "But you can't let the judge know which card is yours. Then the judge will play favoritism."

"But why would I try to convince the judge to pick someone else's card?" I asked, exasperated.

She continued to roll her eyes and use other not-so-subtle body language to let me know she was not pleased with how we were playing this game.

Later, the kids pointed out that we usually have more fun playing that game...

I did not enjoy myself much at all, either.

I Decide to Title My Book...

Perhaps I shall call my book, "Exmention Extantion and Other Tales From the Classroom." Whenever I think about "exmention extantion" I crack myself up. My beloved principal says I should be holding a cigarette in one hand, perhaps in one of those long cigarette holders.

It would look like this:

"...I decide to title zis book (inhales deeply on the cigarette holder, holds her breath for a brief moment, and then lets the smoke seductively escape from her ruby red lips, as smoke from the cigarette in her hand swirls around above her head) "Exmention Extantion and Ozer Tales From ze Classroom."

Dahling...

You Must Live in the South

Today coming home I was following a truck. It had a frame around its license plate that read, "Do The Nasty Doggie Style."

Later, closer to home, same trip, I was following another truck. It had a bumper sticker that read, "My other toy has hooters."

I've seen trucks with a female angel silhouette on one side of the window, and a female devil silhouette on the other side.

I've seen trucks that have the pair of balls dangling from the truck hitch.

But the worst are the trucks with Republican decals on the back.

I will not let my girls date guys who drive trucks.

Thou Shalt Perservere...

Ok, so yesterday's post made me remember this particular event with the same teacher where I was right and he was wrong (did I say I love it when I'm right?)...

We were both at a morning meeting with my beloved principal and other teachers, discussing school-wide discipline. We were brainstorming ideas to encourage good behavior (always a good thing...). As we brainstormed, we began to talk about focusing on monthly traits and recognizing kids that exemplified the traits at monthly assemblies. We then began to brainstorm what traits we thought would be the best ones to focus on. One of the fourth grade teachers was recording the traits as we listed them.

Our school already has the "3 Rs." Those are Respect, Responsibility, and Reliability. But we were expanding on that list. Someone eventually suggested "perseverance." As the recorder was writing it down, she paused, and said to the person next to her, "This doesn't look right. I think I've got too many 'rs' in the word..." I glanced over and saw that she had spelled it: perserverance. I reached over and lightly crossed out the second 'r' in the word, and whispered, "I don't think there's an 'r' there..."

Another teacher, the religious 5th grade teacher, told me confidently, "She's right."

"She is?" I asked. "Then I've been spelling it wrong...Are you sure?"

"Yes," he replied.

After the meeting, we walked out together. He told me, "Never doubt how to spell the word 'perseverance' with someone who reads his Bible every night!"

When I got to my room, I went to my favorite website, dictionary.com. I entered the word "perseverance" the way I knew it was spelled, and sure enough, I was right. So I copied the link, and sent it in an email to him. I said in the email, "I guess you had better read your Bible a little more carefully..."

He had the decency to laugh about it.

"...One Nation, Indivisible..."

This morning I got to school and stopped in the room of a 5th grade teacher to bring him some Halloween treats. He's a single father of a grown daughter, so no longer has the joy of raiding his kid's Halloween stash. I didn't raid my kids' stash, but I make them give away a certain amount of candy to The Great Pumpkin. This is our Halloween tradition. He takes candy and leaves each girl a present (I think they still believe in him. But, they are wiser and now only get rid of the yucky candy). I had a small bag of flavored tootsie rolls for him, which I knew he liked.

Anyway, we were visiting about candy and Halloween, and I was sharing my "Exmention Extantion" story-which is classic! Then he proudly tells me that he will be leading the school in the Pledge of Allegiance this morning.

Now, my wonderful principal, whom I love, leads the school in the pledge every morning. She goes to a different room each morning to do a "live broadcast" over the intercom. So I was surprised by his comment. I thought perhaps she was going to be out, and so he volunteered to take her place. But that was not the case.

"She doesn't say it right," he smugly told me. "She pauses after saying 'one nation.' There is no comma there. It is one sentence: One nation under God. So I was telling her this, and she told me to lead it." This is a very religious guy, by the way...

"Hmmm..." I said. "I don't even say 'Under God.' Our forefathers didn't feel the need to put it there. It was added to the pledge in the 50s, I believe." Well, he was positive that I was not correct. "From what I understand," I continued, "it was added during the Cold War."

He still did not believe me, and had to Google/Ask.com it for himself. Sure enough, I was right (god, I love it when I'm right!). Still, he was leading pledge.

Later I saw my beloved principal. "Be careful," I warned, "or he'll be leading the school in morning prayer as well!"

Then I joked about the Seinfeld episode where Elaine finds out that Putty is religious. "...You stole my Jesus fish..."

I Can't Understand You...You're Speaking English!

This quarter at school in science my sixth graders have been studying about mixtures and solutions. At one point, they learned about what a mixture was, and how some mixtures are solutions. They also learned that some solutions can be separated by evaporation. I then assigned an at-home science investigation where I asked the kids to use different substances and see if they dissolved in water to form a solution, and if so, what happened when they tried to evaporate the solution. They could try sugar, rubbing alcohol, vegetable oil, flour, baking soda, or common substances of their choice. Then they were to create a poster showing their investigation and results. I called this their "Science Home-Extension Project."

These were due last Monday. The kids had to share their posters, much to their dismay. So I'm going down the list of the kids who remembered to turn in their project on time, and I get to one of my students, a little Ukranian girl. She is still in the English Language Learner program at our school, as I don't think she's been in America for more than two years.

She shyly gets up to share. She spoke very softly so it was hard to hear, but she proudly tells us that she titled her poster "Exmention Extantion." She then went on without skipping a beat to explain everything she did...We all sat there and thought, "What?" But no one questioned her on choice of title, which was probably good. Maybe the kids really couldn't hear her well.

This afternoon after school I was grading the projects. I had forgotten her poster. Then I came to it. Exmention Extantion? What could she mean? I still have no idea, except that the poor girl was hearing the words "solution," "evaporation," "investigation," and "extension." I think she was just unsure what all of those "-tion" words meant, and was doing the best she could to figure it out!

I just have to laugh, hearing her in my mind speaking in that thick accent, "I decide to call my poster 'Exmention Extantion!'" She was quite proud!

And by the way, her solids didn't dissolve...They "dezolt."

I Didn't Know I Needed to Be Specific

Last night Stella went to her first concert. She scored a ticket and went to see Hannah Montana. Now, I would not have taken her, as it was on a school night. So, I never even considered it. But, her best friend's mom was splurging for tickets for her friend's 10th birthday, and Stella was chosen to go along.

I told Stella that it was fine with me if she went, although that would mean a late night, and she'd be tired the next day. "I don't want to hear you complain in the morning," I said.

"I won't, I promise," she replied.

She got home at 11:00 pm, which also meant that I was up two hours beyond my normal bedtime, as well as Emily. But Stella had a great time. I had given her $50.00 for dinner and a souvenir, expecting change back. But she spent every dime. A T-shirt alone cost $30.00. She also bought some sort of glowing pen for $10.00, and a Jonas Brothers poster for Emily ($10.00). She was even interviewed by a tv station, but she didn't know which one, and we never saw it.

This morning I got her up at the usual time. When I went back upstairs, there she was in the hallway, crying her eyes out. "I'm so tired..." she wailed.

"Stella, this was your choice. I told you that I did not want to hear or see you cry about being tired the next day," I yelled at her.

"You said I couldn't complain," she sniffed. "You didn't say anything about not crying..."

I should have been more specific.

What? I Wasn't Paying Attention...

Earlier this week I gave a unit 2 math test to my sixth graders. On the whole, they did pretty poorly. The test was on adding, subtracting, and mulitplying with decimals, long division, and writing very large and very small numbers in both standard and number-and-word notation. Anyway, I had a very few 4s, a handful of 3s, and the rest were 2s and 1s-scores under 70% (most were WAY under...).

Today I passed back the tests, telling the kids that if they got a 1 or a 2 for a score, they needed to take home the test for their parents' signature. I didn't want to hit the parent with these lousy scores at conference time in a couple of weeks and catch them unawares. After passing out the tests, I proceeded to go over every problem with the kids.

Later, a student came up to me and asked if she could take the test over again to improve her score. "But, I just spent all morning going over the test," I replied. "Now you know each problem."

"No, I don't," she said. "I wasn't paying attention..."

Do You Want Fries With That?

Last night was our annual "Teachers Night" at the local Mcdonalds. The teachers work there, and for the 2 1/2 hour period, a certain percentage of sales goes back to the school. The teachers volunteer, and the kids come and bring their families. They are excited to see you, as if they haven't seen you before, as if you are rock stars.

I was stationed at the ice cream machine. That meant that I made milkshakes, ice cream cones, ice cream sundaes, and McFlurries. I made my first chocolate milkshake for an elderly gentleman and presented it to him with a flourish. "Here is the first milkshake I ever made," I told him. Later, after he had finished his meal, he came up to me to tell me that that had been the best milkshake he had ever had.

McDonalds has this whole thing down to a science. To make a milkshake, you insert the appropriate size of cup, and push the "chocolate," "strawberry," "vanilla," or "Artic Organge" button. The shake automatically comes out and fills the cup. When it's full, it stops. It's like putting gas in the car. Only yummier.

I also made extraordinary McFlurries. This is what you'd do: first, you'd fill the McFlurry cup with ice cream (I liked to fill it real full). Then you put a special lid on it. Then you'd do two twists of the topping dispenser (M&M or Oreo)-three twists for a large McFlurry. Then you'd get the special spoon that is also a mixer. Put the spoon in the ice cream mixture, attach the spoon to the mixing machine, and mix it all up for about 8 seconds. I made wonderful McFlurries. In fact, later that night I took my girls to a McDonalds to eat, and we all ordered small McFlurries. I was surprised at how puny they were! The people who got my McFlurries were lucky, indeed...

All too soon my time as a McDonalds worker had come to an end, and my family hadn't come in to see me working at a fast food establishment. I called home, and Emily said that Dad hadn't even come home yet! And it was already after 6 pm! I told her I wasn't going to wait around; that I was coming home. She was very sad to not be able to see me working at McDonalds. I came home and took them out to another, less crowded McDonalds. Later Eric came home. For some reason, he thought I was going to be working until 7 pm (now that would be volunteering, wouldn't it!). He too was disappointed he didn't get to see me. Oh, well. There is always next year!

Survivor Episode Three

Religious gal, Leslie, is out. God has called her home, she said.

Courtney may surprise us all, although I think she is hard to look at because she looks anorexic. How can she survive? The survivors always lose weight-she has nothing to lose. It's probably why she went on Survivor, though, so she can drop those last 20 ugly pounds. Don't anorexics always see themselves as fat?

You Decide

And note my label on the post below: inflated ego. Does that refer to me, or my ex-teammate? That's for you to decide!

Far Be It For Me To Be Spiteful...

Ok. Last year I taught with this young gal who thought she knew it all. Last year was her 5th year of teaching, and she did it well. Just ask her. Since she and I were the only two sixth grade teachers, we were a "team."

Her idea of teaming, though, was to make sure we were on the same page in math. We'd meet every Tuesday morning to "plan."

"This week I'll begin unit two," she'd say. That was about the only planning we did.

However, I'd send her ideas as I came up with them (I'm somewhat random that way; I often get great ideas for lessons in the shower...). I'd send her forms I created. Since I hadn't been in the regular classroom for some years, though, I did appreciate her input on things. I believe she truly thought she knew more than me. Plus, she had a science background, and was our science "guru" at our building. This all went to her head.

It wasn't until the spring that I discovered she did LOTS of units/lessons and didn't share them with me. After the third time of seeing an email from her to the rest of the teachers in our wing, requesting the laptop cart since she was beginning a research project (which I never knew about), I called her on it.

I had just sent her an attachment of some form or something I had created that I thought she'd like. She sent a reply thanking me. I replied, stating that it was my pleasure to share, as that was what teaming was all about, and what about that research project you are doing? We just met yesterday and you didn't even mention it. This is the third time this has happened.

Well, that opened a Pandora's Box, let me tell you. She got all upset over the email; it all escalated until there we were in our principal's office discussing the teaming issue. She actually told our principal that some things she just didn't want to share. Some things she used her own time to create, and she had ownership of it, and she only wanted it for her. My jaw dropped over that. Even more so when the principal didn't even bat an eye.

Excuse me? We are a team, aren't we? Yet it is ok not to share ideas? And don't we all use our personal time to create units?

The outcome of that meeting was that we didn't even try to work together the rest of the year. I'm sure she thought I'd fall on my face, but honey, I've taught for 20 years, and that just didn't happen. If I hadn't been able to change teams like I did, I would have left for another school.

Fast forward to this year and the WASL results. For sixth grade, only 50% of our students passed the math portion. That seemed so low to me I was embarrassed. Half of my class didn't pass math? But the other day I counted up the passes in my class. In my class, my passage rate was 60.6%, above the state passage rate of 49.5%. And my lovely teammate's rate? 42%. Her class brought our school's passing rate down. Not mine. I did a fine job. I guess maybe she should have worked a little more closely with me. She might have learned a thing or two.

But far be it for me to say, "I told you so..."

Questions to Ponder

Why do I bother with a blog if no one reads it? And do I really want them to?

Why do people have call waiting? Why can't they just let the person leave a message if they are on the phone already talking to someone? Are they continually judging calls, seeing who is more worthy to talk to at the moment (ie: "Oops, I need to get this other line. Call you back!" or "I'm on the line with so-and-so; I'll have to call you back."). If the person you are already talking to is an important person or call, why answer the other line anyway? I think it is all just to make you feel self-important.

Survivor-episode two thoughts

The religious fanatic is going to drive me nuts. She's the one that wouldn't take part in the Chinese cultural ceremony because the bible says not to bow before other gods. So now she's upset because she needs some alone time with god.

"But he put me here for a reason," she said.

I hate that. Like god doesn't have other pressing issues right now that he took the time to send her on Survivor so that she has a chance to win a million dollars? Well, he's got a lot of time on his hands, then...but I guess he does work in mysterious ways. Maybe somehow it will all tie in to the great number of deaths in the Iraq war, and then it'll all make sense. Or the homeless. I'm sure there's a reason for that as well.

What a selfish statement.

How About Completing the Homework You've Got?

This morning I had to attend a meeting before school with the speech teacher, one of my students (the boy who sucks his thumb), and his mother. His mother is a talker, about nothing in particular, yet everything under the sun. Soon, she got on the subject of homework.

"Johnny needs more homework," she told me smugly. "He says the work this year is too easy for him." She went on to say how much homework she remembered having in 6th grade, and how much homework his sibling in high school has. "Johnny just doesn't have enough homework," she concluded.

"Hmmm..." I said.

Luckily, it was Johnny's birthday, and after the meeting the mom was going to bring in cupcakes. So I went back to my classroom, and looked at my meticulously-kept records of homework from last week. Out of 6 homework assignments, Johnny completed two of them. I gleefully waited for Johnny's mom to come back to the room.

"You know, I'm glad you brought up the topic of homework," I said. "I've just checked my record sheet of last week's homework, and I see that Johnny only turned in two of the six assignment."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yes," I continued. "And on Friday, he brought home a 'Missed Homework Assignments' packet, which he just told me he didn't do."

Well, that knocked the wind out of her sails. I then heard all of the excuses, from a lazy ex-husband who doesn't make sure homework gets done, to a last-year's teacher who had low expectations of the kids, to her not knowing what the homework is. No, she hasn't seen the planner that we use daily to write down the homework. Oh, do you post your homework on your website?

Pay attention, Lady, and stop making excuses for your son. Stop babying him, which may be why he sucks his thumb.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I think I've fallen in love, and I feel a bit guilty. After all the years and the times spent together. But you know, my needs just weren't being met. I don't understand why, after all of this time, but I'm just tired of thinking, "Maybe next time I'll be satisfied."

But it just wasn't happening. And tonight I met someone new. It felt good-I'm excited about this relationship. It has lots of possibilities, and let me say that after years of disappointment, I feel alive once again. I look in the mirror and like what I see-a happy, confident woman.

But now, as in high school, I must break off this current relationship that has been leaving me unfulfilled for years. It's time to move on. I think I've found a new hairdresser. And I believe I will be happy.

Questions, Anyone?

Today I began my math time in the usual fashion: I put up a blank copy of the homework page on my screen, and asked the kids if they had any problems or had any questions. The kids looked at me blankly.

"C'mon," I said. "Yesterday no one asked me any questions, but when I looked at the homework, some people had left problems unanswered. This is the time to ask questions, so I can help you. It's my job...." Etc., etc.

Still they stared at me. Finally, one of my students raised his hand. I called on him, thanking him profusely for "taking charge of his learning" and asking a question.

"What's dandruff?" he asked.

I had to quickly review the homework, which was about reading circle graphs. Indeed, the graphs all showed "results" from a "survey" about whether or not you'd alert someone to the fact that they had a smudge on their face, food stuck in their teeth, or had dandruff.

The question made perfect sense. I explained what dandruff was. I am a teacher.

Survivor

Yay! Last night was the season premier of Survivor! Usually, I root for the teacher, knowing that with what they make, they could really use the million dollars. If there aren't any teachers, I tend to vote for someone in Public Service, especially if they work with troubled youth (I was a Rupert fan...). But this season I may veer from my norm. I think I'll be rooting for the "gay Mormon Flight Attendant." I love it!

'Nuf Said...

I frequently write letters to the local paper when I read something that irks me. Never political. I get letters published in the paper frequently, though. I just had a letter published recently about the Duggars and the fact that they just had their 17th child (and apparently aren't finished breeding yet!). Anyway, usually if I get a letter published, I'm told via email ahead of time. This morning, though, as I was leafing through the "SE County Living," my name jumps off the page. They had published a letter that I had written about a week ago. Here's the letter:

Title: Bear was just protecting her young.

"If the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service kills the bear that attacked the biker at Banner Forest Heritage Park, and that bear was in fact the mother of two bear cubs, then the service has essentially killed three bears ("Port Orchard man attacked by bear is in satisfactory shape," Local News, Sept. 4).

That's so sad; the mother bear was just protecting her young, like any good mother would do. Why do we think we have to control nature this way?"

What angered me about the article mentioned is that another biker interviewed that day had seen a femal bear with her two cubs, and then I read that the adult is going to be killed because it turned on a biker who probably came up so fast and scared her. So they are going to orphan two bear cubs? If it was a mother bear, you'd think that efforts would be made instead to relocate the mother and cubs to a more remote location. I can't stand it when I read about things like this; officials killing the wild animal whose habitat we have invaded.

I'm surprised, though, that the letter was published today. I think I read the original article last weekend, and I believe that the person has since insisted that it wasn't a mother bear but a male bear...He was quoted in another article saying something about the bear at some point being on top of him and he was definitely a male. Hmmmm.

First Day of School Trauma (A Bad Mommy Moment)

The first day of school was last Tuesday, September 4th. My day went so smoothly. The kids in my class seem to be fairly calm and settle down to work. The only real unusual kid is the one who sucks his thumb while he plays with the hair on his head-and remember that I teach 6th grade...

Anyway, this is the first year that Emily and Stella are not going to the same school. Stella is in fourth grade at the elementary school, and Emily is in sixth grade at the middle school. I knew this would be hard on them, as they are great buddies and rely on each other quite alot. I actually figured it would be hardest on Emily, since Stella has always seemed to be my "roll with the punches, happy-go-lucky" girl.

This year, Emily has to leave for the bus before Stella, which means that we had to get Stella a house key, since she'd be the one having to lock up in the morning. During the summer I had bought her a "key strap" to wear around her neck from the Seattle Aquarium, and also got her a key made that had rainbows on it. She loved them, and was excited to be responsible for a key.

Only thing, I never thought about having to try the key out to make sure it worked, or to practice in advance to make sure that Stella could, in fact, lock the door on her own.

Tuesday morning was busy with all four of us having our first day of school. But we all got up and got ready, and I took pictures of each girl on the front porch-a posed "first day" picture since I can no longer take one of them as they actually leave the house and get on the bus. I made sure both girls had backpacks and lunch ready to go and had their keys. Then I kissed them and wished them well, and I headed off to my school.

When I got to my school, I put my purse in my metal file cabinet, and began my day. As I said, it went surprisingly smooth. It was a good day. After my day was over and I had returned to my classroom, I realized that Emily would be home from school, and I was dying to know how her first day of middle school went. I got my purse out of the file cabinet. I got my cell phone, opened it, and then realized that since it was in the metal cabinet I hadn't had any reception all day long. I had forgotten my morning ritual of taking out the cell phone and putting it on my desk before putting my purse in the file cabinet, just in case the girls needed to get ahold of me.

As the phone picked up service again, I saw that someone had tried to call me from home that morning. Thinking Emily must have missed her bus, since it was a new time and stop for her, and wondering how she got to school, I listened to the voicemail. And my heart almost stopped.

The message began, and it was Stella. And it was the most desperate crying and wailing I've ever heard from her. I couldn't make out what she was saying except for the desperate pleas of "Mommy, where are you? Mommy, I need you! Mommy, pick up the phone!"

My heart was beating so fast and my knees were weak. I had to sit down. I quickly called Eric to see if she had called him that morning, but I only got his voicemail (It makes you wonder why we have cell phones when it failed twice that day...). I left a message for him to call me ASAP, that Stella had left this awful message and I had no idea what had happened that morning.

I then called our neighbor. The original plan for Stella that morning was that she would leave the house after eating her breakfast and would walk down the street to her friend's house. Her friend's mom had taken the day off to make sure the first day of catching the bus went smoothly. So I knew the mom would be home. I called her, and had to leave a message. I was scared, and my message, I'm sure, was also sounding quite desperate.

Mid-message, though, the mom picked up. "What happened to Stella?" I screamed...

She laughed, and explained what happened. Apparently, Stella had a hard time even getting the key into the lock. Once she figured that out, the key wouldn't turn in the lock, and she couldn't then get it out of the lock. She then panicked. That's when she ran and called me on the cell phone and left that desperate message. Finally, she had the sense to go down to the neighbor's house as planned, and get help (the mom is actually a 911 operator, and good with emergencies!). They both walked back to the house, and practiced with the key. By then, though, Stella had had quite an emotional morning, and asked the mom to drive them to school, which she did.

Later that night I let Eric listen to the message. For some reason, he put it on speaker phone, and Stella began to cry all over again (thanks, Eric....). He quickly shut it off. He said the message was disturbing. Stella has not had a wonderful week of school; she is still getting frustrated easily over things, and wishes that Emily was still there. I never expected this, and it's going to take some time for her to adjust to it all, I guess.

Luckily, Emily has been having a positive middle school beginning. Good. I couldn't take it if they both were having trouble adjusting this year.

Hey Buddy, Can You Make the Right Change? A Teachable Moment...

Yesterday I needed to pick up a few things from Office Depot. I ended up buying three mouse pads (the ones in my room were awfully old and definitely not good feng shui), and a few magnetic clips for my Job chart. I went to pay, and the total came to $23.13. I handed the gal $30.00, and then looked to see if I had the correct change. I didn't.

"Sorry," I said. "I don't have thirteen cents."

"Do you have three pennies?" the gal asked.

"Not even that," I replied.

So she rang up the bill, and entered the amount I had paid. Then she said something like shoot. I looked at the register and could tell that she had entered $30.13 for the amount I paid, and it showed that I should get $7.00 back in change. However, I did not pay her that amount, as i didn't have change.

She had no idea how to fix this situation. Of course, all she had to do was to mentally subtract thirteen cents from $7.00. But she grabbed a pen and paper and tried to do the appropriate calculations, but couldn't do it. Then she searched her area for something, and called out to another employee to borrow a calculator. It was sad and comical at the same time.

"Look," I said. "When I was 15, I didn't get a job at an ice cream store because I couldn't make change. But the person taught me how. This is what you do..."

I showed her how to start from the amount of the purchase, and then to count up with the change, and then the dollars, until you get to the amount paid. She looked so doubtful that I worried she thought I was pulling a fast one on her, even though I was wearing my school badge (teachers are always trustworthy, right?). I told her that's how we made change in the days before the register did all of your thinking for you.

Still, I find it amazing that someone like that who obviously has gone through the school system cannot figure out how to make change. When the computer systems go down, the world will fall apart.

There's Always One Sour Apple

The other day I took my two girls to The Woodland Park Zoo, as we hadn't gone all summer, and summer was coming to an end, and it was on Emily's list of things to do that she had made last June.

We parked down below the zoo in the area where the parking is free, and hiked up to the zoo. As you hike up, you cross over this bridge that goes over Aurora Ave (I think that's the road). Stella went to the side of the bridge and began to wave at the oncoming traffic. People would wave back. So all three of us started to wave at the cars. People would wave back, and some would honk their horns. It was fun!

But one person had to flip us off. Why? It's not like we had some sign that perhaps they disagreed with (although that is an immature response if that was the case). All we were doing is waving. There is always one person who has to try to spoil things.

Same, same, same...

We went to the Monroe Fair today, as I've done just about every year since I was about 7 years old, maybe even longer. I'm sure there were some years I didn't go, but it's pretty much a tradition in my family to go. It is one I'm passing along to my girls.

What I love about the Monroe (AKA The Evergreen State Fair) Fair is that it never changes. I know exactly where to park. I know where the scone booths are. I know that the first animal barn I come to will be the swine. I know that there are usually at least two litters of piglets to look at. I know where the food is, and what my choices will be (with few surprises!). I know where the Democrat booth is. I know where the rides are. In spite of this sameness, I did have some different experiences after all of these years:

*I got a hamburger "smothered" in Walla Walla onions. It was very sloppy and messy, and I won't do that again.
*Took a picture of a zebra
*Took a picture of a rooster
*Released a homing pigeon outside of the poultry barn
*Bought my girls "unlimited rides" bracelets, even though Emily insists that we did this once before. I know that we did not.

It was another satisfying day at the fair. Now I am ready for school. We always end our summer this way. Same, same, same...

Living on the Edge

My sister has a blog, so I thought I would have one, too. I think it would be therapeutic to write stuff down...I'll try not to only post troubling thoughts!

Why this title? There is a story...Earlier this month one of our cats disappeared. It was very sad. She was a very sweet little cat. But here where we live, we are bordered by woods and wildlife, which is one of the very reasons I love living here. It reminds me of where I grew up. We've seen deer, and one time we even saw a bob cat strolling along the top of the fence, making his way down past all of the neighbors' houses. We hear coyotes sometimes at night. I knew that Samantha had finally met her fate in the food chain.

My kids were just devastated by the news. Samantha had disappeared about 3 days before they went to Girl Scout camp, and I led them to believe that she was just out hunting (even though by that time I pretty much knew what must have happened). When we picked them up from camp a week later, I tried to put off answering their question: Did Samantha come back? Finally it had to be answered, and they both just were devastated, particularly Emily, my older daughter. She was so distraught that we bagged our original plans of heading over to some friends' house for a party.

Later that same day my sister called, and I told her about our current situation with the cat and the distraught girls. I told her, "Well, that's what happens when you live on the edge..." and I hesitated as I searched for the perfect word. Before I chose it, my sister supplied, "...of civilization?"

"Well," I said, "I was thinking on the edge of wildlife, but I guess that works, too!" And actually, depending on my days, there are many different things that I could be living on the edge of: wildlife, civilization, sanity...