A Matter of Priorities

I was in the check out line today at Fred Myer, buying some storage containers to pack away Christmas decorations. I was by myself, and was lost in thought, when this guy behind made a comment about something that sounded like the topic was sports. I glanced back to see who he was talking to, and it seemed as if he was talking to me.

"Are you talking football to me?" I asked. He indicated that he was, and then said something about the Seahawks. "If you want to talk football, I'm not the one to talk to," I said. "I don't like football."

"Well, you won't after this weekend. They are going to lose," he said.

I couldn't believe he was continuing to talk to me about football, when I told him I do not like football and do not watch the Seahawks. "What bothers me about football, or any sport really, is that the players can be interviewed and will say how they had an off season, but next season will be better, and they still make their huge salaries. What other profession can you say, 'Sorry, I had an off year, but next year I'll do better...', and still get your pay? I teach, and I sure couldn't get away with that. A doctor couldn't. A policeman couldn't. But for some reason we accept this from a professional sports player. It's ridiculous."

He agreed. Maybe he was afraid not to agree with me. I paid for my things and left. The world will be a better place when doctors, police, firemen, and teachers make the salaries a professional sports player makes, and they make what I make.

Rhetorical Questions

Last Friday was the last school day before Winter Break. I swear, it seems like most every kid brought me a gift. I've never had a year like that in my little school. It was gift bags galore on my desk.

I opened each gift during the kids' lunch time. Since my kids eat in the class, I would call each one up to my desk as I opened their gift. Then I could thank the child profusely right then and there. The kids just really like watching their teacher open their gift. I got my share of mugs, coffee, candles, and Christams tree ornaments (my favorites).

Finally, the last gift I opened was Josh's gift. I called him over. He stood in front of me as I got his present on my lap. I looked at him and said, "This is so exciting...I wonder what you got me?"

"Oh, it's just coffee," he replied.

I gave Josh an impromptu lesson about rhetorical questions.

The Guilty Never Feel Guilt

We just got out Friday for two sweet weeks of winter break. About 1 1/2 weeks ago, Cathy gave me a present. It was in a gift bag, and it was a set of homemade cards her grandmother (who volunteers in my class each week) made, and a large bag of candy that looked like a bag of M&Ms. I thanked her profusely and left the bag sitting on my desk. Throughout that week a few more gifts trickled in that I added to the collection on my desk.

Then on Wednesday of just this last week, I got a craving for a little something sweet, and remembered the bag of candy from Cathy. I excitedly went back to my room and peeked in the gift bag. There was the set of homemade cards, but no bag of candy. Hmmmm. Did I take that bag home? I was certain I hadn't. What happened to the bag of candy? Did someone really steal a bag of candy out of a gift bag off of my desk? Was it a student? That week I was out for the second part of the day on Monday and Tuesday, so did a sub take it? The night custodian? I was flummoxed, to say the least.

I sent an email to the other 5th grade teacher telling that someone had stolen a bag of candy from me that I had gotten as a gift. She was appalled, and replied that one of the 4th grade teachers last year had had a gift stolen. A fourth grade teacher? Could that student now have moved to fifth grade in my class and is still stealing? I sent an email to the fourth grade teacher to see who had stolen from her. It had been Jack.

You may remember Jack. He is the one who lied to me about selling 20 items during the PTA fundraiser just to get 20 free Silly Bands. I sent an email to my husband telling him that someone had stolen from me, and replied to just lay on the Mommy Guilt, which he said, rightly so, that I am good at. So I did.

After their lunch was over, I told the class that up till now, I have been bragging about this class, and what a wonderful, kind bunch of kids I have. I laid it on thick. Then I told them that someone stole a bag of candy that Cathy had given me. Someone had stolen it right out of a gift bag off my desk. I told the students how hurt I was that one of MY students would do that to me. I ended the guilt trip by saying that I hoped whomever had stolen from me would feel so much guilt that either the candy would be returned, or that s/he wouldn't be able to truly enjoy the candy, knowing it was stolen candy. I let them know how sad and hurt I was.

I then pulled Jack out in the hall for a private chat. "Jack," I said. "Did you steal my candy?" He emphatically said no, but I don't really trust him. I told him that he has made bad decisions in the past with stealing candy from Mrs. Fourth Grade Teacher last year, and then lying about the Silly Bands to me this year. "You haven't shown yourself to be a responsible, reliable student because of the choices you have made. If you really didn't steal from me, I'm glad, but you had better work hard at changing your reputation." I still think he did it.

The next day I got to school and checked my email. There was an email from Sandra, who never does anything wrong. In fact, this month I chose her for the Responsibility award. Anyway, in her email she first reminded me that I had forgotten to include the spelling assignment on my homework page, and she was concerned that some kids would forget to do it because it wasn't there, and they'd get into trouble. Then she went on to say how very sorry she was that someone stole candy from me, and that she hoped it would be returned soon. She said she hoped I'd still be able to brag about our class, because it made her feel good to think that I brag about them. Finally, she ended the email saying that I was the best, coolest, and PRETTIEST teacher she has ever had!

I think both Sandra and I were feeling guilt now.

But I am the prettiest teacher she's ever had? Really? I thought my days of being called pretty by a student were long gone...But I had to know who had her in fourth grade, so I could rub it in. I went to the staff room where the fourth grade teachers, among others, were eating lunch. "OK," I said. "Who had Sandra B. last year?" They thought, and then said the name of a teacher who is no longer here. "Oh," I said, disappointed. But the another teacher spoke up.

"I had Sandra for third grade," she said. Hmmm. Really? This particular teacher is fairly young. She just got married, and is only in her third or fourth year of teaching. So I gently broke the news to her. "Well, I want you to know that Sandra said I am the prettiest teacher she's ever had. I'm sorry for you, but I'm quite excited, since I'm nearly twice your age!"

Basically, the ones who feel the guilt are usually the ones that don't do wrong anyway.

Fam-i-ly

The other day I was going from my classroom to the teacher workroom during my break to cut some paper for a project. My classroom is in the "5th/6th bay," which is a separate building from the rest of the school (I try not to take it personally). To go to the workroom, the office, pe, or anywhere, I must cross the playground to the main group of buildings.

So I was crossing the playground with my paper to cut in hand. Now, our school campus is surrounded by a chain link fence. In the morning when the kids arrive to school, a gate in the fence is open for them to walk through, but during the day, it is chained shut. As I passed this gate, I saw a small boy pulling the gate in as far as the chain would allow,and was trying to squeeze through the narrow opening.

"Hey!" I called out. "What are you doing? You can't be there!" He stopped and turned around. "You need to go out onto the playground," I continued. He turned and began to walk towards the playground, but then he just leaned against a wall and burst into tears. I walked over.

"What's the matter? Why are you crying?" I asked.

"I don't have a friend," he sobbed.

"How come?" I asked. He just cried. So I took his little hand. "You come with me," I said. "I'm going to find someone to talk with you. But first, I have to cut some paper, so you'll just have to come with me." He obediently came with me without complaint, still holding my hand.

I continued to talk to him as we entered the teacher work room. There was one parent in there. "Are you a new student?" I asked. I wondered if he had just started at our school and hadn't yet made a good friend. But no, he said he had been at our school since the first day. "Who is your teacher?" I asked. He replied that it one of the kindergarten teachers. So the plot thickened.

I asked him why he didn't have a friend, and he said he had one earlier but didn't know where he had gone. "So I was going to go home because I miss my family," he said, pronouncing it fam-i-ly, and beginning to cry all over again. The other mom in the room and I looked at each other and gave one of those "Aaaaah..." looks that moms give. I walked him to the office.

Once there, I waited until Mr. Principal was free. Then I told him that this little boy had tried to go home because he couldn't find a friend and missed his family. He thanked me, and took over.

Those little kids are so cute! I couldn't teach them, but I sure enjoy them!

A Life Sentence

I use a certain brand of deoderant, and a while ago I found a scent that I really like. It's called "pure cashmere." Doesn't that sound great? It smells wonderful, too. Very fresh. Not perfumey.

But I've discovered that it's very difficult to find in stores. I always look for it. If I'm lucky enough to find my scent, I buy as many as they have on the shelf. Therefore, I've smelt great for quite some time.

But my stash began to dwindle, and I wasn't finding replacements. Then the other day I wondered if Drugstore.com would have any. So I went there, and sure enough, they showed that they had my "pure cashmere" scent. I was so excited. I ordered ten of them! I figured I was set for life.

Today they came. I eagerly opened the box. I pulled out a deoderant stick, and opened the lid. And sniffed. But it didn't smell great. It smelled perfumey. I looked again at the container, and it said "Smooth Perfection," but I couldn't see "Pure Cashmere" anywhere on the label. Did I order the wrong thing? I wondered. I looked at the packing slip and it said "Smooth Perfection." Oh, geez. I thought. I did screw it up.

I went to the computer to find my shipping notice. I'm good at saving all of my shipping notices until I actually get the product. The shipping notice definitely said "Pure Cashmere." I looked again at a label. It said "Smooth Perfection" in large bold letters. In smaller letters, at the bottom, it said "Pure Cashmere." Hmmm.

I went upstairs and got the stick of deoderant I was using right now. I decided what I needed to do was a sniff test. I took my deoderant downstairs. I got one of the new sticks of deoderant. I opened both sticks. I sniffed my current one. Mmmm...fresh scent! Then I sniffed the new one. Yuk. Perfume.

And with 10 sticks, this is how I'll smell for the rest of my life.

In the Eye of the Beholder

This morning, as the kids came into the room, Jack grins at me as he walked past. "I've got something for you," he said.

Now, over the past couple of weeks he has been giving me little wrapped candy canes. That's what I thought he brought for me again. It's sweet, really, as yesterday I really "chewed" him out (pun intended) for eating sunflower seeds in the room. I made him empty his pockets and throw everthing away.

So I'm at my desk, and he proudly comes over. He hands me a store-bought cookie. Unwrapped. In his hand.

"Jack!" I exclaimed. "You brought me a cookie? You've been holding it in your hand all morning, just waiting to give it to me?"

"Yup!" he answered, proudly.

I gave him a big hug. "That's the nicest thing anyone has done for me today!"

Later, I threw the cookie away. Blah.

Be a Parent, Please

Jack is one of my students. He's difficult. I am not sure if he has a learning disability or an emotional disability, but whichever it is, he does not do well academically because of it. He will simply refuse to do work in a passive-aggressive way. He and I had several bouts of this at the beginning of the year, but then it seemed he wouldn't do this with me any longer. I'm pretty firm with kids. But he would do this with subs and with para-educators if he was pulled out in a small group for math or reading. There was one week where he pulled this with three different adults. That week I sent an email to our pricipal, asking him to talk seriously with Jack, since I was appalled that he would defy an adults' request like that.

Anyway, at conference time I talked with his mom extensively about this behavior. She said he is also this way at home, and he is her only child that acts this way. Lucky for her, too, since she is pregnant with her ninth child...That's right. 9. But she really had no advice for me, not that I expected any. Last year's teacher told my that if she had to really scare Jack about something, she'd have him call Dad, not Mom. Mom did say that if I ever needed her to just come get him, she would. But the reality of that is is that Jack then doesn't get his education he needs, but gets the attention from mom. And when you consider he is currently one of eight (soon to be nine) kids, her probably craves that attention. His mom even told me she has considered home schooling him. Really? With 50 toddlers at home and soon a new-born? I don't think so. Jack's mom also said that her husband told her not to worry about him, that he wasn't a good student in school but he eventually came around, and that they should just get Jack into sports. I told mom to tell dad that if he can't pass his state tests in school, he won't be ABLE to participate in any sports...

Anyway, November in school is pretty much a lost month due to a full conference week of half-days, and then right after that we were hit with a snow storm that closed school for two days right up to Thanksgiving vacation. Last Monday was the beginning of our normal schedule for three weeks leading up to the next big kahuna of breaks: Winter break.

Jack came in Monday morning and settled down. We have math first thing in the morning, and he was very attentive, even raising his hand and participating. I was very pleased with him and told him so. The same thing happened on Tuesday. Raised his hand. Participated. Did his work. Focused. I liked this new Jack.

It went that way for math the whole week long. Then Friday came. When my students came in from music, I had their math homework on the board with the correct answers so that they could correct their own work. The kids got busy immediately, either correcting their work or quickly finishing (or copying) their work that they didn't get done the night before. I glanced over at Jack, and he is just sitting there at his desk, doing nothing.

"Jack," I said. "Why aren't you correcting your homework?" He just looked at me. "Jack, take out your Homework and Remembering math book and let me see it." He did as I asked. I flipped the workbook open to Thursday night's homework pages, which were not done what so ever.

"Jack," I said. "You didn't do your homework last night." I flipped back through the other pages that have been assigned since beginning unit three. All homework pages were not done. He has not been doing any of the homework. "Jack," I said. "Why haven't you been doing any of your homework?" He covers his face with his hands and arms and remains silent. I crouch down level with him at his desk. "Jack," I say. "I want you to do last night's homework right now. We'll talk later about all of the homework you haven't done." I stand up to walk away. Jack stays in his upright-fetal position.

I crouch back down to be at his level as he sat at his desk. "Jack," I said quietly and patiently. "You have two choices. You can do your homework from last night right now, or I will write you up on a white slip for not following my directions, and I will send you to talk with Mr. Principal." Still, he just sat there with his face hidden. "All right, Jack. You made your choice."

I chose a dependable student who had finished correcting her work to escort Jack to the office. I made sure Jack took his pencil and math workbook with him. I then sent an email to my principal, explaing in detail why I was sending Jack to the office. "If you can't see him right now," I added in my email, "just send him back and call for him later." But Jack didn't return.

In fact, Jack was at the office all morning long. He came back just as it was time for recess. He handed me the copies of his white slip which showed that he had worked in the office on his math, had had a discussion with the principal, and that his parents needed to sign the slip.

But I went a step further and emailed the parents. I explained everything that happened, including that he had not been doing his homeowork for the last six math lessons. I concluded in my email that I wanted them to check to see that his homework gets completed every night. I asked that they make sure they check my website where I always show the night's homework, and that they initial each homework math page when it is finished.

Time for them to step up and be parents, not just breeders.

Books That Teach

The other day I was with my fifth graders at the library. I was sitting at a table near the check-out desk, working on a lap top. All of a sudden I "tuned in" to the conversation between the librarian and one of my students who had a book to check out.

Librarian: Where did you get this book?

Student(pointing): On the shelf over there.

Librarian: Well, it's not scanning. It doesn't seem to be in our system any more.

At this point I looked up to see what book they were talking about. It was a book called Everything Your Child Needs to Know in Fifth Grade. The librarian handed me the book. "Since it isn't in our system," she said, "you can have it if you want it."

"Are you kidding?" I exclaimed. "Read that title! Of course I want it!" So I carried it back to class. I then told the kids how excited I was to get that book. "Do you realize," I said, "that absolutely everything you need to know this year is written on the pages of this book?"

I could hardly contain my excitement. I went on. "I think," I continued, "that I'll just keep this book here." I reverently placed the book on the pen tray in front of the room. "With this book, I don't even have to come to school anymore! Each day, one of you can be the teacher, and can just read to the class from this book. I'll be home with my feet up, drinking coffee and reading."

The class was abuzz. Was I kidding, they wondered. Of course I was, some said. But others, they just couldn't be so sure...

The 'I' Word

This morning the kids were just coming into class, and Kathy comes up to me. "Mrs. Teacher," she said, "Noah called me the 'I' word."

I paused in thought. The 'I' word? Could there possibly be a swear word that began with an I that I didn't know? Or was it maybe a new swear word that I was too old to know?

"The 'I' word? I don't believe I know what word that is...What did he call you?" I asked.

"He called me an idiot," Kathy replied.

Well, it does start with an I, and it wasn't nice, so I told Noah to knock it off. Job well done.

Stats

Yesterday I discovered the "stats" button on my blog account. Yes, after all these years...And I find it incredible that people are reading my blog. At least, I think they are...Maybe it's just people who want information about Brittany Spears, for example, and get to my blog accidentally because one of my posts is called, "Oops I Did It Again."

I wonder what people think about the things I write. I really thought no one read it unless I forced my friends to read and post. I feel sort of like "Julie and Julia" or "Waiter Rant." Maybe I have a fan base and I didn't even know it. Now what?

Such responsibility.

Making Personal Connections With Math

Kids-gotta love 'em!

Today we were checking math homework, and there were several word problems on the page. One student asked me to go over a particular problem:

"Jason is tiling a patio. The tiles are each 1 square decimeter. The patio is 6 meters long and 4 meters wide. How many tiles will Jason need?"

Not an easy problem. We worked it out together to show the correct answer. Then Josh raised his hand.

"Teacher, is it ok if I used a different unit?" he asked.

"What unit did you use," I replied.

"Boards," he said. "My patio is made from boards."

I'm sure it all made sense to him...But I highlighted the metric unit measurements, and what the question asked. I drew a red box around the word "tiles."

"Sorry, Josh," I said. "You needed to use tiles."

He still can't understand why you'd tile a patio. Good thing he's joining the military after high school (I'll cross my fingers that he graduates...).

A Jury of His Peers

Our school is holding a fundraiser right now, one of those fundraisers where the kids are selling gift wrap and the like...But as an incentive to sell, sell, sell, for every item a kid sells, he or she cuts out this snowflake, writes their name and teacher's name on it, and turns it in to the teacher. The teacher then gives that child a "silly band" for every snowflake they turn it. This is on the honor system. The teacher also then turns in all snowflakes received in a given day to the office. A PTA rep counts up the snowflakes per class, and the winning class gets to have Blizzard, a huge stuffed polar bear, in their room for the next day. My class has had Blizzard once as a guest.

So last Wednesday morning, Zeke hands me 20 snowflakes, all filled out with his name and mine on them. I didn't really think much, but figured he just had let them pile up until he finally brought them in. I gave him 20 silly bands. Another student handed me two snowflakes, and I gave him two silly bands. No one else had any snowflakes, so I sent all snowflakes in to the offic. But we weren't the winners of Blizzard for that day, anyway.

The next day, Thursday, about 10 minutes before school was to start, my classroom door opened, and in walked Zeke, followed by his older brother. Zeke handed me a baggie filled with silly bands, along with a handwritten note that said, "I am sorry about the silly bands. Do you agree? Yes or no."

"Zeke," I said. "I don't understand what this note is about."

His brother said, "Zeke stole the silly bands."

Oh, I get it. So I played along..."What do you mean you stole silly bands? You didn't steal them. I gave them to you for the 20 snowflakes you gave me." Zeke looked down at the ground.

"I didn't sell 20 things," he said.

"You mean, you lied to me?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Wow. I can't believe that. This is serious," I said. "I think you need to talk to Mr. Principal, because you have broken several of our school's traits." So I walked out of the room and headed toward the office, with Zeke behind me. When I got to the office, Mr. Principal was not there. He was out of the building for the morning. So I told Zeke that I'd have to fill out a white slip and give it to Mr. Principal.

I went back to my room and filled out a white slip. I headed back to the office with the white slip. When I got to the office, one of our administrators was there, and she often deals with discipline issues. So I gave her the slip, and briefly told her of the situation. "I think we need to shake him up," I concluded. She agreed.

Later, she came to my room and pulled Zeke out into the hall. After a bit, she poked her head back into my room. "Mrs. Teacher, can you come here?" she asked. I stepped into the hall. She basically had Zeke apologize to me. I pointed out that what concerned me was that note he had originally written in that it didn't really say exactly what he had done wrong: lied to me and stole silly bands. She agreed. I stepped back into the room, and she talked to him some more. Eventually he came back in to the room.

At lunch time, I went to the office to my mailbox. Inside was Zeke's white slip, minus the copy that the office keeps. But written on the slip under consequences was an additonal note from our principal that Zeke had to apologize to the whole class. So as the kids came in from recess, I pulled Zeke into the hallway.

"Mr.Principal says that you have to also apologize to the whole class," I told him.

"What do I say?" he asked.

"You'r a fifth grader. I'm sure you can figure it out," I said, and went back into class.

At 3:00, with only a half hour left in the day, I called the class together. "Zeke, come up here," I said. Zeke came up and stood in front of the class. "Zeke has something to tell you," I added.

Zeke stood there in front of his peers, staring down at the floor. Then he looked up. "Yesterday, I turned in 20 snowflakes and got 20 silly bands, but I lied. I didn't really sell anything."

Well, you could have heard a pin drop. I told the kids that if they had any questions for Zeke, they should ask them, and Zeke would answer truthfully. And the questions began, fast and furious. No holds barred. They were like the Spanish Inquistion, and they asked tough questions: Why did you do it? How did you feel when you lied? Why did you do this just to make yourself feel better? Would you have told the truth if you hadn't been caught? The questions went on for about 15 minutes. I had to stop them finally because we had to get ready to go home.

It was the best punishment ever.

Oops, I Did It Again!

I let my students earn their first class reward. You know what I do with the blanks on the board that will spell out their reward. And how I like to put up the wrong letters to keep the kiddos guessing.

The reward was "board games." But when I told the students that they had earned their reward, and then filled in the blanks, I wrote, "extra tests."

I proudly turned to them to see their excited little faces. But what was this? They didn't seem to be too thrilled. "Guys," I said. "Congratulations! You have earned you first class reward!" I turned to the board, and then turned back, announcing grandly, "Extra tests!"

"That's not a reward...that's a punishment!" one student said. They all groaned. But I just continued with the day as if nothing was unusual.

But right before second recess, I looked at the reward on the board before excusing them. "Oh, guys," I said. "I made a huge mistake. Extra Tests is supposed to be your second reward! I'm sorry to break the news to you, but this isn't your reward..." And then I wrote the letters in the blank to spell "board games."

Cheering ensued. Now I saw happy little faces. It's so much fun to play this way...

A Man of Many Moods

Today I was reading a story called The Rough Faced Girl to my students. It is a Native American version of Cinderella, pretty much. Anyway, in the story, a character is said to be able to "see into one's heart..." and to know if the person had a kind, good heart, or a cold, evil one.

I had the kids sitting up around me on the floor. John was sitting very near me. John is not very bright. He said to me, "Mrs. Teacher, what does a cold heart mean?"

I explained that someone who has a cold heart is mean and cruel and would only think about themself. On the other hand, I continued to explain, a warm-hearted person was kind and loving.

John thought for a minute. "Hmm..." he said. "I guess I'm somewhere in the middle..."

I told him that perhaps he might work on moving more toward the kind-hearted side and away from the cold-hearted side...

The Data Proves I'm Right

The first week of school we had to give our students this math test. It was a math test on the concepts we'd be teaching this year. That's right. Sort of like my quote, actually, from Willy Wonka: This year we'll take a math test on the concepts we're going to learn before we learn them!

The next week I got an email from our Curriculum Specialist. "Be sure to send me all of your math test scores," she wrote.

I replied, "In what form are we to send the information? Do you want the percentage correct? How was each question weighted? Is each question worth one point? Do we have a rubric to go by that shows how to correlate each score to a number, like our progress reports?"

I didn't get an adequate answer, so I chose to do nothing. The next day I was leaving school around 5 pm or 5:30 pm. I cut through the library, and passed our Curriculum Specialist's office. "Julie," she cried excitedly. "I have something for you!"

I put my head into her office. "What is it? Chocolate?" I ask hopefully.

"No," she said. "Better. Here's a chart you can use to input the kids' math scores from that test!"

I looked at the intricate boxes from her excell sheet. "Oh," I said. "And how do I use it?"

She looked at it. "Well, I don't know," she replied, "but we need to have those scores so that we know who to help!"

"Oh, I can tell you who needs math help. You need to help Kasey, Pashton, Josh, Issabelle, and Cheyenne."

"But we need the data. We are a data-driven school."

I took those tests home and corrected them. The highest score was a 69%. The boy in my class who scored the highest on the state math test in 4th grade received a score that was just right in the middle of the group. The lowest score was a 19%. I inputted all of my test percent scores onto the excell spread sheet. Guess who the bottom five scores belonged to? That's right: Kasey, Pashton, Josh, Issabelle, and Cheyenne. Just as I said.

But thank god we now have the data to prove it.

Stalker

I have a student, Arden, who is an only child. Last year's teacher told me that he can't go outside on cold, rainy days, which is just about every day here in the Pacific Northwest. So the teacher said that on days he couldn't go outside he hung out in the classroom. Well, I knew this wouldn't work for me. When it is recess, it is my planning time, and no kid stays in. Unless I say so.

I think this boy is over-protected. His mom was telling me of some complications when he was first born, but even the nurse at our school said she thinks this staying in on cold days is ridiculous.

Well, this has been an unusually rainy September, and the other day it was raining when I excused the kids for their 15-minute recess break. Arden showed no signs of even moving from the class.

"Arden," I said. "You can't stay here. I have some errands to do and I can't leave you here by yourself." He begins to get his things, and follows me out of the classroom door. He continues to follow me out of the building door, and across the playground. I think maybe he's on his way to find his mom, as she works as an aide at our school.

I head towards the workroom to use the restroom. Arden followed me into the workroom. I wonder how he knows his mom is in there. She isn't. I open the door to the restroom, and when he sees where I'm going, he just sort of stands outside the door. He's stalking me, and I can't go. So I just wash my hands and come out.

I walk over to Arden and put my arm around his shoulders. "Arden," I say. "Are you following me?"

"Yes," he replies.

"Well, you can't do that," I say. "If the weather is too bad for you to be outside, you have to either go to wherever your mom will be, or take a book and sit in the office. You won't be able to hang out with me."

I really couldn't believe that he thought he could just tag after me like a little puppy. This is fifth grade, and it's time to grow up a bit. His mom probably likes me less now.

New Year, New Stories

Welcome to a new year of students, and a new crop of stories!

The other day I was telling my students about the trip I made to the fair this summer. One of the best things I did at the fair was go through the petting farm, which, of course, is made for little tots. As I relayed the story to my students, I told them I was 29...

The next day, I was passing out some papers. As I passed one girl, she said, "Mrs. Teacher, are you really 29?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Then you are the same age as Mrs. Carsen! She's 29, too..."

(Obviously, I'm not the only teacher who lies about her age...Mrs. Carson is actually a couple years younger than me!)

Another students said, "But I think Mrs. Carsen had a birthday, so she's 30 now."

"Oh," I said. "She's older than me then." The two girls nodded in agreement.

Days later, I was busy in front of the class. I was actually making peanut butter and jam sandwiches, following directions written by student pairs as I try to get them thinking about writing a clear, precise procedure. It's a fun activity.

Anyway, I had been following the student directions, ending up with all kinds of funny looking PB&Js. One boy was sitting up close to me. He finally said to me, "Mrs. Teacher, did they have peanut butter sandwiches when you were a kid?"

"Yes, they did," I answered seriously.

Another boy asked, "How about turkey?"

I couldn't be serious anymore..."How old do you think I am?" I laughed.

"Well," kids replied. "You said you were 29..."

I love the gullibility of 5th graders.

Small Town, USA

I like living in a small town. We have only lived here six years now, but I feel like I know everyone! When I go to any kid-function, I know, or at least am familiar with, many people. I run into people I know at the store all the time. It's fun, that small-town feel.

So I just had to laugh at something that has transpired this summer, a great example of small-town living where news travels fast and everyone is in everyone else's business. A couple weeks ago my husband came home from his eye checkup. "You need to talk to the doctor, because he is considering whether to start his daughter in kindergarten this year, and she won't be five until October."

He went on to fill me in on the discussion he had with the doctor about his almost-five year old daughter. She's bright and is beginning to read. She very social and loves meeting people. She's tall. Now, these are good things. But she's still four, and if she starts school this fall, she will be in a class with kids who are about two years older than her, some of them. I was incredulous, because had I had a child with a fall birthday, I would have been elated! I would not have started them until they were five turning six, and I'd know they'd be a class leader.

Well, I had my eye appointment the next day, so I brought up this subject with the doctor. We discussed it at length. He gave me all the reasons why he and his wife were considering starting his daughter early. She had gone through some testing and tested above average on everything except for fine-motor skills (which is very important to school success, by the way). I was pretty straight-forward with my opinion AS A TEACHER, though, and pointed out all of the reasons why it would be best to wait a year. She'd be one of the oldest and a leader, instead of one of the youngest who would be a follower. And as she got older, think of puberty. Think of learning to drive. Think of peer pressure. And why is it a rush to get a kid into and through school? It shouldn't be a race. They obviously have money (I didn't say that) to give her a last year of enriching activities before the formality of school. I encouraged him to contact the school's principal; I don't know of any educator worth anything that would encourage a parent to enroll a four-year-old into kindergarten, and it turned out his daughter wouldn't be five until November! That's even worse.

I felt he listened to and appreciated my input as a teacher. I felt that I had really given him some things to think about, and figured he'd go home and really discuss it with his wife.

Yesterday my hubby and I stopped at the eye care place to pick up hubby's glasses (mine haven't come in yet, darn it; they are so cool...). The doctor came out with a patient, and as he was saying goodbye, the patient said, "Good luck with your Kindergartener! They grow so fast..."

What? Doctor, didn't you listen to me? I take your professional advice about my eyes but you can't take my professional advice about your daughter's education? I was pretty upset about this, as I felt he'd be making a mistake.

But here's where the small-town living comes into play. Later that day we went to the grocery store where we ran into the gal who was my younger daughter's third-grade teacher. We stopped to chat there in the produce section, and I was admiring her new baby. Her older daughter was also there, a tall girl. I asked, "Are you going into kindergarten," forgetting how old she was. My younger daughter's teacher said, "Not until next year. She won't be five until December."

"Good for you," I said. "She'll be one of the oldest kids and a leader." Not that I had to tell another teacher this, especially one who has taught kindergarten for the last three years. "You won't be making a mistake like my eye doctor is..." and I proceeded to tell her all about that situation. Her response to it was exactly like mine, and she also said that the district would not let them put her into kindergarten. "Who is your doctor," she asked. I told her. Turns out, he's her doctor, too (not a lot of options here in this town, but he's a good one). She decided it was time to get an eye checkup, and she'd give the doctor her opinion as well. Maybe he'll pay attention given she's taught kindergarten, and would be telling him the same things I told him. Maybe hearing the same message of "Don't Do It" from two different educators will make him rethink this kindergarten idea.

Poor doctor, though. That's what he gets for being in a small town.

The Only Way To Fly!

I didn't yet tell you about my trip to New Orleans to attend the National Education Association Representative Assembly conference. I had gone for the first time to such a conference last year in San Diego. This year I was elected by my peers to be a state delegate to the NEA convention for two years. This year it was in New Orleans and next year it will be in Chicago.

I had lots of fun in New Orleans (although not as much fun as I had wanted...), but what I want to focus on was my flight to and from New Orleans. That seems to be the story I've been telling over and over.

To start with, my flight out of Seattle was delayed 2.5 hours. Right from the get-go I was behind schedule. My flight was to fly out of Seattle to Salt Lake City, where I was slated to have a 2.5 relaxing (if not boring) layover before getting a flight to New Orleans. But that was not to be.

As I said, my first flight out of Seattle was late. When I finally boarded the plane (a small plane that only had about 20 rows with two seats on each side of the aisle), I asked the flight attendant why there had been a delay. She honestly (but wrongly) informed me that the plane had had an "aborted take off" in Houston. Aborted take off? What does that mean? Did the plane actually begin to take off and leave the ground, and then had to return to earth? Or did something happen before they even tried to take off? Those details are important. But more important was: Has this plane flown successfully since then?

The flight attendant assured me that the plane had flown successfully from Houston to Seattle. I felt a bit better. However, given our delay in taking off, our arrival in Salt Lake City was approximately a half hour after my scheduled flight had left for New Orleans, and there wasn't any other flight to take that day. Delta gave me a $400 ticket voucher, a $6 dinner voucher, and put me up in a hotel for the night. I spent more than $6 on my turkey sandwich and lemonade...And the hotel was not that great...I also cried a bit because I was by myself in Salt Lake City instead of with my teacher friends in New Orleans eating Gumbo.

The next day, early, I caught my new flight that was to go from SLC to Atlanta. The plane was there without incident and boarded on time. I was sitting between two guys; the younger one was on his way to Pensacola FL to do work pertaining to the BP oil spill. That was interesting, but he was a quiet guy who didn't talk much. The other guy was a frequent flyer for business returning home to Atlanta. He was a reassuring traveler and somewhat calmed my flying fears. But I was travel-weary. And a nervous flyer. (In fact, last year when we all flew home from California, I insited on holding both my daughters' hands at take off. Stella wondered whose hand I'd hold on this trip...) The trip was a smooth one for the most part, except for landing in Atlanta. It was very bumpy. I was told that it is always bumpy flying into or out of Atlanta, and those in the know try to fly out of Atlanta in the early morning or late part of the day. By the time we landed and I got off the plane, I had a very short window of time to get to my connecting flight to New Orleans. I can now say I've been to Georgia, although I only went through the airport...at a fast pace. I did make my connecting flight, much to my relief. It was another small plane that seemed to just hit every mysterious bump in the air. It really was the worst flight ever. Eventhough it was only an hour flight. There were many times I was sure we'd be knocked right out of the air.

But we weren't. We made it one piece, and I got to New Orleans. I told myself that if my luggage made it, all would be forgiven. And sure enough, when I went to baggage claim, there was my suitcase with its "I Love Baggage Handlers!" tag. Not bothering with the line at the NEA shuttle booth, I just grabbed my suitcase and headed out to get a taxi. I made it to New Orleans, navigating through three unfamiliar airports on my own. I was quite proud.

But I haven't yet even gotten to the "only way to fly" part of my travel story. It happened on my return flight. I flew Delta airlines on my way down, but for my return journey I flew Continental (*note* Continental Airlines were on time with no problems). I flew out of New Orleans at 7:20 in the morning, so had gotten very little sleep the night before, and had gotten up early to get to the airport. My first part of the flight home was to fly from NO to Houston TX. This was just a one hour flight. I was nervous, though, because I only had about a half hour to make my connecting flight in Houston. After my recent experience, I fully expected to miss it.

The plane I was in to Houston was the smallest yet on my journey. Again there were only about 20 rows with two seats on one side of the aisle, and a single seat on the other side. I was in a single seat. In the last row. I had assumed that since we were in a smaller plane we wouldn't fly as high, but I was wrong. We took off and climbed and climbed, and banked at crazy angles. Finally we went through a layer of clouds, and it was bright and sunny. This is good, I thought. I could see land below, which always comforts me. Let's just stay here. But no, the pilot thought he knew better. He could go higher. And he did. He climbed up through the second layer of clouds. Now I couldn't see land below me-just clouds. That makes me nervous. But we did arrive safely in Houston on time, and it being such a small plane, it didn't take long to empty out (and now I can also say I've been to Texas). I did have to book it to my connecting flight, which involved follwing signs (Is gate D in Concourse D, I wondered.) and getting onto a train. But I successfully found my correct gate just as they were finishing boarding.

I found my aisle, and since I had a window seat and the other two passengers were already there, they had to move for me, forcing me to apologize and smile. As we settled back into our seats and put on our seatbelts, I began to chat with the pleasant looking gal next to me. She appeared to be in her mid to later 50s. She had a heavy Southern accent. Turns out she was from Mississippi and was headed to Seattle to welcome her son back from Iraq. As we chatted, I told her how nervous I get flying. She said she does too, and that's why she has Zanax (sp?).

She cast a glance at the big guy sitting next to her, and whispered to me, "Do you think he's a cop?" She decided no, or decided he wouldn't notice, and she pulled out her prescription container and shook out a pill. "Here," she said. "Take this. It will relax you."

I looked at the little harmless pill, and debated for a second. It seemed to go against everything I had been taught. But I was tired and nervous, and this was a long flight of 3.5 hours. So I took it. I didn't even have water. It was so little I could just swallow it with a minimum of bitter taste. Soon we took off, right on schedule. I was still nervous, and didn't really feel like I was feeling any effects. The plane (a 737 this time) took off and climbed and climbed. I still felt every bump, and when the engine sound would change, I would notice. But soon we seemed to level off. And I was tired. Really, really tired. I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. And the Zanax was kicking in. My tray was down, as I had been given a light breakfast. I just laid my head in my arms onto my tray, and fell asleep. When I woke, I could see that we were flying over very dry looking country. I got out my flight plan map to try to determine where we were. I thought maybe we were flying over Wyoming, as much of that is dry country, but I searched in vain for the Tetons, seeing nothing. As I still pondered where exactly we were, the pilot makes an announcement that we will be descending soon! Really? We are already in Washington? Wow-I slept the whole way home. The dry countryside I was seeing was Eastern Washington, and soon Rainier was visible. Home sweet home. Landing is the best; it feels good to come down to the ground.

And Zanax? I'm thinking that it is the only way to fly!

Sometimes I'm Closed Minded

All right. Yes. I messed up.

I was summonsed back in April for jury duty. At that time, I didn't want to have to be gone from class. The state testing was coming up, and I needed to be in school preparing my students, as best I could, for these tests. So, I deferred my jury service. You can defer your jury time any time up to one year of the first summons.

For some inane reason, I chose July 12. Now, I had no intention of actually getting on to a jury. I've been on a jury twice before, so I have done my duty. I guess I chose July 12 because I thought (1) I'd just have gotten back from the NEA convention in New Orleans, and (2) it was the last week that my girls were involved in their summer stock musical camp. I figured I could report for two days and that would be it.

I reported on Monday. I sat around in the jury room, and eventually was called to be one of 35 potential jurors for a case. I was a safe 27. We were led to the court room by the bailiff. The case was a civil case; a woman was suing a major furniture/home store because she tripped on something metal in their parking garage. Even this trial was to take a week. Luckily, being number 27, I never really made it into the jury box; the jury was approved by both lawyers before my number came up. Good.

I reported back to the courthouse the next day. I sat in the same holding room, reading, until they dismissed us for lunch at 11:30. We weren't to report back until 1:30. Two hours. I went and got myself something to eat, and then went to the nearby outdoor mall. I got some items for my younger daughter who was turning 12 on Thursday. I eventually made my way back to the courthouse and checked in, where I continued to read. Finally, finally, they called out the names of 60 potential jurors. They called my name.

I went up and got the questionaire they required of us. Hmmm. The trial yesterday didn't have a questionaire. As I read the questions, I guessed the reason. The case yesterday was a simple civil case of a "fall and sue" type. These questions, however, were about child abuse, sexual abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, non-custodial parents, etc. I could guess what the trial was going to be about. No wonder they needed 60 potential jurors when the civil case from yesterday only needed 35.

After a bit, the bailiff led us into the courtroom. The judge greeted us, and then gave a brief overview of the case. This man sitting in front of us had been charged with the rape of a thirteen year old girl two years ago. I knew the case would be something like this, and I knew I could not be open minded enough to do this case, even if I wanted to. I had answered "yes" on the questionaire to the question that asked, in so many words, if we would be biased to a case about sexual abuse of a minor. Yes, yes, yes, I'd be biased...especially when the victim is the same age now as my older daughter.

So I sat through the opening intro of this case, and when the judge told us how long it was expected to go, and we were to speak up if this was a hardship, I remained silent. I knew from the day before that they would then be asking us if we could remain impartial with this case, and I would speak up that no, there was no way in hell I could be impartial, and they'd excuse me. So I just sat and listened while 25 of the 60 jurors gave their reasons why they couldn't be available for the case, and were excused by the judge.

Then, however, it was 4:30, and the judge decided to excuse us all for the day, and we were to come back the next day. Now the third day of jury duty that I had not counted on.

I came back the next day, the third day. I checked in and sat in the holding room. I sat and read, and sat and read. My butt hurt. Finally they told us that they were waiting for more jurors since so many had left the day before, so we were all excused for lunch until 1:30. 1:30? This was not my plan. I could see this day stretching out with nothing being decided, and then I'd be told to come back again the next day. A fourth day. And Stella's 12th birthday. No way.

I walked around town, going to a little bookstore and buying some books for my girls. It was a beautiful day-the kind of beautiful Pacific Northwest day without any clouds and temps in the upper 70s. I regretfully returned to the courthouse at the appointed time with dread in my heart. I could not let this continue on to the next day! Stella would cry.

I returned to the third floor this time and not the holding room. But still, I waited and waited. Finally about 2 pm the bailiff came and led us into the courtroom. The judge then called out the first set of juror numbers. That group was to remain in the courtroom. I wasn't one. I was glad.

Then he called out a second group of jurors. Those jurors were to return the next day at 9 am. I could tell by the numbers he called that these people were jurors who had reported that day for jury duty, whereas I had been there two days prior. But, still I thought maybe I'd be excused because of the way I had answered questions on my questionaire.

But no. The judge told us that anyone who wasn't called in the first two groups were to report THE NEXT DAY at 11 am. Damn! I just couldn't report the next day-it was Stella's birthday! She was already a bit disappointed that she had play practice that night so she couldn't go to the Rainforest Cafe for dinner. I couldn't understand why I had to come back when I knew eventually they'd excuse me because the defense would not want me on the jury.

So, when the judge asked if anyone had any questions, I was one who raised my hand. I asked if I could speak to the bailiff when we were through. A couple other people asked the same. The judge made a joke about the bailiff's popularity. When we finished, and walked out into the hall, I waited for the bailiff.

The first guy told her he was a diabetic, and wouldn't be able to handle the afternoons. Then it was my turn. I was shaking, but told her that not only was I a mom of two girls, one of which was the same age as the girl in the case, but I was also an elementary teacher. I told her that my whole life pretty much revolved around kids and keeping them safe, happy, and pointing in the right direction. I told her there was no way I could be open minded about this case, and I didn't even want to have to listen to any details. After listening to the third guy, she went back into the courtroom. About 10 minutes later she came out. She excused the diabetic. And she excused me. Thanks goodness.

That night on the news I heard how two guys who had been in prison for 17 years for the rape of a woman had been proven, through DNA, to be innocent. They were released. So it does happen that someone can be wrongfully accused, I guess. I just don't want to be part of it.

Who's In Charge Here?

Viktor has been a real pain in the butt the past few weeks. I'm not sure why. Today, when I went to get the kids from recess, the recess teacher pulled me over and talked to me for about 10 minutes about Viktor's behavior at recess. Apparently, he was with the boys playing soccer on the field, but was harrassing others and tripping them.

So I led my class inside. Viktor comes in, looking rather sour-faced. I remind him that we have a movie scheduled for the afternoon, and if he can't behave, he'll be sitting in the office instead. He talks back to me. And argues with me. And tells me that he did not get into trouble at recess. Hmmm. I yanked him from watching the movie.

While the kids were at pe later in the day, I sent an email to the office, saying that Viktor would be coming to the office around 1:40 with work as he had lost the privelege of seeing a movie with the rest of the class. When the kids got back from pe, and I started the movie, I sent Viktor to the office. He had a lot of work to do on his ABC of 5th Grade Memories book.

He came back in about 15 minutes. "Viktor, why are you here?" I asked.

"I finished," he replied.

"I don't care," I said. "We are watching a movie and you lost the right to be able to watch it with us. Go back to the office."

Later, I see our recess teacher peering into my room. I went to the door. She asked me some question; I don't remember what. Then she wondered when our movie would be finished because Viktor wanted to know when he could come back to class. I told her that it would play for most of the rest of the day.

About 10 minutes after that, another gal in the office called the room over the intercom. "Mrs. Teacher?" she said. I turned down the volume on the movie. "Yes..." I replied.

"Is your movie almost done? Viktor would like to know when he can come back," she asked.

"No, it is not almost done," I replied. "I will let the office know when it is over."

Finally at about 3:20, I stopped the movie. It was soon going to be time to get ready to go home, and it was a good stopping point in the movie. I decided that we can watch the last 10-15 minutes tomorrow. Then I called the office, and told them that they could send Viktor back to class for dismissal.

After all the kids had finally left for the day, I went to check my emails. I hadn't checked them all afternoon while the movie played. There were many emails. One was from our Education Assisstant.

"Is you movie over yet? Viktor wants to know when he can return to class..."

If you ask me, as far the office was concerned, Viktor was calling all the shots this afternoon.

2 More Days (Unbelievably)

Today Derrell was back from vacation. His family had gone about a 1.5 weeks ago to the graduation of a surprise kid of the dad's, or something like that...Anyway, it's been the best week and a half of the year. He came back today.

This afternoon was Field Day. I don't really like Field Day, and it was pouring when I got up, so I was not excited. But by the afternoon, the rain had stopped (even though it was still cool out). The directions given to me by the pe teacher, who runs Field Day, was to divide my class into two groups. So I did. Pretty much, I divided them according to whose class they were going into next year. They didn't know that, though.

I sort of accompanied one group of my class during the whole Field Day. The other group seemed to have the other two 5th grade teachers accompanying them, so I stayed with one group.

Things seemed to be going well. It wasn't raining, and kids were laughing. Everyone seemed to be having fun. Then I get with my group to the second to the last station. One of the recess gals comes over to me.

"Derrell and Fzeen are in the office. They drew punches and made contact," she said. Hmmm. Upon further questioning, it seems they fought each other. I was to send their things once we got back into the classroom.

I saw our principal out at the Field Day, so I went over to him. "Derrell and Fzeen are in the office for fighting," I told him. He said he had heard that they were in the office, but hadn't been told the specifics. "Well," I continued, "Tomorrow we are having a reward and watching a movie in the afternoon."

My principal said, "They definitely should not be able to go to a class reward. Send them to the office tomorrow."

Cool, I thought. That was what I had hoped he'd say.

Later, I get an email that Derrell and Fzeen are suspended from school tomorrow. SWEET! Only two more days to go.

Then Who Can You Trust?

For the last reward of the year, the kids are going to earn a movie. Notice I say "going to..." They will watch a movie the afternoon of the day before the last day of school. Because really, what else is there to do?

So the other day they had earned their reward, "kickball challenge," when they got to challenge another 5th grade class to a game of kickball at the end of the day. We had previously been challenged to kickball by Mrs. Smith's class, and we won, and the kids really enjoyed it. So this time we challenged Mrs. Johnson's class. We had beat Smith's class, and Johnson's class had previously beaten Smith's class. Therefore, if we won, we'd be the champs of 5th grade. And we won!

On to a new challenge. As previously stated, it was for a movie. I will show it regardless of behavior. But the kids don't know that. On Tuesday, I put up five blanks on the board. Yesterday they were so bad that I didn't give them any letters. But today they worked and worked and worked. So at the end of the day, I commended them on their behavior, and gave them an "M." I had planned on giving them a letter a day, beginning with m, and just spelling out "movie." No games or tricks like I usually do to keep them guessing.

Today they got an "m." It's a 5-letter word beginning with "m." It's obvious what it is going to spell. But I have set a precedence here. As soon as I put up an "m," some kids said, "It spells movie!" But other kids just didn't think they could trust me. Would I really make it that easy-that obvious? No, they decided. And I heard several kids say, "I don't think it spells it movie...You know how she likes to put up the wrong letters!"

You can't trust the teacher.

Tough Day (Only 7 More To Go)

I'm totally exhausted. Just yesterday I was gloating about what a great job I did of planning activities for these last few weeks of school. The kids have been working for the past three weeks on a large Revolutionary War research project, and on last Monday I gave them the assignment of creating an "ABC Book of 5th Grade Memories." So we have just been going from one project to another, with assessments thrown in between. Things were going well.

Today was a totally different story. Was it just yesterday that I was bragging about how good I was? It all started, really, when I woke at 3 am to go to the bathroom. I could feel the beginnings of a bad headache coming on. But when I awoke at 6 am to start my day, I didn't take any Aleve. Therefore, I even started my day with a raging headache.

Then, today was the day that kids who were having to go to a new school next year due to boundary changes were going to be visiting their new place. And our IP teacher was going to go with them. Yesterday she had sent a message saying no IP services, and I always then wonder what I'll do with Adam all day long. But hey, he's on good meds now, so I figured it would be ok. But in the morning when I went to get my class, I could tell Adam did not take his meds that morning. So as we walked into the building, I asked him if he had taken his meds. No, he told me (no surprise). I then asked his 6th grade sister, who for some reason has the responsibility of seeing that Adam gets his meds. She wasn't sure. But I knew.

Normally when this happens, he goes to IP (Resource Room) as normal, and the IP teacher just keeps him until about 11 am, when the nurse gives him his meds a bit early. I don't have to deal with him. Unfortunately, remember, today the IP teacher was gone. I had no place to send Adam except the office. I did keep him as long as I could stand it, but when he is yelling, burping, out of his chair, etc., etc., showing behaviors I would not put up with from anyone else, I had to do something. I sent Adam with some work to the office, and followed it up with an email to our principal, ccing the nurse and our Educational Assisstant. In my email I said I was trying to give a health CBA, and Adam was making all kinds of inappropriate noises and being just way too distractive in the room.

I get this email back from our EA-whom I like, although her email today ticked me off. She said in the email that when Adam doesn't get his meds, he just has no control over his emotions, and how frustating that must be for him...Yes, I replied, but I am trying to get 25 other students to complete the health CBA, and it wasn't working for him to be in the classroom. She replied, asking if Adam could wait until the afternoon to take the CBA, after taking his meds. I replied that would be fine, although it wouldn't make any difference. That seemed to really put her off, as she replied, "What do you mean by'it won't make any difference'?"

Now, I have no idea how she can NOT know what I mean. Adam is not capable of doing 5th grade work, no matter how medicated he is! She knows this! But I made some sort of comment that I knew the CBA would be difficult for Adam no matter what, and perhaps he could do it if he just dictated it to someone. What an excellent idea, she said. I should tell IP that tomorrow.

And won't IP be happy about that one. You know, no matter how well-meaning people are, when they aren't in the classroom every day all day long, they have no idea, or forget, how tough teaching really is.

It Was Meant To Be A Threat!

Today we had an assembly for the Battle of the Books. One of the teams from my class was representing the whole 5th grade, so I was pretty proud. It was in the morning. We went first thing, got the kids settled on the floor in straight lines, and then I sat in an uncomfortable folding chair off to the side of my class where I could cast glaring looks at unruly children.

The assembly was about to begin, and I had my eye on Adam. He had something in his hands that looked like Silly Putty, but frankly, I didn't care much as it kept him fairly quiet and his hands busy. However, he was having a pretty good time showing it to kids around him. So I got his attention.

I gave him one of those teacher looks. "Adam," I said. And I pointed to a spot right next to me at my feet. "Do you want to sit here?"

Now, I fully expected him to say, "No." Then, I was going to follow that up with a comment like, "Then turn around and be quiet!"

But Adam did not follow this script. He looked at the spot I pointed to at my feet, looked at me, gave me a smile and said, "Sure!" He got up and came over and sat down at my feet. He was my buddy for the whole assembly.

It was supposed to be a threat.

TMI

This is an email I got today from a parent of mine who volunteers in my room every Friday afternoon:

Well I won’t be there this Friday I have a Dr. appt. at 1:50. I got really sick Sunday(stomach) and couldn’t move and did not go to work Mon. I bloated up gassy and a whole lot of pain in my right side of my stomach. I either have to get my gull bladder out or hysterectomy or I don’t know. They did test on me and I will get the results Friday.

"Bloated up gassy?" Can we say, "Too Much Information?"

Tears in the Afternoon

As indicated in my last post, Carl was in tears twice on Friday. Here's the incident that escalated into tears in the afternoon:

Carl was absent on Thursday. I had handed out a Revolutionary War research project that was meant to keep my fifth graders busy until the last day of school. The students don't need to know that I have to get my final grades in long before the project is due...Don't tell.

Anyway, Friday morning as kids came into the room and got settled, I see Carl with his nose in a book. The Revolutionary War Project packet is sitting, untouched, in front of him. "Carl," I said, "On your desk is a Revolutionary War Research Project that I handed out yesterday. Read through it, and if you have questions, ask Ramon." Then I got busy, and promptly forgot all about Carl and the research project.

That afternoon, for the last 1.5 hours of the day, I gave the class time to work on their research project. The packet consists of three sections: Maps and Pictures, Written Work, and Creative Use of the Imagination. Depending on what final score the kids are going for, they must complete a certain amount of activities from each of the three sections. The most activities they have to complete would be nine total activities from the packet. There are about six activities to choose from in each section. It's really a straight forward packet, with each activity explained.

But Carl brings the packet up to me. "I don't get it," he says. I'm thinking that is a pretty generalized statement...what exactly doesn't he get? The directions are clear. The rules clearly state how many activities he needs complete for different grades. The activities are clearly written in English...What on earth doesn't he "get?" Plus, after his little rhombus problem from the morning, I'm not feeling very patient with Mr. Carl at that point.

"I just don't get it. The whole thing," Carl said, his eyes filling up with tears. I take a deep breath and try to remain calm. "Carl," I said. "Is there a specific thing with the directions you are having trouble understanding?"

"I just don't get it," he replied...Grrr....He is taxing my patience. I was trying so hard to remain calm. Carl does have attention deficit disorder (not hyper, too, thank goodness), so I try to cut him some slack. "What's a T-chart?" he asks. Now, yes, on Thursday when I handed out the packet, that was one of the many activities that we discussed, as I didn't think they'd understand a T-chart (I should probably change that activity...note to self). So I explained that particular activity to Carl, who then asked me what was the French and Indian War?

"Carl, that is what you are supposed to find out. That is why it is called research. We have books in the room. We have library books, social studies books, and three sets of encyclopedias to use for research."

"What's an encyclopedia?" Carl asks. He really isn't stupid. I just am not sure what his problem is, but my patience is running out. "Carl," I said. "I think you are getting overwhelmed with this assignment. Take this packet home tonight and show it to your mom. She will help you get organized and make a plan of activities to complete. For now, choose just one activity to work on here in class."

About five minutes later he comes up to me. "What is a musket," he asks. Now, I KNOW that there are at least two activities that involve finding out what a musket is. Carl, it appears, wants me to tell him. "Carl, did you even try looking in a book?"

I tell you, I was done with Carl. Perhaps he should be homeschooled, then he'd get the one-on-one he craves. But in my class of 26, I don't have time to hold Carl's hand. I sent his mom an email. Let her figure it out. She created this ultra-dependant boy. But I told his mom in the email that 6th grade is all about research projects, so he'd better figure it out.

Countdown Has Begun

There are 19 days left of school, and I shall be happy to send a few kids away!

*Carl is the youngest of two or three kids in his family, and he is babied. A few weeks ago he threw a crying fit in the hallway, because he forgot to grab his practice record sheet when he left for band. He came back to the class to get it, but I wasn't there and had locked the door. I had the audacity to actually use my planning time to run off work instead of waiting in my classroom in case any student needed me...When Carl was unsuccessful at convincing any other teacher to let him into the room to get what he needed, he apparently had an emotional breakdown in the hallway, dissolving into tears. C'mon, buddy-you are almost a 6th grader! And you are crying over this? It's May, and I think that by now grabbing your practice sheet should be automatic. You screwed up. Deal with it.

Then on Friday he actually threw two crying/sulking fits. The first one happened in the morning. I handed back geometry tests, and Carl did poorly, getting less than 70%. One of the questions he missed was one where he was to simply draw a rhombus with no right angles. He correctly drew the shape, as he found the shape on his math template and traced it. That was acceptable. But then he added measurements to the sides of the shape. He made one set of parallel sides measure 1 foot. He made the other set of parallel sides measure 2 feet. Therefore, it was no longer a rhombus. A rhombus has four equal sides. I checked the problem wrong, indicating that his shape was correct, but that the measurements he added then made his answer incorrect. He brought his test up to me.

"Why is this wrong?" he asked. I pointed out exactly what I had already explained on his paper. "But you said my shape is right," he continued to argue.

"Yes," I replied. "But the measurements you included are not correct for a rhombus. A rhombus has 4 equal sides. Your measurements show you inteded the sides to not be equal. It shows me that you do not understand what a rhombus is."

"But I didn't have to put measurements. That was doing extra!" he said. He wanted to be rewarded for that, apparently.

"Sorry. You shouldn't have added the measurements. They are wrong for a rhombus. Your answer is wrong."

"I can erase the measurements," Carl persisted.

"No. The test is over. I have corrected it. Your answer was wrong. You cannot change your answer," I said.

So Carl, who sits in the front row, pouted and scowled at me all morning long. Then it was lunchtime. I took them to lunch, but then called Carl outside. He reluctantly came out.

"Carl, you are on ASB. What is your position?" I asked.

"I'm the treasurer," he replied.

"And are you planning on running for ASB next year?" I inquired further, thinking please, oh please say yes...

"Yes," he answered. SCORE!

"Well," I said, "You need to get a recommendation from your teacher, or have you forgotten? I'll tell you one thing, an ASB officer must be responsible, reliable, and have a great attitude. Not someone who argues with the teacher, and then pouts, scowls, and cries when he doesn't get what he wants. Think about that." I walked away.

And you know what? I will not recommend him. He's babied by his mother, and the teacher he had for the last two years before me babied him. He needs to grow up.

Favorite Holiday

My Mother's Day stunk.

More Funny Things Kids Write

*Apology note written to me from a boy student who was caught misbehaving and causing a disruption in class:

"Dear Teacher,
I am sorry I did wut I wasn't supposed to do I will not do it again."

I wonder if he even knows WHY he got into trouble...A very vague apology note!

*And Adam wrote me a persuasive letter about where the class should go on a field trip this year:

"Dear Teacher,
we shoed go to the pacific science sinner beause you can learn now stuff like learning about the hymen body and about the hymen brain..."

Now, I think Adam is correct. The Pacific Science Sinner seems like just the place for learning all about the hymen...

Times They Are A'Changin'

It used to be that we could threaten our students with, "If you don't study hard and go to college, you might end up being a garbage collector!" But garbage men may go on strike. And on a news brief I heard that garbage collectors make $100,000.00. Hardly a threat any more. About $30,000.00 more than I make? With my college degrees and 17 years of teaching experience? Maybe I went into the wrong profession.

Irony

This is true irony: My house is terribly cluttered, so I'm continually buying magazines about how to control the clutter. I have so many magazines that it is cluttering up my house.

Spelling Lesson

I've had a couple glasses of wine, so I'm feeling a bit blue right now that no one reads my blog...I try to make it entertaining...

There is something I do in class for "all class" rewards. It's a pretty fun idea-I sort of made it up last year when I was desparately searching for somthing that might work on my mean class to make them behave. It didn't make a difference on my mean class. They stayed mean.

This year my class, for the most part, is nice. I'm using the same all class reward that I developed last year, and it is working like a charm. I was inspired by Hang Man and Vanna White. What I do is I decide ahead of time what the reward will be (free movie afternoon, for example), and on the board up front in the class I put blanks for letters, leaving spaces between words. When the whole class behaves (which is quite often with this group), they earn a letter. As I put up letters, the kids have fun trying to guess what the reward is. I have fun with it, too. Sometimes I put up a random letter, and this really throws them. Then later I say to the class, "What was I thinking? There is no Z in that word..." And I change it to the correct letter. I love it.

So today the kids earned their last letter for this reward. The reward was "Books and Brownies Afternoon." They were very excited. I milked it as long as I could. I was late picking them up from PE, but they had come out of the building and were lined up in a straight line, just waiting for me. And walking back? It was the straightest, quietest line they have done yet. I saw a guy that comes out to be our tech problem solver, and I joked with him that they were working hard to earn this reward. The cool thing is that the reward is really just an afternoon of reading, but they are as excited as if it was a field trip!

So we get back into the room from pe, and the kids have to finish their writing assessments. They have only one remaining letter to earn. It's quiet, and remained so, until about 3:15. I say to them in a serious voice, "I just realized I made a huge mistake. You can not tell the principal I did this; do not tell your parents."

They stare at me with huge eyes and open mouths as they ponder exactly what mistake I could have made...I continue to tell them that as their teacher, I am their role model. And I should be modeling the right way to act, to treat others, and how to live a healthy lifestyle. I said, "I didn't mean to write 'brownies' up on the board. I meant to write 'Books and BROCOLLI afternoon!" I played it up so well. I'm sure some of the kids believed that I really had made this grave error.

Why the Rich Get Richer, and the Poor Get Poorer

Yesterday I went to a rally in support of our school district's two levies which are currently on the ballot. We met downtown in front of one of the middle schools. It was a deja vu experience, since we had a few rallies there back in September during the strike. I might add that the turnout was better for the strike, as well as the enthusiasm of supporting horn honks from cars during the strike...This levy rally was poorly attended. I hope it isn't an indication of a bad voting result...

Anyway, while I was holding a sign and waving to cars, a former student of mine came over. I had her as a 6th grader three years ago. I really liked her, and it was great seeing her. She is now a ninth grader at one of the high schools, and is on the basketball team. As luck would have it, she was selling coupon books for $10.00. And so yes, I dug through my purse to find enough cash, and bought one.

Then I said to her, "See that well-dressed man over there? He is our school district's Superintendant, and he makes about $240,000.00 a year. More than our vice-president of the United States. Go ask him to buy a coupon book or two."

So she headed off to hit him up. I remember that she was never shy...He didn't buy one, though, as he said he didn't have any cash on him, but that she should email his office on Monday.

Then I also told her, "See that short man over there with the tan? A nice tan for February...He is a member of our school board. He owns a restaurant in town. He has money, too. Go ask him to buy a coupon book."

She did, but I'm not sure if he bought one or not. I just thought it was interesting that the poor teacher digs through her purse to gather $10, but two people to whom money is no object could not even buy one $10 coupon book from a student in a district they represent. The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer.

The Joys of Teaching

My kids this year are just so danged cute! Here are some stories:

*I had had the kids in literature groups of 3 or 4 reading various books by Bill Wallace. Since I want the kids to do an author study involving reading a second book by the same author, I was going to have the kids choose their second book. I knew that at least one student in the room has read each book there was to choose from, so I decided to let the kids do the "book talks." However, they weren't to reveal plot, since that is like going to the movies and having the person behind you reveal the ending. All the kids were to do was to say if it was a good book, if they'd recommend it, if it was funny, sad, etc.

Anyway, Eduard raises his hand to do the book talk for one of the books. He begins by saying he really liked the book. Then he says, "The main character, Tom, goes..." I stopped him, and reminded him that he wasn't supposed to reveal the plot. So he says, "This guy goes..."

I said, "You mean Tom?"

"Yeah," Eduard replied, and continued to tell us what the book was about. I guess since he wasn't using the main character's name anymore, we wouldn't know what was happening.

*Today my kids were coming back from music choice. They come back from three different places: band, orchestra, and general music. I meet them outside like I do at recess, and when they are all lined up, we go into the classroom. I went outside, and some kids came over. Anas was in front, and said to me, "Let's just forget about the others and go in."

"I can't do that," I replied, "because in my classroom there is no child left behind!"

He didn't get it, but I laughed inside...But then he points to this button I bought last summer at the NEA convention in San Diego. It is bright red and says, "No teacher left behind!" I wear it on my lanyard.

He said, "Hey! Your button says No Teacher Left Behind!"

"Really!" I asked, very surprised..."Wow! I didn't know that!"

Anas turned to the kid behind him, and informed him that I was wearing a button that said something and I didn't even know I was wearing it! Then he turned back to me and said, "Did you really not know you were wearing it?"

"I had no idea," I said. Then I said, "Anas, now do you really think I didn't know I was wearing this button?"

He paused, and said, "Maybe..."

"Anas, I know I'm wearing this button. I bought it." He thought for a minute. "Oh, were you being sarcastic?"

"Maybe a little bit, Anas..." I said.

And in my mind I'm hearing Charlie Brown yelling, "Don't you know sarcasm when you hear it??"

Not Your Average Written Reports

I've spent most of this 3-day weekend grading 5th grade explorer projects. Along with a variety of activities each student had to do on their assigned explorer was to write a report. Here are some great lines:

"Samuel de Champlain was trying to go to Canada to trade fur. He jacked off and made his crew work on the fur trading..."


"Hudson and his crew sailed to Greenland. They did not find what they were looking for. They found gold and gems but they really wanted to find spices. Hudson really wanted to find the spices to help mankind. Hudson was really sad because he wanted people to keep their food fresh..."

Champlain must have run some kind of crew, huh? And Hudson? Didn't he go on to discover Tupperware?