Hotty mess

After shadily making my way into the 8th grade promotion ceremony (don't ask how it happened.  It wasn't pretty or professional.  I may have thrown someone under the bus), I thought to myself, I'm going to be stoic.  STOIC.  You know, smile, be proud, watch my loves promote onto high school.


Yeah, that lasted for like, 5 minutes.  Then, I started bawling like a baby.  Well, not really bawling.  More like a stream of tears coming down my face as I tried to look appropriate. 

It didn't help that, during bell work today, I told my fifth graders that I wasn't coming back to school next year.  In their journals, I had them write about where they wanted to move if they could move to a new state.  Then we chatted about that for a while.  Then, I asked them why they think I put that journal topic up.  A few guesses in, and one kid goes, "Because you're moving next week."  Mind you, this was said sarcastically.

You know how hard it is to say, "Well actually, I am?"  Do you know? 

My babies got all sad and shocked.  My namesake and project for the year (OFFICIALLY NO DAYS OF ISS, friends, after spending half of last year in it) came up to me and said, "I need to take a break."  He wrote himself a pass and walked out.  On me.  

So I mosey to promotion, where I am in tears during the whole thing, but complete break down when JP, (remember, the girl I snuck in during her suspension last year to go to math class) thanks me in her speech for being there for her.

TEARS.  Thanks, JP, for opening the floodgates. 

After some more tears and hugs, I left my loves to go back to my class.  I guess there was a constant pit feeling in my stomach because it is SO hard to leave these babes.  I feel like I'm walking out on them.  It hurts.  A lot. 

I concur...

Read Mathinaz's response to this.

I agree with her fiery response.  I feel like I don't have to say much else about the topic.

Other than my retort to that evil letter writer, "Hey friend, I don't like to say the pledge of allegiance because of the phrase 'under God.'  It was added to the pledge in the 50's to weed out the communists by Eisenhower's staff.  Does that make me a commie?  Or worse, an agnostic?" 

And let's all not forget the fact that this person was a substitute teacher.  Have we not thought about the idea that those students didn't want to learn FROM HIM?  Perhaps we could think about the dynamics of leaving that this adult has no idea of.  Students in the area that he taught have trust issues.  (Oh, who wouldn't when everyone is leaving them...all of the time)  They feel a need to test the people who try to take authority of them, to see if these people are worthy enough to gain their trust. 

We teach them to NOT trust everyone.  We teach them that some adults only want to use them (for drugs, for gangs, for money...whatever) and we tell them to be very careful of the people who they spend their time with.  They are supposed to hurry home from school and they are rarely allowed to play outside (especially in the dark) because of the adults they cannot trust. 

They also learn that they should not just give away their trust easily.  If they learn to trust an adult, then the adult LEAVES THEM (parents, aunts and uncles left to care for them and then taken away, teachers who give up on them, neighbors and friends, etc) they get hurt.  VERY HURT.  So they put up walls so that they don't have to deal with the pain of loss.  

What have I learned from being in the school for 4 years?  If students trust you, then they will respect you. 

So, I say back to you, substitute, what did YOU do to gain the students' trust?  What did YOU do to gain the students' respect?  OH, nothing?  Well no wonder they treated you like shit.  They knew you were going to leave them. 

News Hilarity!

Okay, so we started our newspaper unit today.

So one of my kids sat down and opened his newspaper today and asked, "Ms. L, why do some people look like this when they are sitting on the toilet?"

HOW does one respond to that?

I just laughed. Shows how mature I really am.

I am calm. I am calm.

So today there was a major medical emergency in my classroom.

An ambulance, fire truck, and 7 EMTs were present. The EMTs had to come into my room, and we had a kiddo on a stretcher.

Did I mention that this was happening during Social Studies class?

Apparently I was very calm and handled this situation quite well. Do we know why?

Oh, it's because of my amazing training at a summer camp all throughout college. I've dealt with many situations that I wish I could have just freaked out about (cutting, swallowing glow sticks, gluing fingers together, asthma attacks at midnight with our inhalers locked in a locker a mile into the dark woods, lost camper searches, having to call therapists from camp, neverending bloody noses, etc.) but at least all of these emergencies helped me to keep calm in the worst crisis I've ever had to experience.

Oh camp. How I love you. Thank you so much.

Comparing naughty

So one (of many) things I love about 5th grade compared to 7th grade is the level of naughtiness.

Naughty action: Untucked shirt

7th grade naughty: Refuses to tuck in shirt. Whines. Bangs head on table. Tells me to fuck myself.

5th grade naughty: Gets caught. Gets ticket removed from desk. Shirt is immediately tucked in for the next 2 days.


Naughty action: Not raising your hand

7th grade naughty: calls out. Gets a warning. Fights with you while not raising your hand about the warning. Gets ignored. Keeps calling out. Sits in lunch detention. Swears at you as they leave lunch detention.

5th grade naughty: Calls out. Gets eye from teacher. Claps hand over mouth. Raises hand as teacher takes ticket from desk. Raises hand for the whole next day.

Naughty action: Swearing

7th grade naughty: Swears. Teacher says that we don't use those words. Naughty stands up and throws pencil at teacher and storms out of the room. (I'm not kidding for those who think I am. This actually happened.)

5th grade naughty: Swears. Teacher says to watch their mouth. Student claps hand over mouth. Comes up to teacher and apologizes with tears in eyes. Hasn't sworn since.


I am no longer policing behavior. I am teaching. :)

Did you really just do that?

Scene: First class, after specials. (These are my special kiddos. Grenade is there. With 15 other kiddos who have IEP's)

Assignment: Problem solving.

Adults in the room: 3. Myself, working with a small group, special ed teacher, working with a small group of students (doing exactly what we were told to do in our "attack your teaching styles" meeting this morning), and guitar-playing special ed assistant, also working with a small group of students.

What happened: One of my kiddos, who is generally well behaved, is working with a small group of kids and no adults. I look over, and I say, "Guys, get back to work. I see that you are gossiping." They all nod and go to work. Then, I hear this one kid say, "Damn my brother." And I say, quickly, "J - watch your mouth."

Reasons I say this: Since Grenade is not allowed to swear, and I have to tell her to watch her mouth, everyone else gets the phrase "watch your mouth" if they swear. He does not get in trouble, he doesn't need to move, he just gets "watch your mouth."

Response: "WHY? I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING." Me: "You swore. You need to watch your mouth." Him: "WHAT DID I SAY? WHAT DID I SAY?" (He is yelling, the class is getting quieter, and looking at him.) Me: "You swore. I'm not going to get into this argument with you."

Then he stands up, throws all of his stuff on the ground, and storms out of the room. As he is walking, he throws his pencil at me and it hits me in the leg. He yells, "I'M GOING TO THE OFFICE."

My response: "You did not just throw a pencil at me."

Everyone else: The kiddos are silent as they watch him leave. Basically, my crazy class is scared silent as the other two adults in the room look shocked.

I used to think blowing bubbles was fun...

Until I have had my share of bubbles for the rest of my life.

I am SO done with testing. I'm done with checking bubbles, rechecking bubbles, checking to make sure you bubbled in the correct form, looking for stray pencil marks, erasing, re-erasing, rechecking bubbles.....

Really, NCLB? Really, Obama? This is what you imagined when we needed more accountability? I'm accountable for bubbles.

Now, I'm not allowed to look at the questions, to make sure that you are bubbling in the correct number when you are working on a question, to clarify concepts, to answer legitimate questions, to allow you to use a dictionary (even though, in life, IN SCHOOL, we teach you how to use your resources if you need to know something you don't), to adapt directions to fit your needs, to let you test how you want, to give you breaks if you need them, to let you re-check your work after I have collected your book, to give you a CALCULATOR (although again, if you need a calculator in life, you're allowed to have one) or to generally let me assess you how I know you need to be assessed. BUT I MUST CHECK YOUR BUBBLES.

I'm so glad I'm done with the bubbles.

Especially since one of my lovelies decided to spill water on his answer sheet. When he was completely done. Which meant that I had to rebubble in 187 questions for him after school. Not to mention all of the information on the back (name, birthdate, soul, etc...)

No. More. Bubbles.

Cheeky

I think everyone is a little stressed out this time of year. The kiddos know that the teachers are going ape shit crazy because of the most stressful test of life. (Thanks, NCLB.) Thus, the kids need to act crazy because the teachers are acting crazy.

So this is how craziness plays off in 7th grade.

In advanced class, whilst listening to the radio:
"Ms. L, this song IS dirty. Listen. She talks about liking the way he is touching her."
I try to make it not dirty: "Guys. He's probably, you know, touching her cheek."
JP's retort: "What cheek?"

I admit. I deserved it. But let's just continue the conversation that occurs.

Next song: Say Ahh, by Trey Songz. I'll admit, I like this song. (Okay, more than like. I enjoy it every time it plays while we're on the Vegas dance floor. I heart this song a lot.)

So, I ALWAYS thought that this song was about drinking. They talk about drinking. Lots of different beverages. Mostly champagne. You know, open your mouth and drink champagne. OR cranberry and vodka.

My kiddos had other ideas.
JP: "This song is even dirtier than the last one."
Me: "What?"
Sassy: "You know. The girls have no cups and they have to open their mouths and say ahh. Come on, Ms. L."
Me: "Guys, this song is about drinking. DRINKING."
JP: "Yeah, drinking someone's 'special sauce.'"

Enter the PRESIDENT OF THE STUDENT COUNCIL.
El Presidente: "Yeah, alfredo sauce."

Me: "THIS DISCUSSION WILL STOP NOW."

Did that actually just happen?

Sometimes, while working in the school I do, you have to ask yourself the question, did that actually just happen?

Yesterday, at the back gate after school, we were trying to shoo the kids home so that we could finish parent teacher conferences (Read:the smart ones who finished the conferences before Friday could lay by the pool).

Ivy and I were shooing away the kids when we look at the giant field behind our school and see a circle of 7th grade boys. We immediately begin walking towards the circle, because a circle means only one thing: potential fight. (Oh how I wish it was for duck, duck, goose.)

I start running, thinking, crap crap crap I hope they don't fight and look in the middle of the circle. THERE are 2 FIRST GRADE boys in the middle. I sigh with relief, and then see the FIRST GRADERS start kicking each other's asses. They were punching, throwing each other to the ground, and generally beating the shit out of one another.

I yell, "STOP." They all look around, see me, and one of the first grade perps BOOKS it across the field. I break out into a full out sprint, trying to chase this boy, while Ivy goes after the other one, and all of the other boys stare at me as I'm sprinting across the field. (Think giant park. Like a football field.)

As the first grader is running away, he throws up DOUBLE MIDDLE FINGERS at the kid who he was fighting, then at ME.

WHAT? Shut the front door. Oh no you didn't just throw up double middle fingers at me and another kiddo.

So I run faster. And as I'm catching up with him, his older brother picks him up and sprints into the neighborhood. I lost him. Crap.

But as I walk back to the other boy who didn't run, we found out these things
a) the boys really didn't want to fight
b) the 7th graders pimped out their brothers to fight so they could watch

I'd like you to re-read b. That's right. They made the boys fight each other.

Did that just actually happen?

And please imagine a sweet first grade boy throwing up double middle fingers. I couldn't stop laughing. Although it was inappropriate.

Sometimes you just have to laugh...

Oh my gosh. This week was conferences, which made the week super stressful. By the time Friday rolls around, every teacher is fighting tooth and nail not to be completely spent. I admit we were a little giddy this morning.

Mostly because I haven't gotten much sleep this week. But then again, who puts a Spring Training night game AND March Madness on school nights? For real. You know you've become a "veteran" teacher (as opposed to a rookie) when you can spend your school nights doing non-school things and still be able to function in class.

So, today, I may have been off of my rocker.

Grenade exploded in class today, threw some stuff at kiddos, swore at me and her peers countless times, and so she "got" to leave.

Then, I'm helping a sweet, completely non-spatial kiddo try to fold nets into 3-D figures, really seeing lightbulbs go off in his head as he makes connections between 2 and 3 D figures, I look up, and two of my BOYS ARE FIST FIGHTING IN THE FRONT OF THE ROOM.

I'm pausing at this point in the story to tell you that there are 3 adults in the room. Myself, Mr. Guitar, and super colleague TOFTT (take one for the team). So Guitar is helping some of my stubborn kiddos do their work (he's a special education aide), and TOFTT is explaining some of Shiny's IEP goals to him. AND THE STUPID BOYS START FIGHTING.

I yell, "STOP. GET OUTSIDE." And they meander outside, I slam open the door, put one at one end of the hallway, one at the other, and go, "I'm SO PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW I MIGHT SWEAR. WHAT THE (long pause as my mouth formed words) WERE YOU THINKING?"

Then they left to go to the office. I was done.

So I have many less kiddos in my room. One of them walks up to me and TOFTT and says, "Mario says he's bringing a watergun to field day and squirting water at all the girls who are wearing white."

What do I do? I laugh. Hysterically. I cannot stop. Neither can TOFTT. It was just too much. So much so that Shiny came up to ask us a serious question and I respond with, "Shiny, are you trying to grow sideburns? Because its not working."

I was done with the week.

I heart vacation

Friends,

Let me explain why teachers need vacations. I know, I know, the argument is that we hardly ever work and all we do is go on vacation (thanks, Dad, for the words of encouragement) but really, vacations to us are like gold. Or as I like to say, necessary for my sanity.

Let's just say that you non-teachers are having an off-day. You don't feel good, your brain isn't working, you are in a general funk. You can go to work, sneak away in your office, spend the first part of your day on email or generally avoiding coworkers, and sit in a comfy chair and maybe listen to some calming music before your day begins.

If I have an off day, it effects EVERYTHING. If my tone is off, then my first period goes crazy and I lose them. They emulate my mood, and thus, I have 30 little 7th graders cranky, crabby, and generally badly behaving. It gets worse from there. I get snappy, they get snappy, and we don't learn anything. I try my best to give the lesson but it gets too confusing, or I don't anticipate questions, or I get cranky when they don't understand.

Basically, my off days are an epic fail. And we have just lost learning time because of my general disposition.

Let's just say that off days happen more frequently when we haven't had a day of vacation. Weekends are not vacation. Weekends are spent catching up on sleep and planning lessons. This spring break is necessary so I don't a) have any off days or b) generally give up on teaching 7th graders.

:)

Oh Pythagoreas

I spent a few days last week teaching the kiddos about the Pythagorean Theorem.

It was the first time all year that my algebra kids were at the same point as the geometry kids in the next room.

I was thinking about teaching the kiddos like this article shows...you know, with the proofs and the pictures.

But, I said to myself, I didn't understand that proof until I saw it when I was an adult. An adult obsessed with mathematics.

I feel like one day I will introduce these squares to my algebra kiddos. But not until they have to use the Pythagorean theorem for anything other than distance.

Grenade

I am so done with my best friend Grenade. She drives me up the wall. She cannot go more than 1 minute without swearing or yelling or swearing while yelling. I've read about people like her before. In my friend's action research papers in college where they were teaching in mental hospitals. INPATIENT mental hospitals. Just saying.

But a super colleague of mine brightened my day with a quick story about Grenade.

SC: "Ms. L, I saw Grenade today."
Me: "Oh you did?"
SC: "Yeah she was cussing up a storm when she was leaving school."
Me: "Really?"
SC: "Oh yeah. I said to her, honey, unless you have Tourette's, no one should be swearing that much."

I. LITERALLY. DIE.

I think I'm going to call her Tourette's and see what happens....

Standardized Tests abound.

The kiddos have to take district mandated standardized tests so that we teachers know what to cover during the rush to the state test in April.

I have a love/hate relationship with these tests. I love them because I wrote some of them. I feel personally connected to the process of writing aligned questions.

But I made an executive decision to not work on the questions for the grade level that I teach. I don't want to ever fear that I "teach to the test." But herein the problem lies.

I don't write the test for my grade. Those who do are on their high horse and have not a) taught regular students (instead of advanced students) for years and b) have no idea how to write aligned questions. and c) DO NOT FREAKING PROOFREAD.

So although I love the tests because I think they can be used effectively to be a more effective instructor/analyze data/make small groups/generally be awesome...I hate that my test is not perfect.

So after standardized testing, we were outside letting off steam. We played Red Light, Green Light and some of my boys decided that lap running was going to be a good idea. Then, one of them decided to run "suicides" on the basketball court.

I laughed at how much energy this child had after taking 2 tests. He is a nut case. We went inside before he could convince everyone to have a push-up contest.

Cognitive Dissonance

One of my super colleagues is working on her master's degree. She spends Thursday nights (after working all day) at class. Until way past my bedtime. I know this, because I just finished my master's last year (from the same program) and I feel her pain.

So we were g-chatting while I was watching Thursday night television (thank God I have reclaimed Thursday nights!) and she was suffering through class. I told her to read the blog because something had happened that was hilarious, and she came back within 10 seconds and typed...

"I CAN LICK MY ELBOW."

I refused to believe her. She kept assuring me that she could.

Fast forward to Friday morning at school. I march into her room, and before saying good morning, retort: "Lick your elbow. Now."

AND SHE DID. HOLY CRAP. I mean, it took a lot of laughing and turning red...but she did it!

Of course, when Eyes came into class, I switched with my super colleague for 30 seconds and she licked her elbow in front of the class. WE DIED.

And Eyes looked longingly at her elbow and proceeded to try to lick his.

When a teacher needs a laugh...

My kiddos don't realize that I sometimes get bored during the day and need a laugh.

This normally happens when they are working and no one is doing anything remotely funny. And sometimes I am like, "Man, I haven't laughed in a while. What can I do?"

Hmmm...so then I decide to do something.

"Hey Eyes, do you know what you can't do?"
"What, Ms. L?"
"You can't lick your elbow."

So what does he do? Spend 10 minutes trying to lick his elbow. I would like you to try to imagine a 12 year old boy contorting himself into ridiculous positions, trying to lick his elbow.

I don't think the kiddos realized that I really, really needed to laugh.

Amazing cultural references...

Gosh I love my kiddos sometimes. Here is what happened today.

Scene: Advanced Math Class.

As kiddos enter the room, I tell them cryptically, "You should choose your seats wisely...." because I let them pick their own seats.

So, what happens? As I announce that the classroom will be split into two teams down the middle. Now, I think that the teams are pretty even. Granted, the geniuses all seemed to sit on one side of the room (they're smart and they stick together), but the other side was capable enough to get the questions correct. I swear it.

But as soon as they split, JP yells out, "Ms. L, this is NOT FAIR. I mean, look at that team. Its like Doogie Howser AND Albert Einstein versus the Three Stooges."

YES. He said it. I laughed so hard. I couldn't stop.

I asked them, in fact, if we should make class t-shirts with that slogan.

Peaches and ... autoreplies?

I have so much to say. Mostly trying to remember everything for my memoirs...

First, my best friend (sense the sarcasm)...we'll call this student Grenade...(she is really dangerous when around others, and is so small but has a lot of bottled up rage that will explode frequently)...she had a run in with a different teacher today.

Now, let's put this into perspective. Grenade gives me ulcers on a daily basis. She cusses me out. She walks out of my classroom. She refuses to do work. She calls me names. She's a hot mess. I just breathe. And basically take it because there is nothing I can do about it. (She was supposed to be tested for some issues...we got parental consent...where'd the testing go? Where'd the support go? Why does she get to beat me up daily?)

But SOMEONE ELSE HAD TO REPRIMAND HER TODAY. And he did not have a good experience. So much so, that he told me about it as I was picking them up from gym...and he said, "Oh that one. She's a peach."

Well Grenade went OFF. She heard him call her a peach, and decided that:
a) She heard bitch. I told her he said peach.
b) HE SAID PEACH BUT HE MEANT I WAS A BITCH. No he did not, Grenade, I said. He called you a peach. Like your demeanor was peachy. I think he was being sarcastic.
c) IF I CALLED SOMEONE A PEACH I WOULD GET IN SO MUCH TROUBLE. No you wouldn't, Grenade, I said.

Proceed to stomp up the stairs. Proceed to stomp out of my classroom to go talk to ... I don't know. The people who coddle her?...Proceed to have the male teacher interrupted during his teaching to explain why he called her a peach....really? REALLY? Ridiculous.

She's a peach all right.

OH and autoreplies. Get this one. A teacher at school ...(I'll call him Mr. Performer)...(That's the nicest thing I could say. Others would call him many, many illegal things. He performs in front of the kids on a daily basis. They learn nothing. EVER. They sometimes play trivia games and watch Home Improvement on a daily basis. For "character development." Or some shit like that)....

Well Mr. Performer is at some training to get families more involved in our school. Fine. Whatever. You're still working. You're still getting paid. You're not on vacation. NOTICE: You still need to do your job.

So I send a reminder email today to the team to remind them about progress reports, and I get a quick reply from Mr. Performer. "I am out of the office and will be unavailable until Thursday. If you have x concerns, please call Power Trip."

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR. (Napoleon says.) YOU ARE NOT ON VACATION. YOU'RE NOT EVEN OUT OF THE OFFICE. WHY ARE YOU SO SELF IMPORTANT THAT YOU PUT AN EMAIL ON AUTOREPLY?

WAIT. You are a teacher. You don't have an office.

The Queen and Power Trip would NEVER put it on autoreply when they are at a training but still working. SERIOUSLY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

I'm thinking of setting my email to autoreply: "I'm currently closing the achievement gap and cannot waste my time answering pointless email. I'll get back to you when I feel like it."

Little Reflections of you

So for all of the non-teachers who read this, I want you to know one of the most unflattering aspects of teaching. All of your personality traits, common phrases, moods, and actions are mimicked by the students. It happens when you least expect it, and sometimes, its not the best picture of you. But by god, the kiddos are honest.

Case in point:
Napoleon: "Ms. L, you know that we know when you are mad."
Me: "How?"
Napoleon: "Your nostrils get real big. Even when you are not talking. Or yelling."
Me: "Oh."

Or sometimes they pick up hilarious phrases:
Heard at lunch:
Eyelashes: "I did not threaten you. YOU started throwing paper at me. Ms. L!!!"
Napoleon: "Hey, why did you tell on me?"
Eyelashes: "Because you threw me under the bus yesterday."

SHUT UP. I cannot believe you said that.

Or:
Napoleon: "Shut the front door."
Me: "When did you start saying that?"
Napoleon: "When you told me to shut the front door, and I said, but that's the back door."
Me: "Great. Do I really say that too much?"
Napoleon: "Yes."

Sometimes, they also realize that they can get your attention by buttering you up.
I was calling on students to answer questions. Face raised his hand and I didn't call on him. He whispered, "You suck." (not intending for me to hear it)
Me: "Well, I guess I won't be calling on Face today."
Face: Eyes all worried, "But Ms. L, why not?"
Me: "Because you told me I sucked. You lose, sucka."

So every two seconds, what does he say? "You are AWESOME. Math is my favorite!" He's to adorable to resist. So I finally called on him.

My little reflections of my personality are a gateway into the small things that I do to make a difference. Not always for the better.