DeLorean time machines, giant hamster balls, and sick teachers

This group of kiddos is way more cognitively with-it than I’m used to.  On the first day of school, the FIRST DAY, mind you, one student asked me if I knew that Chester from the Kissing Hand (a great first day book) was nocturnal.  http://www.amazon.com/Kissing-Hand-Audrey-Penn/dp/0878685855 – some lessons, here - http://www.mrsnelsonsclass.com/teacherresources/storylessons/kissinghand.aspx.  She also sprung “camouflaged” on me.  And another student asked if ‘The Kissing Hand’ was nonfiction.  I was so confused I started bawling, just to hear a sound that I was accustomed to.  The students asked me if I need an epidural needle.  Three of them were expert in the technique, and a fourth once completed a doctorate on the comparison of the epidural to the Boo-Boo kiss.

 

Actually, that reminds me.  I have been sick, and after two weeks, the students have started to look at me in mild disgust when I practice my whale call and fog horn imitations with a tissue.  Firstly, you never know when you might become stranded in a fog-lit boat in the middle of an ocean night.  Secondly, although they clearly view themselves as my intellectual superiors, they at least offer helpful advice. “You should be in bed, Mr. Gardner.”  “You need nose medicine, Mr. Gardner.  My mom has nose medicine.”  “You didn’t give us our gumballs, yesterday, Mr. Gardner.” (I color in gumballs at the end of the day – 10 equals treasure box. One of these students is not receiving a pleasant letter in the ‘takes care of teacher’ category of the progress report.)

The same student who mentioned nocturnal threw ‘Satyr’ at me a couple of days, later.  Who the devil throws ‘satyr’ around? I think that was quite possibly the first time I’ve heard the word come up in conversation.  Another student is reading at a DRE level 18.  She now spends half her day with a first grade/second grade mix.  I tried for just first grade, but they just laughed when I mentioned her reading level.  I asked the student how she would feel about reading with second graders, but she just muttered under her breath that she had already calculated this outcome to a 97.893 degree of probability, and had already mentally scanned ahead to the second grade room, and deemed them at least remotely acceptable.  She then levitated through the hallway to the next room, while I lumbered out of breath behind her with a runny nose and a normal I.Q.

Back in the classroom, six of my students had designed a functional DeLorean time machine to allow them more recess time.  Only they improved the original design.  Now, instead of a vehicle moving at 88 miles per hour, it only requires a medium sized adult running for thirteen minutes inside of a giant, plastic, hamster ball.  They offered to let me help them out with the final modifications tomorrow.  I’m pretty excited.  I’ve never worked on a real time-machine, before.  I wonder what I’ll be able to do to help.  I haven’t much experience in engineering.  

Testing phonemes is usually loads of fun with my students.  “I’m going to say parts of a word.  Tell me the word I am saying.  “/Ch/-/ew/”

-“Shampoo!”

“/I/-/ce/”

-“Snake!”

/Ch/ – /ores/”

-“Whores!”

This group, though, provided me with this:

“/l/-/ife/”

-“Hmmmm, like me!  I’m living.”

“/H/-/ush/”

-“Like, to be quiet”

“/Sm/-/art/”

-“Like me!  I’m a smart girl.”

“/S/-/ick/”

-“Like Mr. Gardner!”

“Yeah, I’m going to go ahead and count these.  Next!”

-“Like a nexus!  A connection, or series of connections, linking two or more things.”

“Oh, god.  Next!  Next!”

Thanks for the Alcohol, Mr Gardner! and Teeth Marks Fade (old livejournal posts. Remember those days?)

Thanks for the Alcohol, Mr. Gardner!

One of my students certainly picks up new vocabulary with enthusiasm.  Before lunch, I always line my kids up at the door and give them a squirt of sanitizer.  One of my students was upset that it burned a small cut on his hand.  I told him that it's the alcohol in the sanitizer, and that it's good for the cut.  It helps clean it, which is why it burns.  Not thinking anything of it, we continued with our day.

The next day, I followed the same procedure.  Line them up at the door.  Recite our "Line Time" poem, and gave out the sanitizer.  We then just starting walking out the door, when my vocabulary astute student yells out at the top of his lungs, "Thanks for the alcohol, Mr. Gardner!"

I'm pretty sure my face took up gymnastics.  “Sanitizer!  Let’s call it Sanitizer!”

Ugh:

That was a stressful.

I felt like taking a hot frying pan to the face.  It's so frustrating trying to do writing with them at this stage.  I have two people come in to help, and it's still hair-pulling.  They just can't do it.  Yet.  But, I don't know why in God's name they should be expected to. We're still teaching them their letters!

"Here's the letter 'A'.  That's right.  'A'.  Now give me a five to seven word sentence about what your favorite animal is and why.

As you master the Venn diagram.  And cutting and pasting."

They have their writing test on Thursday.

And all of the rushing around trying to figure in Holiday activities and projects is also driving me crazy. This morning it felt like Wednesday. This evening it feels like Thursday.  It's still only Tuesday.

Still wouldn't trade it in, though. 

Highlights:

- Suddenly realizing I have a sticker on my hand from a student, with no memory of them putting it there.

- A student telling me he's changed his name to Kris. When I ask him what's wrong with his old name, I get a long stare into space, then, "I can shoot baskets now."  He's a fun one.  One of my two white students in the class, he's in a world apart.  Not because of race, he just resides elsewhere.  Very involved with intensely studying and memorizing anything to do with bugs or dinosaurs, and very smart, but barely registers that he's surrounded by students in a classroom.  Occasionally, he'll break out in a country love song for a few seconds.  Once, after coming up to ask me a question, he slow danced back to his seat.

Teeth marks fade:

I've been half-assing it this week at work.  I'm sure it shows.

           On the other hand, I was informed that I had a "GQ" look going on today, which I found amusing.  Apparently, I make half-assed look good.  Don't worry, I took pictures with my digital camera and uploaded them onto my websites.  Oh, wait, that would require my having a digital camera...and websites….  You'll just have to trust me that, for a day, I was a hottie. ::nods head::

I'm not doing enough with my students in the phonics department. I also need to improve classroom management and transitions.  It's preventing me from getting to everything that I need to.

Bah.

But, with kindergarten, every time you're feeling kind of poopy, one of the kids says something really sweet to you.

That, or they bite another student.

Batman, Pink Underwear, and The End of Everything.

I like to think most Walmart stories have a happy ending.

On the way to work this morning I found myself behind a Ford 150 truck that had "Vote NoBama" and "Choose Rick Scott" stickers. As I'm following behind him, he runs through a puddle, heedlessly splashing a fourth grade girl who was walking to school. At first I thought, "You asshole."  But then I paused to reflect, and further thought, "Well, at least you're demonstrating the strength of your convictions."

I hear snippets from the teachers.  A student stuck a crayon in their ear and proceeded to color their inner ear blue.  In another class that was previously a sauna, they came to fix the system and it’s now growing progressively colder.  Students peek out from turtle shells of shirts, heads and arms withdrawn.  As apparently it can’t immediately be fixed, and will only grow colder, the teacher sent home notes asking for sweaters, jackets, parkas, and possible snow shoes.  Also in this class, twenty-four students engage in elated farting parties, or while in line, hold hands and jump up and down in down in gleeful circles.  No one’s really sure yet what school is about, other than breaking wind, experiencing frost-bite, and that when the maestro speaks strange words in English and gestures, she must be signaling a fiesta.  She signals a lot of fiestas.

After work I spoke with a friend who I haven’t heard from in a while.  During this conversation the visuals in my head were going off like fireworks after closing time at Disney.  I’m not even sure what to start with.  She’s a guidance counselor at an elementary school, and this one conversation encapsulated Walmart scooter fights between elderly, heavy-set married couples, the future of American society, and an inadvertent hot-pink undergarment flashing.  All in all it was a pretty image-filled conversation.  In said order:

She recently moved near a Walmart, and finds herself frequenting the place much more often than she should like, and not half as long as she should desire to like.  Thanks to http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/photos, many are familiar with the joys of Walmart people-watching.  Really, anyone who has ever set foot in this magical realm has formed a special place in their heart for its traditional charm and pull. You can’t but seem to want to go local once you enter its sacred halls.  Shun those shoes, roll those cigarette cases in yon sleeves, wear those leotards and moo-moos, it’s Walmart!  Everything’s magical at Walmart.  Are you drunk, high, currently ODing, or running from the law?  Walmart!  Do you suffer chronic itch, a sense of fashion not legal in the eighties, or have no sense of actual body weight?  Walmart!  Do you live in a trailer, possess sixteen children, and your wife can beat you at horseshoes and arm-wrestling?  Walmart!  It’s the magical place to be! 

In an attempt to go native, I have no less than three times dressed in costume to better study these indigenous shoppers.  Once I arrived decked in full eighties gear – chains, tight black ladies’ jeans, cut-off jean jacket, studded red fingerless gloves, cow-bell earring.  On this particular occasion I was teaching high school, and saw a student with her parents enter.  I hastily spun my back around, but was informed by my companions as the parents did a double-take, stared at my visage, and walked backwards into the door.  Sorry, parents.  Another time I walked in with midriff Eyore shirt, blue-flamed board shorts, pink headband over a white man’s fro, and a superman cape.  I was just trying to be unremarkable.

I need a quarter!  You! Random Homeless man! Spare some change?

And last I entered in a red jumpsuit complete with American jacket, sunglasses, and bike helmet.  My favorite bit from this, besides posing for dare-devil pictures on a tricycle, was driving back with two friends, the driver in a Batman suit, and being pulled over.

Batman, who nailed the outfit so completely a kid had previously asked for his autograph, sat calmly in his regalia, facing forward, until the cop approached.  When the cop stepped up to the window, he lowered the window with a touch, turned abruptly, and asked in a darkly husky voice, “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

I come in Fun Size!

So much for my history with Walmart.  Now on to the conversation.  My friend has noted that she cannot seem to step foot inside without witnessing a fight amongst couples.  But her last trip took the cake, ate it, and then still tried to return it for store credit.  Walmart accepted.  There was a couple, both equally elderly, equally overweight, and equally struggling for supremacy on their shopping scooters.  My friend’s not certain as to what caused the altercation.  She only stood witness to its result.  Perhaps there was some couponed item left behind.  Or mayhap the old man had made a snide comment on aisle eight.  Or he had turned a deaf ear to her wishes for a nice chicken pot-pie dinner for once.

Whatever the cause, the old man in his scooter was waiting in line, when his wife came scooter charging towards him, yelling her pain, and crashing her scooter into his own, forcing him away from the line.  There was much shouting, and a slight scooter war unfolded.  In my mind it involved long, slow charges incorporating cue sticks as lances.  The wife won, to no one’s surprise, but the thought of a scooter war between elderly, overweight, locals immediately brought me back to college, where we once decided it most prudent to have a bike jousting in our overly-long hallway.  Though the pool sticks that were used in this endeavor were most probably not in our wisest of choices, the inference and background knowledge it lent to this story is most appreciated.  And to these wizened warriors I advise them, even if you are wearing two thick sweaters, your ribs will still hurt in the morning. 

This is my roommate Mark from college. He's wiry but fierce.

My counselor friend then uttered the prophetic warning that America will end in Walmart.  There is a multitude of ways to look at this, and I invite you to find your own.  I fear the truth of it.  More, I fear Walmart.  There was a night, in particular, that I condescended to frequent this store though I had no local attire.  It was midnight.  This particular store, though I didn’t know it at the time, was under  reconstruction.  More than half of it was emptied and blocked off with wooden blockades, while the entirety of the store was constrained to its central.

Walking around a Walmart at midnight, which was completely emptied at its edges, gave one a complete, utter, and terrifying sense of pure entropy.  This is what the end of America will look like.  An empty Walmart at midnight. 

And as to education?  Well, my friend, step right up, and watch Walmart slash those demands!  Two years ago I experienced a concerned parent telling me at the beginning of the year that she had heard that it didn’t really matter how her child did in Kindergarten, that he would be passed on regardless.  Guess what?  She’s right!  We’re slashing expectations!  We have a new progress report online to experiment with this year.  There are absolutely zero comments that we can type in which would indicate to a parent that their child needs to work on a subject or behavior.  We’re slashing expectations!  The amount of work for the teacher is on the rise, and they’re being judged, but every student gets a happy face!  We might be tripling expectations upon the profession of teaching, and channeling pay based on student test results, but guess what!  We’re slashing teacher’s pay and slashing student expectations!  Everyone passes, and everyone’s doing just fine!  This is more elementary based at the moment, but it’s starting to entrench into middle, high, and college.  We’re putting out a baseline and expecting everyone to fall in suit, and if they don’t make it, why, send them on, anyway!  What’s that, you say?  Johnny’s hitting Sue and Brenda’s sniffing glue?  Steve has bitten Mike and Matthew didn’t learn to write?  Send them on, anyway!  We’ll expect the best from teachers, and pay them next to nil, make them teach sixteen hours a day, but if a student doesn’t make the cut, send them on, anyway!

 

But perhaps this is too harsh, to cold and drab a picture of our future.  Perhaps we need some brightness in our lives.  Some neon pink glow on a rainy day to give us heart.  Perhaps even a bright pink with “H-O-T-T” written across it.  And that’s where a guidance counselor comes in.  She’s there to provide whatever support and encouragement we need.  Even if it means an inadvertent hot-pink flashing of her underwear for everyone in the parking lot to see.

My friend was making a phone call to the school board when she realized she had a meeting downtown in thirty minutes that she had forgotten about.  She immediately grabs her stacks of files and rushes to the car.  It was storming heavily along the way.  To the point that the rain was actually coming in sideways.  But then, just as she parks, the clouds give way to the sun.  It’s a good sign.  God must be looking out for the rushed and the weather beaten.  Filled with renewed faith and hope and goodwill, my friend gathers her substantial stack of papers and her Starbucks coffee, and proceeded to hurry through the parking lot.

Let me pause, as she did, and point out that she was wearing a wrap-around dress.  A dress, for the less-informed, that is essentially made up of two parts.  I believe they wrap around.  So as she’s hurrying across the wet pavement, hands full, she makes it to the breezeway just as a gale force wind rushes in, snags part of her dress, and spins it up and over to land affectionately on her shoulder.  Exposing, to the parking lot, her bright pink undies.  And, with a hot cup of coffee, a multitude of papers, and a wet ground, she has no recourse but to keep walking, as her dress magically stays atop her shoulder, defying natural gravity and physics.

After at least a full minute she’s able to rectify the situation, but in the meantime she noticed at least four other people in the school board parking lot.  Fully clothed again, she attempted to ascertain whether anyone bore witness to her cheery good-morning.  Attempting to make eye-contact with one individual and ask them an off-topic question, the person refused eye-contact and blushed.  That would be an affirmative.  Her ‘Good morning!” was heard clear across the parking lot.  Announced all the louder for the “H-O-T-T” in typeface across the back of her knickers.  It may have only been one “T”.  I always feel there’s an acronym out there that I’m not cool enough to know about.  Anyway, here’s to cheerful, hot-pink “Good mornings!”  We salute you.

This is Sue. Sue was very helpful. Thanks, Sue!

It's Not A Carrot! It's Not A Carrot!

During the first week of kindergarten, recess somewhat resembles that old seventies football board game with all the little metal players sitting on a tin field.  You turn it on and herds of little painted men oscillate forward in commingling groupings of collapsing confusion.  Into this melee throw basketballs, six students at a time climbing up the wrong ends of slides, and students with no English running around in glee as unheard teachers chase after with waving arms and unheeded pleas.  I spent my own time plucking dangling five-year olds from the tops of slides, chanting out phrases as mantras, “bumper not tummy, feet first not behind, look before going, one at a time, don’t jump from that thing keep your feet on the ground, where did that come from please put it down.”  One student went wandering right out of the playground, right through the gate near the back car lot.  Then we saw Arnold Schwartzenegger come running across the grass, shouting, “I’ve got a ferret!  I’ve got a ferret!”  Or so we first thought.  Turned out to be a rather tall, chunky kindergartner holding something of orangeish hue in his hands and yelling, “It’s not a carrot!  It’s not a carrot!”  None of us felt like investigating. 

Yet all of this is a cake walk compared to dismissal.  What exactly does “cake walk” mean?  Do people take strolls along cake alleyways?  Do they take a beloved cake for an afternoon saunter?  Do daring adventurers canter across icing covered boston-cream pies?  Is a boston cream pie indeed a pie and not a cake?  Whatever the case may be, I’ve heard Vietnam veterans shudder in fear over the first week of dismissal for the Kindergarten Year.  Armies of students might trample afoot, and adults think they’re safe, with shoulders aloof.  Busses lined up, all ready to go.  What could go wrong? Oh, wait, there’re kinders along.  Grab hold of those backpacks, snatch hands and don’t wait, but please, oh, please, don’t they know where they belong?  No?  Oh, dear.  Rush back to the rooms.  Call one teacher, another.  Who is this, and where do they go?  Oh, please, but please, don’t they know what they’re called?  A name?  A nickname?  A brother or sister?  Don’t they know their teacher, or for the love of God a preacher?  I don’t know where to go, I don’t know who to call, now they’ve taken off one shoe and are scampering down a hall.  I’d chase after the one, but another kinder’s crying, that one’s tripped over their laces and I do believe she’s flying.  Whatever the case may be, I’ve heard Vietnam vets shudder in fear, over the first week of dismissal for the Kindergarten Year.

Today, we tried cutting.

 My students are usually pretty good with scissors, I swear.  That's what I'll have to tell their parents after today, I'm sure.

We're cutting up numbered squares to sequence them on writing strips (tomorrow we glue popcorn kernels on each square). I don't hear screams or see blood or clumps of hair - I assume things are going fine.  I start walking around.  What I find: One student could have a career in confetti making.  One student decided she didn't want to cut out squares so much as quarter inch sections of the numbers.  Not too conductive to step two, I would think.

Then there's the third student:

This student - and he is a very special flower, yes he is - stands up and yells, in a completely shocked voice "Mr. Gardner!  I accidentally cut my shirt!"

Now, he is one who I would not blink if he did such a thing on purpose, but all the students around his table were repeating that he accidentally cut his shirt (of course, with kindergartners, that doesn't stand for much - they generally repeat whatever they hear, regardless).  I look over and see him standing up (he's quite the little guy to boot.  He looks, and acts, more like a pre-schooler than a kindergartner) with a completely stunned look on his face.  He still has his kid belly, and his belly button is just greeting the world for all to see from a hole in his shirt.

I couldn't help it.  I laughed.  Something, under the circumstances, I knew was a no-no.  I tried to address it - pointed out how we need to be careful with our scissors, yadda, yadda, yadda.  The damage was already done.  Within three minutes, another student (a spanish speaking student with almost no English), had decided that laughter must point out the correct path.  He in turn cut his shirt, and proceeded to stand up and beam happily at me.  It was like a mini-reenactment of "The Dead Poets' Society," with less meaning.

I give this student my best language-bridging "Teacher look" (and yes, I am acquiring one, thank you very much - though I am still years away from the famous Ms. Vella "Oh, God, I swear I didn't do it, I was just out here in front of your house, it was my friends who toilet papered your house, and besides you know me, and Lyss is okay with it, I swear she practically invited us to come over, please don't kill me" kindergarten teacher look).

No sooner than I feel that I've given him the teacher "aren't you ashamed of what you did, I know it won't happen again" stare down, than I re-circulate the room, and discover that the original student, also pleased at the laughing, had decided to add on to his work by cutting down from his belly button to the end of his shirt.

Next week, I'm thinking of teaching them how to carve their own turkeys.

Excuse me, Miss, do you accept frog?

            Day one went too quickly to say much about it.  It's too early in the ball game.

I'm still putting in ten-hour days, it seems, but it makes a difference when half of your team is there, as well.

Trying not to feel overwhelmed with whether I'll be able to manage them into procedures, and being a family unit. And then there's the whole curriculum side to tackle.

All in all, a better day than my first day at high school. Probably in large part to the people that are there, and seeing some old students of mine.

I had two criers in the morning, but both calmed down after a while and with some assistance from the aide.  One never rejoined us (they only go till twelve, the first week, which is nice), but I didn't force it.  One has already shown that he likes to do what he wants to do, and two more may cause some mischief between them. But they're my kids.  For the whole year.  I find that exciting (and, again, somewhat overwhelming).

---------

After work on Thursday, I went to pull out my wallet to buy a soda in the work-room.  Only, instead of my wallet, I pull out a stuffed frog.  The surprises of being a kindergarten teacher.

On Friday, some of my students told me they had a surprise for me at the writing table. I look, and they had glued some of their work to the wall. :0) They had seen me staple some students' work on the bulletin board, and decided to take matters into their own hands to make it easier on me. They were too proud for me to point out that that's not quite appropriate. :]

I like my job. I hope they keep me.

Our new kinder teacher, who has even less experience than me, and had to come in five weeks after the year started, is a natural. It's crazy. On the plus side, it keeps pushing me forward.  I hope it's a good year all around for the students, teachers, and school.

------

Amusing moment:

I was talking with the kids about how we can count backwards from ten, and asked if any of them knew how we could do this.  One young girl raised her hand, and very enthusiastically said, "Like this!" She then turned around backwards on the floor and started to count to ten.

Priceless.

There are times when you are just thrilled to be around these kids.

-------

Long, long day.  I'm pooped.  We had an apple day, where the kids rotated through all of our classes, and we did an activity with each class.  It was non-stop, and hyper, and messy, and insane at the end, as I tried to do too much in too little time and the kids were off the wall, so to speak. They actually weren't all that insane; it was just the culmination of it all.

I was also observed for the first time yesterday (basically ever, as I never really had one last year at the high school).  It went okay.  The kids were themselves, but it worked.  We even met that day.  She liked the positive atmosphere, and my level of drama/enthusiasm, which was nice.  I would have been much, much more nervous if it was the principal, instead of assistant. He self-admittedly doesn't really grasp kindergarten.  Not in a negative way; he's just more geared to the upper levels.  Anyway, it went fine.  They were a bit antsy and wiggly, but she was kind because they were eager to participate.  I did a very simple lesson, which is good, because I was just nervous enough to forget to do a major section of the lesson. Whoops.  I kind of just went with what was going on, and extended the activity we were doing.

------

One of my students counted “One, two, three, two one” when asked to count to five.  This is the same student who told me she could count backwards - and proceeded to turn herself around and count regularly.

Another of my students has come in the past three mornings to tell me very unique vignettes.  First, he described to me how he brought his horse with him to school on his handlebars.  It was a toy horse.

The next day, he tells me in the hall that he has something very important to tell me, and can he please tell me in the room.  We step in the room, and he proceeds to tell me an extraordinarily long story that can be best summed up as follows: His dad told him and his brother to walk to school this morning. And they did. And they saw two other students they knew.  The end.

             Glad he got that off his chest.

The third day, he tells me he's going to ask his dad if he can invite me over to his house. It's a red-brick house so the wolf can't blow it down, even if he huffs and puffs.

There is another student, however, who has made me actually laugh out loud twice. It's a student I've had a lot of trouble with - very immature.  He's emotionally more about the level of a three year old.  He's had quite a few major hardships in his life, such his mom passing away from cancer.  This makes my third student who has lost a mother by the age of kindergarten.  On this day, he's really upset because he says a student at the table is bothering him.  I ask him what the student was doing.  Well, you know how little kids like to repeat what they hear another student say?  He's sitting there, all upset, breathing erratically, and he starts to inform me in a stutter that "So-and-so, so-and-so, he, he..." It is at this point that a different student at the table says "nothing". And, of course, the student I'm talking to ends his own sentence with "nothing.”  And then stops, as though confused, or as though everything is apparently fine.  I couldn't help it.  I laughed.

Today, the same student again made me laugh out loud in class. I've been testing all day, today (tomorrow, too). They come back from lunch and if they have been quiet, they have a ticket that allows them to go to recess.  Since I have to test, I tell them I’m going to allow them to play at centers, instead.  I tell them to raise their tickets up if they have them.  I then realize that I still have to go over some of the centers.  I begin to do so.  This student starts whining, and keeps trying to get out of his seat and give me his ticket.  I ignore him/tell him he has to wait at his seat until I collect his ticket.  This all takes place as I spend several minutes going over their centers.

Finally, the student cries out: "Mr. Gardner!  I can't hold my ticket up in the air anymore!  My arm hurts!" He had been holding it in the air, like I told him to, the entire time.  Again, I couldn't help it.  I laughed.

Warning: We have a man down. I repeat: we have a man down.

In January, after a year of working as a substitute Teacher Assistant for V.E., I accepted a position as a Teacher Aide for Kindergarten.  The pay is sadly lacking to try and live on, but it's a good step up into the school system.  This is the first thing I jotted down:

 

Day Two at my new position as a teacher's aide for kindergartners.

Man.

I don't feel tired while I'm here, but both days, I come home and sleep for an hour.

Let's see what happens.

----- 

Kindergarten isn't a class, it's a war zone.

Within the first two hours, I am escorting one child to the clinic, holding a trash-can before him in case he vomits, and returning to find one little girl has to go home because she has lice.  The actual conversation went something like this:

“Why are you standing in the hallway?”

-“I don't want to go home.”

“Oh, did you get in trouble?  Were you at the office?”

-“No.”

“Oh, you said you WANT to go home?”

-“No.  I don't want to go home.”

“Why do you have to go home?  Wait, where did you just come from?”

-“The clinic.”

“Ohhhhhhh” [Doesn't appear sick.  Doesn't want to go home.  Came from the clinic.  Note: Do NOT touch her head.  Ground Control, we have lice].

It's probably only a matter of time before I get lice.  I grab and/or shake kids' heads all the time (um, not sure that came out right).  Their heads are just right there, at hand level.  And the kids are so dang cute.  Sigh.  Better break that habit.  Actually, this particular action has already given me pause.  I told some of my old church youth kids that I would visit them at Young Life.  I showed up at Club, see my now-high-school kids way in the corner, and start wading through a multitude of unknown high schoolers sitting cross-legged on the floor.  Half-way through this sea, I realize to my mortified horror that I had been 'laying hands' on random stranger's heads as I walked by.  Maybe if this had been a Pentecostal youth group I could have snuck past as a simple, spirit-filled stranger.  Random Young Life students, I apologize for grabbing and shaking your heads without at least a "May God be with you."  I even find myself out in public greeting a friend by wagging a finger, or giving a "self-hug".  Kindergarten teachers aren't crazy, we're just conditioned.

---

During recess, a student runs up to me while holding onto another student.  The little guy (a first grader, I believe) was bleeding incessantly from the mouth and screaming something horrible.

I immediately escorted him to the clinic.  Blood was pouring out of his mouth, and he at first tried stemming the flood with his hands.  Then he dropped his hands to hold on to my pants (yay), and thus began leaking all over the floor. I asked him if he could continue to hold his mouth, which was answered with a blood-chilling howl, and more blood.  'I guess not.'  I kept having to downplay the situation to every other student I passed.  "It's okay. It's just a mouth bleed.  You can lose six pints of this before dying from blood loss."

It turns out he broke both his front teeth (which were adult teeth).  He and someone else had run smack into each other, face first.  Well, technically, face and head first.  The other student was discovered with a big teeth-shaped gash on his head.  He did not seem the least perturbed.  The first student ended up having his teeth wired in hopes that they would heal (something I did not even know was possible), and was not allowed to play at recess while they healed.  He really was just playing, but he's always been too rough outside (Note: three years later, I would catch him running in the hallway at dismissal, ignoring shouts to stop, only to collide - face forward- with a walking student.  Guess who again escorted the teeth-bleeding student to the clinic?).

Anyway, not five minutes after I had brought him to the clinic, another student came in, also with a bleeding mouth, for doing the exact same thing (although it was less serious with him).  As I leave, a third child comes in, and promptly begins vomiting.  It was a very wet day at the clinic that day, and made me quite thankful that I am not a nurse.

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Oh, and kindergartners scoff at the power of the double knot.  Do what you will.  It doesn’t matter.  You'll be retying it in less than an hour.

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"Wheeeeeeee - where is it, where is it, where - oommph. There it is." 

::I sit down in a kindergarten chair::

           

There's just something odd about walking into a room and seeing a bunch of grown-ups sitting in little midget chairs around a midget table. ::no offense meant to any shorter than average individual who chances upon this journal::

I received two stickers, today.  I guess I done good.

Also, I think this may be the first time in many a decade that I’m storing up a surplus of those “necessary hugs a day' thingies. Usually at inappropriate times. "You need to be in your seat!  Um, okay.  Thanks for the hug.  Now go back to your seat." And then there's the random walk-by hug.

One thing that exasperated me when I was a substitute, but now also amuses me, is the fact that some of these guys simply haven't mastered the art of walking, yet.  Their stumpy little legs and feet get confused, or they get excited, and Plop!  Down they go.  Usually managing to drag at least one to three other students down with them.

You know, I've been washing my hands at every opportunity, but there's only so much you can do.  Especially when, while bending down to find out why one of your kids is doubled over on the floor, another one approaches you to ask you how to sound something out, and sneezes directly in your face.  I actually felt the droplets enter my eye, plant a flag, and declare a new colony.  I’m pretty certain that if I survive kindergarten, I’m going to be immune.  To everything.  

Spelling Tests and the Latin word for Vagina.

The students took a spelling test, today.  One of our students ("Check your zipper!") is very sweet, but he does have an anger/stubborn streak in him.  Especially if he thinks he’s in the right and is being cheated.  He had quite the row when playing a Memory card game.  He didn’t believe that the other student could go again after making a match.  Not because he was losing, but because he thought the other student was trying to cheat.  He's small but fierce. 

Ironically, this came full circle.  We’re in the middle of taking the spelling test, when the teacher notices him sneaking something from his pocket.  He had the words written down on a piece of paper and was stealing glances.  She took him out into the hallway to talk with him about it, and he grew furious.  He started loudly protesting and blaming the teacher.  The principal happened by during this and tried to see if he could help sort it out.  Apparently, verbatim, the student’s issue was that the teacher “hadn’t told them that they couldn’t keep the words in their pocket and look at them.”  Let’s face it, the kid has a point.  Our bad.

Let’s move away from my school, for a moment, and visit a friend’s school.  On the private, affluent level.  Just for kicks.  My friend teaches art there.   She related this story to me. One of the coaches is named Coach Willey (very nice guy, unfortunate name).  An older student (somewhere between fourth and seventh) had written a pleasant little ditty in the locker room: "Coach Willey has a vagina".  Very deep and well thought out.  A kindergartner later finds this, and tells another one of the coaches.  Only he doesn't  know the last word, so in relating what was on the wall, he states, "It says coach Willey has a...v…vag… I think it's Latin."

That's right, kids.  Latin.  Kindergartners are commenting on Latin.  Another student (keep in mind, we're talking second grade or less, here)...well, hold on.  Preamble:  My friend's last name is Gross. The little ones don't like to call her Mrs. Gross, because they think they're being rude or mean. They have told her this.  She has reassured them that it is okay, because that is her name, but they still hesitate every time they have to say it.  Anyway, one of the little tykes commented that, because it's German, it's probably pronounced [Grauss].  A second grader.  Or younger.  Correcting German.  I don't even know if they were right, but I wouldn't be too surprised.  What the hell do they feed these kids?

Check Your Zipper!

I've taken a long-term position as a Teacher's Assistant in an elementary Varying Exceptionality class. The main teacher was out, so there was a substitute in the room, as well as myself.

Before lining up for lunch, the substitute asked the kids whether they knew the days of the week (in order). Sadly, many did not (apparently we need to review). She also asked if any knew the names of the days in Spanish.
One of our kids is a very small second grader. Picture a cute little child who's missing his two front teeth and has a slight speech impediment.

He doesn’t know any Spanish, but he was so eager to answer a question that he was standing up, raising his hand, and yelling "Ooh! Ooh!"  Keep in mind that he doesn't know any Spanish.  While this is happening, I notice that his zipper is down.  So, I whisper over to him, "Check your zipper!" Hearing me, he thinks I’m feeding him an answer and redoubles his effort to be noticed.

Trying to keep from laughing, I quietly call him over to me.  He rushes over, eyes still on the substitute and nearly shaking with excitement.  I whisper, again, "No, check YOUR zipper!" He nods enthusiastically and bolts back to his desk.  He proceeds to jump up and down with his hand raised, and yells, excitedly and repeatedly, "Check your zipper! Check your zipper!"

            And that’s when I passed out from laughing.

---

Our students really do need and thrive on stability.  They have trouble adjusting to a substitute if the main teacher is out.  Having me there tends to keep some level of normality (zipper checking aside).  Yesterday, we were both gone.  One of my students did not handle it well.  Apparently, he freaked out and grew enraged.  He starting throwing papers around the room and then threw a desk over.  The sub had to call the principal in, and he came and took him to the office.  Once there, the student then proceeded to try and shove the principal’s desk.  The principal had to physically restrain him (one of two of the adults on campus who's legally allowed and trained to do so).  As he's holding him down, my student is letting loose with a volley of angry curses.  It's a never-ending stream of grammatical discovery.  Entire sentences are diagramed and brand new pairings of noun-verb-adjective-adverbs are revealed.  He's a third grader, but he swears at least a tenth-grade level.  At one point during this eloquent elocution, he's so out of breath that he belches.  At which point he pauses, says, “excuse me,” and then goes back to cursing.  Remember: Politeness, first, people.

Poop and Cupcakes, Part 2

             Now.  We’ve arrived back from the station.  I’ve had a bit of a talk with them about line business and what-have you, and then we’re off to lunch (which is late and at the end of our day except for specials.  Which means you would think my day was pretty much concluded.  It wasn’t).  I drop the kids off at lunch, tell the aides that it’s okay if they use the cafeteria restroom, as I didn’t really give them the opportunity to go beforehand, and exit for my own lunch.

            When I come back to pick them up, I find out that one of my students, Teddy, had been in a fight in the bathroom.  Apparently the aide was letting too many boys go to the bathroom at one time.  I heard which students were involved, and called the one not from my class over to me first as  my student is a good kid, but doesn’t shy from telling stories in a way that casts him in a more positive light.

            So I hear the others student (Q’s) story, first, and then call mine over to get the other half.  And this is what I piece together.  As said, too many boys were in the bathroom at the same time, and when Teddy was in the stall, a student from a different classroom (J), opened the door on him, and Teddy felt like J was watching him pee.  So, when Teddy walked out of the stall, he was very upset and angry.  And Q, seeing this, thought Teddy was going to fight with J, so he tried to stop him.  By holding his hand out.  Into Teddy’s neck.  Thus followed a slight scuffle.

            After hearing the story, it made sense in my mind how it came about, and I could understand their sides.  So I didn’t really punish them as talk with them about it for a bit, and then moved on.

            I take my kids back to class, where we have time for a quick read-aloud and lesson at the rocking chair before specials.  Thus do we do so.  A few minutes into this, the students in my front row start making faces and groaning and holding their noses.  This has happened before when a student has gas, so I repeat that that’s rude and you need to ignore.  Not thinking any more of it, I line them up for specials – coach.  They’re in line, I walk to the front, and immediately smell poop.

            I quietly ask the first five students if any of them had accident.  “No. No. No. No. No.”  Oooookay.  Maybe it’s in the hall.  We start to walk down the hall.  Still smell poop.  I tell them to stop.  I ask them individually again. “No. No. No. No. No.”  I tell them to wait here.  I walk to the end of the hall. Test the air.  No poop.  Call my students forward.  The line stops where I am.  Poop.

            I ask again, still quietly, but more forcefully.  One student admits to having had an accident.  The student whose birthday it was (remember?  The cupcakes?  Time-out chair at the fire station? Yeah, him.  Eddie.)

            I take the class to coach, but keep him with me.  I also kept back another student.  One who had been pushing and whining and hanging on me almost the entire time since making it to the fire station.  I take both to the clinic.  The later to nap, the former to change his clothes. 

But first, he tells me his story.  Apparently, at lunch, Eddie asked to go the bathroom.  The aide said yes, and he walked in, just as the “fight” happened, and he got nervous and left without going to the bathroom.  Correction. He did go to the bathroom. Just in his pants.  And he didn’t tell anyone.  For thirty minutes.

So I drop the kids off at the clinic (the nurse loves me. She really does), and run back to my room.  The nurse didn’t have any pants.  I look around the closet and find an extra pair of pants, and bring it back to her, then rush back to my room again.  At this point, I have maybe twenty minutes to fill out agendas (including a large note about Teddy. – my losing his sunglasses which I don’t mind reimbursing,  and his sort-of fight, and about Eddie. – time-out at the fire-station and why he went poopy in his pants).  I also have to put together their gifts from the fire-station – workbooks and hats.  I’m working frantically when Eddie. comes back into the room.  Still wearing his original shorts.

Me – “Eddie, you’re still wearing your shorts.”

Eddie – “Yeah.”

Me – “Why aren’t you wearing the pants I gave you?”

Eddie- “No.  I’m wearing my shorts.”

Me – “I know you’re wearing your shorts. Why are you wearing them?  You’re supposed to be wearing the pants.”

Eddie (exasperated) – “No!  I’m wearing my shorts.”

This goes on for a good five minutes before I figure out that he apparently put up a fuss about his shorts, and the nurse gave up, smelled them, said they were fine, and let him wear them (though he did change his underwear).

At this point it’s time for me to grab my kids, and I haven’t finished getting everything together.  The end of the day, by the way, is crazy. We have five minutes to get them back, get them packed, and get them out the door to their designated areas.  And one of my students (Joseph), comes to me from V.E., and rides the first bus outside, which means we have to book it, and are always rushed.

So I grab him, go back for the kids, come back, frantically have them grab their backpacks, get their papers, and sit by me so I can finish handing out agendas and fire station goodies. 

Eddie – “Do I have tutoring?”

Me – “No. It’s Friday. You never have tutoring on Friday.  And don’t forget your clothes (the nurse had placed his dirty underwear in a plastic bag and given it to him)

The bell rings, we’re still getting ready.  I line them up for buses, Joseph first.

Me - “Eddie!  Do you have your bag?”

Eddie – “Yes.”

(Side note: I completely forgot to mention. Eddie had brought cupcakes, you’ll remember. At some point, after the fire station, we had them.)

At the last second I see Eddie’s extra container of cupcakes – which I had placed at his desk so he wouldn’t forget them – They were still sitting at his desk, so I grab them. 

Me, to my bus line – “Okay, let’s…”

Student – “Mr. Gardner!  I found this by the backpacks!”

I look down.  It’s Eddie’s bag of dirty underwear.  Awesome.

“I’ll take it.  Okay.  Let’s go!”

And I walk out the door, the bus riders lined up behind me.  I go through the workroom, cut across another teacher’s classroom, open the door to the bus hallway.  Look behind me.  Annnnnnnnd, no students.  No one had followed me.  I turn around, still holding cupcakes and poopy underwear, head back through the classroom, through the workroom, and back into my classroom.  My line is just standing there, with Joseph at the lead.

“Joseph!  We have to go!  Come on!”  Turn back around, still holding cupcakes and poop, back through the workroom, back through the classroom, back into the hallway.  No students.  I spin around, run back to class.  Joseph’s looking at me blankly while the students are yelling at him to go.  “Come on! You’re going to miss the bus!”  This time he and rest of the class follow me, and I’m practically rushing them through the hallway to busses, with the cupcakes and poopy underwear  bag still in hand.  I sit them down, get Joseph onto his bus, and turn around to give Eddie his missing items.  Annnnnnnd, no Eddie.

“Where’s Eddie!?!?!”

No answer.  I rush back down the hallway, still carrying poop and cupcakes, and almost run into Teddy.  I ask him where Eddie is.  “He said he had tutoring! I tried to tell him he didn’t!”

“I already told him he didn’t have tutoring!  Go join the class.”

And I rush into my room.  No Eddie.  Check the bathroom.  Nope.  Run out the other door and to the cafeteria (where he meets for tutoring on the other days).  Nope.  I rush to the car riders.  Still holding cupcakes and poop.  Kids see me and try to give me hugs. “Not a good time…” as I hold my prizes above shoulder level.  Outside.  No Eddie.  Run back to busses.  No Eddie.  I load the other kids onto the bus.  Exasperated, I call the office and have them do an all call for him.  Sure enough, two minutes later, he shows up.

Me – “Eddie!  Where were you???”

Eddie – “I thought I had tutoring!

Me – “I told you, you didn’t have tutoring!  Where did you go?

Eddie – “To where we have snack.”

Me – “Even though no one else was there?”

Eddie – “Yes.  I didn’t know.”

Me. – “Fine.  Here are your cupcakes.  Here’s your underwear.”  I hand him his poop and cupcakes.  “Now get on the bus.”

And that’s how I ended my field trip to the fire-station.