Colorado Red Head

Some Thoughts From this "Holiday" Season

2011-12-23T17:12:00.000-06:00

The term Holiday Season used to bother me. It seemed like another concession to the insanity of political correctness. I’ve gotten over it. I do think it’s pretty silly when people try to disguise their Christianity by saying Holiday when they very clearly mean Christmas, but I have also decided that Holiday season aptly describes the November to January festivities that I participate in. This year has seemed to me to be the year of complaining. I have encountered a number of grouchy Christians that, in their effort to preserve the piousness of their celebrations, I think have become quite Grinchish. In addition to bemoaning the atheistic title of the season and objecting to the commercialization of Christmas, they find fault in almost every aspect of traditional American Christmas celebration. I think they are missing out on what could be the “most wonderful time of the year.”

I know that Christ was not born in the winter. I am fully aware that Christmas is in December to coincide with the ancient pagan holidays celebrating the Winter Solstice. It doesn't bother me. I don’t think that makes me less Christian. The fact that pagans thousands of years ago thought that an evergreen tree had mystical properties because it did not die in the winter is interesting. The fact that I choose to think of the evergreen tree as a symbol of everlasting life made possible through the Son of God does not make me an uninformed purveyor of pagan traditions as I place a Christmas tree in my house.

I know that retailers push the beginning of their Christmas observance as early as possible in order to raise profits. I realize that the Thanksgiving holiday was moved a week earlier in order to lengthen the official Christmas shopping season. I have decided that I don’t care. I have been known to put a stocking or two up before Thanksgiving, and I have no rigid date set for the appropriate beginning of Christmas music. Despite the fact that I join the evil corporate monster in beginning Christmas before December, I don’t believe that this makes my own personal observance of Christmas any less spiritual. I like the idea of combining the two holidays. Certainly a day dedicated to gratitude is in no way diminished by remembering the birth of the Savior, for whom I am extremely thankful. And the celebration of Christmas is probably enhanced by adding an element of thanks. So instead of sighing at the lost soul of America as I see candy canes displayed the day after Halloween, I find some peppermint ice cream and start to wonder where my Nativity sets will be best displayed this year. I have spent the last ten Christmases in ten different residences, so it really is a legitimate question that often requires some extensive pondering.

On a much less defensive note: I have a small collection of nativity sets. My favorite one is magnetic. It is my favorite partly because I love all things magnetic, and partly because it goes on my refrigerator door in the kitchen where I spend a significant portion of my life. I like that I don’t have to find a place for it every year. It usually goes up first (before Thanksgiving) because I don’t have to think about where to put it. I also like that I can see it amid meal preparation and dishes. It’s a good reminder to me that I can seek the divine even among the mundane parts of life.

The First Snow

2011-10-09T16:43:00.002-05:00

When I was in elementary school, my class made paper snowflakes. I was not any good at it. I always folded the paper incorrectly and/or cut the wrong side. Each time I thought I was ready to unfold my triangle to reveal the beautifully symmetrical design I instead ended up with a pile of scraps on my desk. After several failed attempts my teacher folded the paper for me, and stood next to me while I cut the edges. I placed my scissors and then waited for the approving nod indicating that the intended cut would not completely destroy my project. I anxiously opened up my paper ready to see the long-awaited masterpiece of a snowflake. I was disappointed. Some of the kids in my class produced exquisite and intricate forms. I thought mine was rather boring and, quite frankly, ugly. It was not a shining moment in my life.

We took our completed snowflakes into the hall where the teachers had covered the wall with a large calendar of the rest of the year. We each guessed when the first snowstorm would be and placed our snowflake on our forecasted date. The assignment indicated with acute clarity that I did not have a future as either an artist or a meteorologist. Despite the dismal failure of my snowflake cutting and weather predicting ventures, I enjoyed the project. I minimized my embarrassment by writing my name in tiny letters on the back of my snowflake so that no one would know that the unsightly ill-placed prediction was mine.

When I started teaching in Texas I was saddened to learn that snowflake cutting was not part of the standard elementary school curriculum. I thought this oversight left a severe gap in my high school students' education, and set out to rectify the matter. Armed with a few more years of life experience and a Bachelor of Arts degree, I took to the internet and searched for paper snowflake instructions. I hid alone in my bedroom to work. When I felt competent enough, and didn't fear that it would be utterly humiliating, I moved to the kitchen where my roommates could supervise the effort. After a few attempts in my kitchen I mastered the skill to the point that I could explain it to the kids.

The day after Thanksgiving break I started each of my classes with cutting snowflakes. The kids did an excellent job and did some amazing work. Every single one of them put my childhood attempts to shame. There isn't really a first snow (or any snow) in Texas, and I didn't think the administration would approve of my making the hallway wall into a calendar, but I felt that their accomplishment should be displayed in some way. I called a friend and we spent the hours after school hanging almost 200 snowflakes from my classroom ceiling.

Now we live in Idaho, and we spend nearly six months of the year covered in snow. Despite the length of the winter I still think that the first snow is magical. It is simultaneously peaceful and exciting. Although snow signifies the beginning of shoveling the driveway and salting the sidewalk, for a moment everything seems calm and still. The dying grass suddenly looks as though it has been sprinkled in glitter, and the trees take on an icy angelic look. The dropping temperatures make me wonder how I will keep a hat on my infant when we need to venture out into sub-freezing weather, but I still enjoy sitting inside with some hot chocolate and watching the silent precipitation.

September

2011-09-25T16:59:00.003-05:00

This year I have decided that September is the perfect month. This may be partly due to the fact that I am not pregnant (read: throwing up) and have finally recovered from a stage 4 tear and subsequent infections and complications. The world really is a better place now that I can successfully walk across my living room without pharmaceutical assistance. Medical accomplishments aside, September is also the prefect month for a host of yearly recurring reasons.

The school supplies go on sale. There is just something magical about a brand new box of crayons, or a set of perfectly sharpened colored pencils. And nothing is quite the same as the pristine paper and unbent corners of a new notebook. My joy and excitement over new school supplies are significantly increased when they cost less than a quarter.

Open window weather. September is the enjoyable combination of fallish summerness. The days are warm and pleasant, but I can bake without my house approaching 90 degrees. The evenings cool off, but are not yet bitterly cold. I pretty much keep my windows open all day and all night. This practice fills my house with a pleasing breeze and the occasional sound of birds.

Sunflowers. I love sunflowers, and in September I see them everywhere. They grow along the side of the road, around parking lots, and in open fields. The ubiquitous growth of these bright and cheerful flowers somehow indicates that all is right in the world. This year is especially nice because I planted my own sunflowers. Now I don't have to go around town to appreciate some bright yellow foliage. I have had fresh flowers on my kitchen table all month and it makes me happy to know that they came from my backyard. I feel quite accomplished even though all I did was put some seeds in the ground and then ignore them for a couple of months. The awesomeness of my homegrown centerpiece is compounded by the fact that I planted two varieties of sunflowers so I have both yellow and orange blooms to enjoy.

The kids in the neighborhood sell pumpkins. It's the fall incarnation of the lemonade stand, and it makes me smile. Although I have never stopped to purchase a cold beverage from a neighborhood child, I am a sucker for a six year old selling pumpkins.

Fresh produce. Not the "fresh" produce from the store, but real fresh produce from our [neighbor's] garden. Despite my inexperience our own garden is doing quite well. We successfully grew everything required for homemade salsa. This accomplishment made up for the rather disappointing crop failure of our green bean experiment. I've also quite enjoyed eating corn on the cob minutes after it has been harvested. And our rather large and aggressive squash plant that is trying to take over the entire yard has finally set some squash. I am hoping it reaches maturity before the first freeze.

This year's September is especially perfect because I purchased some Nutella. I don't know why I have never done this before. It's chocolaty nuttiness has dramatically increased my enjoyment of life.

The Secrets of the Fire Swamp

2011-09-14T00:01:00.002-05:00

We recently visited Texas because summer is the best time to visit the land of triple digit temperatures and record setting humidity. We used the same excellent decision making skills to determine that we should make the cross country trip in our car.

The Texan did most of the driving, and I did most of the entertaining the child in the back seat. However, one night an errand involving diapers found me behind the wheel. Driving in Texas is unlike any other place I have ever driven. When I first moved there, I was absolutely convinced that Texas traffic would be the cause of my final demise. I was particularly offended that I had to merge to get both on and off the freeway. My roommates and I referred to mastering navigation on Texas roadways as learning the secrets of the fire swamp. At a fairly recent point in my life I reasonably proficient in the secrets of the fire swamp. However, my current stint in farm town Idaho has quickly eroded my Texas driving skills.

I briefly coveted my infants five point harness and wondered if I should locate a helmet before facing the extreme peril ahead of me. I buckled my seatbelt, turned on the GPS, and set off on my diaper finding quest. I gripped the steering wheel and tried to recall the rules of Texas driving.

1. He who hesitates will never ever ever get on the freeway. Assertiveness is required. Unfortunately, the freeway is unavoidable. Texas has an abundance of freeways, and every car trip will involve at least one of them.

2. Traffic will never let up. For some reason thousands of cars have a dire need to be traversing Texas at eleven o’clock at night, or at three in the morning, or at one in the afternoon. There is no predictable or avoidable rush hour. Similar to the line in the women’s restroom, traffic in Texas is a Grand Law of the Universe.

3. Frequent lane changes are required. The Texas department of transportation is rather proud of their twelve lane highways. They have laid the roadways out in such a way that all motorists must utilize every lane. Without warning the right lane abruptly becomes the left lane, and the center lane is suddenly labeled exit only. It’s almost as though Escher was the city planner.

Milestones

2011-08-02T20:05:00.000-05:00

The little redhead has had a busy six months. Among other things, he has discovered his hands, learned how to spit, rolled over (both directions), been vaccinated against polio, eaten a banana and some squash, and outgrown all of his clothes twice. He is currently learning to sit up on his own, and there is a distinct possibility that he is working on his first tooth.

This week he encountered a major milestone in the life of every redhead: he is experiencing his first sunburn. I would like it noted that all appropriate parental precautions were observed. But sometimes no amount of sunscreen and shade can compensate for fair skinned genetics when at a water park. Our little boy has accepted his lot and is taking it like a champ. In fact I’m not sure he even knows that his face and arms aren’t supposed to sting. He hasn’t fussed or whined about it. All he does is blink a couple of times when we try to wipe the peeling skin off from under his eyes.

High School Patriotism

2011-07-06T18:01:00.003-05:00

It is the policy of all public schools in the state of Texas to dedicate a portion of every day to the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance followed by the Texas pledge (yes there is such a thing) and a moment of silence in which "students may reflect, pray, meditate, or engage in any other silent activity that does not interfere with or distract others." It is the policy of many teenagers in the state of Texas to refuse to stand during this ritual. I spent the majority of my short teaching career asking defiant students to sit down. But without fail, when it came time for the Pledge of Allegiance, no one wanted to stand.

I can appreciate religious exception. It wouldn't bother me if a Jehovah's Witness didn't want to stand for the Pledge. I don't have the same belief, but I can respect it. I could even understand an atheist refusing to stand because they were uncomfortable with the acknowledgement of deity.

I am aware that the United States is a country based on protest. If my students were refusing to stand as a form of political demonstration I wouldn’t object. In fact, I would be rather excited that they actually had an opinion that was strong enough to compel action (albeit a very passive action). I would be behind them completely. But when a student refuses to stand just because they are too lazy to get out of the chair, I get irritated.

One day a particularly insubordinate student insisted, “Miss, you can’t make me say the Pledge of Allegiance.” I’m relatively certain that she was referring to my actual physical capcity to influence her speech, and not to the legal restrictions imposed upon public educators in a 1943 Supreme Court ruling (West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette). I thought about pointing out that I wasn’t asking her to say the Pledge; I merely wanted her to stand while someone else said it. I briefly considered acknowledging that if she could articulate a reason for declining to stand I would concede the point and allow her to remain seated. I decided that neither approach would do anything for my classroom management. It was time to end the argument. I asserted my redheadedness and declared “I can’t make you say the Pledge of Allegiance, but as your History teacher I can require you to memorize it. The quiz will be on Friday.”

On Friday I asked each student to take out a blank sheet of paper and write down the Pledge. It was a more difficult task for them than I had anticipated. Their responses were both depressing and entertaining. My personal favorite came from a relatively well-behaved student:

“I pledge a legion to the flag of the United State of America
And to the public four witches’ stand
One nation under God
With invisible liberty and justice for all”

Self Checkout

2011-06-12T21:36:00.004-05:00

Using self checkout is always a mistake. It's one of those innovations that seems like it should be a good idea, but it's not. The line might be shorter, you might only have three items to purchase, you might have incredibly impressive scanning skills, but using the self checkout will never, ever be faster. I know that using self checkout is never a good idea. But every so often I forget. My most recent lapse in judgement involved two gallons of milk.

After scanning the first gallon of milk the ever polite automated voice asks me to "please place [my] item in the bag" at least three times. After scanning my second gallon of milk the voice asks me if I have any coupons. I don't, so I push the no button. The touch screen isn't responsive, so I try again. On the fourth push the voice decides that I don't have any coupons to scan. Then it tells me to please check my cart for any additional items. I don't have a cart. All I have is two gallons of milk, and I managed to carry them all by myself. I try to pay for my milk, but the machine is waiting for me to check my cart. The checker next to me has successfully finished checking out two customers.

The voice asks me if I am finished. I push the finish and pay button. It works on the third try. The voice asks me how I will be paying. I push the cash button. It works on the first try. The checker behind me no longer has any customers in her line. I try to put my money into the machine, but the voice is not interested in accepting my money until she has finished giving me directions. I listen to her tell me to "please place your bills in the bill accepter before placing coins in the coin accepter." Or maybe she asks me to do the coins first. I don't really know because all I have is a five dollar bill, and I don't care if she wants coins or bills first. I just want her to stop talking so that I can pay for my milk and be on my way. Finally the instructions are complete and the little green light comes on indicating the the voice is ready to accept my money. I put my money in, and she spits it back out at me. I turn the bill over and try again. Again she spits it back out at me. I crease, fold, flatten and otherwise try to prepare my five dollars for automated retrieval, but still the voice spits the money back out at me. I sort of feel like I'm trying to pass a counterfeit bill. I have no other method of payment with me because all I wanted to do was run in and buy two gallons of milk while the Texan waited in the car with Little Redhead.

I flag down a real person and explain to her that the voice is not interested in my cash. Real Person tries no fewer than six times to get the voice to accept my money. Finally Real Person goes to her own cash drawer and pulls out a new five dollar bill. The voice accepts this bill and then dispenses the appropriate amount of change. She then politely reminds me to collect my change and my receipt and thanks me for shopping. She invites me to come again. I should know better, but I probably will come again.

Signs of Wealth

2011-05-03T00:33:00.002-05:00

One day a student declared, "Miss, you dress like you're rich." I looked down at my garage sale/clearance rack ensemble and thought that surely he must be joking. I was fairly confident that although my outfit didn't look as cheap as it really was, and was appropriately professional, it certainly was not as opulent as he was claiming. The only item I paid more than a couple dollars for was my shoes, but they were embarrassingly old and definitely showing signs of wear. And because I am a better teacher when my feet don’t hurt they were painfully practical shoes: certainly nothing trendy or showy or in any way “rich.” Upon further discussion I realized that my necklace - a clearance sale chain with plastic beads covered in peeling silver paint- was apparently the tell-tale sign of affluence in my wardrobe.

While I do not in any way even pretend to understand this student’s thought process, I have decided that the RedHead household is in fact quite wealthy. I have three main reasons for thinking this. None of them is the silver necklace (which I still love and wear frequently despite the flaking paint).

1. We have three staplers. One is probably more than sufficient. I don’t really know how frequently we ever actually staple anything. I’m convinced that all our stapling needs could be adequately handled by borrowing the stapler at the library. Especially since we live in a college town and have access to both the university and the public library. Nevertheless, we own three staplers. One is a really awesome lime green color and can staple through up to thirty sheets of paper at a time. Another is a neat clear plastic device that doesn’t actually use staples, but is used for the same purpose, and so is still accurately categorized as a stapler. The third is a normal stapler- the only remarkable feature being the fact that it is orange. That is one stapler per person in our house. And one of those people doesn’t even know that he has hands yet. Surely he doesn’t need a stapler all to himself.

2. I buy two-ply toilet paper. I am absolutely inflexible in my tissue preferences. I categorically refuse to buy one ply. Sometimes I can justify buying a more expensive product because its higher quality means it will last longer, and therefore, in the long run, ends up being the more frugal option. However, bath tissue becomes trash the instant it is used. So the whole it-will-last-longer theory doesn’t rationalize the higher expense. I continue to buy two ply anyway. I am fully aware that it is a luxury, and I am certain that I can’t live without it.

3. I have two complete sets of 24 colored pencils. And they are Crayola colored pencils. I am not an artist. I thoroughly enjoy coloring, but I don’t really know the difference between sky blue and periwinkle. I have both colors. And I have a backup of each just in case my periwinkle coloring needs exceed the length of an entire pencil and sky blue will simply not suffice.

Federalism

2011-04-19T12:38:00.002-05:00

Slightly more than two centuries ago some of the most gifted minds on the continent decided that confederation wasn’t really working out all that well, so they decided to take a crack at federalism instead. Really it was a brilliant way to promote unity among the states while preserving liberty and preventing tyranny. The basic idea of federalism was that sovereignty would be shared between the state governments and the national government. The national government has the authority to do things like regulate interstate commerce and the state governments get to do things like establish a public education system. It’s a great idea, and one of those things that makes you proud to be an American. But sometimes federalism can be a real headache.

For example, I did my EMT training and certification in Colorado. I lived in Utah when the Winter Olympics were held in Salt Lake City. I thought it would be fun to be a medical volunteer for the Olympics, so I went to apply. I was told not to bother. Public safety falls in the realm of state sovereignty, so my EMT certification was not valid in Utah. I guess CPR might change when crossing state borders. Apparently only those who were trained and certified in Utah were properly qualified to medically assist the international community at the Olympics in 2002.

When we made plans to move to Idaho, I needed to get an Idaho teaching certificate in order to apply for jobs. I called the state board of education to find out what I needed to do. The list seemed pretty straight forward: fill out an application, send a copy of my Texas certification, and pay the appropriate fees. The last step was to be fingerprinted for a background check. Texas does background checks on teachers quite frequently, so I wondered if the information could be shared without having to duplicate the process. When I mentioned that Texas had a recent background check already on file I was told, “That doesn’t matter. We need your Idaho fingerprints.” Really. Idaho fingerprints. I’m pretty sure my fingerprints are not dependent on my location. In fact I think that last year when we went to London and Paris my fingerprints were exactly the same as they have been in Colorado, Utah, and Texas (each states where I have been fingerprinted for various reasons).

The largest federalism headache by far started with the Texas highway patrol. Shortly after moving to Texas I was pulled over for speeding. I have a theory about speeding tickets: If you’re going too fast to notice the cop and slow down, you’re going too fast to be safe so you deserve the ticket. I didn’t notice the cop in time to slow down, and although I was annoyed, I was prepared to accept the speeding ticket that was coming. But he didn’t just give me a speeding ticket. He looked at my Colorado driver’s license and asked me how long I had been in Texas. I told him when I moved, and he informed me that in Texas you have thirty days to change your license. Since I had passed the thirty day window he issued me a ticket for not having a valid Texas license. The fact that I had a valid Colorado license was irrelevant. I was particularly incensed because I had only missed the thirty day deadline by two days.

A few days later I made the trip to the department of transportation to get the appropriate license. I was expecting to walk in with my Colorado license, spend an inordinate amount of time waiting in line, perhaps take a test, and walk out with a Texas license. I look back and laugh at how naïve I was. I was prepared to handle the standard inconveniences of federalism, but I was completely blindsided by the utter ridiculousness of Texas Nationalism. After waiting for three hours in line it was finally my turn to approach the desk. I told the worker that I needed a Texas driver’s license. She asked to see a Texas vehicle registration. At the time I was student teaching, and was driving a car that belonged to my parents. I told her that I didn’t own a vehicle. She insisted that she must see a Texas registration in order to issue a Texas driver’s license. After a rather lengthy conversation where she insisted that everyone that has ever gotten a driver’s license in Texas has also had a car registered in Texas, I asked to speak to her manager. He conceded the point, but asked to see my social security card. I didn’t have my social security card with me, so I left without a Texas license.

The following week I returned with my social security card in hand, certain that this time I would be able to obtain a Texas driver’s license. After waiting only an hour and a half, I approached the desk. The employee asked to see three forms of ID. I showed her my Colorado license and social security card, and asked her what other forms of ID could count for the third. She said, “Well, I guess your Colorado license can count as one ID.” I repeated my question and she told me that I needed to show her a passport or birth certificate. So once again I left without a Texas license.

On my third trip I arrived with all the appropriate documentation and waited in line for two hours. When I approached the desk I was greeted by an irate man who rather unpleasantly asked me why I was bothering him. I told him that I had recently moved and needed to obtain a Texas driver’s license. He rolled his eyes at me and asked to see my current license. I handed him my Colorado license which he promptly cut up. Then he took my picture, wrote down my address, and told me my new license would arrive in the mail within the month. I asked him what I should do until it came. He pulled a form out of his drawer, slammed it on the desk, and hurriedly scribbled in the information that indicated that I had applied for a Texas driver’s license, and that its arrival was pending. Then he sent me on my way without asking to see any further identification. I left a third time without a Texas license. At this point I decided that the state of Texas did not have any standard requirements for receiving a driver’s license. Instead, all employees of the Department of Transportation hold the authority to make up whatever provisions they deem necessary to ensure that all drivers in Texas have been appropriately harassed before being allowed to navigate the horrendous traffic for which they are famous.

World Wars With Inner City Kids

2011-03-02T17:13:00.002-06:00

When I taught World History, World War II was one of my favorite units. It was always taught near the end of the year after TAKS testing and spring break. Everything on campus was much more relaxed after TAKS testing, and the kids responded by behaving much more appropriately. They were also slightly more mature in May than they had been the previous August, and were moderately more interested in Nazis than any other subject that I tried to teach them. Basically the universe aligned perfectly for the teaching of World War II, and tended to produce the most successful teaching experiences that I ever had with inner city kids. My second year of teaching, the unit went so well that I gained new hope for the future of America.

Throughout the year, my student Virgil would make references to Iraqistan. I valiantly tried to convince him that no such country existed, but he continued to insist not only that it existed, but that he was the country’s soverign. One day he told me that Iraqistan was as real as platform 9 ¾. I had never told my kids about my love of all things Harry Potter, but somehow he knew that calling upon the authority of JK Rowling would settle the issue. I conceded the point. In true nationalistic form he brought up his imaginary country as frequently as possible. When I taught the kids about propaganda I asked each student to create a propaganda poster for a country of their choosing. Virgil immediately declared that he would make a poster for Iraqistan. I told him he had to pick a real country. When he asked why I told him that propaganda relies heavily on national symbolism, and Iraqistan had no national symbols that he could utilize. He informed me that the national colors of Iraqistan were green and yellow and the country’s flag was a black chicken on green background. He then drew a picture of it for me.

When we were talking about Pearl Harbor and the United States entering the war, I had the students working in groups. Virgil quickly enfranchised all of his group members as citizens of Iraqistan. He then proceeded to declare war on Antemyra. When I asked him about Antemyra he explained, “That group over there with Alice and Myra.” I asked him if he could just declare war on another country unprovoked like that. He replied, “Of course I can. This is a dictatorship.” Alice, not wanting to be outdone, responded quickly: “Well, Antemyra is a democracy.” Following which she convened congress who then voted to declare war on Iraqistan. Virgil quickly turned to the group next to him and asked if they would enter an alliance.

Alice then walked over to Iraqistan and handed Virgil a crumpled up piece of paper. She walked back to her desk, and told him to open it. Virgil unwrinkled the paper and read out loud, “Grenade. Boom!” He wrote “Bomb, boom!” on another piece of paper and threw it across the room at her. Deciding it was time to intervene, I insisted that throwing things was not allowed in my classroom. Someone from across the room called out “Don’t worry Virgil, she’s like the League of Nations. She’s not really going to do anything to stop you.” Meanwhile Alice and Myra were busily crumpling paper balls and had quite a pile stacked up on their desks. The citizens of Iraqistan responded by crumpling their own paper balls. Dustin, who had been watching the whole event from the opposite corner of the room decided to add his own commentary: “Oh no. Now we’ve got an arms race.” Being situated close to the recycle bin Antemyra was able to quickly produce many more weapons than Iraqistan. Virgil, AKA King of Iraqistan, saw that he was being outdone. He grabbed a pile of paper off of my desk and commenced crumpling. Not wanting to waste a whole pile of new paper I told Virgil that he was not allowed to use my raw materials to make his weapons. Now fully caught up in the analogy Oscar indignantly commented, “Yeah, go colonize elsewhere.”

I was ever so proud of my students for their use of their knowledge of history, but I had not forgotten that I had just been compared to the League of Nations. I decided that my only option was to prove that I had no intention of getting myself involved in a rather large mess by practicing appeasement. I picked up the trashcan and confiscated the weapons of both Iraqistan and Antemyra. Denise decided that such an act made me not the League of Nations, as the class had anticipated, but instead the UN. I placed my peacekeeping forces (myself) on the border of Iraqistan and Antemyra, and the class went back to work.

There

2011-01-27T22:11:00.002-06:00

Once upon a time I decided that I wanted to become an EMT. So I did. It took me about 3 months and 5 phone calls to figure out what I needed to do, and in December 2001 I was officially certified. The training was a lot of fun, and very fascinating to me. I kept my textbook because I still find it interesting reading, and also because it was expensive, but mostly because I think it’s cool to have a book on my shelf that says Prehospital Emergency Care and displays a picture of a helicopter, fire truck, and ambulance all at the same scene.

The thing about emergency medical care (and probably every profession) is that there is a lot more to the daily operations than just the textbook procedures. It’s really good to know how to take a blood pressure, and know what it means. It’s certainly important to learn how to appropriately perform CPR. And it’s pretty much absolutely essential to memorize the indications for administering epinephrine. But when the 911 call comes in, it turns out that there is a lot more to responding than just the medicine. And so, my EMT instructor gave us what he called “practical advice for life” as part of every class. The stuff that’s not in the textbook, but is important to know. And he wasn’t kidding either. I didn’t realize important the practical advice for life was until I failed my first practical exam by losing “style points.” I didn’t even know that style points existed. But in his class they did, and they counted for a lot.

I walked into my exam room where the instructor explained that my patient had been the victim of a drive by shooting and received 2 gunshot wounds: one in the leg and one in the stomach. I somewhat dismissively said “Well that sounds like a bad day.” He gave me a chance to redeem myself, but I didn’t know that I needed redeeming, so when he asked “What?” I said with equal flippancy “That sounds kind of uncomfortable.” And right there I failed. Before I even approached the scene, or assessed the wounds, or controlled the bleeding, or administered oxygen, or made a decision about transportation (all of which I could have done perfectly). I failed the exam because I had disregarded the advice that one of the most important things an emergency responder can do for patients is validate them. Instead I had minimized the problem to a “bad day” and “kind of uncomfortable.”

Once I realized that style points did in fact exist, I did a lot better in the class. Most of the practical advice for life was not profound. Much of it was very entertaining. Although it has been years since I’ve really been anywhere near the emergency scene, I still recall the top 3 pieces of practical advice.

1)Always carry a pen.

2)Babies can be very slippery when they are first born. If you drop the baby…pick it up.

3)Never ever ever ever say “oops” or “uh-oh.” No matter what you do, no matter how badly you mess up, no matter what is going on, a patient should never hear you say anything that indicates something has gone afoul. It doesn't matter if the problem is painfully obvious. Even if you’re carrying a hiker down a mountain trail on a backboard and you drop him, and he goes tumbling down the mountainside- Never say “oops.” Instead say “there.”

I’m not sure why “there” is the word of choice, but it is.

I have generally been very pleased with my doctor. He has been very helpful, usually has good bedside manner, and I would recommend him to anyone that asked me about him. His medical training, although exponentially more thorough than my little foray into first aid, evidently did not include practical advice for life. I’m officially past my due date, and am exhibiting no signs of impending labor, so he sent me for an ultrasound to check on the growth of our baby. When the ultrasound tech handed him her report he offered a very surprised, and not reassuring, “Oh my!” This is not quite the same as “oops,” but not much better. Apparently, despite having very average sized parents, our baby is huge: potentially large enough to significantly complicate delivery. We are now scheduled for the soonest available induction. All of this information would perhaps have been much more welcome if it had been preceded by “there.”

New Job

2011-01-24T01:45:00.003-06:00

I have taken up babysitting. This is also frequently referred to as substitute teaching. Substitute teaching is in no way similar to real teaching except that it occurs on a school campus.

Benefits

I don’t have to work every day. This is really convenient on days that I am sick.
I have no before or after school responsibilities. No bus duty, no lunchroom duty, no metal detector duty, no staff meetings, no lesson plans to submit, no papers to grade. When the kids leave, I leave.
I get to have a new specialty every day. In addition to History I have now “taught” Accounting, Chemistry, Psychology, Keyboarding, Economics, English, Algebra, Public Speaking, and Basketball. I do not think the PE teacher realized I was pregnant when she called me, but it was a week that I was feeling pretty good, so I went ahead and did it.
By far the most significant: No irate parents.

Drawbacks

It’s really really really boring. Sometimes the most difficult thing I have to do all day is stay awake. Having been a teacher I understand the wisdom in providing a self-directed assignment for the kids to work on, but as a substitute I sometimes wish I had more to do than take attendance and hand out worksheets.
The kids aren’t mine. Instead of knowing who just got a new haircut, and who’s trying out for the play, and who has been looking for an after school job, and who always writes in green pen, and who just moved in; I just have a list of names. The politely say “here” at the appropriate moment during attendance, and that’s about all I get out of them.
No lesson plans. It doesn’t matter if I have an awesome idea for teaching the stock market crash, or if I know a really great activity to introduce Pavlov’s theories. My job is to follow the provided lesson outline which is usually to take attendance, and hand out the worksheet. Or take attendance and start the video. Or take attendance and tell the kids what chapter to read in their textbooks.

The job is different, and the kids are also significantly different. Rural farming community kids in no way resemble their inner city counterparts. They are remarkably submissive. They come into class and sit down without being asked, and they follow directions without argument. I wondered how far this compliance would go, and one day I told them that I needed them to line up in alphabetical order by the second letter of their middle name. They did it incredibly quickly. Nobody asked “why?” None of them said, “This is stupid.” The whole class just jumped up and started asking each other how to spell their middle names. It made me laugh. Then I divided them into teams for basketball.

Dr. Visit

2011-01-01T08:48:00.002-06:00

I have somehow become entirely conditioned to believe that visiting the doctor will make me feel better. I'm not sure how this happened. As I reflect on my experience with doctors I realize that such belief has received very little positive reinforcement. This is in no way a negative commentary on doctors. I know that their medical expertise and advice have led to my eventual recovery on multiple occasions. But, while it has never happened, I have come to believe that a trip to a doctor’s office will result in the immediate cessation of ailment.

My doctor has told me that he has done everything he can for me, that it is normal (and somehow healthy) for me to feel awful, and that pregnancy is supposed to be uncomfortable. Even still, when I am feeling particularly miserable, I find myself looking at the calendar and counting the days until my next doctor appointment and, despite my knowledge to the contrary, believing that it is a magical day on which I will suddenly feel better.

While not a single trip to an obstetrician has been able to fulfill my irrational belief, last month’s visit was at least somewhat vindicating. As we were sitting in the waiting room I mentioned to the Texan that our baby had the hiccups. He apparently had never heard of this before, and insisted that it couldn’t be true. Later, while the doctor was listening to the baby’s heartbeat he mentioned that the baby had hiccups. And while I still felt just as nauseated as I had when we arrived, I was thoroughly delighted to declare a professionally endorsed “I told you so.”

Pregnancy Questions

2010-12-20T13:47:00.003-06:00

In the past few months I have spent quite a bit of time with 3 and 4 year olds. It has been a big change from spending my days with 15 and 16 year olds, but it has been fun. They are particularly fascinated by my pregnancy, and have asked some fun questions.

Abby: Why is your tummy huge?
Me: Because I'm going to have a baby.
Abby: So
Me: The baby is inside my tummy. If you watch really closely you can see him kick.
At this point she gave me a strange look and decided to sit next to someone else

Samantha: Did you put your baby down for a nap in his crib?
Me: He won't sleep in a crib until after he is born.
Samantha: Oh. Did you put him down for a nap in your tummy?

Sophie: How are you going to get the baby out of your tummy?
Me: A doctor is going to help me.
Sophie: I don't think the baby likes being in your tummy.

Elliot: Are you having a baby or a boy?
Me: We're having a baby boy.
Elliot: Is it a baby or a boy?
Me: It's a baby that's a boy.
Elliot: No, are you having a baby or a boy?

Samantha: Why did you put that baby in your tummy?
Me: All babies start out that way. You were in your mom's tummy too.
Samantha: What are you going to name him?
Me: We haven't decided yet. What do you think?
Samantha: You should name him Luke when he's born, and when he gets older you can call him James.

Final Exams

2010-12-13T19:33:00.002-06:00

For several years final exams have been a rather significant part of the Christmas season. This year I find myself neither taking nor grading exams. I would be a little bit lost, but the Texan is getting ready for his finals, so our household is not quite test free. And so in honor of all the students I know who are putting off their Christmas cheer until the testing is over, and who will spend many hours in line at the testing center, I present this poem I wrote during one exam week when I was at BYU. (It's amazing what I can accomplish when I'm putting off studying.)

How the Cougars took their Finals

The professors on campus like finals a lot
But the students, who lived just south of campus, did not!

The cougars hated finals! The whole finals season!
Now, please don't ask why for you all know the reason.

They'd have to stay up way into the night
And study real hard until morning's first light

They'd feel like they were banging their heads on the wall
Convinced that their brains were two sizes too small

But, for multiple reasons, such as midnight crams,
They sat there on reading days, cursing exams

Staring down at their books, with a sour, tired gaze
At the long lists of facts, reading page after page

For they knew every teacher on campus just north
Was busy now writing exams to put forth.

“And they’re printing them now.” They snarled with a sneer.
“Tomorrow starts finals. They’re practically here.”

“This huge pile of reading is really quite numbing,
We must find some way to stop finals from coming.”

For tomorrow, they knew, All the students would consign
They’d wake bright and early and long before nine
The testing center was sure to have a very long line.
That’s one thing they hated. The LINES LINES LINES LINES!

Then once in the building they’d sit down and write
And they’d write! And they’d Write
And they’d WRITE WRITE WRTIE WRTIE

They would write big long essays, and make no mistake
They would write until both hands had started to ache

And then they’d do something they liked least of all
Every student on campus, the tall and the small
Would hand in their tests and though somewhat deflating
They’d simply go home and they’d all start their waiting

They’d wait. And they’d wait.
And they’d WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT.
And the more students thought of this final-grade-wait
The more they all thought, “This is something we hate."

Why for quite a few years we’ve put up with it now
We must stop these finals from coming, But HOW?”

Then they had an idea.
An awful idea.
They all had a horrible awful idea.

“There’s just nothing to do. It’s all to no avail
“If we don’t take our finals we simply will fail”

So they did what all students have done in the past
They stopped whining and studied for finals at last.

(I know it’s a cop out ending, but I really should go study now)

Morning Sickness and School Busses

2010-12-06T19:25:00.002-06:00

I have been sick for far too long. I try not to be bitter about this, but my patience is waning. A more accurate statement is that I tried not to be bitter about this, but I have given up and am thoroughly irate about my current sate. It’s like the flu that won’t go away. I kind of expected that by the time I reached the I can’t tie my shoes, my wedding ring hurts my swollen hands stage of pregnancy I’d be finished with the I need to be close to a bathroom phase. People told me that I would feel better when I got to my second trimester. They lied. The second trimester has come and gone and I still find myself kneeling in the bathroom several times a week. In my more reasonable moments (which are occurring with decreasing frequency) I acknowledge that their dishonesty was probably unintentional. However, their inaccurate estimates cause me to question if I ever will feel better. I am somewhat certain that I am destined to spend the rest of my existence in an eternal state of “morning sickness.” I do think that the person who came up with that title was intentionally lying and should be punished accordingly.

As I approach my eighth month of suffering I have abandoned all pretenses of good naturedly accepting my lot and am quite unabashedly annoyed, frustrated, angry, and irritated. Unfortunately there is no easily defined target for my pregnancy enhanced wrath, and it occasionally lands on unsuspecting innocent bystanders. One day I was dropping the Texan off at school. As I approached his building the all too familiar gagging started. He quickly looked through the car, but unfortunately my plastic bag, which is normally stashed in the glove compartment for such occasions, had not been replaced since its last use. Although he was appropriately sympathetic and concerned, all he could really do was get out of the car, and wish me good luck on the drive home.

My rush home was significantly delayed when I got stuck behind a school bus on a road with almost no cross streets. I quickly became quite mad at the stupid bus driver who kept stopping to pick up kids. After only a few stops I earnestly loathed the flashing red lights and retractable stop sign. I sat in my car nearly choking. I wondered which front yard would become the receptacle of my partially digested breakfast. I cursed the unknown person who decided that all traffic going both directions must stop while children stepped from the sidewalk onto the school bus. I considered drafting a letter to the school board recommending they discontinue the bus system entirely. I tried to conceive of a way I could make one of the kids on the bus clean my car out should the need arise. I questioned why every child had to walk ever so slowly to the back of the bus only to find no open seats and walk twice as leisurely back to the front of the bus before sitting down, and I quite particularly wondered why the bus driver felt the need to continue holding up traffic for this entire process at every stop.

When I was thoroughly worked up over the inefficiencies of bus transportation and fully convinced that an anonymous bus driver had conspired with dozens of elementary students to ruin my life, I finally saw a cross street where I could turn off the horrible road and find a faster, bus-free rout home. Yards short of my escape the bus again assaulted me with flashing lights and an obtrusively insistent stop sign. I looked up the street that was supposed to be my reprieve and found instead an antagonist. A boy was running as fast as he could down the hill with his backpack in one hand and his coat in the other. I spent a full minute of my life hating this tardy child and mercilessly wishing the bus driver would leave him on the curb. The bus driver waited. If I had not been clad in pajamas (the white flannel polka dot ones) I probably would have taken more assertive action. Instead I sat in my car and angrily muttered hypocritically to myself about how late children should be left behind.

Since the bus incident the doctor has given me a new medicine that has significantly curbed the vomiting. It has also significantly curbed my ability to stay awake for more than an hour at a time. I am happy to report that, with the assistance of promethazine, I have made it as long as 10 days without involuntarily expelling my meals. I feel sort of like the factories that post how long it has been since their last accident.

Pajamas

2010-10-21T23:28:00.003-05:00

Fifth period continued. John’s empty seat was soon occupied by a student named Charlie. His story will be forthcoming. Today, however, I would like to articulate some of my thoughts on pajamas.

I am irrationally emotionally attached to the clothing in which I sleep. Much like a young child who requires a specific stuffed animal or security blanket, my ability to fall asleep depends largely on the pants that I wear to bed. My unreasonable affinity toward my pajamas began just prior to the Fall Semester of 2001. As I prepared to make the trek halfway across the country and attend a semester in Nauvoo, Illinois, I was shopping at Kohl’s for some last minute necessities. Megan was with me. I don’t remember what I was actually shopping for, but I do remember stumbling across the most amazing pajama pants on the clearance rack for $2. (Yes, I do remember the price of the pajamas that I purchased over 9 years ago.) These were magical pants. They were made out of a blue crushed velour fabric that was decorated with white clouds and yellow moons and stars, some of the shooting variety. The pants were remarkably soft, and they were definitely not my size. I’m not normally an impulse shopper, but with some encouragement from Megan I decided that I must have the pants, and took my extra-large clearance find to the register.

I packed my magic pants and headed to Nauvoo where putting on my pajamas became a highly anticipated part of the day. The fit was ridiculous. I had to tighten the drawstring to the point that less than half of it remained around my waist, and they covered my feet entirely, but I loved those pants. After the Nauvoo semester, I took the pants with me back to Provo and continued to love them. In 2003 I took the magic pants with me as I served a mission in Pennsylvania. In December 2004, on the last day of my mission, the mission president’s wife took my magic pants and threw them away. She said that they were worn out to the point of being immodest. As I looked at the nearly sheer seat of my magic pants I decided that she probably had a point, and offered only mild protest.

For the next 2 years I wore a pair of good fitting pants made out of striped purple cotton. I developed no connection to these pants. They were not magical in anyway. This is when I decided that there are three essential elements to attachment-worthy pajamas:

1. The most simple requirement of amazing pajamas is that they must be soft. Some animals are easily distracted by shiny objects. My attention is easily captivated by soft things. And, despite the fact that I know better, I am always tricked into thinking that I am warmer when I am clad in something soft.

2. The pajamas must be way too big. This makes them very comfortable, and keeps my feet warm when I get out of bed. It also makes them a novelty. Appropriately tailored pants are practical and are to be worn during the day when I have to look at least moderately professional and mind my limited manners. Extra-large pants are fun and are to be put on at night time when I no longer have to be presentable.

3. Very closely related to element 2, incredible pajamas must be made out of awesome fabric. Awesome pajama fabric is any design that is really cute, but not suitable for regular clothing. No one in their right mind would be seen in public wearing blue crushed velour with moons and stars on it, but sew it into a pair of pajama pants and suddenly it’s acceptable. This is probably at least partly due to the fact that most people are not seen in public wearing their pajamas.

Basically, pajamas that are way too big and made out of awesome soft fabric are so completely different from normal daily clothing that they are very fun to wear. Putting on such a pair of pants is the physical incarnation of the "my day is over and now it is time to rest" sentiment.

My boring pajama spell was finally broken on Christmas in 2006 with a gift from Heather. She gave me pajamas made out of white flannel with multicolored polka-dots and a striped drawstring. These pants make me happy. The Texan refers to these as my nun pants. I’m not sure why he calls them that. There is nothing about ill-fitting flannel polka dots that reminds me of nuns. Nonetheless, that’s what he calls them. They have made it through several years without reaching the extremely tattered state of the magic pants because I alternate their use with another pair of pants that I acquired in March of 2007 while visiting Washington DC. After hearing the National Symphony Orchestra perform Dvorak’s 9th symphony (which, incidentally, is an excellent piece of music frequently referred to as the New World Symphony) I was perusing the gift shop at the Kennedy Center and discovered the music pants. Much more appropriately named than the nun pants, they are made out of a white knit and are covered in musical notes and symbols. At first I was quite dismayed to find that the only size apparently available was a medium. Not willing to purchase anything smaller than an extra-large, but really wanting to have awesome pajamas as a souvenir from the nation’s capital, I located a clerk who was able to find the appropriate size for me. Someday the nun pants and the music pants will meet the same fate as the magic pants, but I think that they still have a few good years left in them.

5th Period Adventures - Ice Cream

2010-08-31T12:06:00.002-05:00

Evidently being assaulted by a student is an excellent way to get whatever you want from the administration for the rest of the school year (and a bigger classroom with windows for the next year.) The day after John dumped his lemonade on me a rather large accident shut down the freeway, and I was a few minutes late checking in. When I walked in the secretary greeted me with, “Why are you here? We didn’t expect you to come in today.” I thought to myself: Really? I could have stayed home and no one would have thought less of me? Why on earth did I wake up early today?

They had a substitute ready for my classes, and I momentarily considered going back home. But I decided that I had already gotten up before the sun, and fought with ridiculous traffic, so at that point I might as well stay and work. From that day on my Principal thought I was the most resilient teacher on the planet. And while he didn’t stop sending me difficult kids, he did give me pretty much anything I asked for. I’m certain that I had the most well supplied History classroom in the state. (This is obviously not the same principal that banned maps. It’s too bad she had to come along and ruin things.)

A few weeks after John was removed from my classroom I was in the hall dutifully monitoring students as they left the cafeteria. The kids only get 22 minutes for lunch, so it is fairly common to see students hurriedly trying to finish eating as they walk to their 5th period classes. One kid, who was not a student of mine, was quickly working on an ice cream cone. I guess he decided that he didn’t want the rest of it because as he walked by me he stopped eating and smeared his dessert in my face. Then without missing a step he continued around the corner to his class.

I was a little bit stunned for a couple of reasons. First, the ice cream was really really cold. Second, this was some random kid. I didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know who I was. At least when John threw stuff at me he was doing it out of anger and spite. I hadn’t made the ice cream kid sit in a seat he didn’t like, or mark him tardy, or take a magazine away from him, or give him a bad grade on a test. He had no reason to be angry with me or wish death by dairy dessert on me. He just shoved ice cream in my face because it seemed like the thing to do. After spending a minute indulging my indignation, I decided I couldn’t write up a kid I didn’t know and gave up on pursuing appropriate disciplinary measures. Instead I went to the bathroom and washed my face. Then I took a stack of paper towels and put them in my desk drawer in case of future food encounters.

5th Period Adventures - Part 4: Lemonade

2010-08-18T21:59:00.003-05:00

The next day John entered my classroom only 5 minutes late. I took this as a good sign. I was further encouraged by the fact that he was carrying a backpack. Perhaps John had arrived with some scholastic purpose in mind. He sat in his seat for about 3 minutes and then stood up. I decided that John might not want to sit next to Frank in all of his cosmetic glory, and since a couple of students were absent that day I figured I could accommodate him. I asked John to choose an empty seat to sit in. Surprisingly he picked the desk that I lovingly refer to as Outer Siberia where I send the political prisoners. I continued teaching my class about the Black Plague. After looking around for a few minutes John realized that he had voluntarily placed himself in the time out chair, and got up to move. I continued to teach.

John, much like Daniel, was not getting the attention he wanted, so he decided to take more ostentatious action. He stood up and walked around the classroom talking to the other students. I decided that my strategy of ignoring the problem in hopes that it would go away was no longer the best course of action.

“John you need to be in a seat. It doesn’t have to be your chair but you need to be in a chair.”

John drew himself up to his full height and proclaimed, “Miss, you can’t make me sit down.”

“You’re right. I can’t. Do it anyway.”

This confused John and he stopped for a moment, but he quickly re-gathered his senses and continued to walk around the room. At this point it occurred to me that it was very likely that John did not enjoy being told what to do any more than I do. Rather than dictate instructions, I decided to give him some options. “John, you may sit in a chair, or you may stand outside the door.” John sat down. I think he didn’t really want to get locked out again. But he wasn’t about to admit defeat, and certainly did not want to portray an attitude of compliance. As soon as he sat down he reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle of lemonade. The district maintains a strict no food or drink policy in classrooms, and every student in that room, including John, knew that he had just broken a very aggressively enforced rule. He looked with an “I dare you to stop me” glance. Knowing it wouldn’t work I asked him to put the lemonade away and he again responded with “You can’t make me.” Then very slowly and deliberately he opened the bottle and took a drink. I walked over to him, touched him on the arm and repeated my request. I knew that I had just broken a cardinal rule of teaching by touching a student, but I did not expect the reaction that I got. John angrily threw the bottle on the ground and walked out of my classroom, slamming the door on the way out.

I decided that John had temporarily solved the problem. He was no longer interrupting my class, and I could write him up later. So I picked up his lemonade bottle, threw it away and continued teaching. Within a few minutes I had my students diligently working in groups to trace the route of the Bubonic Plague as it spread throughout Europe. I was standing in the back of the room between two students answering a map question when I heard someone knock on my door. I looked up in time to see another student let John back in the room. Without saying anything John crossed the room and retrieved his lemonade from the trash can, dumped it all over me, threw the empty bottle on the ground, and left the room slamming the door yet again on his way out.

Every student in the room silently watched me and waited for my reaction. I instantly wished I had something of extreme importance to tell them, because I was keenly aware that I had more absolute attention from 5th period than I would ever have from any other class for the rest of my teaching career. Unfortunately their concentration was somewhat wasted. Instead of taking advantage of their attentiveness by sharing deep pearls of wisdom, all I could manage to do was use my sleeve to wipe the lemonade out of my eyes and then check on the students I was standing between. After confirming that both kids all of their materials were lemonade free I finished answering their question, and moved to the next group to see if they needed any help. The class decided that the show was over, and rather disappointedly went half-heartedly back to their assignment.

Despite my best efforts, John successfully interrupted my class more thoroughly than any other student, and more completely than I think he realized or even intended. The kids tried to refocus, but for the rest of the hour my classroom seemed to be a parade of adults completely oblivious to the fact that school was still in session, and I still had a class to teach. First the counselors’ secretary came into class to find out why John was wondering the halls. Next the principal came in to hear what had happened. He was followed by one of our police officers who came to ask if I wanted to press charges. The lead counselor came in to tell me that he was working on a schedule change so that John would no longer be in my class. Every assistant principal in the building stopped for no apparent reason really. They kind of reminded me of people on the freeway who slow down to look at the remnants of an accident that has already been cleaned up. All there is left to see is some broken glass, but they are going to be sure to see it. Then the counselor came in again saying that he couldn’t complete the schedule change without a documented reason, so I needed to write up the incident on the appropriate discipline referral form. A custodian came in to mop the floor. The counselor came in yet again asking if I had completed the referral yet. By the time my neighboring teacher came in to ask if I needed anything I was so sick of interruptions I told him I needed him to leave and lock the door on his way out.

5th Period Adventures - Part 3: John

2010-07-17T09:13:00.002-05:00

Administrators don’t teach fifth period. In fact many administrators have never even been in a classroom. So when John returned from our alternative campus the counselors thought it would be a good idea to add him to my fifth period family. John was a rather large student. He had been in my class the year before, failed miserably and got kicked out of school for selling drugs. He came back with a chip on his shoulder and an axe to grind. He arrived in my classroom 15 minutes late. He carried no materials with him, and said nothing to anyone. He merely glared around the room and clenched his fists. I assigned John the only empty seat in my classroom, which happened to be right next to Frank, and braced myself for a new onslaught of disruptive behavior. John stomped his way over to his desk, slammed himself into the seat and stared at the floor.

I decided to do my best to help John succeed in my class and handed him some paper and a pencil that he could use for the day, and asked him to bring his own the next day. He lifted his gaze only slightly and acknowledged my request with a grunt. A few minutes later stood up, pushed his papers on the floor, walked out of my room, and slammed the door. Having taught John before, I was discouraged but not surprised by this performance. His bewildered classmates watched me pick up his papers and continue teaching without comment. A few minutes later John returned to my classroom, and discovered, much to his dismay, that I keep my classroom door locked. When he slammed the door he locked himself out. I took much pleasure in this little victory and continued teaching.

I have a very simple policy that John was already familiar with. You can walk out of my classroom any time you want. I won't stop you, I won't get in your way, and I won't argue with you about it. But once you leave, you can't come back without a note from your principal. And if you don't make it back with a note from the principal by the end of class, you are marked absent. With my door locked, John knew that he needed to go tell the principal that he walked out of class, but decided to see if he could avoid that meeting, as it surely would end in detention. He knocked on my door. I went outside and asked him if he had the required note. When he told me he did not, I went back into class leaving him in the hallway to contemplate his options.

John knocked on my door again, I ignored him. He pounded on the window, I ignored him. He jiggled my doorknob, I ignored him. One of my students helpfully pointed out that John wanted to come back into class. Tenth graders are so observant. I told them that John wanted to disrupt class and asked them to ignore him. They performed remarkably well. I was so proud of all of them. John continued his pounding and got very frustrated when he could see through the window that no one cared. He started shouting through the door. When that didn’t work he pulled out his cell phone, which is not allowed in school, turned on the alarm, and pushed it under my door. It found it very difficult not to laugh as I picked his phone up off the ground, turned it off, and deposited it in my desk drawer to be turned into the office at the end of the day. John cried out loudly in dismay and defeat just as an Assistant Principal rounded the corner. He was assigned detention.

5th Period Adventures - Part 2: Frank

2010-07-09T11:04:00.002-05:00

I was a little disappointed that Daniel dropped out of school, but not at all upset that I stopped receiving death threats. I thought I had slain the dragon, and settled down to my happily ever after. However, I soon discovered that I had only battled the enchantment protecting the dragon’s lair, and the true contest was yet to come. The next attack came from a different angle. One of the counselors stopped by my room during my conference period to let me know that she had just changed a schedule and put Frank in my class. For a moment I was tricked by this siren’s song and allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security. I thought of how kind and considerate it was for her to go out of her way to tell me about a schedule change, and I looked forward to meeting this new pupil. I knew I was headed for trouble when I looked up his previous schedule to find out whom to get his grades from and discovered that Frank had already been through three other History teachers, and it was only October. However I decided that I had the upper hand in the impending contest due to the fact that I had a 24 hour head start. I quickly assigned Frank a spot in the seating chart and then began searching for information that I could wield in my favor. I went to Frank's most recent History teacher. When I mentioned his name the teacher first cringed, then shuddered, then said “good luck” and promptly walked out of the room. With that resounding vote of confidence I made my way back to my room and prepared for the worst.

The following day I returned from the cafeteria a few minutes early, anxious to prepare for my new disruptive student. I was momentarily caught off guard when I discovered that he had beaten me and was waiting for me outside my door. I quickly put on my serious I’m-in-charge-of-this-classroom face and unlocked my door. Frank had been through enough schedule changes by this point in the year to know that his ticket into my classroom was a copy of the new schedule. With a flourish in his wrist he handed me the required documentation, and then with all the femininity of a damsel in distress sighed rather significantly, leaned on my door frame, tilted his head to one side, batted his eyelashes and asked, “Miss, do I look pretty today?” In all of my mental preparations it had never occurred to me that my new antagonist would be a boy who wished he was a girl.

I tried not to focus on the exorbitant amount of foundation, eye shadow, and lip gloss that was caked on his face and told him where his assigned seat was. He tossed his head and swung his hips all the way to his desk. When class started Frank started rummaging through his purse. I watched closely hoping that he would take out some paper on which to complete the warm up assignment. My optimism shattered when instead his hand emerged clutching a rather large make up bag. He pulled out a compact and carefully applied some rather dark eye liner, gazed at his reflection for a few moments and then decided he needed some more lip gloss. He settled on some clear lip gloss with glitter in it and went to work. Even my most dedicated and disciplined students had a hard time focusing on the task at hand, and all eyes were on Frank.

Frank had an interesting ritual. Maybe he was still determining what makeup was best for his coloring. He would spend several minutes applying makeup, then admire his handiwork in the mirror for a while, then pull out a washcloth to wipe off all of the makeup and start over. He was challenging to the class in a number of ways: 1) he didn’t care about History or listen to a single thing that I said. This made him about average for fifth period. 2) Instead of using the normal methods of ignoring me such as falling asleep, passing notes, or texting, Frank's makeup ritual was quite distracting to everyone in the room. 3) He loved to play the race card. Anytime I asked him to do anything he responded with “You just hate me because I’m black.” 4) He made my other students uncomfortable. All sorts of behavior problems that had never existed before began to surface when Frank entered my classroom. This was a difficult predicament. He would say the oddest things. Once he asked me if I liked his new lip gloss. Once he told me he liked my eye shadow and wanted to know where I bought it. Once he asked the girl sitting behind him if she would pluck his eyebrows for him. Fortunately for me, Frank liked to stand up before interrupting class, so my standard response to all of his antics quickly became “Frank, please sit down.” “Miss, you just hate me because I’m black.” “Frank, I don’t hate you. Please sit down.”

After about two weeks of this the tension in my classroom started to settle down. The other kids realized that Frank wasn’t going anywhere, and found some sort of comfort in the daily ritual of me assuring Frank that I didn’t hate him and asking him to sit down. Frank realized that I wasn’t going to write him up, so he was stuck in my class for the foreseeable future. He even occasionally took a break from his makeup routine to take some notes.

5th Period Adveuntures - Part 1: Daniel

2010-07-02T12:23:00.002-05:00

Fifth period is at a rather difficult time of day. Much of the world avoids post lunch problems through use of the siesta. However, Americans boldly cling to the bizarre idea that humans are actually supposed to be awake during the mid-afternoon hours and try to conduct business as normal. Teenagers, who already have a very limited connection to reality, are especially hard hit by what I refer to as afternoon insanity. Knights, warriors, mythical gods, and other literary heroes have nothing over a fifth period public school teacher.

My first Nemesis arrived in fifth period on the first day of school to announce that he had just returned from prison, celebrated his nineteenth birthday, and was now ready to begin his high school career. He got off to an excellent start by walking out of class and slamming the door. Getting Daniel to sit in a seat was a Herculean task (except that Hercules would not have been able to accomplish it.) Daniel’s favorite response to any request was “Miss, I’m fixin’ to go guerilla on you.” I decided to overlook the obvious Texan nature of the comment and concentrate on keeping him from interrupting the other students in the classroom.

Having never attended high school before, Daniel did not immediately make the connection between attending school and passing school. He missed several weeks before he decided that coming to class might be worth his time. Unfortunately he decided it was only worth his time because he could sell drugs in the restrooms, and his only excuse to come to campus and use the restrooms was to attend an occasional class.

After Daniel discovered that blatant disregard for all school rules was not getting him the amount of attention he desired, he decided to try something slightly more abrasive He stood up during class and announced that he was going to bring a gun and school to shoot everyone. Then, just to make sure I knew of the special place that I had in his heart, he promised me that he would come and find me first. While flattered to be the first one he thought of, I decided that I would prefer to make it through the year without gunshot wounds. I asked him to sit down and finish taking his test. During our weekly meeting, I mentioned the exchange to my Assistant Principal who insisted that in any school shooting he would certainly be the first target. I held my ground and maintained my position as first in line.

A few days later Daniel was quite disappointed by the apathetic response he received and decided to try again with a little more fervor. This time, in addition to promising to find me first in his assault of the school, he stood up and acted out some target practice. By the third time Daniel promised to bring a gun to school the Assistant Principle lost patience and did the most logical thing: called a meeting. The attendees at this meeting included myself, Daniel, the AP, and our police officer. Daniel was informed that he would not be allowed back on campus until his parents came and met with an administrator (because, of course, the solution is another meeting). Daniel pursued the most obvious course of action and withdrew from school.

Complaints

2010-06-14T21:05:00.002-05:00

I received this email from a parent. I could provide multiple pages of commentary, but I think she speaks adequately for herself. (I have even preserved the original spelling and punctuation.)

"you and I need to talk [my daughter] worked to hard on a project that was objective... meaning your opinionto receive an 70% She has expressed your dislike for her now Im beginning to wonder if she is right. If you do not contact me I will have no problem escalating this complaint."

Final Projects

2010-06-09T09:35:00.002-05:00

The last assignment of the year was a decade project. The kids had to make a poster, write an essay, and present their decade to the class. Most of the kids did an excellent job. One student even made a comparison between Kennedy's use of television in the 1960 election and Obama's use of online social networking in the 2008 election. While such magical moments make a teacher extremely proud, the non teaching community doesn't seem to find much entertainment in them. Some of the presentations didn't really make me proud, but they did make me laugh a little bit.

Project on the 1920s:
"Alcohol was illegal in the 1920s, so nothing interesting happened."

Project on the 1940s:
"WWI was in the 1940s. It was where the United States fought against the Soviet Union and dropped the atomic bomb on them to prove that we didn't like communism."

Project on the 1960s:
"Then there was Rosa Parks. She was important because....Well, I don't know, but she got in trouble for something."

I was a little dismayed that she didn't seem to know anything about Rosa Parks. It was just the icing on the cake that Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat on the bus in 1955, and really had no place in a project on the 1960s.

Project on the 1970s:
"Ryan drew a picture of a turkey on my poster. I don't know why he did that because turkeys weren't invented in the 1970s. Turkeys are animals, so they can't be invented. Maybe they were discovered in the 70s though."

Project on the 1990s:
"I put a picture of September 11th on my poster because that was a big deal. Oh wait, that was in 2001. That's the wrong decade." Then he ripped the picture off his poster

Same project on the 1990s:
"Bill Clinton had to be impeached so that Bush could become president."

Favorite Conversation of the Week

2010-05-27T18:59:00.001-05:00

The Texan was trying to add an event to our evening that I hadn't planned on.

Texan: Come on. We should go. It will be fun.

RedHead: I don't know. I'm not really dressed for it...my hair's not done...

Texan: You still have four minutes. I've seen you work miracles in less time than that.

If You're Going to Plagiarize...

2010-05-21T12:17:00.003-05:00

As part of a final assignment each student had to write and "essay" about one decade in American History. Essay is in quotations because they only had to write 300 words. One student turned in the following as her essay about the 1940s:

"On December 7th, 1941, a date which will live in infamy, the United States of American was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan..."

Legal and ethical issues of plagiarism and academic dishonesty aside, I'm moderately offended that she didn't think I would recognize one of the most famous speeches ever made by a US president.

Happy Mother's Day

2010-05-09T15:04:00.002-05:00

I never wear shoes in the house. I get this habit from my mother. Friday morning I was trying to get to school early so that I could give my AP kids cinnamon rolls before they had to take a test. I was running a little late (which is a habit that I do not get from my mother) and ran out to the car in quite a hurry. I was well on my way to school before I realized that I was not wearing any shoes and would have to go back home to get some. I raced back home, ran inside, grabbed my shoes, and ran back to my car which I had left running. Unfortunately in my hurry I managed to accidentally lock my car. I had to go back inside and get the Texan's keys. I made it to school only 10 minutes before the AP test started. I handed all my kids a cinamon roll, whished them good luck, and sent them on their way.

I don't think my mom ever went to school without shoes, and she's a very on time kind of person, but it made me think of other habits I get from my mom.

1) I read the news during my lunch break. I remember my mom reading the newspaper every day. Sometimes I would sit on the floor and play with her feet while she would read the newspaper. Despite how annoying this sounds, she never kicked me, which I appreciate.

2) I love serving dishes. I remember packing up some dishes to go to college, and my mom pulled out an old yellow serving dish and asked me if I wanted to take it with me. I told her I didn't need it. She told me that sometimes it's nice to serve a meal in a dish that it was not cooked in, and packed the yellow serving dish for me. Ever since then I have been a firm believer in serving dishes. They are fun. Currently I have a set of white oval shaped serving bowls that I love.

3) I like to sew things. I only partly get this habit from my mom. She sews some amazing stuff. She made me a Christmas dress, and Easter dress, and a First-Day-of-School dress every year. She also made my dresses for prom and homecoming. My favorite dress is the lavendar prom dress she made for me based not on a pattern, but on a picture I drew. Which is even more impressive than it sounds when you take into account my remarkably poor drawing skills. I don't do fancy stuff like that, but I like to sew simple things like napkins and pillowcases. Occasionally I sew a project that involves a zipper, and then I feel quite accomplished.

4) I eat fruits and vegetables. I even crave things like broccoli. My mom would make my lunch for me to take to school every day. And every day that lunch would include a fruit or a vegetable. She also gave us vegetables at dinner every night. When it was my turn to make dinner I would try to get away with not making a vegetable, but she was pretty smart and I never got away with it. Now I don't feel like I've had a meal until I've eaten produce of some kind. I will feel hungry until I've eaten a vegetable. My current favorite is green beans.

Happy Mother's Day. I hope you have a good one.

Testing Week

2010-05-01T17:33:00.006-05:00

The TAKS test is an almost mystic event encompassing many deeply rooted customs and rituals. In its infinite wisdom and power the Texas Education Agency has decreed that only those holding current and valid Texas Educator Certificates should be allowed to participate in the most exclusive rites of test administration. I would be perfectly content to share the experience with my certificate free colleagues, but alas, TEA will not allow a paraprofessional, librarian, or office assistant to partake in the TAKS testing tradition. This is mainly because TEA needs a method of recourse. Should their sacredly held procedures be in some way violated resulting in a "testing irregularity" TEA can confiscate my teaching certificate. And so every year at the end of April I put my professional credentials on the line to participate in four days of fun-filled state mandated testing.

The most important part of the testing ritual is pacing. Test administrators must "actively monitor" the students. This means that over the course of 4 hours of testing I can walk about 6 miles all without leaving my classroom. Sitting down is a cardinal sin. The test are not timed. I am required to encourage each student to take as much time as they need to do whatever it takes for them to perform best on their test. Inevitably there is a student in the room who thinks he can perform best on the test by taking a 3 hour nap. After 24 students have already completed the exam, and I have alphabetized all of their answer documents, and organized test booklets by form number, this student will finally decide to wake up and start the test. I have to keep pacing, and all the other students are required to remain seated and silent until the final test is turned in. TAKS testing makes normally sane, reasonable, and competent people crazy.

In an effort to make sure the students take the test seriously, don't cheat, and are generally as miserable as their teachers, we don't let the kids sit by their friends, or even in their normal classrooms. Instead the entire grade level is seated in alphabetical order. In my classroom I had tenth graders from the "Garcia" section of the alphabet. Getting these kids in the appropriate seating order was slightly more complicated than I had anticipated. Not only did they all have the exact same last name, they all had similar first names as well. I had one girl named Jessica, and every other student in my room was named either Jesus, Jorge, Jose, or Juan. After learning every students full name, I finally got everyone sitting in the appropriate seat. As the final Juan took his seat at the end of the last row I giggled a little bit about the whole situation. One of the kids asked me what was funny to which I responded, "We could play twister in this room." The kids gave me blank stares, so I elaborated: "You know...right hand Jose, left foot Juan..." Blank stares continued.

Finally one kid spoke up. "Miss we can't play that game in this room. It's a white person game."

TAKS Season (not to be confused with the equally frustrating but mostly unrelated "tax season")

2010-04-25T15:02:00.006-05:00

It is once again time for educational institutions across the country to prove that minority students have not succumbed to the "soft bigotry of low expectations," and can answer multiple choice questions as well as their white middle class peers. In Texas that means it is time to administer the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills.

In an effort to prove to the federal government that our high risk students have an equal opportunity for education and aren't getting left behind, we interrupt their normal curriculum and instruction for two weeks to conduct TAKS review.

TAKS review is not my favorite part of the year. I look forward to it about as much as I look forward to (insert some type of universally agreed upon unpleasant activity here.) The only thing about teaching that is more unpleasant than TAKS review is the TAKS test itself. (Which, I am fairly certain, I will have something to say about next week.)

For a few excruciating days I followed the prescribed review format, and decided that it was actually making my kids dumber. When I am bored to tears and the kids aren’t learning a single thing it’s time for something to change. So I handed out markers told the kids that we were going to make an illustrated history of the United States. They were kind of confused at first. Several students reminded me that it was TAKS review week. Some kids asked me if I would get in trouble. After I convinced them that the new assignment was still part of TAKS review my kids did some excellent illustrations including the bombing of Hiroshima, the Spanish American War, and the Civil Rights movement. This picture of the 1929 stock market crash made me giggle.

One small step for man...

2010-04-17T14:31:00.002-05:00

I wrapped up our unit on the 1960s by teaching the kids about the moon landing. Since NASA is not that far away, and they just made a big deal out of the 40th anniversary, I thought it would be a relatively simple day. I probably thought that because I temporarily forgot that I teach teenagers at a public school.

Every day Roger drags himself into first period 10 minutes late, stands at the door and asks "Miss, what we be doin' today?" I used to think that this habit would drive his English teacher crazy. I met her last week, and she seemed quite sane, but she did mention his poor punctuality. If my response to his query sounds interesting enough he comes into class and participates. If my response doesn't meet his standard he pouts a little. He makes a face, stomps his foot, and asks "why?" (Which is apparently appropriately pronounced in 2 very distinct syllables.) When he does this I tell him it's because I'm trying to make him miserable, and I was up all night trying to think of ways to ruin his life. Then he shrugs, comes into class, and sleeps.

When I told him that we were going to learn about the moon landing I was entirely unprepared for his response. He proudly proclaimed "I already know all about that. It's that Buzz guy. Buzz what'shisname." I was quite proud of his knowledge, and particularly impressed that he didn't throw out the name Neil Armstrong. He was an informed student. He knew that Armstrong was not the only astronaut involved in the moon landing. Anticipating that this meant that Roger was deciding to participate in class I responded, "That's right. It was Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin. Michael Collins was there as well, but he didn't actually walk on the moon."

Roger looked at me for a minute. I really think he spent an entire sixty seconds trying to figure out what I just said. I could see the wheels turning in his head and I thought I might have thrown him off a little by mentioning Michael Collins. Then he said, "Miss, what are you talking about? I was talking about that movie. You know...the one with the toys. It's Buzz...Buzz...Buzz Lightyear! Yeah. That's his name."

"If I Were In Charge Of The World"

2010-03-22T08:21:00.002-05:00

My second grade teacher read to us a lot (Probably most second grade teachers do, but I don't know for sure since I was only in the second grade once.) We all enjoyed read aloud time. She read us poetry, picture books, and occasionally even a chapter book. We sure all felt grown up when she pulled out the first chapter book. I remember her reading to us about the grouchy ladybug, Amelia Bedilia, and Ramona Quimby.

By far the classes favorite book was If I Were In Charge of the World by Judith Vorst. Occasionally our teacher would reward exceptional behavior by allowing a student to pick out the book for read aloud time. Invariably whoever the lucky student was would pick If I Were In Charge of the World. Soon we all knew the book by heart and would say it along with her.

I don't remember the whole thing anymore, but I do remember that if the unnamed character were in charge of the world he would cancel Monday mornings and oatmeal. I thought those were noble goals. I also remember that the book ended by saying, "If I were in charge of the world,a person who sometimes forgot to brush, and sometimes forgot to flush, would still be allowed to be in charge of the world." And after we all finished saying that part we would cringe, and offer our commentary of "eww...gross," and feel confident that our seven years of superior dental hygiene qualified each of us to be in charge of the world.

Now that I am no longer in second grade I have sadly realized that despite my years of consistent toilet flushing, I probably will never be in charge of the world. This is mainly because the world is not ruled by one person, but power is distributed among multiple leaders in many nations. And unfortunately those people will gather to discuss things ranging from health care to climate change to the lack of a BCS playoff, but seem content to leave Monday mornings and oatmeal alone.

But if I ever am in charge of the world, I will institute a new checkpoint at airports. It will be a smell check were people who have particularly bad body odor, halitosis, or whose clothes smell like smoke will not be allowed on the plane until their odors are neutralized. We already take off our shoes, jackets, and belts and submit to pat-down searches with the expectation that this somehow makes our flights more secure. I don't think it would be that much more invasive to have someone say "Excuse me sir, you need to take a shower before you can get on this flight." And it would certainly make flying a more enjoyable experience for all involved.

Finally

2010-03-10T10:05:00.003-06:00

My AP kids are starting to get some personality. Perhaps the prospect of the upcoming spring break has inspired them.

I gave the kids a quiz. I listed five terms from the chapter they just finished reading and asked them to define and identify the significance of each one. Rebecca did an excellent job on the first four terms, but I don't think she finished reading the chapter. This was her answer to number five:

"So, I used to work at souper salad, but then I quit because it got to be too much to handle with school and what not. But last night I went to visit my old boss and the people who worked there and I made them cookies and I walked in and saw a cute guy and tripped. :("

I Have Decided

2010-03-04T12:15:00.002-06:00

After much thought and contemplation I have come to the following conclusions:

Everyone should make a snow angel at least twice in their lifetime.

I am a better teacher when my feet don't hurt, therefore I do not have a large selection of cute shoes.

Any problem a Band-aid can solve is not an emergency.

No one on the planet should be required to be awake before 6:00 in the morning.

My Teacher Said...

2010-02-23T18:38:00.003-06:00

Last week was course selection week. Instead of teaching our kids history we took them down to the auditorium where the counselors gave them all the paperwork they need to pick their classes for next year. One of the counselors started explaining to the kids the difference between an AP class and a duel credit class and how each would figure into class rank and GPA. She was rudely interrupted by one of my students who shouted quite loudly, "My teacher says that in three years no one will care."

Death by AP US History

2010-02-09T09:33:00.002-06:00

Today was test day for the AP kids. As I was handing out the multiple choice section of the exam, Mike asked me, "Miss, is death by AP History considered suicide or homicide?"

After some discussion, including the possibility of genocide, the kids decided that AP History is self inflicted and settled on labeling it mass suicide.

2010-01-28T20:15:00.002-06:00

I was rather irate when the came into class. It wasn't their fault, so I tried not to make a big deal out of it, but it didn't take them very long to notice that something was different. They were pretty curious, but after I assured them that they were not the target of my anger, most of them were satisfied. Brian, however, wanted some further clarification.

Brian: Miss, did someone accuse you of being a pagan?
Me: No
Brian: Good. Because that would be really insulting!

That made me giggle. Then we had a pretty good class on the Civil War.

Pets

2010-01-22T19:23:00.003-06:00

I do not have pets. I am not sad about this. I am not anti-animal, but I am decidedly anti-indoor-pet for two reasons:

1. The amount of red hair around the house is more than sufficient. I see no need to add animal hair to the mix.

2. Animals have a distinctive smell that does not belong in my house. If I want to smell animals, I will go to the zoo.

The Texan is much less anti-pet, therefore we have a fish tank. I do not clean the fish tank, I do not feed the fish, and if I ever start to smell fish in the house the tank will disappear. Under these conditions, I actually kind of like the fish tank. In the early days of the fish tank the Texan named a fish, but it died less than an hour later. Now we keep nameless fish. Currently we have ten. One of these fish is a jerk. I refer to him as the mean fish. He is territorial and aggressive and has managed to restrict the other nine fish to a small corner of the tank. The mean fish has intimidated one particular fish to the point that it was unable to come out of its hiding place and eat for several days in a row.

One day as the Texan was feeding his fish, the frightened fish finally emerged and tried to eat, but the mean fish quickly chased it back under a rock. The Texan was tired of this selfishness, and decided it was time for action. He took the mean fish out of the tank and put him in a bucket on the floor for a few minutes. I came home a few hours later to find all ten fish happily swimming throughout the entire tank. When I asked the Texan about this fishy behavior he proudly explained that he had taught the mean fish to be nice by putting him in time out.

What Would Jesus Do?

2010-01-10T17:57:00.002-06:00

On Sundays I teach the 5 and 6 year olds. I have been doing this since April, and was a little nervous about it at first, but it turns out that they are remarkably similar to the high school kids. Today's lesson was titled "I can choose the right." First we played follow the leader. Then I asked the kids how to follow Jesus. Kaitlyn answered, "You do what he would do and not things that mean and grumpy people do." I felt good about that answer and told the kids that they could ask themselves what Jesus would want them to do, and then do it. A few minutes later Will interrupted me:

Will: Teacher, there is something black on that chair next to you. It's gross.
Me: You're right. That's why I decided not to sit in that chair.
Will: Do you know what Jesus would want us to do?
Me: What?
Will: He would want us to try to clean it off so that His church isn't dirty.
Me: I think you're right.

So we found a wet paper towel and cleaned the chair.

Coaches

2009-12-21T11:49:00.002-06:00

For some reason Social Studies departments tend to employ a lot of coaches. I like coaches. Most of them are dedicated and talented teachers who discovered that it's hard to find a teaching job without coaching something, so they took up a sport in order to make themselves more employable. They are fun to work with. They have a lot of personality. They have insane schedules, so they know how to get a lot of work done in a short amount of time. They relate with the kids really well, they don't take themselves too seriously, and are in general some of the most supportive and helpful colleagues I have.

Some coaches are stupid. These are the ones that got a degree in education so that they could find a coaching job. They aren't really great at teaching, and they aren't good at coaching, but they are excellent at giving the whole profession a bad name.

I have a student who is failing my AP class. The conversation I had with him last week is a perfect example of the bad influence of an incompetent coach.

Me: You're missing several assignments in this class. You're going to need to turn them in soon, or you won't be able to pass.

Student: I know Miss.

Me: Do you have the list of make up work I gave you?

Student: Yes.

Me: Do you need help with any of the assignments?

Student: No

Me: OK. Semester grades are due on Thursday. I need your stuff turned in before then

Student: It's OK miss...Coach told me I'm eligible to play.

Me: (confused by the abrupt change in subject) What?

Student: Yeah. I didn't do too well in History last year so coach told me I should take AP this year. That way if I fail I'm still eligible to play.

Me: You might be eligible to play, but if you fail you still don't get credit. If you fail history you'll be a Junior again next year.

Student: Oh. Coach didn't tell me that...

How to be a Real Person

2009-12-09T19:01:00.006-06:00

My AP kids are not funny. Sometimes I think that they are not real kids, they are just little grade earning robots. They do their homework, they follow directions, and they're pretty good at multiple choice exams, but they lack creativity. I told them that they have sacrificed their souls to the god of good grades and have no personality.

Seriously, they have no soul. Take, for example, the flu episode. (I'm not sure if it was of the swine variety or not.)

Day 1 : I was feeling pretty horrible and knew that I wouldn't be able to make it to school the next day, so I went to the other AP teacher and asked her if she had something that would be good for me to leave for my kids to do with a substitute. She pulled an article with accompanying questions out of her files. I must have looked pretty sick because she was about to hand it to me, but instead declared it would be better if I didn't touch her stuff, and offered to make copies for me. A few minutes later she came back with a pile of copies. I left them on my desk for the substitute, and went home without really looking at them.

Day 2 : I stayed home to nurse my violently ill self back to health.

Day 3: I still wasn't feeling great, but went back to school. I looked over the assignment that I had left for the kids and realized that it was far more work than anyone really could accomplish in one day. I knew the kids hadn't been able to take the assignment home because there was only a class set of copies, so I told them they could spend the class period finishing their work from the day before. They insisted that they were ready to hand it in. I was certain they were lying to me, but every student was able to produce a completed assignment to hand to me. I was quite baffled. When I asked for an explanation they told me they had asked another teacher to make copies for them so they could take it home and finish it as homework. They are insane.

I have decided that it is time to take action. In addition to the development of political parties, the economic policies of Andrew Jackson, and the effects of the Second Great Awakening on the Abolition movement, I have added to my classroom curriculum a unit entitled "How to be a real person." The following are my unit objectives:

1) Students will understand that in a few years no one in the entire world will care what their high school GPA was.

2) Students will learn that despite their years of academic training it doesn't really matter if you put your name on the right or left corner of the paper, or how many lines you skip between answers.

3) Students will learn to value more than just academic achievement. They will learn to also appreciate having fun, making friends, being creative, and helping their mothers do the dishes.

4) Students will learn that being able to quote a definition from the textbook doesn't actually mean they are intelligent. They will learn to use the book to inform and facilitate their own thinking, but not to substitute for it.

5) Students will learn that their grades are in no way a reflection of their worth as a person.

I'm fairly certain that none of these objectives will ever appear on a state standardized assessment, but I think they are worthwhile anyway.

The kids are back...

2009-08-26T16:21:00.003-05:00

And they are off to a great start. Here are my three favorite comments from the first day of school:

1) Does the United Statets really have a capital? I thought only individual states had those.

2) Wasn't George Washington the President during World War I?

3) Is California on the East coast or the West coast?

In celebration of my new job, I answered the last question by using a map.

Heat Men

2009-08-23T01:29:00.004-05:00

Once upon a time, in my pre-reading days, I was sitting at home, and I was very cold. Specifically my legs were very cold. Being rather young and not too self sufficient i decided to respond to my discomfort by whining. My dad suggested that I could not just sit and whine and remain cold, but rather remedy the situation by putting on a jacket. I knew this was a dumb idea for two reasons:

1) My jacket was hanging in a closet in the cold house, and therefore also cold. Putting this cold jacket on would only serve to make my arms as cold as my legs.

2) A jacket would not cover my legs, which, as you may recall, was the part of me that was freezing.

Therefore, I concluded there was nothing to do but sit and suffer, rather loudly, from hypothermia. Although I am fairly certain hypothermia was not yet a part of my vocabulary I'm sure I was thinking some juvenile synonym of hypothermia which currently escapes me.

My dad explained to me that a jacket was a perfect solution to my impeding death by cold because of the heat men. Heat men are the little men that live inside of your body that keep it warm. But the heat men do not simply sit inside your body contentedly keeping it at a pleasant and comfortable temperature. Heat men want to escape and live in the air. They rush around your body looking for avenues of departure. My dad explained to me that if I put on a jacket the heat men that were trying to escape through my arms would get stuck thereby making the jacket warm. Problem 1 solved. He further explained that those heat men would send out the message to other heat men that the arm escape route had been cut off. The rest of the heat men would rush down to my legs looking for an alternate route, and in no time my legs would be nice and toasty. And thus I would not freeze to death. This made sense to me, and I put on a jacket.

My dad insists that he does not remember this conversation, but to this day every time I put on a jacket I imagine little heat men, who look remarkably like little green army men, rushing around my body trying to escape.

Public Restrooms

2009-08-02T22:50:00.000-05:00

Some thoughts from last summer's vacation...

After spending 5 days in New York City I have come to the following conclusions about public restrooms.
1. There will always be a line in the women’s restroom. I have long claimed this to be one of the Grand Laws of the Universe. Much like gravity, the line in the women’s restroom will always exist. It’s not always a long line, but it is always there.
2. I have never ever ever seen a baby changing table used for changing a baby. I’m sure it’s happened, and I’m sure that someday I will be the one using it for said purpose. But to this point in my life I have never witnessed the changing table being used as it was intended.
3. I strongly prefer paper towels to hand dryers. Despite this preference my environmentalist friends still like me. This makes me happy.
4. There is not a preponderance of public restrooms in New York City. The potential for problems is alleviated by the fact that drinking fountains are also severely limited.
5. An airport will never be a convenient place to use the restroom. Since “the current security threat level is orange,” and no one would ever think of leaving their luggage unattended at any time, many rolling suitcases find their way into the confines of a public restroom that is already overcrowded by the ever-present line (see #1) Getting into the restroom requires successful completion of a rather complicated obstacle course. Exiting the restroom requires feats of agility and strength known only to the most adept escape artists. In spite of the best coaxing suitcases and stall doors do not play well with each other. No matter how you try to rearrange things the suitcase will insist on being in the way and the stall door will refuse to completely open. You will get caught in the middle of the ensuing struggle.
I don’t think I will ever walk into an airport and hear an announcement that says, “May I have your attention please. There is currently no security threat level. Please feel free to leave your baggage unattended wherever you would like. Thank you.” Since this will never happen I think that they should just make the stalls in airports large enough to accommodate a person and a suitcase. Or at least change the doors so that they open out.

2009-07-29T13:08:00.003-05:00

One of my roommates from college came and visited this week. One morning she referred to the tank top she was wearing under her low cut shirt as a "modesty enhancer". It made me giggle.

Confession- Not of the Catholic Variety

2009-07-20T13:22:00.004-05:00

I received a voice mail yesterday requesting that I update my blog with a new entertaining story because “We think you are hilarious.” This request leads me to a sad confession: I’m not funny. I just have frequent interaction with highly amusing teens. I have elicited many a laugh by simply repeating exactly what the kids say. And the best part is they don’t even know that they are being exploited. I steal all of their good material and use it as conversation fodder. And all they get in return is homework. I feel a little like an imperialist colonizing some distant land, stealing the natural resources and telling the natives that it's for their own good.

My blog has suffered a little neglect lately because it’s summer vacation. I am certain that I have a rather large supply of enjoyable anecdotes from previous school years that have not yet been chronicled. However, today’s recollection of school has provoked only frustrating memories of an insane principal who thinks it’s a good idea to teach Social Studies without using maps, a human resources director that has yet to send me my service record despite the fact that I personally hand delivered my written request for said record over a month ago, and a payroll department that deducted 3 months worth of benefits from my last paycheck, but cancelled my insurance coverage effective the last day of school.

So rather than sharing a story from school, today I will share a story my students tend to enjoy that I wrote during my college days of working security. Hopefully it will suffice. It is kind of long, so I think it deserves a separate title. (For a shorter read and a good laugh see my brother's blog. It's pretty awesome)

Security Adventures at the Motion Picture Studio

Things that are good with Cayenne Pepper:
Chili
Enchiladas
Mexican food in general
French onion soup
Curry
Cajun food

Things that are much better without Cayenne Pepper:
Pineapple
Ice cream
Chocolate milk
Blueberry Pie
ME!!!!!

Despite what I thought, it's not just a rumor or a myth. Security officers who carry pepper spray must, in fact, first be sprayed themselves. I have been warned about pepper spray training since I was hired almost a full ten months ago, but the date kept getting pushed back. I was beginning to think that it was all just an act and at some point they would finally admit it was just a story and then give us the pepper spray. As it turns out, I was wrong.

The whole event took place at the campus motion picture studio. First we had "training" on how to use pepper spray. This was perhaps the most boring hour and a half of my day. There's not much to be said about pepper spray. However, in true bureaucratic fashion, the police department dragged this small amount of information out extensively and then made us take a test. Upon succesfull completion of the multiple choice exam we each had a turn spraying water (not pepper spray) at a picture of shady looking "assailant." Then we were all lined up for our turn to experience pepper spray first hand. They call this "training" or "practical experience." I have not yet determined whether it's training for the security officers or just live target practice for the sergeant.

I was Sarah's partner. She was quite anxious to get the whole thing over with, and so pushed her way to the front of the line. My job as her partner: once she had been blinded and incapacitated by the spray help her find her way to the hose and "decontaminate" her. We had been warned that the pepper spray would get in our hair and that we should make sure to spend enough time at the hose to get all of the pepper off. She was instructed to cover one eye and close her mouth, and then he sprayed her. As soon as the spray hit her face she started vigorously waving her arms, hopping from one foot to the other, and moaning. As she was writhing, I helped her over to the hose and handed it to her. Unfortunately she couldn't see, and got me pretty wet before she got it pointed in the right direction. After she had enough of the hose I was handed a squirt bottle and instructed to take her over to the fan where I would continue to spray her eyes with water. She knelt in front of the fan, rocked back and forth and moaned some more. Her brother, who is also a security officer and has been sprayed before, stepped in to help. He told her she had to hold her eyes open so that the water could get in. She didn't like that suggestion very much, but he took over the decontamination, and I was then sent over to help Jill. Jill preferred screaming to moaning, but did much less squirming than Sarah.

By the time I got Jill over to the fans pretty much everyone had been sprayed. With those encouraging examples, someone else was assigned to oversee the remainder of Jill's decontamination, David was assigned to be my partner, and it was my turn. I was the last person to be sprayed, so I was surrounded by the comforting sound of moaning and screaming officers who were still experiencing the effects of the pepper. I handed my glasses to David, covered my left eye, closed my mouth, squared my shoulders and nervously anticipated the spray of misery in a bottle. As the stream hit my face it instantly sent a message to every particle of fluid in my body to fight it's way out of either my eyes or my nose. Stinging and intense burning ensued. I tried to force my eyes open, but couldn't see a thing. David led me over to the hose. As I stumbled across the parking lot I momentarily forgot that I still had complete control over my respiratory system. I finally remembered that the pepper spray had not inhibited my ability to breath and started to take a gasping breath just as David shoved the hose of cold water in my face. I choked on a mouthful of cold water, grabbed the hose and started to rinse out my eyes.

I was very quickly drenched, and started to shiver. Whoever scheduled pepper spray training at night during the winter must have been from somewhere like Texas. David reminded me to rinse the pepper spray out of my hair. I compliantly put a small amount of water on the very front part of my hair. This wasn't good enough for David, so he told me again. I was freezing cold (although my face was burning) and wasn't about to put more cold water on my head. David took the hose away from me and thoroughly doused my head. Once again I momentarily forgot that I was capable of breathing. I informed him on no uncertain terms that I'd had enough. He then led me still partially blinded and face burning, but now also shivering and gasping/coughing over to the fans and sprayed more cold water into my face. At about the time my teeth started chattering I was able to open my eyes and the intense burning had subsided to a severe stinging. I anxiously moved away from the fans and gratefully put on a dry shirt and my jacket, and tried to remove the icicles from my hair.

As I warmed up to the point where I was again capable of coherent thought I discovered that all of the water that had successfully removed the pepper spray from my eyes had also quite effectively spread it down my face and neck. I also quite proudly noted that while I was the last one to be sprayed, I was not the last one to recover. I gave myself a mental pat on the back for putting up a good fight in the face of Cayenne pepper. Oh wait, the pepper was in my face. Whatever...

In an effort to comfort all of us, our sergeant reminded us that no one had ever died from pepper spray. I asked him if anyone had died from hypothermia during pepper spray training. He didn't think that was very funny. He saw the redness on my face and neck and told me that it would feel like the worst sunburn of my life for a while, and then it would go away. He then reminded us all that we should be careful when we showered because it was very likely that the pepper spray would drip from our hair back into our eyes. Then we left. My neck was a little sore, but as a redhead I've had some pretty hard core sunburns in my life so I wasn't too worried. I went home and hopped in the shower.

I was grateful to have warm water for a change, and washed my hair very carefully. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, some water did drip onto my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and anticipated more stinging, but it wasn't bad. There was almost no pepper spray still in my hair. Props to David for a job well done, even if it was with cold water. The burning on my face and neck was another story. When I got into the shower it felt, as I had been warned, like the worst sunburn I've ever had. Once I got out of the shower it felt about a million times worse than the worst sunburn I've ever had. In addition to the now familiar burning and stinging, it felt like someone was tearing off my skin. Except if they had torn off my skin it might have stopped burning. I tried to cool it off with a wet washcloth, but this made it worse. It was kind of like when you walk around in the snow for a long time, and your feet get really really cold, and then you come inside to warm them up, and warming them up makes it hurt worse. I hopped back in the shower, and this time turned on the cold water. As long as I was standing in the water I was fine, but as soon as I would move my neck would start to hurt again. So I stood shivering and teeth chattering in the shower for quite a while. When I looked at my fingers and noticed they were blue I decided it was time to get out. I soaked my shirt in cold water before I put it on and wrapped a wet towel around my neck like a scarf. Then I pulled my quilt off my bed and sat on the couch feeling quite pathetic and sorry for myself.

So now when I walk into work and grab my keys, radio, and flashlight I can also slip a canister of pepper spray onto my belt. Was it worth it?... Well, I don't think a single security officer has ever used pepper spray on campus, but if I'm the first that would be pretty cool.

editor's note- I never did get to utilize my pepper spray training, and as far as I know neither has any other security officer to date.

Texas Nationalism

2009-06-22T19:19:00.002-05:00

Texans are very proud people. Mostly they are proud of the fact that, for a very short amount of time, Texas was its very own small country. Sometimes they forget the fact that they voluntarily gave up their independence to join the United States. Many a Texan will tell you that they are the only country that can fly their flag as high as the US flag. This is not true. While Texas is the only state that can claim such a distinction, it is not a country. Texans will also be quick to tell you that they are the only state that can secede from the Union. While it makes me happy that this claim does in fact acknowledge that Texas is only a part of a country that includes 49 other states and a handful of territories and commonwealths, this assertion is also untrue.

What Texans will not tell you is that although the United States was willing to go to war with Mexico to get California, the country was not equally willing to fight for Texas. They also get upset if you remind them that if Alaska were to be divided in half, Texas would become the third largest state in the country. I have not yet determined if this is because they don’t like being told that they are not the biggest, or if they are still quite certain that they are an independent nation and not merely another one of the 50 states. I frequently refer to a Texan’s confusion over sovereignty as Texas Nationalism.

I found yet another example of Texas Nationalism during the last week of school as I dutifully stood at my metal detector post and checked student backpacks for weapons. Textbooks were due, so the backpacks were a little more full than usual. I noticed that one student was carrying a blue book with a large Texas flag on the cover. This book piqued my curiosity. Since Texas History is taught in 7th grade, I could not imagine what high school subject this book was for. When this student handed me his backpack I checked said book for the title. Much to my chagrin the book was labeled Texas Algebra 2, as though Algebra is somehow different in Texas than it is in the rest of the world. Slightly irritated I more closely examined the textbooks in every backpack that I inspected. I discovered that the textbooks for each of the following subjects also have Texas in the title:

Geometry
American History
Keyboarding
Biology
World History
British Literature

The only title I saw that did not include Texas was for Chemistry

Registered Mail

2009-06-11T16:49:00.002-05:00

Today I had my first experience using Registered Mail. I had to send an item back to the manufacturer for repair. The warranty suggested that I send the item via Registered Mail. It seemed like a good idea to me, so I packaged up my item and headed off the post office (which I am proud to say that I located quickly, without getting lost). When I arrived at the post office I was quite surprised and delighted to discover that I was the only post office patron present, and was not required to wait in line. The postal worker pleasantly greeted me and asked if he could help me. I walked up to the counter, handed him my package, and told him I would like to ship the package as Registered Mail.

He dropped the package as though I had just told him it was radioactive. He coughed, straitened his glasses, leaned across the counter, and confirmed, “You said Registered Mail, Ma’am?” When I verified that he had in fact heard me correctly, pleasant postal worker was replaced with flustered postal worker. Perhaps it was his first experience with Registered mail too. He fumbled in his pocket for a minute and pulled out a key, unlocked a drawer under his desk, and handed me a pile of paperwork. Fortunately I am well practiced in filling out paperwork. While I wielded my ballpoint pen and attacked the forms, he proceeded to wrap my entire package in official brown post office tape. Then he stamped all six surfaces of my package several times with a bold red “REGISTERED” stamp and the date. Then he carefully made sure that the registered date was also stamped around all edges of my package. He mentioned that no one would be able to open my package without the recipient knowing.

The whole procedure took enough time for a long line of disgruntled postal patrons to gather. I could feel their impatience mounting with each stamp, and I felt kind of bad. Once my package was sufficiently secured the flustered postal worker looked nervously around the room. Obviously unsettled by the number of people he saw in the post office lobby, he again leaned across the desk and apologetically whispered, “Ma’am, I need you to declare the value of the item.” I declared the value of the item as requested, and he again glanced anxiously around the room before writing it down on the appropriate space on the form. I almost felt like a spy sending super secret documents involving the most sensitive issues of national security, except for the fact that the process wasn’t subtle at all.

The End

2009-06-10T14:35:00.002-05:00

On the last day of school I went to give my principal my offical letter of resignation. She refused to accept it because it was not on her form. She told me that unless I filled out her resignation form I would not get my last paycheck. I kind of doubt that since my paycheck comes from the district and not from my specific campus, but I decided it was not a battle I was willing to fight, and filled out her form. Then I requested a copy of the form. That made her kind of mad, but it seems to me that a resignation letter is something important that is worth keeping a copy of. So she handed me the copy request form which I also filled out.

Having finally filled out all of the correct paperwork I am currently unemployed. I have recieved a job offer from a school much closer to home and that's my plan for next year. I hope suburban kids are as amusing as inner city kids. The good news is that the last month of school was quite eventful. So I have lots of entertaining stories that I just haven't had time to write about yet. More of those will follow soon.

Vignettes

2009-05-13T18:36:00.002-05:00

1. Today’s assignment required colored paper. Normally I set out an assortment of colors and let the children choose their own paper. Today the kids were in trouble (something about drugs in my classroom twice in a week and a bottle of water thrown at me) and therefore were not allowed out of their seats. So I went to my closet and discovered that the significant majority of my paper supply was pink. I handed each student a piece of pink paper and started to explain the assignment. I was interrupted by the following conversation:

John: This is new, why can’t we choose our own paper?

Red Head: There isn’t a color choice today. Everyone gets pink.

John: I don’t like pink.

Red Head: There isn’t a color choice today. Everyone gets pink.

Virginia: Can I have a piece of blue paper.

Red Head: There isn’t a color choice today. Everyone gets pink.

Charlie: Miss, is it pink for breast cancer awareness?

Red Head: Sure. That sounds good

Virginia: Miss, you have breast cancer?

Red Head: No. I don’t, and please don’t start that rumor.

Fred: Yeah! We’re supposed to be starting the rumor that she’s pregnant.

I don’t know why they think they’re supposed to be starting that rumor, but apparently they’re not up to multitasking in their gossip.

2. Another entertaining conversation:

Jason (of giraffe fame): Miss, are you coming back next year?

Red Head: (in a tired, bitter, frustrated sort of way) Well, I drive 40 miles to get here, which can take up to an hour, so I have to leave around 5:30 in the morning, and I spend a whole lot of money on gas and tolls. I don’t know why I would continue to do that next year.

Andy: Because you love us!

Animals Yet Again

2009-05-06T21:53:00.002-05:00

I am now teaching World War II. With all the fascism and genocide the 1940’s can be kind of a depressing topic, so I try to break up all the Nazism with an occasional inspiring story. Today I told the kids about the Battle of Britain. I told them that the German air force, also known as the Luftwaffe, would come across the English channel and bomb the British every night for nearly an entire year (In case you were wondering, that’s not the inspiring part of the story.) I explained that the airplane was still relatively new technology, and the planes could only attack the southern part of the country before they would have to turn around and refuel. While the southern half of the country lay mostly in ruins, the northern cities of Great Britain remained basically untouched. (Here comes the inspiring part…) So in a motivating display of concern and cooperation the northern British opened their homes to the children from the southern cities. Most of the children were evacuated and lived the war years in relative safety.

Hoping to help the kids get a mental image of the time period, I told them that this is what happens in the beginning of the movie The Chronicles of Narnia, and that the first five minutes of the movie are actually pretty historically accurate. One of the kids raised his hand. I was kind of shocked by his display of appropriate behavior, and almost forgot how to respond. Then I remembered that the correct teacher response to a raised hand is to call on the student by name. When I called on him he asked, “So there really were talking lions back then?”

At least he raised his hand.

More Animal Noises

2009-04-20T16:58:00.003-05:00

Friday morning in academy meeting the AP mentioned that kids are like cattle: when the weather gets bad they go crazy. Having never worked with cattle I cannot comment on the validity of this statement, but I can say that as a rather impressive storm rolled in Friday afternoon my kids went above and beyond their normal level of insanity.

My kids are usually anxious to prove any administrator wrong, so in one particularly boisterous class I mentioned the cattle comparison. Surely they would be insulted by being likened unto livestock, and anxiously prove their superior intelligence by settling down. Instead they embraced the analogy and started mooing.

Zoo Day Tuesday

2009-04-09T18:29:00.005-05:00

Jason loves to make animal noises, and he's really good at it. The problem is that animal noises and World History don't get along well. Jason never interrupts me, and always listens intently to directions, but as soon as the kids are supposed to be working independently animal noises abound. This drives me crazy. I try working with my students to the sporadic accompaniment of a braying donkey, or a bleating sheep, or a squawking chicken, but I find it rather exasperating. Maybe animal noises and World History get along just fine; it's probably animal noises and the Colorado Red Head that don't play well together.

I was helping a student proofread a brilliantly written paragraph about how British Imperialism led to World War I when I was suddenly interrupted by a rather loud and convincing velociraptor call. And it was quite compelling. If I didn't already know that dinosaurs are extinct I probably would have jumped under the student’s desk to avoid the impending attack. Fortunately I am fully aware of the current lack of living dinosaurs on the planet, and knew that the noise was simply coming from Jason on the other side of the room. I decided it was time for decisive action.

Daily requests for the cessation of animal noises were clearly the less-effective approach. I decided that if I gave him a specific time where he was allowed to make animal noises, he might stop making them at random intervals: “Jason, next Tuesday we will have a zoo day. You can come in that day and make all the animal noises you want. But until then I don’t want to hear a single animal noise from you.”

He got really excited about Zoo Day, but didn’t quite believe me at first.

Jason: I can make any animal noises I want?

Red Head: Next Tuesday you can make any noises you want. And I want to hear an elephant, a horse, and a giraffe. But until then I don’t want to hear anything.

Jason: But miss, what does a giraffe sound like?

Red Head: You have until next Tuesday to figure it out.

Zoo Day arrived, and as soon as the bell rang Jason triumphantly bellowed out the sound of an elephant and a horse. Then very seriously he said, “Miss, I’ve been watching the discovery channel, and giraffes don’t make noise. They just chomp. Like this.” Then he opened his mouth as wide as it would go, took a large bite of some imaginary foliage, and started chewing. He continued chomping throughout class. One of the administrators walked in to observe my class for my yearly evaluation. She noticed Jason sitting in the front row cheerfully chewing on air, and gave him an odd look. I decided to clarify, “Jason is being a giraffe today.” She gave me an odd look. I offered no further explanation

Wait...

2009-04-04T19:08:00.002-05:00

I have never ever ever been anything even remotely close to a morning person. I warned the Texan about this. I think he's starting to figure it out. In order to get to school on time my alarm now rings at 4:45. I am of the opinion that no living creature should be awake before the sun comes up, so an important part of my morning ritual is pouting. Usually after a few minutes of pouting I can be pleasant and cheerful, or at least not bitter and irate. This episode from Friday morning made me laugh:

Redhead: (while turning off the alarm and in a very whiny voice) I don't want to go to school today

Silence

Redhead: I should just quit my job. Then I wouldn't have to do this every day

Texan: OK. If you want to you can.

Long pause

Texan: Wait... are we having an important conversation here.

Redhead: No, I'm just pouting

Texan: so you're not quitting your job

Redhead: Not today

Texan: OK

Then he rolled over and went back to sleep. I got up and got ready for school.

Crisis

2009-03-28T09:16:00.003-05:00

The other day one of my special ed kids came running up to me in a panic. When he got to my door and caught his breath enough to call my name three times, I expected him to tell me that there was a fight somewhere, or someone had passed out in the hallway, or something equally worthy of panic. Instead he exclaimed, "Miss, I heard that pregnant girls aren't supposed to wear heels." Having never researched the recommended footwear for pregnant women I wasn't quite sure what the best response was. I decided there must be more to the story and settled for a non-committal "OK" and waited for him to elaborate. He indignantly pointed down the hallway and shouted loudly "Well that girl is wearing heels, and I know for a fact that she's pregnant." Surely, when a 10th grader is pregnant she has bigger problems than the kind of shoes she is wearing.

After I assured him that no one was in immediate danger of death or dismemberment he became more contemplative:
"Miss I never be seein you wear heels."
"No you don't. I don't like them because I don't think they're comfortable."
"Oh. So you're not pregnant?"
"No I'm not."
"Oh. OK"

Toothbrush

2009-03-24T17:02:00.002-05:00

I moved recently. This would be an approprate time to mention the fact that I got married...On March 14th...In Nauvoo. It was fun. So I now drive twice as far to get to school every day. This means I get up much earlier than any person on the planet should. I have now gotten up before 5:00 two days in a row, and am eagerly counting down until the last day of school on June 5th. Ever the optimist, my husband, The Texan, asked me what I like most about the morning. Without hesitation I answered that I love my toothbrush. I have written about my toothbrush before, but that was in my pre-blog days. I feel that it is again time to discourse on the awesomeness of my toothbrush:

I want you all to know that I have a rather delightful toothbrush. I acquired this delightful instrument of dental hygiene in the fairly recent past. Having discovered that my old toothbrush had reached the end of its usefulness I embarked on a quest to replace it. It was not a mission for the feint of heart. I searched far and wide, high and low, to the ends of the toothpaste isle at Target. Just as I was about to give up hope in achieving my goal of owning a toothbrush that was not boring, I caught a glimpse of the most humorous toothbrush I ever have beheld. Much to my delight I discovered that the toothbrush I desired came in a double package. I quickly tossed it in my cart, collected the rest of the items on my list, and triumphantly took my newfound treasure to the checkout stand where I purchased it.

It is a purple crayola toothbrush. Yes, Crayola makes more than just crayons, markers, and paints. The toothbrush looks just like a crayola marker with the brand name emblazoned in the middle of a purple oval and purple squiggly lines around the top and bottom. The head of the toothbrush contains a rainbow of bristles in four different colors. The most practical feature of this toothbrush, and my personal favorite, is the suction cup at the bottom. When I am finished using my toothbrush I can stand it up on the counter AND IT STAYS THERE! Despite heavy traffic across the counter of make-up containers, hair dryers, and contact solution, my toothbrush stays standing upright exactly where I have put it. On days when I am feeling particularly unconventional I can even stick my toothbrush to the mirror and it stays there too; protruding out horizontally and waiting until it is needed again.

And fortunately for me my toothbrush will still be pretty darn amazing even when I don't have to wake up before 5 am.

Exile

2009-03-03T16:01:00.000-06:00

I normally give the kids at least 3 chances before I kick them out of class. John used up all three chances within the first minute of class. He refused to sit down, pushed all of the papers off another student’s desk, and then threw his notebook at me. I’m not sure what was going on with him, but when projectiles are thrown directly at me I lose my patience. I sent him outside. This was not a few minutes of time out to cool off and regroup; rather it was a full blown exile. I told him to take his desk, his book, and his assignment, and that he was not coming back into class.

Undeterred, John continued to interrupt my class from the hallway. He jiggled the doorknob, banged on my window, and shouted obscenities in Spanish. At this point assistance from an administrator might have been useful, but they were all busy filling out paperwork for Umbridge. The rest of the class miraculously ignored the hallway distraction and produced some remarkable work on the French Revolution. As I contemplated my options, the noise in the hallway suddenly stopped. Under normal circumstances this would have made me nervous. But, although I was somewhat curious about what had captured John’s attention, I was happy for the silence and didn’t investigate further.

A few minutes later a student sitting next to the door said “Miss, you’ve got mail.” Somewhat bewildered I walked over to see what he was talking about. I discovered that John had pushed a piece of paper under the door. I unfolded the paper and read the following message:

“Diary Entry: High school revolution camp
I got sent outside. Oh so cold. Everything seems lonely. I think I got frostbite on my toes, but I’ll be fine. I’m almost done with my assignment. All I got for survival is girl scout cookies, but they are almost gone. I have a camp fire which is almost out. I used my text book for the fire, and my seat for shelter. My days are now fading so I write to keep my fingers from freezing. My Mohawk broke off that’s how cold it is.”

Although I was highly entertained I did not rescind my order of exile. John was not invited back into class.

The Triumph of the RedHead

2009-02-25T18:20:00.002-06:00

I win. Maps have been reinstated at school. I sent a few choice words to the principal, and she relented. And by a few I mean several.

It's long, and somewhat technical, and I don't really exect anyone to read it, but I'm proud of my letter. And so I present the winning argument:

[Professor Umbridge]

Maps, graphs and charts are an integral part of the Social Studies curriculum. Having the students create maps that demonstrate their understanding of historical and cultural information is an invaluable tool that is an essential part of an effective Social Studies classroom. Map assignments help the students master the TEKS, perform well on TAKS, and function at higher levels on Blooms Taxonomy.

The following TEKS require the use of map assignments:
WH.2A- identify elements in a contemporary situation that parallel a historical situation.
WH.11A - create thematic maps, graphs, charts, models, and databases representing various aspects of world history
WH.11B - pose and answer questions about geographic distributions and patterns in world history shown on maps, graphs, charts, models, and databases.
WH.12A - locate places and regions of historical significance
WH. 12B - analyze the effects of physical and human geographic factors on major events in world history
WH. 12C - interpret historical and contemporary maps to identify and explain geographic factors that have influenced people and events in the past.
WH. 26C - interpret and create databases, research outlines, bibliographies, and visuals including graphs, charts, timelines, and maps
WH. 26D - transfer information from one medium to another, including written to visual and statistical to written or visual
WG. 21C - construct and interpret maps to answer geographic questions, infer geographic relationships, and analyze geographic change

A significant majority of the questions on the Social Studies TAKS test are on maps, graphs, and charts. A student that does not have the ability to correctly interpret the information on a map cannot pass the TAKS test. In our department we have found that students are better able to decipher and analyze a map if they have had practice not only in seeing maps that other people have made, but also in being challenged to present information on a map themselves. Students who complete map assignments constantly throughout the year are better prepared to score well on TAKS

When a student is asked to create a map they are operating at a very high level on Blooms Taxonomy. They take information from a variety of sources (usually written and oral) and synthesize it into an organized visual collection of information that demonstrates a high level of understanding. In all of the map assignments our department gives the assignment takes that synthesis one step further into evaluation when the students are asked high level questions about the map they have created.

Maps are also a valuable form of differentiated instruction that can reach students who are visual and kinesthetic learners, and are a good way for ESL and LEP students to demonstrate their knowledge of the subject without the interference of a language barrier.

Madame Guillotine

2009-02-24T15:51:00.003-06:00

It is once again the time of year for state mandated writing samples. Fortunately this falls right in the middle of the French Revolution, and the kids have enough of an opinion on the guillotine to easily write a decent page. The writing prompt was “The guillotine was invented to be a humane form of execution. Do you think it was? Why or why not?”

Here are some of my favorite responses:

“Chopping someone’s head off is just disrespectful”

“It was really fast and that was a good thing because there were a lot of people that had to be executed.”

“There should have been another way to execute people, like poisoning them”

“Because people are cheering when for their death they will get hurt and sad.”

“It was almost like hanging somebody, but in this case they would lay them down and cut their heads off.”

“The crime has to fit the punishment, or whatever that thing is called that’s included in the Bill of Rights. But wait, that was France not America. French people got issues. Like who in the world chops someone’s head off. That disgusting. Seriously.”

“Unlike being drowned or lit up on fire, the guillotine was a quick and painless death. If you were to be drowned you could at least hold your breath til someone came and recued you, which probably no one did, and that really sucked.”

The assignment also produced the best piece of writing I have ever seen from a 10th grader:

"Lifeless bodies lying in heaps, severed heads on spikes for exhibition, and a cheering multitude glorifying the cold blooded Madame, La Guillotine.

The Guillotine was created during the French Revolution, and was the preferred 'humane' way to execute prisoners. Everyday the Guillotine was assembled, and every day many souls were striped of their earthly forms. Large crowds formed to see the executions and in an amount of minutes equal to the amount of heads on spikes that were later paraded around, the 'big show' was over.

A clean cut was the guillotine’s greatest attribute: painless and bloody. The guillotine was on of the most inhumane machines ever created. Many lost their lives, several were wrongly murdered, and all was done in an act of hypocrisy.

La Guillotine, a femme fatale of the ages. Dominated the French Revolution and brought 'justice' to those who lacked it. Her frigid, cruel, blade devoured millions of lives."

Educational Decree #27

2009-02-20T16:05:00.002-06:00

My principal has just decreed that the Social Studies department is no longer allowed to use maps.

She will hereafter be referred to as Professor Umbridge

When in the Course of Human Events...

2009-02-16T21:04:00.002-06:00

I made my kids read the Declaration of Independence. Actually I read the Declaration of Independence to them. Despite what my students think, I did not come up with this assignment because I hate them or because I am trying to ruin their lives. Mostly I want them to be culturally literate and have some exposure to historically significant founding documents. I was curious about how much they could actually understand of the very archaic and somewhat loquacious language. So I told them to translate the Declaration into modern-everyday- teenage-ghetto-inner city-high school language. They rose to the challenge magnificently. Here is my very favorite translation.

Original:
“When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bonds which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.”

Tanslation:
“Hey Great Britain…We need to talk”

Straight From the Horse's Mouth

2009-02-09T16:05:00.002-06:00

This week I introduced my students to the Scientific Revolution. It took some time to convince them that the Scientific Revolution was not a war, but rather the introduction of a radical new idea: the Scientific Method. They were disappointed until I assured them that some people were killed during the Scientific Revolution. The Catholic Church wasn’t really happy about losing their position as the only source of all knowledge and so made a habit of burning scientists at the stake. Mentioning the inquisition was sufficient to convince them that the Scientific Revolution might actually be interesting. With that introduction I decided to teach them the scientific method the same way that Francis Bacon first introduced the idea in 1620 and explained to them the problem of the number of teeth in a horse’s mouth.

While greatly oversimplified, the lesson goes something like this. In 1620 only two sources of information and knowledge were recognized: 1) the writings of the Great Aristotle, and 2) the Bible. One day a man wondered how many teeth were in a horse’s mouth. The question perplexed him for some time, and finally he decided it was worth some investigation. First he read the complete works of Aristotle. After many days of study he was disappointed to find that the Great Aristotle had not settled the question. The man then went to his second source. Surely the bible could answer his question. After reading the entire Old and New Testaments he found that the Bible in fact did not shed any light on the number of teeth in a horse’s mouth. Therefore the man came to the conclusion that the amount of teeth found in a horse’s mouth was unattainable knowledge. It was one of the great mysteries that man could never solve. The answer to his question was beyond the grasp of human understanding.

At this point my students, being the post-Renaissance thinkers that they are, adamantly declared that this man was stupid. I explained to them that this was Francis Bacon’s point. He wanted people to see that they could learn things through their own observation and experimentation, i.e. the Scientific Method. My kids really got into this idea and wanted to design an experiment to determine the number of teeth in a horse’s mouth. I expected someone to suggest simply finding a horse and counting its teeth, but they had some more adventurous ideas.

1st period wanted to have the horse bite my arm after which they would count the number of puncture wounds in my skin.

2nd period decided that they should shoot the horse and then count the number of teeth that it had.

3rd period wanted to make a mold of the horse’s mouth much like a dentist would to make a retainer. This experiment served two purposes: first the number of teeth could be accurately determined without exposing me to the risk of infectious disease, and second a fashionable grill could then be made for the horse.

5th period thought that rather than shooting the horse they could just tranquilize it prior to counting the number of teeth. I suspect that this class might have been influenced by the PETA. I did have to explain the word tranquilize to half of the class, but once they knew what it meant they thought it was a good idea.

6th period was the most thorough class. One kid suggested chopping the head off of the horse to count the teeth. This significantly distressed one of my special education students who asked “but Miss, what if the horse we chose lost a tooth or something? Then we would get the wrong answer.” Another of my students allayed her fears by suggesting that they could chop the heads off of three horses and take an average. That answer satisfied her.

For those of you who care horses have between 36 and 44 teeth by the time they are five years old.

2009-01-21T17:56:00.002-06:00

I should not try to teach tenth grade while under the influence of cold medicine. That's what sick days are for.

I'm sure there is a funny story that should go here. I honestly don't remember most of what happened today. But I'm certain that my kids have some excellent stories for their friends.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr Day

2009-01-19T09:32:00.003-06:00

I would like it noted that the world is a better place when one is wearing dry socks. Seriously, go test it out. The next time it is raining go run some outside errand: check the mail, get something out of the car, get the newspaper, or leave cookies on the neighbors porch. Then come back inside and replace the soggy sock with dry ones. Instantly the world transforms into a much more magical, cheerful, happy place. Hooray for dry socks!

This theory can also be tested by walking into the kitchen or bathroom in stocking feet and inadvertently stepping in a puddle.

Homework Policy

2009-01-16T19:09:00.004-06:00

My school has policies and paperwork for everything. The new principal has decreed that we cannot even get a roll of tape without filling out a form and getting approval of the department chair and an administrator. In order to get new tape I have to explain how the use of this resource will help improve student performance, write a proposal, and get it signed twice. Next year she might require it to be notarized as well. I think she has a goal to keep us from teaching. Instead we spend all of our time filling out forms. Forms to get copies made, forms to get a red pen, forms to get materials from the library, forms to get a new box of paper clips, forms to fill out if you are late for work, forms to fill out if you are on time for work, forms for failing a student, forms for getting new forms... (I'm not even exaggerating for the sake of making the point. She really makes us fill out forms to get new forms.)

In an unprecedented event, the principal decided to share her policy making power. She declared that each department needed to have an official homework policy in writing, and she would even let us come up with it on our own. My department chair did what she always does when we get a new assignment from the principal: she gave it to me to do.

I decided not to reinvent the wheel and just write out the policy that I have been using for the last three years. I arrived at this homework philosophy through much thought, contemplation, and research. I have found that it serves me (and the kids) quite well:

They don't want to do it, I don't want to grade it, at the end of the semester they all have to be passing anyway, so I usually just don't give it.

After I typed that out I decided that the principal probably wouldn't approve this policy, so I translated it into more education friendly terms that she could relate to:

Homework grades will be given for assignments that extend and reinforce daily work and help students prepare for formal assessments.

So far she hasn't noticed that this policy in no way requires me to assign homework on a regular basis.

Inquiring Minds

2009-01-13T20:40:00.002-06:00

My professors in college painted an interesting picture of teaching. They told us that it was our commission to quench the thirst for information in youth. I assumed that this vision of imparting valuable knowledge to the rising generation was a rather idealistic view of education, but it turns out they were at least partially correct. 10th graders are remarkably inquisitive. I’m certain I answer hundreds of questions a week. I have collected some of my favorites:

Lesson on the Magna Carta
Student: Miss*, do you got a husband?
Me: No
Student: Do you got a boyfriend?
Me: No (This was in the days before I met the Texan)
Student: Miss, do you have any friends that play halo?

Lesson on the American Revolution
Miss, if Mexico and Honduras went to war who would win?

Lesson on the Columbian Exchange
Miss, in real life if you break out of prison can they shoot at you?

Lesson on Greek Mythology
Miss, Does God have a mom?

Lesson on the fall of the Roman Empire
Miss, what do you do when someone really ugly tries to talk to you?

Lesson on the Civil War
Miss, if you were black would that bruise on your leg look as bad?

Lesson on the Scientific Revolution
Miss, have you ever liked Mexican food?

Lesson on the French Revolution
Miss, if we build a Guillotine who could we kill first?

Lesson on the Incan Empire (specifically terraced farming)
Miss, why do they call suicide bombers terrorists. That don’t got nothing to do with farming?

*The kids really do just call me miss. I used to think they would eventually learn that I have a name. I have since changed my mind.

A New Holiday

2008-12-22T21:59:00.001-06:00

My brother is a very witty man. The other day he left me one of the funniest messages I have ever heard: “Hello Red Head. I was just calling to celebrate the miracle of modern communication. If you feel inclined to also celebrate call me back.” It made me laugh for a very long time.

As a somewhat nerdy World History teacher I think he really is on to something here. The list of modern miracles that deserve celebration is really quite long: Automobiles, vaccinations, iPods, movies, Harry Potter books, LED lights, Global Positioning Systems, elevators, soft sheets, electricity…Really the list is endless. We have a lot more to celebrate than the ancient Sumerians. Good thing our calendar has more days in it.

After a really long, intense, exhausting, and high-stress day I feel that it would be appropriate to celebrate a convenience of the modern industrialized world that is frequently overlooked: A hot shower. The powers of appropriate water pressure, a hot water heater, some well placed tile, and a shower head combine to make the world a better place. Seriously, I think the course of human history might have been altered if Napoleon had been able to take a hot shower while deciding to invade Russia.

I declare today hot shower day.

Happy Birthday Dad

2008-12-15T05:43:00.000-06:00

My dad is pretty cool. Today is his birthday. Here is a song that I discovered when I was a missionary that reminds me of my dad. I wish I could say that I wrote it, but all I can honestly say is that I like it. Happy birthday dad. I hope you have a great day

Kitchen Mysteries

2008-12-13T23:54:00.001-06:00

I am not particularly fond of bananas. It’s basically a texture thing. They feel weird in my mouth. And they smell funny too. Thus, having offended two of my five senses, bananas are not on the list of my favorite foods. Sometimes I can appreciate a good banana with some peanut butter on it, but that makes it a different food entirely, so that doesn’t count.

One day I came home to discover no fewer than 10 bananas on our kitchen counter. I was rather confused as to how we acquired so many bananas, but had no intention of participating in the consumption of this fruit. Instead I ate an apple. A few days later, as I made my way to the kitchen in search of breakfast, I was greeted by the smell of old bananas. I discovered that our kitchen counter was still home to 8 bananas is varying stages of over-ripe. Clearly it was time for action. My first inclination was to take all 8 blackened fruits and deposit them in the trash can. However, more productive thoughts prevailed and I pulled out my Harry Potter apron and set out to make some banana bread for my visiting teachees. In short order I had enough batter to bake 3 loaves of banana bread. This was perfect because there are three girls that I visit teach. However, I could only locate two bread pans in the cupboard.

As I was greasing these pans and deciding what to do with the rest of the batter I suddenly realized that the pans I was using did not belong to me. This brought a ray of hope to my predicament. I remembered that a few years ago, when I was still living in Provo, I made a goal to learn to make really good bread. As part of that goal I purchased some bread pans. If the pans currently in the cupboard did not belong to me that meant that I had more pans somewhere else. The most likely somewhere else was in the very back corner of the storage closet. I put two loaves of bread in the oven and then went to the closet to begin the excavation process.

After extracting 3 suitcases, a bike rack, and a box of Christmas decorations, I finally happened upon the box labeled “kitchen.” I opened it up to discover some silverware, two blue plastic plates that I do not remember ever owning, a few glasses, and, much to my delight, a bread pan. One pan was just what I needed, but I figured if I was going to release one pan from storage into the kitchen I might as well liberate the set. I emptied the rest of the box in search of the second bread pan. I discovered many cups, some bowls, a cheese grater, and a pitcher, but not a second bread pan. I know that I had two. No one makes just one loaf of bread. I don’t think a recipe exists for a single loaf. It makes no sense to have just one bread pan, and I am certain that I bought two. So I went back to the storage closet. Behind some camping chairs and sleeping bags I found a second box labeled “kitchen.” I unloaded its contents and discovered a glass 9x13 pan, some plates that probably belong to Justin, my favorite dishtowels, and a waffle iron, but no bread pan. I am quite perplexed by this lack of a second pan. It makes absolutely no sense. Where does a bread pan disappear to? I’m not sure, but this baffling mystery remains, to date, unsolved.

It's Snowing in Texas

2008-12-10T21:55:00.000-06:00

Texas is a rather large state. Perhaps I should specify. It is currently snowing in Houston, Texas (and surrounding area). This is rather significant because, although I am the Colorado Red Head, I currently reside in the Sub Tropical city of Houston. Therefore I am currently experiencing this climatic anomaly first hand. I feel somewhat conflicted about this altered weather pattern. On one hand I really love snow and miss Colorado winters. And listening to Christmas music on the radio seems so much more appropriate when there’s some snow on the ground. On the other hand, I endured the scorching hot and miserably humid summer by telling myself that at least the winter weather would temperate. I feel like I’ve been cheated. If I had purchased something I would ask for a refund.

Despite my lack of refund I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the snow. This evening my friend Paily and I ventured out in the inclement weather to visit the library. On the way in we saw a couple who were quite fascinated by the snow. The young man grabbed and handful of snow, made it into a snowball, and threw it at his girlfriend. She gave him an appalled and confused look. I think it was the first time she had ever been attacked by a precipitation projectile. She clearly did not understand the appropriate response. I could not stand idly by and let his assault go uncontested. People in Houston do not know how to have a proper snowball fight. It’s a good thing we were there to help them out. I made a snowball, threw it at him, and quickly darted in the other direction. He did not rise to the challenge at all. So Paily decided it was her turn to demonstrate appropriate retaliation and threw a snowball at me. After that they sort of got the idea. We then walked into the library giggling, brushed the snow off our coats, and checked out a book.

Earlier in the day I had a less entertaining encounter with the snow. After school I finished some paperwork that needed to be given to the swim coach. I decided I might as well present it in person and set out to interrupt swim practice. The route from my classroom to the swimming pool includes five steps outside. I looked out my windows and saw that it was raining, but decided that since my five outside steps would be on a covered sidewalk the paperwork would not get wet. I went to make my delivery. I got to the pool right around the time the slushy rain became real snow. I discovered that swim practice had been canceled and the pool was locked. I also discovered that I could see my breath. When I turned around to go back inside I further discovered another locked door. I recalled, with a sinking feeling, our staff meeting where the school’s safety and security program was laid out. Every door in the whole building is locked as soon as the dismissal bell rings at the end of the day. I was stuck outside in the snow, very inadequately dressed for cold weather.

I looked in the window and saw a very deserted hallway. I decided my chances of getting back in that door were pretty much nonexistent, so I went to another door and peered in the window only to find another deserted hallway. I spent quite some time walking around the school trying to find a way back in. Somewhere around the time I was pondering on the irony of a Coloradan getting hypothermia in Texas I spotted a door that, against all school policies, was propped open. I have never in my life been so excited to see a rule be completely disregarded.

safety scissors

2008-12-09T17:49:00.000-06:00

I teach tenth grade. Occasionally I have the kids do a project in class that requires the momentary use of scissors. I decided that my whole life would be much better if I had a class set of scissors, so I asked for them. My school is very accommodating about supplying colored paper, markers, crayons, and glue for my tactile kids, but apparently scissors are a whole different story.

CRH: Can I get a class set of scissors for my room?

Administrator: You can’t give all your kids scissors. They’ll get hurt!

CRH: They’re in tenth grade. I’m sure they can handle it.

Administrator: I don’t think it’s a good idea.

This method wasn’t getting me anywhere quickly, so I switched strategies and pulled out my arsenal of education terms. After a long conversation I convinced my administrator that having a class set of scissors would improve student performance because it would allow me to differentiate instruction to accommodate kinesthetic learners. I think I also said something about cross-curricular connections. She conceded the point and agreed to order a class set of scissors. I was so delighted the day I got my box of scissors. I opened it up to discover that I had been supplied with safety scissors. I was tempted for a moment to go remind my administrator that I teach tenth grade not kindergarten, and the rounded tip was unnecessary. I couldn’t think of a good way to explain that in education terms, so I decided to be content with my box of safety scissors.

I had a chance to use my newly acquired treasure just a few days later. My first period students were the lucky ones that got to initiate the scissors. I explained the assignment and then eagerly presented each of them with a pair of scissors to use. Near the end of class one of my students called from across the room “Miss, do you have a band aid?” “I’m sorry, I don’t. What do you need it for?” He responded by lifting his bleeding hand into the air. Quite surprised I asked “What did you do?” He looked at the ground and mumbled something that started with, “I was cutting…”

I decided this was an isolated incident. Surely the average tenth grader could cut paper using safety scissors without getting hurt. And my second period class was not filled with average tenth graders. It was an honors class. So I pressed forward. I explained the instructions to second period and confidently presented each student with a pair of scissors to use. This time much more near the beginning of the class I was again interrupted with the question “Miss, do you have a band aid?” Apparently my administrator was right. Tenth graders cannot handle scissors. In a somewhat exasperated, non-nurturing, and unsympathetic tone I asked her how she managed to cut herself while using safety scissors. Her response: “Miss, they’re really sharp.”

I still occasionally assign projects that require the use of scissors. I’m still really excited about my class set of scissors. And I now keep a box of band aids in my desk.

A Pleasant Morning

2008-12-08T22:46:00.001-06:00

I am perhaps the most spoiled girl on the planet. I don't normally enjoy mornings, and I particularly dislike traffic in the mornings. However, this morning as I was sitting on the freeway thinking that I really should live closer to my job I thought to myself, "I really like the song Oh, Holy Night. It is an excellent song. And I'm really glad that someone translated it into English so that monolingual people such as myself could enjoy it." Somewhere in the midst of this pondering I made it to my exit. Just as I got off the freeway the song came on the radio. And it wasn't a cheesy overdone version either. It was one of my favorite arrangements. The last chord of the song faded just as I pulled into the parking lot at school. I turned off my car, walked into school and signed in at the front office at exactly 6:30. Timing doesn't get much better than that.