If it quacks like one...

A moment in time with my little H2O-

Me: helping H2O with a math paper. We're still mastering that pesky number 3.

H2O: (smiling) "You have duck breath!"

Me: (frantically breathing into my hand, and recalling the Altoid in the car) "What does a duck's breath smell like?"

H2O: (gives a happy little sniff in my direction) "It smells like yours!"

Continues coloring glasses of water on his math sheet...

The least of these, my brethren

Oy.

Sometimes, you feel like you are living in an SNL skit. Not the funny kind, but the type where it's just so long and pointless and you just are crawling out of your own bones trying to get away.

And then you change the channel. Problem solved.

So, when I compose my resignment letter, the gist of the letter will be that I cannot work for a place that perpetuates the "Christians as the elite, better than YOU" kind of BS. It's one thing to think that you know the Truth, it's an entirely different thing to exclude people based on how you thought it would all work in your head.

Ramble ramble. My new student- let's call him H2O due to some psych issues that he has surrounding water. I kid you not- this lad is obsessed and perseverates throughout the day on water. Which is really kind of ironic, that this kid is so "thirsty." You'll see why as I meander onward.

He's a smelly kid. He's got horrible teeth, and is never quite prepared for school. He is one of the kids of Michigan who are suffering the effects of the rotten economy. He's also been abandoned by his mother, and is being raised by a father who works pretty much 100% of his and his brother's waking day.

He's never been to school before, but he's being absorbed into my classroom pretty nicely. He still can only recognize one or two letters, but he's actually recognizing and WRITING his name now!

The trouble- the Powers that Be (aka the Pastor's wife, and the admin) are pretty disgusted by his existance. To them, he is the fly in their perfect little pie. How did the Pastor's Wife put it at my last meeting with them? Ah yes, that next year I would have a pared down, more "elite" group of youngsters, ones whose parents are all going to be aboard this merry ship, ones whose parents can dress their kids in appropriate uniform attire (and truthfully, we're about 90% there. The kid can't afford shoes, which these well-coiffed ladies tut-tut about, and flutter their manicures, but are they buying him some shoes?)

Stunned silence.

I did not participate in the type of training that I chose at Geneseo to work with kids who really don't need me. Don't get me wrong- I'm not the "Great White Savior." My goal is not to go spread my holy goodness to all the little poor children of the universe. However, I did not sign up for this particular brand of bull shit. I was in a classroom of H2O's last year, and we did swimmingly. My strengths and my trainings are stagnating in this class where they are not used. This job is really meant for the type of gentle, loving, soft-spoken lady who refuses to drive in the city, and has no clue what to do when a parent goes ballistic in their classroom because their family was reported to DCFS. Or squirms when a high-as-a-kite mom who was just released from jail gets in her face in the hallway between classes.

So, as I teach my students the basics, as well as Bible classes, and teach them that we believe that those who drink from the well of God will never be thirsty again, The Powers that Be are trying to finangle the expulsion of my little H2O. Who remains a very thirsty boy.

I'm leaving in June. Unless he goes. Then I go.

Yes, that's the sight organ for me...

Blurb day:

Taught my little children-of-the-corn a new song today in Bible class- The B-I-B-L-E. There is a cd that goes along with the curriculum, in case you are a teacher with an inability to sing and read music at the same time.

So, we listened to the song (very short- "The B-I-B-L-E, yes that's the book for me, I stand alone on the word of God, the B-I-B-L-E!") and at the end, the man on the cd yells, "Bible!"

We gave it a try. My kids sang the song through, and at the very end enthusiastically yelled, "Eyeball!"


Must... refill... flask...

Subversive Indoctrination

No matter how hard one tries, the combination of background and attention spans can really screw up the way something is perceived.

These past 31 days I have been teaching my little minions about Christian doctrine and the beginning stories of the Old Testament. This includes the concept of sacrifice, salvation, and the offerings of little burnt lambs upon alters (as well as the reasons why we as Christians no longer do this, as Christ was offered as the ultimate sacrifice).

So, coupled with gory flashcards depicting such an alter with a lamb, I have been wording this all as- "They usually killed a lamb, and then put it on a fire they made on a pile of stones."

Somewhere in Super Girl's head, this got all twisted and tangled, as seen today when we reviewed the story of Noah and the Ark. I asked her, "What did Noah and his family do when they got out of the Ark?"

With a smile gleaming from her sunshiny little face, she said, "They made a cat fire!"

*Try to hide look of horror/ growing hilarity from face.* "They did what? Super Girl, what did they do?"

"Oh yeah. They um, they burned a whole bunch of cats. That made God happy."

Suddenly, I had to look really interested in the book. So interested in fact, that my face had to be hidden. I hate internally laughing- it gives me the hiccups. Note to self- really REALLY explain what is going on, before these kids go home and give their parents the impression that we are practicing some Lifetime Original version of the occult.

BioHazards

Let's set the scene, shall we?

It is a Thursday morning. A carefully coiffed, spritzed-all-over-with-Designer-Imposters-perfume mother comes in with her child. Child looks dazed, and something about their faraway look seems familiar.

Mother scrapes child off at the door, and blissfully skips away, off to see her masseuse, or coffee club, or illicit lover, or whatever it is that some of these people are into.

Child begins to hallucinate- "They're coming to get me! THEY'RE COMING TO GET ME!!!" Ahh, yes. I remember now- this glazed-over look is that of someone on some major drugs. At Geneseo we called them Bio majors. With dread, I realize that this child is carrying some form of pestilence that will soon make my life revolve around laying on the bathroom floor and praying for quick death. I can kiss my weekend goodbye. As I pick up the phone to call Child's parents right the hell back here to pick up their kid and at least have the decency to share in these lovely germs, Child vomits a mixture of Dimatap and Lucky Charms all over my shoes.

It's gonna be a lovely winter...

The Return of the Kindergarten Teacher

Dare I? Post so long after I last posted? Do I look at my old posts, which make me miss all of them- my angelic G. , my delinquently Quietly Instigating N.?

Here we are in Michigan. Due to the several hurdles put into place by the state of MI, it is taking forever and a lot of red tape and calling people who do not actually exist to try and get my MI teaching certificate.

In the meantime, I am now working as a Kindergarten teacher in a private Christian academy. They desperately needed me, and I desperately needed a job.

In a nutshell- I have only five students right now. This fact was significantly glossed over until I actually accepted the job. I am in a career twilight zone. My pay is also around the level of what illegal grape planters are making (and as someone who once worked at such a place, riding a tractor with illegal grape planters and popping a plant into the ground every time the little yellow paint line on that tractor wheel came around right along with them, I say this with some certainty.) There are also many other various nuisance type things, but let me introduce you to a new cast of characters:

Bored Girl- She is operating above everyone else, and in terms of behavior- is quite possibly better behaved than I am. I will recommend her as my substitute teacher in case of my absence.

Super Girl- This girl is so enthusiastic, it verges on not funny. Every suggestion or comment is greeted with cheers and the phrase, "GOOD idea, Ms. Clarateaches!!!" She's also pretty hyper, and sings in a super-high falsetto with a serious face. I love this child.

Confused Girl- This child is not on this planet. No matter what we are doing, her mind is somewhere else. We were in the middle of the Lord's Prayer today, and her eyes popped open, her prayerful hands unfolded, and she loudly announced, "I love making W's. They're my favorite." She loves to raise her hand to answer questions, but never really knows what to say when called on, so she has an answer that she has decided fits every situation.
Mrs. Clarateaches: "Confused, what is our pattern on the calendar this month?"
Confused Girl: "Jesus?"
Mrs. Clarateaches: "Confused, do you remember which of our five senses uses ears?"
Confused Girl: "Jesus?"
Sigh. Auditory processing delay? Head in the clouds? Future nun? Time will tell.

Very Young Boy- This lad is way too young for kindergarten. All my students are too young for the cut-off for public school (one more thing the Powers that Be did not tell me), but this boy in particular is not going to be five until February. He tries hard, but clearly has no idea why he is here, or why I keep pestering him about such inane things as writing his name or counting little bears, when all he wants to do is play.

Theological Boy- "TB" is a boy who is spoken to at home. TB is not afraid to postulate and query about many facets of the religious doctrine we work with every day. TB is a fun, arrogant little boy. So far, he's my only five year old.

So there we have it, folks. I'll save the hilarious adventures in "Chapel" for another day.

Capstone Kinda Day

The last day today pretty much brought us all full circle: my room was in tragic disarray, I did virtually nothing that could be considered by the un-trained eye to be productive, and Octopus Child dialed 911 on the school's payphone. This was done, and I quote, to "...have the police come take away that big bear statue. I don't like him no more..." I guess I wasn't quite sure why no one stopped him, but after a lunch out with co-workers, I arrived to the school to find the office staff and safety patrol all a-tremble. I just let it slide- I am positive that this will not be the first of Octopus Child's dealings with the heat.

Beyond that, the kids helped me pack up and asked if I would be their first grade teacher tomorrow. We have been talking the last few weeks about how I will be moving to Michigan to live and teach, yet they still have that endearing hope that they will come waltzing back into our concrete shoebox in August. We looked at Michigan on a map, and saw where it was reletive to Illinois, and where Mexico was reletive to Illinois as well since it was something many already have experienced.

Octopus Child passed out cupcakes for his birthday, licking his fingers between each one and relishing the power of deciding who will get the red one. I need to note here- I passed out more that eight notes this year saying that cupcakes are not a good treat to send to school due to the mess. Octopus is about the tenth kid to bring them and true to their nature, the kids immediately ate the frosting and ground the cake portion into what is no longer my rug.

At the end of the day, with backpacks bulging full of papers and supplies and some new books I gave them, they all waved and one boy yelled as he left:

"Bye Mrs. Clarateaches! Have fun in Michigan, and see you in first grade!"

Can Michigan begin to compare?

Interjections

A few disjointed, non-connected thoughts from my sprouts.

* Octopus Child, during our daily attempt to give him some extra help in learning letters. I showed him the letter "F" (one of about eight letters he knows) and he yells triumphantly- "F! F like the swear word!"

(Note to self- teach Octopus Child the letters using swear words from now on...)

* Artsy Girl, on the playground- "Whew! It's hot. I'm going to ask my dad to turn on the cold heat when I get home."

* Little Clara, during the Mother's Day Tea- "Hey look! My mom's crying! NO REALLY, SHE IS; HEY LOOK!" (pointing to her very pregnant and embarrassed mother).

* Octopus Child likes to do this when things are hairy- the classroom is chaos and he'll whirl around and pat my belly and ask, "When is your baby due?" (I'm not pregnant, by the way!)

* I was going over letters with my students who haven't quite gotten around to learning them. I had the letter cards held out to them at about chest-height, but they kept staring directly at my face and rapid-fire shouting random letters in the hopes that they could get it right. After patiently telling them a couple of times to look at the cards, I told them, "Just look! Look at the cards- I am giving you the answer! The letters are not on my face; if there ever are any letters on my face, please tell me!" They stared at my face, and one little girl stood up and traced the vein that was now poking out of my forehead while happily chirping, "You have a "Y" right here!"

Gardens in the Desert Sand

...If you walk without rhythm,
ah-
you never learn... Fatboy Slim "Weapon of Choice

It's business as usual in my classroom, for better or for worse. This past week, my little punklettes were incredible, and gave me a totally new charge on life!
My newest student is a little boy from Iraq. Not Bone, I actually have an even newer one! In honor of the way he pronounces the letter H, I will call him "Ahtch." The first few days, he was pretty shy. He has really opened up! He follows my directions to the letter, but likes to boss around the other students. Today at our whole group, when everyone was sharing, he asked if he could have a female volunteer. He wanted to put on a play. "I need, uh... a girl. To be the daughter," he announced. He scanned the group, and picked Little Clara. She, of course, was only too happy to oblige.

"Daughter!" Ahtch said imperiously, sort of hunching his body over dramatically.

Little Clara giggled, her hand on her hip. "Um, what do you want?" she played back. The class roared.

"What are you making for dinner?" Ahtch queried, in character. He was very good- he sort of looked like he was playing a part of a much older man.

"Spaghetti!" yelled Little Clara. The class rolled on the floor- this was the greatest routine they had ever seen. The laughter of course was to Little Clara like gasoline on a fire. She piroetted and sauntered back and forth in front of the room.

Unfortunately, that was where the play ended, as Ahtch appeared very confused about what spaghetti was, and Little Clara wanted to twirl in front of the fishtank while telling me, "Wait, wait, I want to say what happens next. I want to pick someone..." Monday will undoubtedly bring a whole slew of dramatizations.

To end what was a truly awesome week, I brought in a new CD I bought of various Middle Eastern club songs, to play their favorite game of all times: Freeze Dance. The game basically is: I play music while they jump around and get down and funky, and every so often I pause the music and they need to freeze. Except for Octopus Child, who takes extreme advantage of this time to run about, slapping his peers silly while they gamely try to remain frozen and I try to avoid knocking over my little statues while I chase him down. I announced that we would be playing Freeze Dance at the end of the day, and the crowd went wild. I totally lost them for the better half of a minute, and was almost completely overthrown by the mob of Freeze-Dance maniacs. The last fifteen minutes of my day resembled some mini-club with my little cottontails jumping around and jamming to the techno-beat of Arabic club music. I was originally going to give them glowsticks and turn out the lights, but I was having enough fun convincing them to keep their hands off one another with the lights on. Maybe one of these days we'll do it!

I'm going to miss these little munchkins... maybe there will be a first grade opening? Or maybe I will open a new chapter with a whole new group of kindergarten characters?

Bubble Boys

Dear Kindergarten Families,

Brace yourselves. You have a job. You can do this, and I will take you step-by-step through what really is an easy process. Please sign your name anywhere on this paper. Or, another piece of paper. That is all you need to do...

Well, today I was told by a hippie-in-the-know, that apparantly Mercury this month was in retrograde, there was a full moon, a lunar eclipse, a solar eclipse and an equinox. I happen to think this is merely a reason to own a telescope, but it may have something to do with the fact that some of my kids have resorted to a primal state of being. Either way, today I experienced:

The Spring Field Trip: Children's Museum

I purposely gave myself Octopus Child, Quiet Instigator (as he has taken to stealing anything not nailed down) and Whiner. One of my chaperones was Limited English's mother, and I gave her LE, Selective Hearing Boy, and Smiling Boy. She chose to tag along with me, as she speaks even less than her son. So, off we went, Octopus clinging to various peers, pieces of scenery, and a startled museum staff member. Quiet Instigator instantly became lost, slinking away as soon as he heard me say to stay with us. Limited English's mother gamely smiled and shrugged and looked puzzled as we searched high and low for him. He was found moments later by another kindergarten teacher, who caught him near the exits. Apparantly he was about to hotwire a bus and take it to the Southside, but you know how rumors get started. Anyways...

This museum was completely the bomb. There was so much to see and do, we only were able to do half of what was there. As we had six boys, everything we did involved a mess and possibly some crashing into one another. We started at the giant water table, and my lecture about NOT CLIMBING INTO THE WATER. They did take me literally, and instead brought the water to one another through the various toys and water pumps availible. Octopus Child and Whiner spent ten angry minutes sitting in a window sill drying in the sun after they each dumped a cup of water over the other's head, and then cried hysterically. I just merrily laughed and popped some loose Valium that was floating by (thank you, super-coked Suburban Moms) and told them that their tears were only making them wetter.

We moved on to the next phase of this crazy adventure. Yes folks, they are now giving kids real saws, hammers, nails and screws. Each of my little guys tried their darndest to make racecars, and most of them actually accomplished something kinda neat! Especially Limited English, who pounded on my fingernails repeatedly in the process.

We ended the day at the bubble tank, where I discovered that it's some kind of strange fad 'round these parts to travel in packs of women who bring their day-old infants to what has to be the biggest petri dish on the face of the planet. And then, hover them near six year olds who are blowing thousands of bubbles with Hyper-Sting brand bubble solution. They finish their day by glaring angrily at me when I purposely pop bubbles over their heads to teach them the lesson that they are idiots, and I need to bring my home-tatoo parlor equipment next time to label them just so no one else has to find out the hard way that they are living life without common sense. The Bubble Tank was truly rad until a child threw bubble solution into Octopus Child's eyes, and I had the extreme pleasure of holding him head first under a sink to wash it out, while he kicked me until bruises formed. We all boarded the bus, several exhausted chaperones and I, and the super-energized kids; thanking our lucky stars once more that no one was lost, no one did anything more than moderate damage to property, and the public nudity was kept to a minimum.

The Creed of the Effective Teacher

The Creed of the United States Marine
This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will . . . . My rifle and I know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit . . . . My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its sights, and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will . . . . Before God I swear this creed.My rifle and I are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but Peace!

The Creed of the Effective Teacher
This is my classroom. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My classroom is my daily blank slate. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.

My classroom, without effective management, is useless. Without effective management, I am useless.

I must fully engage my students. I must engage them more than the societal evils that are trying to drag my students down. I must get to them before apathy and ignorance tear them down. I will . . . .

My fellow effective teachers and I know that what counts in this daily battle is not the tests we distribute, the popularity of our consistent discipline, nor the crafty projects we make. We know that it is the students that count. We will teach . . .

My students are human, even as I, because they are my life. Thus, I will teach them as I am a guide. I will learn their weaknesses, their strengths, their home lives, their parents, their peers, and their habits. I will ever guard my classroom against the ravages of poverty and violence.

I will keep my lesson plans flexible and ready, even as I am flexible and ready. We will become part of each other. We will . . .

Before God I swear this creed.My classroom and I are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our futures. So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but Peace!

Thanks, Mark!

The Ways of Feathers (and such)

What an odd feeling: that I just finished testing my kindergartners for report cards, and here I am doing it again! At least my toils seem to be paying off, and my little hedgehogs are all putting thought to paper. At least, they are writing their lists of likes, which includes:

"I lik pig, cat, igloo, Centers, Jan Brett..." (Their likes seem to be somewhat restricted to things that are posted around the room!)

Yesterday as we were leaving the classroom at the end of the day (still a feat of strength, complete with the sort of stalling that only a pack of wild five year olds can do), Limited English Speaker discovered the joys of New Student's down jacket. New Student has an unusual name, and the best Limited English can do with it is to call him "Bone." So, he happily yelled out to me, "Hey teesher, Bone's losing he feathers!" as he pulled a bit of fluff from New Student's jacket. This spawned an attempt by every member of the boy's line to pluck New Student frantically, causing him to twist in circles while yelling, "I'm NOT BONE!!!" Down the hallway we went, Limited English asking the whole way, "Why Bone losing he feathers? Hey, why I not have feathers? Bone a bird? Ahahaha..."

There is a little girl in my class who has probably been absent for a third of the school year. She is a beautifully angelic, quiet, polite little girl. She also, unfortunately, is one of my handful who has had DCFS involved with her family in the past weeks.
She came in today, and I took the kids out to the playground for PE. Usually, she stands silently by my side the entire time we are outside, hands shoved in her pockets, staring. Today she did the same, silently standing beside me and bearing witness to one maniacal child after another wreaking havoc on their clothing.

Until, she suddenly sprang for the monkey bars. I have never seen her move so fast. The other kids who were on them were so surprised; they backed away, and watched. She moved quickly, going many feet over my head to the top, and then shimmying up the pole to the upper support beams. She scootched up onto her knees, closed her eyes, and without expression, let go of the bar and held out her arms as if she were going to fall forward.

I couldn't breathe. What was God tossing at me now?

Everything stood still- the other kids sat on the platform below her with their mouths open. I placed myself underneath her, and too scared to talk (I thought I'd startle her off her perch) just waited. And asked every guardian angel of every child present to be with me now.

Seconds ticked by.

Finally, she opened her eyes, and without changing her expressionless face, placed both arms beside her, slid back down, climbed down the stairs and resumed her position. I knelt down in front of her. She looked at me and said, "I didn't zip my coat." I zipped her coat, and I looked into her face, and wished I could take her away from whatever was causing her to be way too old for kindergarten. She stared back, unblinking.

More Musings from my Munchkins…

Posting opportunities have been few and far between… between the various school mandated functions (disfunctions?) and moments in the classroom that are far from funny (why am I the only kindergarten class this year with at least four DCFS calls? Oh yeah, because God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, and I can do this… really, I can…) I haven’t had a lot of material.

As with most things, however, there still are parts of the day that make me so happy to know these little people.

* Cute Little Guy That I Want to Adopt: Comes up to me with a mixture of embarrassment and hopefulness, wearing light tan pants and a white tee- “Mrs. Clarateaches, my dad said it was okay to wear two different shades of white. Is it okay?”

* Girl Who Likes to Copy Me: Yesterday walked over to me and started to lightly color on my arm with a light peach crayon.

Me: “What’s up, Girl?”
Girl: “Hey Mrs. Clarateaches, I finally found a crayon that is the same color as your skin!” She happily trots back to her seat to finish her journal.

Later, this same girl was choosing books from our Family Time box.

Me: “Here are the English books, and these ones are the Spanish ones.”
Girl: Drops one book, and eagerly paws through Spanish ones: “Oh, I want these ones! You know, Mrs. Clarateaches, I really get sick of speaking English…”

I need a substitute later next week, so I’m sure their versions of the day without Mrs. Clarateaches should be intensely amusing!

As Long As it Looks Good on Paper...

Well, I received an email from the foreman of this conformity factory. It seems that they are frantically gathering our lesson ideas for “Martin Luther King, JR Day; President’s Day, Black History Month, and Casmir Pulaski Day.” This of course was weeks ago, when I was frantically testing 23 kindergartners so that report cards could come out on time.

Me: “Count to 100”

Darling Student: “Okay! 1, 2, Free, 4, Fie, 6, 789…ten…leban…um…twelve…”

Multiply that by twenty-three. I do not Y testing. So, sue me if I didn’t spring into action to figure out who the hell Casmir Pulaski is right away.

So, weeks passed, and I received a second, less amicable email…

Teachers, email me your plans IMMEDIATELY. I need to prepare a statement to be at the ready for a press release to the media, in case it is necessary.

Press release? I tried hard to imagine a situation that would necessitate a full blown press release, and all I could picture were the principal, Jesse Jackson, and a somewhat bored member of the Polish Heritage Organization at the front entrance to the school, flash bulbs going off, while our Fearless Leader, Mr. Principal speaks into several microphones:

“…Rest assured, the kindergarten WILL be reading a Picture Book about Martin Luther King, Jr.… they will confuse the heck out of them by giving only those with blue shirts on a graham cracker, and later explain that it was all a cute little game called ‘My Day of being Discriminated Against’ and they will either learn about history, or perhaps they will simply go home and hide Mom’s cigs for dressing them in orange that day…” (The Rev and representative nodding solemnly).

As far as I know, this is what was learned that day-

I walked into one of the other kindergarten teacher’s rooms, looking for materials and asked her class (while gesturing towards the portrait of MLK, Jr.) “Who is that man?”

“Oh, that’s King Luther, he was the president and told black people they can’t ride the buses…” her eager little munchkins yelled.

My kids, on the other hand, totally got Dr King, but argued passionately about why we were celebrating his birthday.

“But, he’s dead! He’s not getting anything!” my Quiet Instigator yelled. I explained that when someone does something very good for all people, that people still like to celebrate the special way that person helped by remembering their birthday, even after they were gone.
Quiet Instigator looked at me like I was on glue. “Mrs. Clarateaches, when someone dies, they stop getting older, and they don’t have birthdays anymore.”
Little Clara piped up and said, “NOOO, we still can, huh Mrs. Clarateaches-“ and another little guy interrupted her with “Hey, you don’t die when you get shot- my brother got shot, and he’s in jail, not dead.” Just then, my slightly PDD savant girl started rambling about Robert Kennedy.

Thus ended that tender little moment. Let’s see what I can scrape up in March for good ol’ Casmir Pulaski.

Here's a Lizard...

I've decided that one of these days I will tape record conversations my kids make during a lesson, just because the way this age group discusses things is just so gosh-darned hilarious. Today I was compelled to do a little from our Harcourt Language Arts series, as my mentor teacher gave me a quizzical look the other day during lunch and asked, "What unit are you on in English?"

Gulp. Actually, we've been working on various Thanksgiving and Fall activities, up until this week. We graphed our travel plans, made a Venn diagram comparing the Pilgrims to the Wampanoag (yeah, my kindergartners know who the "Wampanoag" were... jealous?) and wrote recipes for Thanksgiving food with our third grade buddies. I knew that this was worthwhile when a normally recalcitrant student (Limited English Speaker) brought in a bow that he made out of a bent stick and some string.

So, out came the Harcourt, which told me to read the kids a poem entitled "Dogs," and read a book called "I Have A Pet." We took a "picture walk" of the book before we read it, and my kids created a much better rendition of the story than the original author did:

Me: (holding up the book to an illustration of kids standing in line holding various pets) "What's happening on this page?"

Quiet Instigator: "They're at school!"

Me: "How do you know?"

Various kids shouted, "They're standing in a line! We only stand in line at school!" Well gee whiz, the little sugars are right.

We flipped through the pages, looking at various types of pets.

Octopus Child: "There's a dog! He's taking a bath!"

Little Clara: "You don't take a bath with dogs, do you?"

Choruses of "Eww, gross!"

Giggling, Whispering Girl: "My kitten jumped into the bath with me, she was mad and tried to run away. She's dead now."

Everyone at once: "'My cat's dead, too! ','My cat ran away... ', 'So did mine!'"

I turn the page. An illustration of a lizard and a child feeding it a cricket.

Octopus Child: "I had a dream a green lizard was gettin' me. I don't like 'em, they scratch me!"

Girl Who Likes to Copy Me: "She's feeding him a grasshopper, right Mrs. C?"

Little Clara: "NO! It's a cockroach. My mom just kills them, she doesn't feed them to a lizard."

We flipped through the rest of the book, managing to have a large scattered conversation about the best ways to feed a hamster, as well as the short lives of everyone's pets. A page with a pet bird illustration elicited uprorious laughter, with my kids insisting that birds don't live inside (with a few people insisting that yes, they do!) When I tried to read the book, though; the kids weren't that interested in what the author had to write (some mildly interesting blurbs on various animals and the ways that they are cared for). So much for the Harcourt. We didn't even get halfway through it!

Kids These Days

Oh man, just when I think I've found a way to control hysterical outbursts of laughing. I try hard to not laugh when my kids bust a move, just because I really don't want to have to manage with 24 kids trying to be funny. Have you ever experienced a child who is trying way too hard to be funny? Yeah, it's sad.

Octopus Child and I were perusing a book entitled The Desert. He picked it out and proudly told me it was about "'Piders." We glanced through the book together while high school students, members of the elite "Key Club" were "reading books" to my kids.

[Which meant, one teen girl was enticing my kids to race chairs, another sat with her head in her hands while my bewildered kids instantly resorted to cannibalism, and the third actually (hey, how about that?) read a book.]

After being Mean Mrs. Clarateaches and giving these young impressionable ladies the evil eye, Octopus and I returned to The Desert and looked for the elusive 'piders. He called each cactus in the book a spider, and when we found a photo of a coyote, happily wrapped one of his chubby tentacles around my head and yelled, "It's a werewolf!"

"It's a coyote," I patiently explained while extracting myself from his grasp. "Say 'coyote.'"

"It's a coyote werewolf. I don't like them, they hump on you," he explained, turning the pages to try to find more werewolves. Gotta love those teachable moments.

Actually, you have to love those moments when kids learn something the hilarious way. After three days of telling Quiet Instigator to stop stealing the Fun-Tac from the back of the posters I stuck to my walls, I found him sitting miserably at the rug as the rest of the kids dashed off to Centers (aka, "Destroy The Room Time.")

"Q.I., why aren't you going to your center?" I asked, wondering why his hand was on his head.

He slowly lifted his hand to reveal that he had stuck about a good half-dollar sized blob of Fun-Tac in his hair, which was sticking straight up in a blue spike. I forced myself to look really grim while I struggled with trying to not laugh. I sent him to the nurse, just so I could die laughing when he was out of the room. My students gave each other the "I-told-you-she'd-crack-before-Christmas" look, and carried about their business. Five minutes later the nurse marched Q.I. back into the room, blue spike still intact.

"Boy, I don't know how to prepare for what you kindergarten teachers send me; first a giant woodchip in a kid's ear, and now this..." the nurse said. She and I mulled the situation over until we discovered that the maintenence man had Goo-B-Gone, and a Fun-Tac-free Q.I. with an oily patch in his hair happily bounced over to the Legos to end his day.

Black& Brown & White...

I was kind of waiting and wondering when this would happen... My very diverse group of kindergarteners seemed to all of a sudden realize that they are different. This happened yesterday at approximately 3:14, when we were supposed to be leaving.

Now, in an ordinary school on an ordinary day, it seems to me that kids would be climbing all over themselves to get out the door. Not my kids- they drag their feet, and hide in the bathroom, and lay on the floor under the table just to drag out dismissal time. This causes us to be some of the last kids out of the building. Since some of my kindergarteners have VERY COOL PARENTS who choose to not wear coats or jackets or even a top with sleeves when it's 45* F, I get some pretty adolescent looking snarls and glares as I finally drag their unwilling little feet out the door. In my head I am composing a Budweiser-type advertising song about these people, these "Mr. I-Can't-Leave-High-School-Behind" types. I'll let you know if I come up with a whole one, but in the meantime I just smile like a psycho and wave wildly as my kids leave.

Where was I? Oh yeah. It's like that moment in time when kids see what the other gender looks like. One of my students, the girl who likes to copy me, looked up at me and said, "You're white, right Mrs. Clarateaches?"

"Yes, we call people who have this kind of skin white."

Another little boy, Introspective Child, who has a white and a black parent piped up. "I have brown skin, I'm not white."

"No, you're black!" yelled my little Octopus Child, and before he had a chance to clutch at Introspective Child's arm, I intercepted him. There needs to be an Olympics for this sort of thing.

"He's brown, but he's not a Mexican," commented the girl who likes to copy me (who is of Hispanic heritage).

The dismissal bell had already gone off by now, and the first graders were herding past our door. I explained that people are a lot of different shades of peach and brown, but most people call people with lighter skin "white," and darkest skin "black," and that it's always nice to find out more about people. By this point, I was spatula-ing them out the door and into the hallway. Why can't these Vivian Gussein Paley moments happen during the day, dangitall anyways? My students, especially the ones of color, were still looking perplexed. Introspective Child pinched his arm all the way down the hall, and Girl Who Likes to Copy Me was trying to hold her arm by mine to compare the skin tones.

Hoping this continues, I'm really curious about what else they will say. This seems to be one of those discussions where it really needs to be child-led, as honesty will really be a lot more refreshing than a PC talk about how we're all the same, blendy-blendy, and color-blind blah blah blah. They know much better than that- and what's wrong with that?

Into the Pumpkin Gulag

Dear Kindergarten Families,

Attached you will find a permission slip for our field trip to The Pumpkin Farm. The admission is $7, which all of you will just ignore anyways, seeing as how I teach in Povertyville, IL; and don't worry about remembering to sign the permission slip, as I will be mailing a letter home every day until the day before, at which time I will become frantic and teach your progeny to chant "Sign my slip...sign my slip..." until you do the best you can. So, por favor, make this underpaid pseudoparent happy and just send back something, anything, with your name on it.

Love, Mrs. C.

Well, we had our first field trip on Wednesday to the Pumpkin Farm. And when I say "pumpkin farm," I mean militant hippy commune, where kindergarten teachers are ripped off the buses by rangy women without makeup sporting long gray braids, as they tell us, "Stand over there, we'll unload the children." This made my clingers panic, and my manipulative schemers instantly going into "Plan B" mode-"Try to Take Over the World." I nervously paced around several million pumpkins until my kiddos were returned to me. Still no idea why we all had to be separated.

We were met at the gate by another militant, gray braided woman, this one a bit plumper. She apparently would be our "guide," which meant she escorted the kindergarteners and I, and my seven trusty chaperone moms, over to a train. This train was driven by a really freaky mannequin, (dressed in a prisoner's uniform? WTF?) which for some reason really scared the shit out of my Mexican kids. Around and around they went until the man at the controls woke up and realized where he was. Our next stop was an inflated pumpkin, where kids could jump around without my direct interference, as I was too big to get in there. They used their time wisely, enacting Darwinian "survival of the fittest" maneuvers, clobbering one another until I dragged them out.

The other highlight of the day was feeding creatures at the "petting zoo," which consisted of a million starving goats crammed into a cage. My kids were all excited about this until go-time, when I found myself surrounded by paper cups of goat feed, and little voices telling me that they were scared. So, while some of my kids conquered their fear by chucking the whole cup of feed at the goats (who amazingly, caught and ate it in mid air), I was helping about three-quarters of my kids feed goats, which left me soaking in goat mucus from my elbow to my hand. The next time someone tells me teachers are overpaid, I am going to soak them in goat mucus, and then stick them on a pumpkin commune with twenty-four kids who have to pee.



Several other elementary classes from other schools were there, and I kept finding extra kids in my group from a nearby new elementary school. We just kept chucking them at the Pumpkin Gestapo, and moving on. I congratulated myself on not losing any of my kids the whole day, when at the end of the day, the apparent head SS officer came over and barked, "Excuse me! You lost four of your kids today!"

Beg your ever-focking pardon? "Who do you think you're talking to?" I asked, trying to remind myself that 48 eager little ears were pointed in my direction. "Who are you?" Head SS asked me. I told her, and she froze, said "Oh, ok, never mind," and then walked away. All of my kids, however, were very excited over this, and asked me the whole ride home, "Who was lost? Were we lost? Am I lost? Teesher, what lost means?" and so forth.

I will seek revenge, so help me God. At least mi ninos had a good time.

Sotto Voce

It was bound to happen sooner or later- 24 kindergarteners, sticking their fingers into their nose-mouth-eyeballs-God knows what all else, and grabbing me all day. That's right- I have fallen victim to some kind of viral crud. Fortunately, it wasn't the kind of sick where you're totally incapacitated- it did rob me of my voice, though.

Explaining this to my kids elicited a variety of reactions. I gathered the darlings to my feet at the rug, and told them that I had lost my voice. Excited buzz ensued.

Little Mr. Cutie Pants- "Missis 'Appoda, where it go?"

Sarcastic Five Year Old- "It did not- we can still hear you talking."

Girl Who Likes to Copy Me- "My voice is lost, too." (whispered)

I clarified things- my voice was sick and so today was going to be a Very Quiet Day. Which, my over-qualified and under-informed aide took to mean shushing my kids all damn day. There is little more that I hate than the sound of "SHHHHHHH..." It's enough to make me take everyone hostage. And PS- if your school decides to hire a disgruntled administrator as a kindergarten aide, tell them to go... Oh, you know.

Ya see- five and six year olds talk. It's how they figure things out. I do like them to talk in a voice that can only be heard by their table. And, while they do a good job of this some of the time, they still are learning. It seems, after meeting many of the parents, that conversations are held at the level of a fishmonger's wife's holler in many households, so no wonder they're confused. Baby steps, my friends.

So I turned on a nature CD, which included Vivaldi and crickets chirping (and loons calling, and drunks falling into a pond- very soothing). I went to each table and whispered for them to "Listen for the crickets." In less than a minute, I had accomplished what no level of "SHHHH" by the aide could- every child was silent. And listening. They loved it! There is nothing like ending a Friday afternoon with mes petites choux coloring away to Vivaldi, and the aide sneaking home early. Good riddance to her. We've finally earned our fish!

Imaginary Friend? It's Okay!

Well man, I've been delinquent. The amazing world of kindergarten has absorbed a ton of my time, (with a birth on the side, nonetheless, but this is a teacher's blog, not a doula's, so you'll have to get that info out of me some other way. I will say this- I plan on birthing at home, now more than ever. Frikkin doctor...)

Anyways, it's just tons of fun at Room 109. One of the ways I have been trying to motivate my little spazlings into doing "the right thing" (aka not shrieking, staying in one general spot for just a few moments, and participating) is by bringing in a fish tank and all of the little doodads that go along with one. The deal is: if they are by and large well behaved for a day, we add one more element to the fish tank. I was explaining this to them one day on the carpet.

Me: "I have so many fun ideas that I want to do with all of you- but if you're Time Wasters, we can't do them. I will have to take my fun ideas home to Mr. C."

Crowd: gasps
Little Clara: looks thoughtful

Me: "One of these things is a fish tank. If everyone makes right choices, we can add to the tank every day, and soon we can add fish! I hope everyone makes right choices! Otherwise, I'll just have to bring home the fish for Mr. C. to play with."

Little Clara: "Is Mr. C. your imaginary friend? It's okay to have an imaginary friend, right?"

Is Mr. C. truly my imaginary friend? This girl scared the ever-living quantum physics out of me, resulting in an afternoon of pensive reflections about whether or not the last 10 months have been some kind of hallucination.

My kids have been very lovingly bringing me little presents as well. One child, the "Quiet Instigator" has been stealing things from his cousins' rooms and bringing me all sorts of pre-teen girl jewelry. Another boy brought me, of all things, a square inch of bread last Friday. Another one brought me a postcard with a dog and a kitten on one side, with the reminder on the other that "Tigger is overdue for his distemper vaccine." Treasures!

During an observation, it became clear that I'm mashing letter concepts into their little craniums pretty hard when I held up a small triangle and a large triangle and asked them to tell me the similarities and differences. "One's a capital triangle, and one's a lowercase triangle," they all yelled (since when do five year olds do anything quietly?)

Walking them through the hallways is enough to cause other teachers of older students to bend completely in half laughing. I don't go into these trips half-assed, either. We have debriefing sessions that are pretty intense:

Me: "We'll be walking into the hallways pretty soon ladies and gentlemen, you know what you have to do. Are we in wiggly-jiggly lines?"

Class: "NO! Straight lines!"

Me: "How about our voices?"

Class: "Turn them off!"

Me: "What if you really have to say something?"

Class: "We'd better be bleeding or barfing if we are talking!"

Me: "Where are we looking?"

Class: "Straight ahead!"

Well, but attention spans and short term memories aren't what they used to be. No sooner are we out in the hall before:

Limited English Speaker: "Hey teesher, teesher, I hab two things to say-"
Me: "No Limited English, save it."
LES: "Two things-"
Me: "NO." Repeat, repeat, repeat. I tell him to cover his mouth with his hand.

We struggle on, most of the class still hanging on, a few kids losing track of where we are and what we are doing, wander away. Once retrieved, a few other ones do the same thing." We stop and gather our thoughts. Repeat process all the way to the library (or computer lab, or wherever.) Teachers passing us in the hallway practically are in tears trying not to laugh.

More insanity later...