The POWERS That Be

Some of you may think that my blog posts are written at the expense of innocent children. I assure you - most are not. I am simply relating tales from my teaching experience (and sometimes, my real life). I can't help it if the material is downright ridiculous. It just follows me - like a three ring circus. And I am - apparently - the Ring Master. So as you read today's post about "Mr. Wiggles", please keep in mind: the story you're about to hear is true. Names have been changed to protect the identities of the innocent... or slightly depraved...

On a beautiful winter's day in Bug Tussle, I was enjoying the gravel walking track at recess. Four times around is a mile and I make it a personal goal to complete one mile during the twenty minute recess. This isn't just for my health, but my mental well-being as well. Students know this and therefore, unless someone is bleeding or broken, they leave me to my own devices. Sometimes, however, they venture onto the walking track for their own reasons. Some to walk, some to skip, some to talk about each other in catty voices and pledge allegiance to some hateful Queen Bee of the moment. Whatever their reasons, we stay out of eachother's way. Until today.

Today, I casually glance ahead of me and see Mr. Wiggles standing in front of a large walnut tree on the Bug Tussle Elementary perimeter. Upon further observation, he seems to be consulting the tree on some issue. Intrigued, I quicken my pace and stop (gasp) a few feet behind him. Mr. Wiggles raises his hands in rigid claws, leans back and shakes his outstretched palms at the tree. I stifle the snort welling inside me so as not to disturb this wack-a-doo ritual taking place in the great outdoors.

Mr. Wiggles rests for a few moments and then resumes his pose and chanting - calling to mind the heathen high priests from Indiana Jones' Temple of Doom. That movie has always chilled me to the bone - what with all the heart-ripping and whatnot. (Just an aside). I shook off the fear of weird voodoo spirits and moved forward, bursting to know what had brought on this production.

Hearing my footsteps, Mr. Wiggles drops his arms and turns to stare at me innocently. I smile my best teacher smile, which in this case also includes "please don't hex me" in its sweetness.

"Mr. Wiggles," I say in the voice you reserve for sociopaths, tantrum throwing toddler, and significant others who keep leaving coffee rings on the cutting board (again, an aside), "what are you up to, Buddy?"

With a seriousness reserved for elderly veterans and Catholic priests, he spoke:

"I'm just getting my powers."

 

 

And with that, he returned to his hell-raising arms and jibberish. I nodded to myself, and continued my mile walk around the gravel track, checking from time to time to see if Mr. Wiggles had indeed received any type of supernatural assistance. Because, let me tell you - if it works on that kid, the first thing I'm gonna do on the next bright, beautiful wintry day here in Bug Tussle is work up some powers of my own. In the words of Forrest Gump and Jenny.... "{Powers}, make me a bird. So I can fly far. Far away from here." Amen.

 

XO,

It's Not Dirt - I'm Catholic

When I was a little girl, I vividly remember a Friday during Lent. My mother - a Protestant, it should be noted - made bologna sandwiches for lunch. And I ate it. It was only after the breadcrumbs were scattered across my plate and my juice box was empty that I realized my mother's faux pas. Bologna was a meat. It was a Friday during Lent. And I was a Catholic schoolgirl. In my mind, I was headed straight for Hell...

Later that afternoon I was outside playing on the swing set with my brother. We cavorted around the teeter-totter, performed daredevil feats on the swings, and finally set ourselves the task of a tandem ride down the sliding board. I prepared to go first and coasted towards the ground below when I saw it - a huge black snake with the jaws of an anaconda coiled at the slide's base. I was heading straight toward it before jamming my heels and hands in the sides of metal chute. At that moment, I knew for sure that God was letting me know that bologna on a Friday in Lent was a no-go. I was just lucky it wasn't a hamburger. 

Since that time, and perhaps even before, I have been adamant about Lent. From Ash Wednesday to Good Friday - I'm "in it to win it" with a plan for fasting, church attendance, and (most importantly) meat abstinence. So it's no surprise that I rose early for church on Wednesday morning in Bug Tussle. I hit the "word and communion" service and set out for BTE. After my two years at St. Sign-of-the-Cross, I took having a black streaked forehead for granted as the norm. However, in Bug Tussle, this could be mistaken for the sign of the Beast. 

Amid looks of shock, awe, and terror I took the hallways by storm. Leaving bewildered children and adults in my wake, I endured a barrage of idiotic and misguided comments... including, but not limited to:

* "Did you know there's something on your forehead?"

* "Oh my Gosh! What happened?"

* "It's for your religion?" [pregnant pause] "Which one?"

* "Oh yeah. Lent is where y'all abstain from fish and stuff."

My responses included, but weren't limited to:

* "It's ash."

* "I'm Catholic."

* "It's not dirt."

* "I know. It's there. On purpose."

And these were just from/for the adults! It was then that I had another epiphany - There's no place like a Catholic school in Lent. So bust out the fish sticks and grilled cheese on Fridays. This little Catholic girl has seen the light.

XO, 

The Pictionary Champ

Things have gotten a little hectic (once again). Between the upheaval of my personal life (in semi-good ways) and trying to get the Bug Tussle kids on track for Spring Testing (a feat of EPIC proportions), I have been lax in my blogging. I guess people who do this regularly have way more time or a propensity for later nights. Let's be honest - the only reason I'm writing this morning is the late announcement of a snow day. I was already up and ready to get going.... it was 5:30am, after all.

So since the time is right and the first month of the year is drawing to a close, I'll give you this small snippet of January at BTE...

Picture it - we're learning about even & odd numbers. Surely by now - they would understand the concept, but you'd be surprised (or maybe not - if you've read any of my other posts). I've painstakingly drawn arrays, showed video clips, taught jingles to get the point across. Foolishly, I truly thought we were ready to complete the all-important ERQ (extended response question, for all you civilians). The question seemed simple enough - see if you can A: figure out the answer and B: explain how you got that answer.

Breanna and Amy are playing with some numbered cards. Amy says there are 5 odd numbers between 8 and 15. Breanna says there are 4. Who is correct? 

Seems fairly straightforward, I hope! However, knowing my clientele - I made sure to hold a round table type discussion to determine how one should correctly & completely answer the question. Everyone seemed to be fairly certain of how this should play out. Everyone except "Mitzy". Mitzy is a classic example of why it's dangerous to homeschool your child with no other age appropriate social contact and then throw them in a classroom halfway through first semester. So parents - take heed - don't be a Mitzy Mom. 

Mitzy is studiously bent over her paper, busily scribbling what I hoped were eloquent explanations for Breanna and Amy's childhood choices. I quickly dropped that delusion and clamped my lips together before emitting a guffaw. Yes- that is a strong word choice. Yes - it is needed. Here is why. While discussing how best to answer the problem, the class had talked about drawing pictures, making number lines and using words to show their strategies. Poor Mitzy had taken that first part to heart. Instead of a structured array or boring number line, she had drawn a PICTURE. 

If I had thought to save it, I would have. And I would have uploaded it right HERE. Then, you could appreciate a full page picture (covering the lines that were meant for a written explanation) that depicted two pony-tailed smiling girls sitting at a table with numbered cards and WORD BUBBLES showing their respective answers to the posed question. After my subdued laughing spell, I composed myself enough to ask her (in my best teacher voice) to "tell me about her answer". 

Without batting an eye and with a genuine belief in the legitimacy of her actions, Mitzy said "You said draw a picture." Now, granted, I had said draw a picture... followed by the terms number line, array, and labels. And out of all that - the only thing Mitzy had honed in on was that one word PICTURE. Classic Bug Tussle. Classic Mitzy. So after explaining the correct method of answering a question post-Kindergarten, I walked away. But I couldn't help but ask as I sauntered to the next student, "Mitzy, how are you at Pictionary?"

XO, 

Restroom Rendezvous

I apologize for my lapse in blogging. This month has been a whirlwind of assessments, holiday programs, and the intense "push for the break". I've only now begun to feel completely recharged... just in time to head back to the trenches on January 2nd! Definitely missing St. Sign of the Cross and there desire to extensively celebrate the birth of Baby Jesus. But as the year comes to a close, I'll share a sure-fire highlight from my time at Bug Tussle Elementary. Read and enjoy - hopefully with a glass of bubbly and a shiny party hat!

A couple weeks before Winter Break, I'd scheduled a Science test. Students had been prepped thoroughly and had a wealth of notes and reminders in their Science notebooks. I know, because I wrote them, copied them, and then stapled them INTO the Science notebook. Trust me - that was much easier than the alternative of waiting for each child to painstakingly copy the definitions from the not-so-Smartboard. I'd even gone so far as to notify the parents (via the newsletter that 3 of them read weekly) that there would be no study guide. I cheerfully emphasized the importance of the Science notebook and chirped about how it could go home ALL WEEK to support student study endeavors. (I know, based on my past posts this is laughable to all my readers - but I was trying for teacher of the year... or at least Santa's Nice List).

A couple days before the test, I was shoving the last of the dear ones out the door at 3:00pm. I'd needed a restroom break since noon (on account of my newfound health kick of guzzling water by the bottleful - not recommended for anyone in the teaching field). Ignoring the intense pain in my feet from my very-cute-but-not-school-teacher-appropriate stilettos, I click clacked towards the student restrooms. Just as I reached the sinks, a parent's voice stopped me in my tracks.

Turning with a smile and almost imperceptible sigh, I saw with chagrin that it was one of the helicopter parents from the class. This was our third impromptu rendezvous of the week, which was - in my opinion - three too many! No amount of prodding on her part or encouraging tutoring on my part was going to change the fact that her Sally Sue was not going to turn into Marie Curie. Or even a female version of Bill Nye. Without waiting for me to acknowledge her, Chopper Mom took off with her latest concern...

"Sally Sue doesn't have her study guide for the Science test on Friday."

"It's Wednesday, " I thought...

"She needs another copy."

"We didn't send home a study guide. It was explained in the newsletter on Monday. The kids were instructed to use their Science notebooks." I said. 

"Which you'd know if you'd leave me alone and READ the newsletter for all your concerns," I thought...

"Her Science notebook?"

"Mmhmm," with a saccharine sweet smile.

"It says SCIENCE," I thought with an eye roll. 

At this point, Chopper Mom gave a confused nod- which I took to mean our conference had concluded. With that, I turned crisply and strode into the restroom. Just as I locked my stall and began to hike my pencil skirt, the air began to churn with a nasal voice. Chopper Mom had followed me INTO the restrooms. Apparently, she was ready for an emergency landing since her child's Science grade was at stake. 

"Why wasn't there a Study Guide?" she queried. 

"Um, what?! Ahem, because we've been practicing note taking - an important to skill to master at this grade level?!" My voice rose in anxiety. I was trapped in a stall with my skirt  around my chest and a crazy mother's Converse blocking my escape...

"There's a level of DECORUM," I thought maliciously as I struggled to maintain an air of professionalism.

"Can she get one? There's nothing in her Science notebook!" I cringed and braced myself for the thrust of the Science notebook under the stall. Mercifully, this action did not come. 

"Right now?! Um..." I frantically finished adjusting my tucked in shirt. 

"Should I write it on this cheap knock-off Charmin?!" I wanted to scream...

I threw open the stall door and made a beeline for the sinks and foamy antiseptic smelling soap. Intently staring at my hands, I firmly told her to grab a Science book for extra support. Finally, Chopper Mom got the point and took to the air, a new target sighted - a SCIENCE BOOK. As I dried my hands and did some minor hair and makeup tweaks, I silently evaluated the restroom rendezvous and thought - that JUST HAPPENED. Weeks later, it still makes me shake my head in disbelief - but as 2012 draw to a close, it provides me with a couple important resolutions...

1. This excessive water drinking is for fitness fanatics who have ample free time for restroom breaks at their workplace. NOT for elementary school teachers.

2. Always take a pen and pad with you. You never can tell when you may have to compose an impromptu study guide during a restroom rendezvous.

What's Your Special Place?

Each morning, I give my class a discussion question during "Morning Meeting". This gives them an opportunity to talk about something with friends before the business of the academic day begins. This is a great plan; however, my class thinks talking and poking each other is much more important than actually LEARNING anything remotely useful all day long (how to multiply or spell "science" for example). Therefore, talking is probably the least constructive thing to do in a Morning Meeting. But I digress...

A week or so ago, I provided this ice breaker for discussion - what's your special place? This was meant to be a tried and true "getting to know you" question that was sure to elicit touching ideas by Bug Tussle's young folk. But, I should have known that answers like "the oak tree in our backyard" or "my Grandmother's kitchen" weren't about to fall from the mouths of these Mountain Dew-swilling babes. Instead, I overhead this gem that I knew MUST BE SHARED. Because it is an impeccable example of Southernly Speaking, if a slightly trashy one.

As I circulated the classroom, I listened to students hem and haw about loving to go to their barn or their Dad's work. And then I honed in on this unbelievable confession. Two young men who can best be described as "Bubbas" were deep in conversation when one confessed his special place and stopped me in my Sperryed tracks.

Bubba 1: "My special place is Hooters. It's a real nice place."

Bubba 2: "Yeah, I think I hearda that place. Do they have clothes there?"

Bubba 1: "Uh huh. It's a real nice place to eat. But yeah - they got clothes there too. Real nice ones. My
                  dad gets his shirts there and we eat there. It's REAL nice."

I'm sure there was more to this exchange, but at this point I had to remove myself from the vicinity before collapsing in a fit of guffaws. Visions of neon orange owls with enlarged eyes danced in my head and the scent of wing sauce and stale beer filled my nostrils. Though I must admit I have - in fact- (semi) willingly eaten at this establishment, I would not go so far as to call it a "nice place". I can honestly say that I went FOR THE WINGS, and not for the scenery. Although in Bug Tussle I suppose that any eatery that decorates in varnished lumber and hunting orange would rate high on the Zagat scale.

So the next time JP asks to take me to a "special place", I may have a new request. When in Rome and all that... I am, after all a "champagne taste on a beer budget" type of girl. And who can say no to clothing and food in one real nice place?!

XO,

The Winged Serpent

In ancient times, tribes throughout Mesoamerica worshipped Quetzalcoatl - a winged serpent deity capable of great destruction and a patron of the Aztec priesthood. He is depicted as (simply and obviously) as a big snake with feathers. Please see image below...

Fast forward several centuries to Bug Tussle, USA. Apparently, this feathered freak of nature is still alive and well in rural Kentucky. Imagine my shock! This great revelation came about during a fantastically instructed unit on animal groups. Let me refresh your memory... mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians - you get the idea. (Unless of course you suffered through KERA or CATS in the public school system. Then it could be hit or miss from here on out. For all I know, you may also fervently believe that Quetzalcoatl is an active part of the rolling hills and bluegrass of our fair state.) Two weeks of painstaking lessons and creative activities would all but ensure that THIS was the test my students at Bug Tussle Elementary were going to complete successfully. They'd love all of the video clips and hands-on activities. They'd even completed the Art Project and At Home Task with glee. And then came "The Test".

While circulating around the classroom, I felt positive vibes from each young Scientist. By the end of the day I was practically leaping to get home and grade the stack of educational GOLD in my zebra print school bag. (It goes with my classroom theme and was $2 at Dollar General - don't judge!) So imagine my surprise when I starting wielding a colorful Sharpie and began bleeding royal blue all over my carefully constructed tests. My jaw began to tense, my heart rate went through the roof. I'm fairly sure beads of sweat broke out across my lightly wrinkled forehead. Because student after student was missing a CRUCIAL question (OK - there were only about 5, but even 1 would make your blood pressure similar to a geyser). Let's test your grade school Science skills, shall we: 

You are a scientist in the field. What can you infer if you find a NEST in a TREE with FEATHERS and broken EGGSHELLS?

I truly hope that "BIRD" is flashing in your adult brain right now. If not, thank your elementary Science teacher for all those coloring sheets and fill in the blank assignments you did. In my class, several misguided youths confidently answered "REPTILE". At first - as mentioned - I was filled with disbelief (and trace amounts of anger or rage). There were so many clues in the passage to lead even the most confused student in the right direction. Furthermore, these were students in Bug Tussle - stomping grounds of Turtle Man, FFA, and a hunter's Promised Land. Magnets might befuddle us, the Rock Cycle would undoubtedly leave us confused - but ANIMALS?! What was the world of education coming to?

Then, I started doing some thinking. Obviously, a handful of my students are members of some Aztec tribe long thought to have perished during the Spanish takeover of Mexico. Their ancestors escaped unscathed and found safe haven in far away Bug Tussle, the Hunter's Paradise. So very soon, I'm going to take a personal day and pull on my hunting moccasins. Because if I can search out the nest of the great Quetzalcoatl, maybe I can quit my day job and be an Aztec priestess. Pretty sure when one of my minions messes up animal groups then, I can just pull an Aztec and sacrifice their addled brain to the Feathered Serpent...

XO, 

Southernly Speaking - Explained...

After taking a hiatus from sharing my school teacher escapades on the blogosphere - I'm back! New look, new name - same slightly sarcastic, Southern-raised outlook on work- and, for the first time- on play as well. I've made a "lifestyle change" from the "bright lights, big city" of Elizabethtown (see - sarcasm!) to small town America. We're talking Mayberry sans Sheriff Andy's wisdom on the regular. The new locale has its perks, but even for me this place is rural. Maybe instead of Mayberry, we'll go with my mother's proverbial favorite town "Bug Tussle". Seems much more appropriate.

If you loved my stories from St. Sign-of-the-Cross, then you will absolutely die over my new experiences at Bug Tussle Elementary. Get ready to laugh so hard that your mascara runs and your side splits. Because these "bebes" are "special".... BLESS THEIR HEARTS! Add that to the many misadventures I have with a variety of lovely ladies (Belles every last one.... except for the Nantucket Yankee, but we claim her as our own after years at the Summuh House), some gridiron guys (pigskin is HOTT, Southernly Speaking), and my fabulous and fierce family (who parade crazy right across the front porch like all well brought up families do) - and you don't have a BLOG. You have a BOOK.

Southernly Speaking,