Speed Bump

I was sitting in the comfy chair next to my colleague's desk when the dismissal bell didn't ring this afternoon. They had turned all the bells off for state testing, and without that common clarion of freedom, the halls were quite a bit less chaotic as teachers dismissed their classes on a more natural, rolling basis. Friday afternoon stretched agreeably ahead.

Even so, a few minutes later, I heard a commotion outside the room. Strident voices were met with the even tone of the social studies teacher. It sounded like it might be near my classroom next door, but from where I sat, I couldn't see what was going on, nor could I quite make out what they were saying. There were a lot of "she's" though, accusatory from the kids, and explanatory from the teacher.

Suddenly it dawned on me what they were discussing.

"Shit!" I swore. "I'm late for Anime Club!"

Bee There or Bee Square

"Thank you for coming!" one of my colleagues who helped organize the school spelling bee said to me this afternoon.

"You don't have to thank me," I told her, "I wouldn't miss it!"

"Really?" she said, "but it's soooo bad."

"So bad it's good!" I answered.

And it's true-- the student council kids run the event after school, and although teachers are encouraged to have preliminary competitions, at this time of year, literally any kid who shows up gets a seat on the stage. All the kids are so darned earnest about it, too, reading and spelling words in what they must think of as their most mature voices.

"Could you repeat that?" contestants often squint at the lectern.

"Can you use it in a sentence?" they will ask the kids at the judges table, and after a flurry of fingers on key boards, someone will officiously put some form of the word, not necessarily the form that has been asked, into an often quite cryptic fragment.

The spellers nod their heads in knowing appreciation, lean into the microphone and let the letters rip.

Back in Sorts

I confess to being a bit out of sorts as I left school at 4:30 this afternoon: It was too late to drop Heidi off and have any hope of finding parking at the gym; despite a rare no-teaching day tomorrow, I still had a lot left undone; the weather was hot and unpleasantly sticky. But on the way home it occurred to me that our pool was open-- I could put on my suit and get a little workout up there.

And that is what I did (after slogging through the temptation of simply staying home and squashing the anxiety of that first visit to the pool).

When I arrived, several families with young children were splashing in the shallows, and a couple was lounging in chairs by the diving board, but I had the deep end to myself. The water was perfect, and I swam and treaded and treaded and swam, watching the kids and clouds, and becoming ever more buoyant with each passing moment.

Wear and Tear

Other years: Yay! Memorial Day! Only three and a half weeks until summer!

This year: Oh... Memorial Day? What do you mean there's still three and half weeks until summer?

Baby Bottles

"My reading teacher called my dad," sighed that student who often hangs out in the afternoon.

"I heard," I told her. "I also heard you were cradling your new Hydro Flask like a baby, and singing to it during class."

"Well..." she said and then laughed. "I just love it!" Her expression turned stormy. "But now my dad took it away for a month."

I thought of her today when I used my annual coupon at the outdoor coop store to buy my own, limited edition, Keiki Rainbow Hydro Flask. After I carefully affixed the first sticker to it, I held it up to admire the pleasing blush of the sunset colors on my new water bottle...

...and then resisted the impulse to give it a little hug.

Last-Ditch

The top rack of our dishwasher is starting to fall apart-- a little plastic connector is broken from one of the side rollers, so the whole thing sags on one side. I could order a replacement rack, but it would cost about 150 dollars, which is well on the way to paying for a new dishwasher. Still, it's galling to dispose of a working appliance because of some small part.

I should know, I just went through it with my stove. A screw hole on the handle was stripped, and after ordering replacement screws (18 bucks) and then a replacement handle (35 bucks), neither of which worked, the whole door to the oven fell apart. A replacement door was not much less than a replacement range, and so we have a nice new stove in the kitchen.

I foresee a similar situation with the dishwasher, but before I give in completely, I ordered a package of Sugru, the amazing moldable glue that sticks to almost anything and cures in 24 hours to a solid silicone. I gotta say-- the stuff is amazing! Temperature resistant from -58 to 350 degrees, dishwasher proof, weatherproof, saltwater proof, and electrically insulating, one only need look at their Instagram feed full of images of clever repairs, hacks, and crafts.

And step one of my repair is curing as we speak. Will I be able to save the dishwasher? Time will tell, but this attempt has been totally worth it!

Elemental

The bonus challenge for writers the other day was to choose which element fit them best and explain why. Was it earth, air, fire, or water? There were some very interesting conversations, to be sure.

"I'm iron," one kid told me, "Fe. Because I'm strong."

"Not those elements," I corrected him. "But I'll be sure to tell the science teacher that you are on it!"

"I'm water, because I like to swim," said another.

It was a little prosaic, but she's 12."

"I don't get it," another kid told me. "How can I be those things?"

"Think figuratively," I told him, "not literally."

"I think I'm fire then," he said, "because I have a temper."

And so it went:

"I'm earth, because people say I'm grounded."

"I'm air because I'm quiet, until I'm not!"

I remembered those conversations today as I planted our hanging baskets and power-washed the deck. "Who wouldn't want to be water?" I thought, "Both gentle and strong."

What's Fair and What's Easy

It was somewhat in the interest of equity that the state testing schedule was made at our school, but not exactly. Over six testing days, most teachers average one planning and/or meeting period per day, down from the contractual two. On each actual day, however, that number ranges from 0-4.

And so while today I met with all five of my classes and then saw two of the sections for a second time, wrangling 29 sixth graders through an unusual schedule on the Friday after a big test and before a three-day weekend, not for one period, but two, at least one of my colleagues dipped out at 11, because she was done for the day after teaching two classes with five students.

Maybe it's just the lingering tension headache talking, but that doesn't seem equitable to me.

Delayed Reaction

I was working in my classroom a little before 4 this afternoon when the sky outside my window turned as dark as night, and a fierce wind bent trees and spun loose construction material in circles around the abandoned equipment. A visceral sense of foreboding had me considering whether my desk might be shelter enough should the storm intensify.

When the rain started, the room seemed to shrink, and the view was like the one through the windshield in a carwash. Construction workers huddled in the shell they had built, and waterfalls cascaded from the corners of the unfinished roof across the way. Just then, a strident alarm sounded from my phone- a tornado warning. Circular motion had been detected within the storm a few miles to the east.

In the west, though, the sky was beginning to lighten, and there was a noticeable decrease in the rain fall. The worst of the weather had clearly passed, at least for the time being. Any staff and students in the building must seek shelter at ground level. As the administration cleared the area, I packed up my things, and headed into the lightening afternoon.

The Throne

When you have over a thousand people involved in a mass standardized testing situation, there are going to be some lines for the bathrooms.

"Do you need a break?" the hall monitor whispered to me as she ushered the 15th sixth grader who had left the room to pee back in. It was 10 AM, and to be honest? I rarely hit the head before 11, which is my lunch time, but the moment she offered my bladder told me that yes, indeed, a break would be much appreciated.

I made my way to the staff lavs in the front office, passing 4 lines of several students each waiting silently for their turn in the restrooms. Even so, I was a bit dismayed when I found both of the adult bathroom doors closed and locked. Did I grimace? Did I sigh? Whatever it was, the office staff engaged me in sympathetic conversation as I waited. So much so, that a voice soon floated from the principal's office. "Ms. S! You can come in here and use my restroom!"

I froze. In the nearly 26 years I have worked in that building, rumors of the principal having his or her own private bathroom have floated through the halls like flying unicorns.

"Ms. S?" she repeated. "You better get in here!"

I entered the office where I had been many times before, but to be honest, I had no idea where the bathroom could even be. The principal directed me down a short hallway to my right, where a standard wooden door stood ajar. Flipping the light switch, I entered a smaller, less worn version of the restrooms I was used to. It had the same open commode, brown floor tile, cinder block walls, industrial porcelain sink, and steel paper towel and soap dispensers, but it also had some framed art work, a narrow cabinet with colorful, neatly-folded hand towels, and scented hand soap.

A clothes hook over the door made it impossible to close it all the way, and so rather than rearrange things, I tinkled quietly, cringed at the mighty flush of the 40-year-old toilet, and quickly washed my hands (with the standard soap).

On my way out, I thanked the principal again and laughed. "Now I can cross that off my bucket list!" I told her.

Flexible and Rigid

"Some people don't do well with lots of change to their routine," I told my homeroom this morning as I went over the testing schedule for the next few weeks. "I know, because I'm one of them."

They nodded sympathetically. "You look cranky already!" one of them said, but I knew he meant well."

Only To Be Expected

The room was small, and the odor was strong. The laughter was loud.

"You don't have to be so mean!" complained the gassy kid to his overly amused classmates.

"Neither do you!" Heidi pointed out. "It is expected behavior to excuse yourself if you feel like you have to pass gas."

"I'm sorry," apologized one of the other students insincerely, "but I will laugh whenever someone farts."

Heidi opened the door to let in a little air and eyed the four 8th grade boys crossly. "You would never know that this was a social skills class!" she said.

New Old-fashioned Way

Beyond pulling all the weeds? I really had no plans for the garden this weekend. With a little, okay a lot of! help from Treat and Heidi, I figured we would clear it out and plant it as usual next weekend with several rows made up of a variety of tomatoes, peppers, okra, and eggplant.

But yesterday afternoon I opened an email from a seed company and clicked on a video link for "three sisters" planting. Sure, I had heard of the Indian approach to growing corn, beans, and squash, but I had never considered it before. 5 minutes later? I was sold!

And so the blazing 2pm sun of the first 90 degree day this year found the three of us constructing a mound in the middle of the cleared-out garden. There, in the center, we planted the "peaches and cream" corn seedlings that I hurried out to get yesterday. Around them, a circle of cowpeas, that will add nitrogen to the soil, and use the corn stalks to support them as they grow. Next weekend, a ring of squash will complete the arrangement, which was inspired by the Wampanoag tradition. The squash will use the nitrogen and shade the soil they all are growing in, keeping it moist.

We may add a fourth or fifth sister to the inner circle-- our sources say that sunflowers and amaranth distract the birds from the corn, but the rest of the garden will be planted concentrically, in circles circling the mound. Those tomatoes, peppers, okra, and eggplant will be growing in a totally new configuration, and I for one?

Am excited!

Double Trouble

We went out with some friends from the neighborhood the other night. It makes us giggle when Tracey and Tracie, Heidi and Heidi, and Lauren and Lauren get together. The six of us checked out the rooftop bar at a new restaurant in our neighborhood. There, T-squared took on Heidi and Lauren in cornhole, while the other Heidi and Lauren grabbed a picnic table and ordered some appetizers and beers. We had the attention of many of our fellow patrons, which is something I usually avoid, but not then. Maybe because I was with my posse!

Your Reservation is Ready

You know you have a tough group when you hear the following conversation in the main office on May 17:

"I think the sixth graders are checking out already," an administrator sighed to a teacher.

The teacher laughed shortly. "I wasn't aware they ever checked in."

Making It Up

"How do you spell magistical?" a student asked me this morning.

"I don't know that word," I said. "Do you mean magical or mystical?"

"Yes," she said.

Complimentary, My Dear Child

The Jolly Rancher Challenge today was one of the questions on the generic starter list that students used to prepare for their first interviews-- What is the best compliment you have ever received?

For such a simple question, the results were a bit of a disheartening social science experiment I did not intend.

"When my dad told me I was the sweetest child he ever knew," one of the smartest girls I ever knew reported.

"My friend said I'm a really good friend!" the next girl said.

"Someone told me I have good eyebrows," said the next girl.

I couldn't stay silent. "That's the best compliment you ever got? You're so smart and hard-working! You write every day!"

She shrugged and held out her hand for the candy.

A boy was in line behind her. "I like it when my friends say I'm good at basketball," he said.

"I was happy when someone said I was pretty!" the next girl told me.

"What about your personality?" I said. "What do people say about that?"

"That I'm nice?" she asked, waiting for her Jolly Rancher.

"I'm reliable," said the next boy.

"I'm smart," said his friend.

"I'm funny," said another guy.

"We have the same one," said the next girl, standing next to her friend.

"People always tell us we have beautiful eyes!"

"You do," I said, "but you didn't exactly earn those. What else do people say?"

They sighed. "Sometimes my friends tell me I should be a counselor, because I'm so understanding," suggested one.

"Great!" I said handing her the candy.

"People think I'm really good at soccer," said the other one.

"Yes!" I cheered and tossed her a piece of candy.

And as the day wore on, the trend continued. Most of the girls valued appearance compliments, and most of the boys selected behavior compliments. 

One Step Forward, One Step Backwards

With five and a half weeks of school left, that last period class is still one of the most dysfunctional groups I've ever worked with. As we do every. single. day. my co-teacher and I collapsed in chairs when the last student left the room.

"I had my evaluation meeting today," he told me.

"How'd that go?" I asked.

"Good. She just asks three questions to get you to reflect on the year," he said.

"What did you say?" I asked, thinking What will I say?

I laughed when he was finished. "You didn't mention this class?"

"No," he said, "but you feel free!" 

Overlap

It was still raw and rainy when we woke this morning-- yesterday's unseasonably cold, damp weather had hung around. Did I mind lacing up boots and pulling on a sweater over my jeans and t-shirt in the middle of May? I can't say that I did. Soon enough, days too warm for comfort will be here, and so I enjoyed the comfort of warm clothes one more day.

Reverse Shopping

We spent the day in an unusual way for us-- returning things that didn't work out the way we thought they would when we bought them. We hopscotched from mall to strip shopping center to box store to outdoor gear co-op to good old Target and returned home with more money in our accounts than when we left.

Weird!

Self-Care

Today was a ukulele playing, gym workout, haircut kind of a day.

Just what I needed.

Dime a Dozen

Heidi stopped by my room today after school today and found one of the regulars hanging out making a 2D model of the Hydro Flask she was hoping her dad would buy her this weekend out of modeling clay. "Are you going to come back and visit Ms. S. next year when you're in 7th grade?" she asked.

The student shook her head.

"Oh, I think you will," Heidi smiled. "You really seem to like it here."

"I'm going to another school next year," the student sighed, "boundary changes," she explained.

Heidi nodded sympathetically.

"It's okay, though," the student said. "I'm sure I'll find another cat-loving, ukulele-playing teacher over there."

I snorted and almost spit out my water.

"They're not as uncommon as you think," she told me.

Spreading the Sweetness Around

The Jolly Rancher Challenge for the day was for students to express their appreciation for a teacher and then come tell me about it. I figured it would be encouragement for kids to say what they were thinking anyway, and for the most part I was right. Once they started thanking, the candy really did become secondary to most.

Many students wanted to appreciate me, mostly because I was standing right there with a bag of Jolly Ranchers, but I stopped them. "Not me," I told them, "another teacher. There are plenty of them around here!"

"Why?" asked one girl. "I do appreciate you! You're my favorite teacher!"

"Thanks," I said, "but--" I hesitated.

"It would be pretty pathetic for you to give candy for compliments, right?" she finished.

Much Appreciated

Teacher Appreciation Week was halfway over when a student walked into my room with a cardboard box filled with beribboned jars. "I appreciate you!" she proclaimed, handing me some Christmas Jam.

"Thank you very much!" I replied, politely. "This is so nice."

"I'm glad you like it," she said, "because my mom hates this stuff, and my grandma sends it every year, so we have like 10 jars we can't get rid of."

And So It Will Be

Yesterday I hung 40 writing pieces that students over the last 5 years have completed as part of the journalism unit we close the year with. The assignment is to interview a classmate and then find an angle and write a 500 word human interest piece. The results are often stunning, some of the most genuine writing kids do all year, and I'm confident that this year's writers will rival those of the past.

Today my current students got the chance to skim the work of their predecessors, and then use a set of questions to analyze some of the articles to determine just what task lay ahead. As I introduced the assignment I swept my hand grandly around the room. "Look!" I proclaimed, "we can all read the writing on the walls!"

Ukes for Sale Chapter 4

"I'm so depressed," my student sighed Friday afternoon.

"Where's your ukulele?" I asked. "That might cheer you up."

"In my locker," she told me glumly.

"Well?" I said, grabbing my own from it's hook behind my desk. "How about a little jam session?" I strummed a few chords and looked at her expectantly.

She shook her head with a frown. "I don't know why," she said, "but ever since I actually got my ukulele, I'm just not excited about it anymore."

Ukes for Sale Chapter 3

"When my ukulele comes, please don't open it! Don't even take it out of the mailing box!" my student requested.

"Okay," I agreed. "Why?"

"Because I've been watching ukulele unboxing videos on YouTube," she told me, "and I want the experience!"

Ukes for Sale Chapter 2

"I brought the money!" my student told me earlier this week. "And I know exactly which ukulele I want. My dad helped me pick it out. AND, I'm getting the exact same tuner that you have."

I pulled the merchandise up online, verified it with her, and placed the order. She handed me a baggie with 42 dollars.

"You owe me 35 cents," she said. "When will it be here?!"

"Thursday," I informed her, depositing a quarter and a dime in her outstretched palm.

For the next two days, she asked about the status of her order every hour or so during the school day. "Still coming Thursday," I told her every time.

Tuesday night, I was shopping for writing prizes and found a tiny ukulele for 5 bucks. Given the current ukulele craze in my class, I could not pass it up.

As I carried the shopping bag of fabulous prizes into school the next morning, my student hailed me. "Did it come yet?"

I held up the small plastic toy I had purchased the night before. Her face lit up, froze, and then fell. "That's my ukulele?" she asked.

I paused, prolonging her dismay just a little bit, and then laughed. "No! Yours is coming tomorrow!"

She clutched her chest. "I was abouta say!"

Channel 5

We thanked our dog walker profusely for bringing Lucy over for a play date with her dog, Beckett.

"No problem," she said, "I want him tired! And this was actually a great day for him because another of his favorite friends, Hazel, was here, too."

"Lucy and Hazel?" I laughed. "Who wouldn't love to spend the afternoon with two classic sit-com characters?"

Ukes for Sale Chapter 1

"Will you order me a ukulele, and then I'll pay you back?" asked a student last week. It was after school, and I was practicing the strum pattern for All My Loving. 

"Nope," I answered without looking up.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Why not?"

"But if you give me the money and a note from your dad," I continued,  "then sure."

"I saw one I like for twenty dollars," she told me. "You can order it, then bring it in, then give it to me with 2 pieces of chocolate."

"Why would I do that?" I asked.

"You're selling used ukuleles!" she said. "You can't expect to get full price!"

Victim of a Victimless Crime

I did a little last minute prize shopping at the dollar store last evening, and although my students enjoyed the rewards of their poetic labors, I suffered a bit from unexpected negative consequences.

"Are you expecting a call from the credit union?" the secretary asked when I answered the phone this afternoon.

"No," I answered, "but I'd like to talk to whoever is calling."

A click and a ring later I was speaking to a representative of the credit fraud agency who had detected a number of suspicious charges on my debit card. All of them were from today when I was verifiably in school, dancing to Celebration by Kool and the Gang, awarding prizes, and playing poetry Kahoots. Even so, a knot twisted in my stomach, and the all the fun of the day drained slowly away as he recited a litany of local grocery stores, gas stations, and banks where my card had been (mostly) declined.

At last he got to the charges I had actually made last evening: Total Wine (don't judge!) and the dollar store. "I made those purchases," I told him, and immediately I remembered that guy who just couldn't pick a line at the dollar store.

I watched him on his phone as he drifted around the checkout area, wondering if he was waiting for someone or what. When it was my turn, I looked at him and said, "Weren't you ahead of me?"

He held up his open soda. "I only have this," he said.

My handbasket was overflowing, and so I gestured for him to go ahead. He made unnecessarily awkward conversation as he dug through his pockets for exact change. "Have a nice evening," he said, stepping aside, but not actually leaving the store.

At this point, I noticed that I felt uncomfortable about him, but I figured it was my own dollar store bias, and I concerned myself with my own transaction.

Was that guy an RFID skimmer?

Who knows? Someone got my debit card info today, and more than anything, I'm grateful that the card company caught it so quickly and that my bank will cover the charges that went through.