2 is for 2 More

It's always a bit of a stunner when the end of the year picks up speed and soon hurtles uncontrollably to its finale. Today as I gave the students an overview of their end-of-the-year activity choices I realized that there are only 2 Wednesdays left, and after tomorrow the same will be so for Thursday, and so on.

And oh! Those days are filled: final this and make-up that, field trips and International Film Fest and field day and more. It's a blessing that the sixth graders haven't realized just how close we are.

Even so, they are definitely not thinking straight. As I went over the features of our "camp" activity choice, (all the fun of summer camp without ever leaving school!) I saw many heads nodding in approval. "You'll play capture the flag, do arts and crafts, make s'mores, watch a movie, and more!" I told them.

One student raised his hand in alarm. "But do we actually have to spend the night??!!"

Time to Calm the Hell Down

Lucy spent the afternoon playing with her friend Beckett at his house. 12-year-old Forrest lives there, too, the last surviving member of a four-pack of Aussies that our friend Sarah had. Beckett loves Lucy, but Forrest, not so much. She's much too rough and tumble for his taste. Fortunately, he has no problem letting her know. If a growl and snap won't do it, then a firm bark will. Sarah calls him the fun police. He's saying, "You rotten kids! Get off my lawn! There's none of that around here after Forrest o'clock!"

Have You Heard?

I had been digging up weeds and roots all morning when the muscle arrived to help me finish putting in my garden. "Watch out for Carly and Simon," I warned Heidi, Josh, and his friend Mo, as they approached the plot. 

"Who?" asked Josh as the two mockingbirds who had been aggressively following me about to grab the worms and grubs I turned over with the soil dive-bombed him, actually skimming the top of his head before landing on the wheel barrow handles.

"Them," I answered. 

The Half of It

As I mopped up a relatively small puddle on the dining room floor yesterday, I wondered where most of the water dripping through our ceiling had gone. Ever the optimist, I shrugged it off with the assumption that it must not have been as big a leak as I originally thought.

Flash forward to this morning when I grabbed a shopping bag with 2 pairs of shorts to return off the back of the dining room chair it had been slung upon. The denim shorts and their labels and tags were sopping wet. Glancing up, I saw that they were directly under the hole in the ceiling.

I guess it was a lucky break. The shorts will dry, and I can still return them when they do, and the floor was spared. And if there had been a glass around? I'm sure that would be half full, too.

Everybody's Got Something

Four hours after he arrived, the third technician scheduled to fix our washer confessed that he had not been successful. The ceiling was already beginning to drip as he mopped his brow, underarms drenched in sweat from taking the unit apart and putting it back together twice.

When he told me about the extra parts he had ordered-- They will arrive in 2-5 days, and then you can call and make another appointment to have the washer fixed-- I was annoyed and frustrated. That time line would make it three plus weeks since we had been able to do laundry. Still, I knew it wasn't his fault: the problem had been misdiagnosed by the first technician and the company had not sent him with a full-time helper.

We haggled over the additional price a bit, and when at last he was ready to go, I asked him if he had many other calls to make before the end of his day. "Yes," he sighed, "I have much more work to do, and... I'm fasting! It's a very long day."

"That's right, it's Ramadan," I replied sympathetically.

His face softened and his shoulders relaxed. "I wish I could have done more to fix your washer," he said.

"I hope your day improves," I told him, and we parted on cordial terms.

Three Rings

I knew there was a problem as I stepped out of the stairwell. One student popped his head out a door at the end of the hallway and another kid a little ahead of me called out, Is she the-- before he was shushed and warned of my presence behind him. The door to the classroom closed quickly, and I caught up with the student in front of me.

"There's no teacher in there, is there?" I asked.

"No," he admitted immediately.

"Let's go," I said, "because that's not allowed."

I opened the door and confronted a circus of sixth graders. Two were tossing a football, one was playing on the SmartBoard, a few were under the tables, a couple more were on them, the rest of the group wandered aimlessly around the small room. "Whoa!" I said, and they froze, wide-eyed.

"Go to the office and tell them that you don't have a teacher," I directed the most responsible kid I saw. I turned to the rest of the group. They were coming back to life, and I wanted to get a little control before they returned to their antics.

"Never close the door if there is not an adult in the room!" I started, "And if your teacher is not here, tell the office immediately!"

"But we're not allowed to leave the classroom without permission," a future debater replied with some serious snark in his tone.

"It's the office," I answered, "I'm sure they'll make an exception when they hear your news."

"Why don't you be our substitute!" another student suggested.

"You don't need a sub," I laughed, "you need a ringmaster!"

Math Test

The room was set for the state math test: I had counted the names on my testing roster and set up the six tables with three seats each, plus extra desks for the additional students. So when a few kids remained standing, I knew there were some in the wrong place. "No worries," I told the group, "I'm going to take attendance, and if you don't hear your name, let me know and we'll send you to the right testing room." The already overly-complicated high-stakes situation was complicated by the fact that there were five kids I've never met in my group.

Once through the list, though, and I pointed two across the hallway, but there was still one student without a seat. "Did everyone hear your name?" I asked with authority (and a touch of impatience),

They assured me they had.

"Look," I said, "I know there's an extra person in here because there are 22 of you on my roster, and there are six tables with three seats each, and then three extra desks, so 6 times 3 is 18, plus 3 is... oops! Never mind," I finished sheepishly, but it was too late.

"Twenty-one!" they cried, clearly ready for the test at hand.