When Gifted Kids Pass Notes

This is a note I picked up from my students mid-year, but I never got around to sharing it with you.  Technically, I didn't take it from them: they surrendered it to me willingly.  I think they were rather proud of themselves. The text of the note reads....

 What must I do
for a Blue Mountain Dew?

There's nothing to do
The Dews not for you

Y Not
How much u got?

Just enough for me!
So please let me be!

Don't make me bawl
I'm having withdrawl!

My heart wouls sure sink
If I gave away my blue drink

Why give it away
if cash I pay?

It would cost you alot, an arm and a calf
or maybe a dollar, a dollar and a half

Maybe a dollar?
change is a bother

You have a deal.
In this not, please conceal.

That's what Dillon owes me
If you want a dollar, ask he,
Unless you take credit
because I have debit.

At you I must scoff
The deal is now off

Maybe two dollars on Tuesday
I swear I'll pay!

I do not concur
No dew for you, sir.

When Spam gets silly...

Yes, that's right, this little spam email is titled "Meat with no bullets easy chewable food". I really don't want to know what website one of my co-workers had to visit to get THAT spam into the system.

1 Down!

Today was the last day of the first week of the school year, and I think it's gonna be a good one! I have several good groups of kids, nad interesting things to teach, and -ahem- IAMNOTTEACHINGANYTHINGNEW!!!!!!!!!!!

Needless to say, I am somewhat excited by that.

That's not to say that it's going to be an easy year: I still have four preps (and, yes, that's a lot), and I'm still pursuing my National Board Certification (and, yes, that's a lot), and I still have two kids, a house, three pets, and a hubby to take care of (but that's fun).

But it's gonna be a good year.

35 weeks left!

Ode to a roll-y chair*

Oh, roll-y chair...
Sweet roll-y chair...

Why sit you over there?

I ponder you
with padded blue

seat cushion and nowhere

to go. Your wheels
are cracked; your steel's

all rusted; your padding,

loose; your plastic,
gouged. Was a stick

behind your cruel beating?

Yet ask I must -
it's not the rust -

What are you doing here?

It's not your place.
This is my space.

I laughed until a tear

rolled from my eye
because - well - I -

I'm in the bathroom, dear!



*based on a true story!

-choke- -gasp- -bleargh-

Loathe
this
time
of
year
when
teaching.

Ugh!

Revive me in 2 weeks.



(Until then, keep praying for Jill and girls, especially Alexa!)

Because Virginia is great like that.

Just in case the pollen story wasn't enough for you....

The scene: 6:30. Exterior of an elementary school. Mom arrives to pickup her 9-yr-old son from a day-long field trip to historic Petersburg.

Mom: So, how'd it go?
Son: Great!!!!
Mom: What'd you do?
Son: I learned how to load and fire a gun!!!


Awesome. Just awesome.



He was "drafted" into the army and was preparing for battle. Here are the fighting instructions he explained. I would include the loading instructions, but it was mostly a lot of him saying, "First you took the stuff and then the thing and you put it in the other thing and then you pushed on it...." I got lost.

Where was I? Oh, yes. How to fight:
Ready - hold it like a guitar.
Aim - hold it up to your shoulder and aim.
Fire - shoot the gun.

32

32 is a wonderful thing.

It is my age.
It is a bag of M&Ms.
It is divisible by 2, 4, 8, and 16.
It is the first 2 numbers in my favorite countdown.
It is home to my all-time favorite number: 3.
It is the amount of weight I dropped when I switched to a gluten-free diet.

It is the number of school days remaining this year.

What "it" is

Well, not too many of you tried to guess. I suppose with no real prize, I couldn't have expected much.... -sob!- No, no, it's Ok. -sniff- I'll just ...be... ...I'm Ok.


Here's how my afternoon went on the day "it" arrived.

The setting: our dining room. Sun streams in the west windows and glints off of the gigantic eyes of "it", waiting peacefully to be discovered. My son stands proudly nearby.


Me: [startled and concerned] Aaaa! What is that?!

Son: [proud] It's my history character! I made him out of a bottle and paint and stuff.

Me: [still nervous] But what is it?

Son: [still proud] Do you like it?

Me: [recognizing the need to acknowledge his accomplishment, but unable to break away from the mesmerizing stare of the gigantic plastic eyes] Sure. The eyes are pretty creepy though. It looks a bit freaky. What is it?

Son: [avoiding the question] We made them for history and then they acted stuff out.

Me: [patiently] Wait. Listen to me carefully....

Son: [not waiting] You want to hold it?

Me: [avoiding the question] Are you listening?

Son: [not listening] Yes.

Me: [not convinced] Are you sure?

Son: [perhaps listening] Yes.

Me: [hoping for an answer that will be less creepy than the "it"] What is it?

Son: [stating a technicality] It's a who, not a what.

Me: [resigned to the logic of a 9-yr-old] Ok, WHO is it?



Son: [proud] George Washington!

Me: [huh!] Really? George Washington? Let me see him.

Son: [proud] See? Here's his wig! And he's wearing a suit.

Me: [getting involved] Oh, and I see, those are his ears?

Son: [tolerant of my ignorance] Those aren't ears! That's the bottom of his wig!


Me: [chagrined, then honest] Oh. Wow. That's pretty good.

Son: [prouder] Yes. Yes, thank you. So you like it? They acted out the Continental Congress!

Me: [honest] Um... Yes, but his eyes still creep me out.

Son: [prouder yet] Yeah, but you should've seen Patrick Henry. He had these tiny, tiny little eyes, and HE was REALLY creepy.



Post Script: George Washington now lives in Dad's office, on a prime slot of shelf real estate.

Post Script x2: It occurs to me that wierd is actually spelled weird and that all my tags are wrong and I don't want to fix them and I'm Ok with that.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

In the spirit of sharing the freaky, yet impressive, things that my children enjoy creating for school, and in the spirit of my Uncle Chuck's blog, I bring you a challenge.


Please identify the following:

My son made it for school, and is very proud of it. Can you identify it?
Good luck!

Why it's Great to Procrastinate

Oh, how I love to put things off!
To meet deadlines just makes me scoff.
I'd rather save the work for later,
And go play now!

................................Don't be a hater.
You know you're jealous of my scheme.
You wish YOU could flounce and preen
And run and play and button mash
And fight the zombies - hack and slash!
You wish YOU could be chore free,
Come outside, play ball like me.

Never have to work again, but rock
A fancy inter-web scam and lock
Away the ties forever. Never wear
another pair of hose or itchy underwear.
Never have to go to work
On days when coffee just won't perk.
Yes, my pals, delay is great.
Always just procrastinate!

And all of this, I have to say
Makes me sad on this fine day.
Because it's sunny, warm, and mild:
A Heaven for my inner child.
But I can't go and frolic with you.
Tomorrow morning grades are due.

(c) Mikki Black, 2009

I like to find stuff

Way back, once upon a time, I worked for Dunder Mifflin Infinity. I was part of the Beaumont, TX branch.

One of the features was message boards: games, contests, general chats, stuff about The Office, stuff about random stuff... The one that surprised me was all about random things that you find on the floor: notes, lists, pictures, anything that's readable, basically, is fair game. Now, I had never heard of anyone else picking up those things and saving them.

Yes, I said "anyone else". Because, my friends, that is EXACTLY what I do. Everywhere I go, I have one eye out for stuff that people have dropped. Then I pick it up, and if it's interesting and not just some wrapper or receipt, I keep it. Think of it as people watching taken to the next (non-creepy) level.

Do you do this too? What have you found?

My latest find comes from Senior Slave day at the school where I teach. It is a student's typed instructions to her new Senior, freshly purchased for a day's "labor". The name has been changed for courtesy's sake. Everything else has been faithfully recreated, spelling, caps, punctuation, text size, and all.

----------------------------------------------------------
Rachel's To DO List

• RACHEL YOU ARE TO carry all my books.
• Write all my notes for class
• When I am entering a classroom you need to say The Beautiful, Lovely, and Wonderful Techira is coming!
• When I need to ask a question I will write it down then you will say: Techira needs to ask a question. And then proceed to ask the question
• Before I sit down you will wipe all seats.
• You also need to pass out my valentines' day grams to whoever I point to and say: Techira Smith has chosen to give you a valntine candy enjoy and love her forever
• Whenever someone says my name you have to say Queen Techira someone is calling you
• The number one rule is HAVE FUN

----------------------------------------------------------

This is just a sample of the insanity that makes up Senior Slave day. One of my other students had to put on geisha makeup and a kimono and carry a small paper fan. He - yes HE - also had to shriek in fear whenever the bell rang, and scream, "The Huns are coming!"

I love my job.

Oh, how I miss you.

I was teaching today... BUT instead of being focused, my brain was elsewhere.

My current position was suddenly, surprisingly considered for elimination this week.

On Sunday, an article was published in our local paper: the School Board was considering the elimination of Commonwealth Governor's School. I just transferred to CGS in October. There was no warning, no discussion, no hint of this possibility to the students, teachers, or the board of CGS. Just an article in the paper stating that on Tuesday, the School Board would vote on whether or not to keep CGS for the 09-10 school year.

On Monday, there was nothing short of uproar in all CGS classes. That afternoon, a letter arrived from the superintendent claiming that the paper was wrong in its reporting, and that his intention was simply to renegotiate the contract, but the language in the resolution didn't really seem to match up with his letter.

On Tuesday, there was a second article in the newspaper. This article was about the Spotsylvania County School Board meeting (one of the other counties involved in CGS). Their school board drafted a request to our school board to ask Stafford to keep CGS. Tuesday evening, the board room was packed. The meeting started at 7, and the board heard testimony from about 50 people. Shortly after 11, they cast their votes. CGS gets to stay.

Today, I was busy. Super super busy. And the students were wound up -- several of the seniors said that they wished they still had college essays to write so that this experience could be their "pivitol moment". The teachers were finally relaxed, even a little giddy, after the scare. It's not that we would have been out of a job entirely (most likely), but we would have had to change programs. No one wanted that.

I did a lot of personal reflection these last few days, and I found myself a bit homesick.

I miss the pile of friends (peers and students) at North. I was stressed, and I realized that they were always there for me. The kids would even ask what was bothering me sometimes. I miss that. Even though my friends at CGS were going through the same thing, even though we all were stressing together, it just wasn't the same.

I miss you, North. I love my new job, my new peers, and my new students, but I miss you.

Jealous

Oh, yes. Yes, we do. We have a two hour school delay for this:

Lookee here, all you critics! I don't care if you DO have the backing of the President! That white stuff is dangerous! It just falls from the sky and sticks to things! What if it's diseased? What if it's radioactive? What if it's something toxic that fell out of an airplane?

We. Could. All. Die.

I mean it! REALLY!! Just LOOK at the road in front of my house! It's trouble waiting to happen. It is.


You're just mad 'cause you're jealous.

I still remember how I had to walk to school in two feet of snow. And it really WAS uphill both ways. Ask anybody from Leslie. They know.

I'm a Hater

It's true! You know what it is that I hate? (Forwards and "Make me a list of _____" requests)

Now, don't feel bad if you're one of the many people who send me forwards and/or list-making requests. I don't hate YOU, just please, please don't be sad if I don't make the list or send that chain forward to 10 people who are _____ and also back to you to show you that I care and/or support the troops and/or am religious.

Because I do care, I do support the troops, and I am religious!

Also, sometimes, when I sigh and open the forward, I am pleasantly surprised by stories like this little gem from my college advisor/friend, Leigh:

You'll have to imagine the note sent home with the little darling that drew this, but the parent's reply follows the picture.


Dear Mrs Jones:
I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer. I work at Home Depot and I told Sarah how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had. Then, I found one more in the back room, and several people were fighting over who would get it. Sarah's picture does NOT show me dancing around a pole. It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot. From now on, I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Smith

*****************************************************

Final thought: With stuff like this it doesn't even MATTER if it's real or not. It's just too funny to pass up! So, keep sending me forwards and list requests! I'll keep on hating, just not quite every time.

Decisions, decisions, decisions

There is no school today or tomorrow. As a responsible adult, an educator of our youth, I should be grading papers. I have fallen behind for a variety of reasons (excuses, even), and the end of the marking period is rapidly approaching. So, today, I sat down to work, and was presented with the following choices, in counter-clockwise order, no less:

1. Watch the all day 10 year anniversary Power Puff Girls marathon. Oooo. I love me some PPG's. (I love MoJoJoJo! MoJoJoJo is the character that I love! And the name of the best character on the show is none other than the one, the only, the fearless, the intelligent, the fabulous, the genious-est, the amazing MoJoJoJo!)
2. Wander Facebook and the Blogosphere to my heart's content.
3. Ugh. Look at that stack of papers to organize, grade, file, and record. Ugh.
4. I could always play the 360....

Oh, what to do, what to do, what to do.... What would you do?!? I did what any self-respecting teacher would do on her day off: I pulled up the table, nabbed the coffee pot, graded until I couldn't take it anymore, and then started in on everything else. So, here I am, back in the blogs. Sooooo happy.

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On a side note, I was accepted as an associate writer over on Gluten Free in Baltimore. I'll be writing an introductory post soon, and then somewhat regularly after that, so if you live in Baltimore or the greater DC area, feel free to follow me over there, too.

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Annie's choice was easy... she got up early because the marathon started at 6AM. She was like this for a good portion of the morning. No, I don't know why she's UNDER the pillow.

Wait. She did what?

There comes a time in the life of every young girl when you realize she probably needs to live inside a ball of bubble wrap. That realization comes in the form of a little orange wristband.


When Annie, now 11, was 4, she was accepted into the Headstart program. It was so fun dressing her up for school and seeing her off on her tiny little pre-school bus!



But I don't remember her lessons or her crafts from that year. You see my daughter is a klutz, just like her mommy. She was always running into stuff or falling down, getting paper cuts, dropping dishes. You name it, she did it. We would hear a thud or a crash or a fwump and then... "Sorry!" or "Can I have a towel?" or some such.

One day my cute little Annie came home with an orange wristband and a letter.

"What a pretty bracelet," I said, lifting her hand to look at it. In big black letters were typed the words "HEAD INJURY". --gasp!--

She handed me the letter, which was just a form with the date and the time and the details. She'd tripped and bumped her head. No big deal. I was relieved to say the least.

By the time she'd come home with a couple, we realized that they were just being extra careful with the little ones... I guess we underestimated the strength of her clumsiness! One day, she came home with a band, a letter, and a headache . I gave her some Tylenol and opened the letter, expecting the usual. What would it be this time? A chair? The wall? The swingset? Another kid?

Two words: "Please call."

What the ....?! Annie was no help. She couldn't figure out why I was supposed to call. I figured it was because of the headache. She said it was a sore bump. Maybe someone had been ON the swingset this time...

So I called. (fast-forward through the niceties)

Teacher: Thanks for calling! I just, I wanted to tell you this one in person. I was worried that you might be upset because Annie seems to get hurt so much here at school.

Me: Well, I guess it does seem like a lot (inwardly I was thinking of all the stuff she ran into at home...she WAS in an awkward stage after all)

Teacher: (she was starting to sound nervous) Well, you see, she had a bit of an accident today...

Me: uh, huh....

Teacher: um, I wasn't sure you'd believe me if I wrote it down.

Me: uh, huh.... (???)

Teacher: well, you see, she has 2 bumps.

Me: Two?

Teacher: Um, yes. Two. Um, she was crossing the room, you see, and she wasn't really watching where she was going?

Me: uh, huh...

Teacher: And, a friend called to her, so she ran towards her friend, but...

Me: she was running?

Teacher: (glad to have something positive to say) oh, yes, but we talked about how that was a real bad idea, you see, because of what happened.

Me: and what happened, exactly?

Teacher: oh, um. She ran into the door.

Me: What? That's it?

Teacher: No, well, yes, but, um, the door was open at the time.

Me: Open? But? How did she...?

Teacher: She ran into the narrow side of the door. You know, the skinny edge?

Me: (sounding super intelligent, I'm sure) The skinny edge.

Teacher: Yes. (I think at this point she was just glad to be almost done with the story because she finally sped up.) She was running to her friend, but she hadn't looked up first, so she ran straight into the skinny edge of the door, but because she was running, she hit the door pretty hard, and she hadn't seen it coming, you know, like I said, and so she fell down, too. Backwards. So that's the two bumps. The one on the front from the door, and then there's one on the back from the floor.

(dead silence on both ends. I was processing all the confession. I think she was probably worried I was going to throw a fit.)

Me: um. The skinny edge? The skinny edge. And the floor.

Teacher: Yes.

Me: Oh. Ok. Well, I guess that explains the headache. Thanks for telling me. (What a lame answer, right?)

Teacher: You're welcome. Thanks for calling.


I hung up the phone, and tried to picture it in my head --the skinny side?-- and suddenly, I realized I was a bad parent. A bad, bad, baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad parent.

Because I giggled. It was like a bad slapstick routine, and despite my best efforts, I giggled! No way could she have run into the edge of the door. How could she do that? It must have just looked that way. No one runs into the skinny edge of a door... not for real.

So I went to hug my little Annie, and check on her. She was fine, playing and laughing. I looked at her forehead to see if she would have a bruise, and then I turned into an even worse parent.

I laughed. So help me I laughed right out loud. I shook and rocked back and forth. Because, there, smack in the middle of her noggin, were two parallel bruises about an inch and a half apart.


Go ahead, I dare you. Go measure the skinny edge of your door.