Wordless Wednesday: Dress Rehearsal!

Shady Babushka?!

She was old; a sweet little Polish grandma, ahead of me at the checkout. A slight stoop, sensible shoes, and the classic kerchief, knotted beneath her chin. It was my lunch hour, so I was kind of in a hurry, but I didn't have the heart to be annoyed. (I'll be this old one day, I thought to myself; give the poor girl a break.) I was a little surprised, though, when five minutes later, she was still digging in her purse to pay. The bagger and the checker waited too, wearing patient smiles. Finally, she completed her purchase and shuffled out the door with her cart.

On my way out to my car, I noticed the woman just reaching her big, old Buick. Seeing that she was quite slow, I offered, "Can I help you get your groceries into the car?" (I couldn't let this frail old woman spend the next five minutes lifting her purchases out of the walker cart and into her vehicle.) She simply said, "Yes," and opened the back door for me. Placing the heavy items as directed (oranges and milk go on the floor, apparently), I then shut the door. Without giving it much thought, I accepted her simple "Thank you," put her cart away, and turned to walk to my own car, but a sound made me turn around.

What I saw shocked me. This feeble old woman had re-opened the back door of her car and was unloading her pockets onto the back seat; pockets containing bottles of vitamins she had obviously shoplifted! Imagine my surprise!

What would you have done?

a) Go back to work, chuckling to yourself; the little stinker, scamming the store with that sweet little old lady routine!
b) Take her by the hand and lead her back into the store to tell the manager what she had done and return the goods
c) Call the store and report the theft
d) Block her car, call the police, and make a report. (Old age or not; stealing is stealing.)
e) Other (Explain)

I'll give you my answer in the Comments section tomorrow.

Worked with a student this afternoon to help him grasp some concepts he wasn't getting in the regular education setting. Sometimes it helps to have a different person teach you the same material. Kinda like this (see video below)

Kettle Math

Am I Smarter Than a 7th Grader??

Kendall and her friend were observing me banging my head on the desk working on the computer today as I tried to figure out the HTML code for my Cre8buzz page (I literally spent hours on it.)

Sweetly, she asked, "Mom, what's the problem?"

I told her I was trying to figure out how to change things on my page, and that it was not easy.

Incredulous, she replied, "What are you talking about, Mom!? It's simple; it's like buttering toast! Are you kidding me?!"

Wow, I thought, Maybe she can do this for me and save me some hair-pulling, teeth gnashing, and bursts of profanity!

Little Smarty then proceeded to try and show me how to take code already written by someone for Myspace and asked me where I wanted her to put it (which is nowhere, because Crebuzz is not MySpace.)

Kids today; they think they are "writing HTML code" when they are actually just copying and pasting code.

I'm just glad she didn't really know how, because for a moment there, I was starting to feel old and stupid. Now I can just feel frustrated, confused, and exhausted.

Little Bit of This, Little Bit of That

Okay, well there is a lot going on in my head today, so I'm just going to sprinkle it out here.

1) Today is my birthday!!!! Oddly enough, while I am now 45, I'd prefer 46, because I just like even numbers. (I know; it's odd.) What really freaks me out, though, is that 45 is so close to 50, and that is NUTS! I can't imagine being 50! Luckily, I have five years to get used to the idea. The kids and Mark gave me my gifts this morning; an hour massage (yea!), a Barnes & Noble Gift Card, and and I.O.U. for a laptop (gotta get the car fixed first).

2) I'd like to take this opportunity to plug a website I heard about this week: http://www.getinherhead.com/ It's a place for couples to keep record of wish lists, along with sizes of clothing, flower preferences, etc. Not for everyone, but I love it.

3) Creepy Update-You know what's really cool? I sent an email about the Cellcom creep to everyone I know, and someone who knew someone who works at Cellcom received it. Apparently, my email has made it all the way up to the CEO, who shared my concern and plans to do something about it! (Time will tell.)

4) Today is an all-day Dress Rehearsal for "The Seussical" at the middle school. I did Kendall's stage makeup at 7am and sent her on her way (Mr.4444 drove, since it's my birthday!). I am SO excited about the musical. Their first performance will be Thursday, when they put it on for 5th graders visiting our school. I'm going to drag my students down there and watch it, too. (Shouldn't be too tough, since they are all secretly in love with Kendall.) I can also dread look forward to chaperoning two of the four-hour dress rehearsals on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. (Note to self: Bring earplugs Monday.)

5) Wanna hear something dumb? Due to copyright laws, NO ONE will be allowed to videotape the musical this year; not even the school (to sell or even GIVE to parents.) What kind of crap is that?!

6) I'm happy to say that I've updated my Blogroll. I included anyone who blogs at least weekly. (If I missed you, please let me know, and I will cheerfully oblige!)

I guess that's enough for today. I just wanted to touch base and to thank you for the birthday gift (reading my blog!) It means a lot :)

Have a great day!

Angry Artist?!

Does this look like the face of a maladjusted artist? One never knows....

When my sister, Michelle, sent this story in an email last night, I knew I had to ask her to allow me to share it. Enjoy today's Guest Post....

I was reading 7-year-old Caden's poems that he brought home from school today; adorable poems about Star Wars, ice cream, furry dogs, loving his mom, and bald eagles. Imagine how the proud smile disappeared from my face when I saw this drawing of an angry man:
My son is in first grade!! I was completely shocked, as he is the kind of boy whose worst "f-word" is FART! That man is flipping the bird!?!

And did you notice how the hand has black scribbled over it? OMG! My shock soon turned to embarassment as I imagined his teacher seeing that horrible finger and covering it up with pencil before sending it home. Then, I was even more upset; why didn't the teacher call me to tell me he had drawn such a thing?

I tried to remain calm. I approached Caden with a tone I couldn't fully supress, "Caden, what is this? Please explain this to me."

"The man was watching a show about bald eagles on TV. He REALLY loves bald eagles. The show ended, and he got MAD. He yells RRRrrrrrr, and he has the remote. He shut the TV off, and it went Beep! off, and he stomped away."

Based upon my incorrect interpretation, I can now infer that I am either losing faith in Caden's purity or I just have a completely foul mind. (Either one is not appealing.) Now I just hope that his teacher asked him the same questions that I did. I'm guessing that since the principal hasn't called, all is well. For now...

Silent "Treat"ment

As I prepared for a substitute teacher this week, John came over near my desk. I was updating a profile on each student. When John leaned forward to read what I was writing, I decided to let him see it. The text (about him) read, "John is a marshmallow, and he has the initiative to match." John, indignant, said, "Hey! Don't call me a marshmallow!" (Oops, I thought, I may have hurt his feelings.) "Call me a cupcake!" he finished, with a knowing smile.

John is a also a chatterbox. He is a big, tall 8th grader who cannot stop talking when he is supposed to be reading. His gabbing can be quite disruptive. When he is absent, we miss him, because he is also sweet. However, it is noticeably (and pleasantly) quiet around here when he's gone. Today, after I threatened to write a referral for his refusing to stop talking, he switched to Pout Mode, and decided to punish me by giving me the silent treatment. (That's right; selective mutism. )

Now, this should tell you something about the level of emotional intelligence of students in my classroom. What in God's name would give a child the idea that a teacher would hate it if he sat with his mouth shut for 30 minutes?!

Needless to say, I did not take advantage of this "teachable moment," and chose instead to let him steep in his ignorance. The silence was wonderful.

When the Going Gets Tough...

Each year, I teach a lesson on Effort. I begin by showing students a photo of myself at the top of Mt. St. Helens. I explain that reaching the summit was the climax of a five-and-a-half hour hike that began in the woods, involved an hour and a half of bouldering, and ended in a final, heart-pumping test of endurance. I was not in the ideal physical shape, I carried about 20 extra pounds and rarely exercised. In contrast, my hiking partner, Molly, was an athlete. Even though we embarked on the final stretch together, she reached the summit about 45 minutes ahead of me; I could see her already at the top, and it made me crazy seeing her up there, so far ahead. The last 1/2 mile was brutal; a 45-degree ascent in gritty, powdery ash. It felt like I was getting nowhere.

I was struggling so hard to make the final distance, but it was extrememly difficult for me; I had to take two steps and rest, another two steps and rest (you get the picture). I was cursing the mountain, my friend, and myself (luckily, no one could hear me.) I really, truly wanted to give up. I just didn't care if I made it or not, no matter what view lay at the top.

(That's me down there, saying things I'm not proud of.)

It helped to look at the snowfields off to my left; I could clearly see the paths of of previous hikers who had descended this route on sleds or in garbage bags. In fact, every now and again, I would see an actual sledder go by! It looked like so much fun. I had my own industrial-strength Hefty bag and was determined to use it.

Somehow, after grumbling, whining, and even screaming into the wind didn't help, I sucked it up and just did it; I managed to get to the top, and the payoff was incredible. It was definitely worth the work.And sliding down the snowfields in my garbage bag for an hour and a half was the icing on the cake (not to mention my rear end!) My point is that life is like climbing a mountain; it's just plain hard sometimes. You can give up, or you can work hard and reach your goals. You'll never regret giving it your all.

Going to Seattle is truly something that fills my spirit. I absolutely love hiking there. I really hope to take my family there one day, to share the beauty of Washington State. It's incredible. (And, as I told Molly when I finally reached the top, it's the only place I know that you can get six month's worth of exercise in ONE DAY!)

Kids Say the Darndest Things...

Today's Comments reminded me of a conversation I once had with Kyle, who was 10 years old at the time.

Mom, what's a "child molester?"

It's an adult who touches kids on their private parts in an inappropriate way.

Oh. [And with a completely serious face] So it's like monsterbation then.

What?

It's like monsterbation.

Um....well, kind of. I think the word you mean is masturbation, Honey. But masturbation is when you are touching your own private parts, and that's okay. But yeah, I guess when talking an adult touching a child, you could call it monsterbation; that would actually be a pretty good word for it.

Speed Reading

One day, as we drove down the highway towards "The Big City," we passed many billboards, as usual. Out of the blue, my dutiful, responsible, rule-following 13-year-old daughter says, "You know, when I was little (before I could read), I thought it must be a lot of pressure to read those signs."

Puzzled, I asked, "What signs? Why?"

She elaborated, "The billboards. Because they had so many words on them, and in such big letters, I thought they must be very, very important and you had to read them as you passed; that everyone who could read had to read all of them, each billboard, as they passed by each day, just like the road signs. It made me glad I couldn't read, because I didn't want all that responsibility."

Oh, if that were true; that they actually held important messages, such as, "Don't forget to pick up eggs!" "You left the iron on!" "Have an amazing day!" or "Your husband is cheating on you," instead of the car dealership and restaurant messages, one after the other, so emphatically plastered there for months on end.

I love the way little kids think.

Creep, Creep, Creepy!

Yesterday, I had to wait in Cellcom for 45 minutes, while they tried to fix my son's phone. Hours later, sitting here at the computer, I got a text message from a local cell phone number. It said simply, "U Single?" (I'm not, and I wear a wedding ring.)

I didn't know if I should reply. I had no idea who this person was. If it was computer-generated, I didn't want to encourage the computer to keep my number, so I ignored it for a bit. Then I decided to call Cellcom to find out if they could figure out who it was. The guy on the phone, "Tim," offered to call the number for me to investigate. He called me back and told me that he couldn't tell me more, but that it was a voice he recognized as a current customer named Shawn. He said Shawn had brought his phone in for repair today.

Creepy. So some guy standing in Cellcom heard me say my cellphone number and remembered it to call me fours hours later to hit on me? Yes, I know. I'm 45 years old and could consider it a compliment. However, I don't. It's creepy. Don't you agree?

Guess What's Cookin' Tonight

If you can guess what these ingredients (a partial list) are for, you must be from Wisconsin. If you're not from around here, chances are you have no idea what "chicken booyah" is, but folks around here certainly do. Chicken booyah is a soup, usually made in mass quantities; the only time I've ever had it is at church picnics and the occasional fundraiser. In fact, a church picnic without booyah is hardly worth attending, in many people's minds.

Making booyah is a huge undertaking, and twice a year, Kyle's Boy Scout Troop works to make it as a fundraiser. It starts Saturday morning, when 10-15 scouts and their parents gather at one house to chop fresh vegetables for the booyah. We've hosted this part of the process at our house for the past three years, and today was the big day.

Everybody worked very hard; even the young ones.

We managed to peel and chop 15 lbs. of onions, 20 lbs. of celery, 35 lbs. of carrots, and 110 lbs. of potatoes in an hour and a half. Then, we transported the vegies to another scout's house, where they will be mixed with other ingredients in the next stage of the process.

The people who've been in charge of cooking the booyah live on a farm, and we were greeted by many curious characters when we arrived.

I did not see the chicken for tonight's stage of the cooking, but I did take this photo for your viewing pleasure. (Do you think they suspect anything??)

We found corn and green beens (standing at the ready) on the table in the shed. (Glad I'm not the one using those hand-crank can-openers; my hand is already sore from chopping potatoes!) Other ingredients to be added later include crushed tomatoes, chicken stock, salt, and pepper. (I'd tell you the recipe, but then I'd have to kill you.) Tonight, a second crew will meet to de-bone the 150 lbs. of chicken, which has been boiled. It will then be added to the pots with the other ingredients, plus 5 lbs. of beef roast (diced) in each kettle. The cooking then begins and will continue throughout the night, with a couple of bleary-eyed parents manning the kettles. Someone in the troop made our four cookers, each which holds a 40-gallon kettle.

An equally important "ingredient" is the wood that's used to keep the fires hot all night. I'm told this is what gives booyah it's unique taste; being slowly cooked over a wood fire.Tomorrow morning, we'll set up a stand in a parking lot on a busy road and start selling booyah and baked goods around 8am. Churchgoers will be thrilled to see our sign and will stop on their way home to buy. Some will bring big, empty kettles for us to fill. Others let us serve it up by the gallon ($16) or quart. Usually, all the booyah is gone within two church services.

The last part of the job (equally important) is cleaning up the kettles, buckets, and utinsels, and storing them away for next year. Typically, this fundraiser nets us about $900. It's a lot of work, but it also builds troop unity and helps pay for things like camp, badges, etc.

Wish I could give you a taste!

I could swear as we left, those chickens gave me dirty looks. Could this be the reason???

Ah, Weekends...Great for Pancakes!

Here's a wonderful recipe for breakfast this weekend....Enjoy!

Tina's Oatmeal Banana Chocolate Chip Pancakes

Mix Dry Ingredients:
1 cup flour (plus extra, if needed)
1/2 cup oatmeal
2 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt

Mix Liquid Ingredients:
1 ripe banana, mashed (or 1 1/2 small)
1 T honey
1 egg
1 1/4 cup milk
3 T oil

1/3 C chocolate chips

Mix liquid into dry ingredients with wire whisk, just until blended. Let sit a few minutes. If needed, thicken with flour, 1 tablespoon at a time. Add chips to batter, or drop 6 or so on each pancake on griddle. Makes about 12 pancakes.

Friday Fragments

I wonder...

*Why is it that whenever I use scissors or write on the whiteboard at school, I have to resist a strong urge to open and close my mouth with each movement? It's so cute when little kids do this, but when I do it, I feel embarassed.

*And another thing (this comes from The Choice, by Nicholas Sparks) "Did you ever notice how some colors are used for people's names, but others are not? White and Black. Like Mrs. White or Mr. Black. Or even Mr. Green (from the Clue game). But you never hear of someone named Mr. Orange or Mrs. Yellow. It's like some colors make good names, but other colors just sound stupid." Kendall and I laughed like fools the night I read this and we tested other colors for their name-appropriateness. My favorite: Mrs. Chartreuse.

*Back to Solo Ensemble, where middle school kids sing and or play instruments in ties and dresses to portray serious musicianship to a judge who then gently but constructively critiques their performances. I loved listening to several performers before Kendall and Liz had their turn. I literally choked up (yes, I'm a sap) at the sound/sight of these "tweeners" pouring their hearts and souls into vocals or piano pieces; dressed up, but not hiding their vulnerable selves. Some were more talented than others, of course, but every single one of them touched me with their passion, hard work, and maturity. Sweet. (Incidentally, Kendall and Liz earned the highest score possible on their Dodi Li duet!!)

*And last, but certainly not least of my random thoughts: What the heck happened to my darned comment notifications from Blogger, and why the heck can't they actually provide an email address, or God-forbid, an actual employee to help people with such problems, instead of putting it back on us?! Grrrrrr.

Have a fantastic weekend!!!

Busted

Remember the first time you got busted by your parents? Today, one of my 8th grade students is paying the price for one of his bonehead decisions...

"John's" mom picked him up from an FFA meeting last night. The meeting had taken place after school, ending at 6pm. John looked surprised to see his mom, not his dad, picking him up as usual. The moment they arrived home, he made a beeline for the bathroom. After a few minutes, he walked out, a cloud of AXE spray in his wake.

Mom (eyebrows furrowed): "Were you smoking tonight????"

John: "No." (See, John thinks his mom fell off the turnip truck yesterday and can be fooled.)

Mom: "Let me smell you." (She sniffed his shirt.) "You reek of cigarettes!"

John: "I wasn't smoking; I swear! That's from walking over to Tim's house; you know his dad smokes!"

Mom paused for a moment.

"Let me smell your hands."

(Wow. Anyone who knows middle school boys know their hands are never washed and have been in/on many filthy places....handle bars, footballs covered with germs, their...um...pants. She was definitely taking a risk.)

John produced his hands (classic novice move; not washing your hands after smoking). The poor kid never had a chance...

I heard this story from John's mom this morning, before he even got to school. She didn't tell the rest of it, but her son later told me his version; he was pushed out the door and forced to sleep in the car last night.

Poor John moped around all day today. I didn't let on that I knew what had happened, even when he told me he was thinking about moving in with his grandma for a while because his mom was "really mad" at him. I didn't want to get into it, because what he didn't know (that I learned from another phone call) was that while he was at school today, his mom did some more detective work and found out that he didn't even go to the meeting last night; he and his friends walked around town, smoking cigs and talking smart.

If John thinks sleeping in the car was tough, I wonder what stories he'll have to tell tomorrow....

What If?

In December, my dear sister, Michelle, gave me a most priceless gift; she painstakingly printed each of my blog posts and put them in an album for me. This treasure now resides on the coffee table, where anyone can enjoy when they come over. Since then, I have written about 75 more posts, and I have been trying to shake a nagging fear....

What if, God forbid, my blog just up and disappeared one day? What if I fired up the computer and found a void where my blog once sat? Yes, I've got many of my posts saved on my computer, but I still worried. I've poured my heart and and soul into this blog, and I would be heartsick to have it all disappear. Oh, sure; I'd survive, but I'd need therapy to move on...

Then I started imagining what would happen if the entire Internet crapped out one day. Suppose some terrorist figured out a way to cut a cord and send the entire world into paper-free chaos. Can you imagine it?

We would not be able to do our banking (our money would disappear).

I could not pay my bills; I wouldn't know what they are. I could make phone calls, certainly, but how would they be able to tell me my balances?!

I would lose every single grade I've entered this year (an advantage for some, a disaster for others!)

My kids' lunch accounts at their schools would disappear. (Would this be a bad thing?)

My PayPal account would be gone, not to mention the 300-recipe cookbook I just finished entering on-line.

I would lose touch with every single bloggy friend I have, since I have no contact info saved elsewhere. Wow.

On the bright side, it sure would be quiet. I love it when the power in the house goes out and everything goes absolutely silent (no tv, no refrigerator hum, no dishwasher, washing machine, or sump pump running). It's the best kind of silence, almost deafening. It would be nice to not be able to do my work or to have an excuse not to pay bills.

I'm relieved to say that I finally took the time (Sunday) to copy every single one of my blog posts to an external hard drive. I feel better now.

But just in case, anyone know a way to connect the washer and dryer to the Internet?

A New Place to Play!

Thank God it's Monday; I got to get away from the computer and go to work! I spent six hours Saturday and all day Sunday with my butt in the computer chair; doing the final edit on the family cookbook, some editing for a friend, and more for the Children's Museum. I also found some time to hang out at my new favorite place, Cre8buzz!!

I've poked around at other blogging communities, but I've never felt as welcome as I do at Cre8buzz. I'm still learning the ropes, but I can already tell it's a fantastic community. I've had the usual "learning curve," but there are more than enough kind, helpful folks around to offer help. You can have your own page there (with links to your blog, of course), but any time you feel like it, you can also check out the Anthill, where different bloggers post on the community blog every day. I was thrilled to see that OhMommy is a member. I really hope some of you will join up as well; it would be great to hang out together some time!

At least no one can say I was unproductive this weekend; Kendall had a birthday party to remember. In a couple of months, we'll have a beautiful family heirloom (not to mention some mouth-watering recipes!), excellent grammar and punctuation on two important projects, and some new blogs for my reader (like I didn't have enough already!!) Feel free to read over my shoulder:

Antman

Joeprah

If Mom Says Ok

Sitting in Silence

Daddy Forever

Passive-Aggressive Notes

I think only one of them was not found at Cre8Buzz. I'm heading over there right now...Care to join me??

If you knew Shirley....

Don't know what happened to the adorable video I posted here on Sunday. Rather than chase it around, I figured I'd tell you where to find it. It's Right Here.

In case you didn't make to church today...

Another little slice of Americana...

Kendall had her birthday party last night (13!!). Imagine a concert with screaming teens girls and then kick it up a notch; that's what it felt like in my kitchen last night at times. OMG; I had no idea nine girls could be that "exuberant" at the same time. (I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure the presence of my very-cute 16-year-old son had a little to do with it.)

Anyway, the girls had a BLAST! For dinner, Mr.4444 and I set up fondue for them, which was a huge hit (even for the girl with her tongue out!)I highly recommend fondue for special suppers. We had steak, marinated chicken, and pork, plus extras. Of course, dessert was chocolate fondue with marshmallows, strawberries, and bananas. (That's bottled root beer, by the way; don't be calling Child Protective on me!)

After dinner, we set up a little crafting activity, which was enthusiastically recieved (what 13-year old girl does not like puffy paints, glitter, and her own personalized bag?!) I highly recommend this activity for a party; we bought the bags (which all the girls carry at the middle school lately) at Michaels, along with lots of iron-on flowers and symbols for them to customize their bags. The girls were so into this project that it kept them busy for almost two hours! A little advice for this project:

1) Buy one or two extra bags, in case you have last-minute additions to the party. (We ended up one short, and true-to-form, Kendall graciously went without. We're going out to get her one today, as the girls all plan to take theirs to school on Monday!)

2) Be sure to do the ironing parts before the puffy paints (you'll have a mess if you don't)

3) Do not iron on your hardwood kitchen table (even through three layers of towels) unless your husband doesn't care that you ruin the finish. If you miss this tip, avoid clearing your kitchen table of junk (no one will notice that way).(I just want to point out that this is the first ever photo taken in the livingroom with the TV OFF in the background! I know it's phony, given that the dang thing seems to be on 24-7 in real life, but hey, this is my fantasy and no one else's, right?)

I went to bed at 12:30, shortly after the Starburst-roasting ritualand my lecture on the dangers of helium-sucking: The girls (reportedly) went to "about 2am." Surprisingly, they were up by 8:30 and ready for pancakes. There's only one girl left to go home. Time for a nap....

Web News

I stumbled upon a gem of a website yesterday when I decided to find out what "Twittering" is all about. I found Commoncraft.com, a site that offers simple video explanations of often complicated things. They have a sense of humor and have taken the intelligent use of graphic organizers to a new level. (For you Rated G folks, this is the good kind of "graphic" :)

While at Commoncraft, I thought of some of you who commented last week about how you still surf the web "the old fashioned way." Commoncraft has a wonderful explanation of RSS feeds and how to set one up, and the beauty is that you can rewind the video if you want to repeat any part of it. They also have videos that explain Social Bookmarking, Blogs, and Wikis in "plain English."

If you're looking for entertainment, you might also like to check out Commoncraft's "Zombies in Plain English" video. I think it's just something they did for fun; I enjoyed it (and now feel fully prepared to handle any zombies I come in contact with.) Check Commoncraft out! And let me know if you liked it.

Also in web news, Bookglutton.com is a finalist for a Webby Award!!! Bookglutton is a favorite of mine, as you can see in this "About Bookglutton" video I made a few months ago. If you can't view it, click on this link: http://blog.bookglutton.com/?p=36 And don't be afraid to VOTE FOR BOOKGLUTTON if you like it!!!
Happy Surfing!

Biting My Tongue

Half of my students hate to read. Just today, I had to fight with a kid to put the book down and get to work.

"Do you MIND!?!?!" the crabby bookworm snapped. "I'm trying to READ here!"

"That's nice, but this is not reading time; it's time to work on your map."

"I can do whatever I want. If I want to read, I'll read."

"That's right. You are in complete control of this situation. Would you like to keep reading and have lunch detention today, or put the book away and get started on Social Studies?"

Then there's the other half:

"Why do we have to read this?"
"I just read a paragraph!? Why do I have to read another one?!"
"Can't you just read it to us?!"
"I did too read 100 minutes this week! See, my mom even signed it!"

What I'd like to say to that last one is: "Tell your mom I'm sick of her bullshit signature and I'd like her to get off her butt and make you read for real, cuz she is not helping you any by rescuing you from reading. I'm sure she'll be bailing you out of jail one day, too, but she might be able to avoid that by holding you accountable for something once in a while!!"

(Of course, I say nothing of the sort.)

Mrs.4444 Plays Surrogate Grandma!

When my bloggy friend Sandy mentioned that she had some grandkid photos to post but was having some trouble, I offered to help. After trial and error (mostly error), we were unable to get them posted (and viewable) in WordPress, so instead, you will get to enjoy them here!! When you see them, you will understand why I insisted. Check out the new apple of Sandy's eye:
I don't care you if were a tough old jail matron, Sandy; good luck saying "no" to that face!


James's daddy, Joshua took the pictures. He's is a trainer of Marine recruits, following two tours of duty in Iraq; they are a happy little Marine family. This photo is priceless...


For plenty of gushing about these kids and more, go to Sandy's blog: Add Humor and Faith...Mix Well

A Title Escapes Me

His name was Ricky, and he was a star student in my class; helpful, always volunteering to read or answer questions, getting his work done in a timely way, and even leading class on occasion. He wasn't a genius, but he was smart and personable.

My classroom was in the local jail, and while most of my students were only there for a short time, Ricky was there as a longer-term "guest." I was impressed by the respect he showed me. Yes, there was a guard there; some kids did give me trouble anyway, but Ricky never did.

I was impressed, too, by the compassion Ricky showed to a 12 year old boy who arrived one day and could be heard crying in his cell. I was told by a guard that later that night, Ricky could be heard reading aloud to the new boy, to comfort him.

What did not fit with my view of Ricky was the brutal reality of why he was in the jail school; he and some peers had terrorized poor Zong, a 13-year old boy on his way home from the grocery store for his mom. They chased him up to the top of a 5-story parking garage, beat him, and dropped him to the ground, leaving him to die.

My point? Ricky was not just a thug. He was at one time a gift from God, given to his parents and capable of becoming an amazing human being, capable of contributing to society and living a long and happy life. Instead, his parents badly abused and neglected him and his sister, leaving them to their own devices much of the time. Ricky's family was no stranger to Child Protective Services, but he still lived at "home." Lacking love and nurturing from birth on, he developed into a person lacking fundamental character traits and anything resembling care.

Instead of a long and happy life, Ricky is serving a life term in prison, as is one of the boys with him. (Zong Vang's family is doing the same, only in a different kind of prison.)

There are no excuses for what Ricky did, but there are reasons.

April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

One day following my father-in-law Bob's funeral, a colleague at work gently said to me, "I saw his photo in the paper; he was a pretty big guy, huh? Was it a heart attack?" This took me by surprise, in a way; Bob was fat?!? I guess the nickname, "Big Bob" had been lost on me. I had never thought about it, assuming (I guess) that it was in reference to his senior status (as his son is also named Bob).

Now that she had mentioned it, I realized he was a "big guy." At 6 feet tall, 240 lbs. Bob was always on a "diet." He had a huge, 10-month-pregnant, beer belly, (which was actually more likely related to Jack Daniels). Of course he died of a heart attack! Why had that shocked me so much, when he had actually been a walking advertisement for heart disease!?

I had been blind to it, but after he died, whenever I saw someone with Bob's body type, I had to resist an urge to rush up to them and cry, "Do you realize that you could die of a heart attack tomorrow? You could seriously DIE and leave your family heartbroken. Do you want to die?! Please take steps today to prevent this!!! Yes, you're welcome for saving your life; now go tell your other friends the same."

Six months after Bob's passing, I started a new job. It was August, and I had just met many of the teachers in my new school. Lynda, an art teacher about 10 years older than me, was one of them, so I sat at her table when I arrived at the in-service on the first day of school. We chatted for a while, and then quieted, as the principal introduced "Jim Browner, our guest speaker.

Jim was huge man, plainly speaking. He was maybe six feet tall and weighed at least 350 pounds. A beloved former-teacher and principal in our district, he had come to invite us to contribute to a local charity to which he was very devoted. I listened intently but could not ignore the fact that he, even moreso than Bob had been, was a heart attack waiting to happen. In between sentences, he breathed heavily and was clearly not in good shape. He finished his spiel and left.

Turning to Lynda, I said, "I lost my father-in-law to a heart attack this year. Every time I see a big man like that, it makes me think of my father-in-law, and it scares me; I worry about people like that." She replied, "Well, he lost like 20 pounds this summer. He's working on it." We went on with our day.

That night, lying in bed, something struck me. Lynda's last name was Brawner. The principal had clearly pronounced Jim's last name as Browner, but could it be...? O-M-G. Lynda was probably Jim's WIFE! I was mortified.

The next day, I went straight to Lynda's classroom to apologize. I told her I had suddenly made the connection from her to Jim, and I was very sorry if what I said had offended her in any way. She responded graciously, "Don't worry about it!" she assured me. "You didn't say anything wrong. He needs to lose weight, and he knows it."

Since that day, I still notice overweight, pregnant-bellied men, and I have a weird feeling, like I'm walking among the near-dead. I still worry about them; but now I keep my mouth shut.

The Problem Child

This is going to come as a shock to all of you, but I have a third child. I've never told you about her before, because she is not a "shining star," like my other two. It's not that I'm ashamed of her, per se; it's just that I try to avoid thinking about her much. She's a very challenging child.

Near as I can tell, she's about seven years old (we have never celebrated her birthday), and this kid makes Veruca Salt look positively charming. Ironically, while she plays a very large role in my life, Mark and the kids have never even met her.

This little girl (sorry, I've never named her) is the one who is always driving me crazy when it comes to food; she simply cannot get enough. I don't know if it's attention she craves, or what, but whenever there is food (especially junkfood) in the near vicinity, she has to have it; even when I have just fed her! It's "I want this!" and "Give me that!" Bite of cake? She has to have a gigantic piece, plus a half a bag of chips or whatever else is around.

Oh sure, she'll eat healthy snacks, too, but they never seem to satisfy her. She always seems to be in the grocery store with me, too. Just today, she was all, "Let's get a couple of Snickers bars for Kyle and Kendall," but I know her game, the little sneak; it's "for the kids," but always mysteriously disappears in the car on the way home! One day, I bought a package of Chips Ahoy cookies for the family, and she had an entire sleeve gone before anyone even knew they were in the house! This child is out of control much of the time.

One day, it occurred to me, "Barb, you work all day with emotionally disturbed adolescents who beg, argue and refuse to cooperate, and yet you keep them in line. Why can't you apply those same skills and principles to the little brat living inside you?" That's when I decided that while nurturing her is important, it is even more important (for both of us) that I learn to discipline her.

So, I'm working on it. Whenever she whines, "Just one handful..please!! I promise I'll exercise with you later!!" I tell her, "That is enough! I told you no; now you need to stop." I'm trying to be more conscious of her presence whenever there is food around, and I'm trying to use positive reinforcement with her, too.

In the meantime, I'm trying to resist an urge to put her up for adoption. Yesterday, she grabbed ahold of the steering wheel and actually tried to direct the car over to Dairy Queen, instead of the gas station! This kid is a handful, let me tell you. If any of you have any parenting tips, I am seriously open...

The Death of Innocence?

There is a sign in my classroom, which reads: "Profanity is the crutch of the conversational cripple." I made it in response to hearing I'd be getting a student who had the mouth of a sailor. Perhaps he was inspired by the sign (he read it out loud on second day he arrived and asked me what what it meant), because with two minor exceptions, I never heard a single cuss word out of his mouth while he was in my class.

(Truth be told, if the saying is true, I am mildly disabled.)

I'll never forget the day my Kyle came home from kindergarten and announced brazenly, between mouthfuls of crackers, that he had learned "the three S-words" at school that day. I was crushed! My sweet, innocent baby, already corrupted by the troublemakers at school?! I was saddened, and tried to think of a way to undo the damage.

Defeated (and a little hopeful) I replied, "Oh, you did, huh? What are they?"

"Stupid." "Shut up!" and "Sucks!" he offered cautiously, worried about my reaction.

"That's right," I said, my spirits lifting. "Those are the three S-words, "and I don't ever want to hear those words from you again."

"Okay, Mom."

We had dodged the proverbial profanity bullet, and it would be years before he heard much worse epithets (on the school bus, of course.) But that's a whole other post...

New Meaning to "Take Your Kid to Work Day"

When I decided to apply for the job teaching at the middle school (five years ago), I announced it at the dinner table. Eleven-year-old Kyle looked stricken. He teared up imediately and snapped, "Great! Now you'll get to spend all day with Kendall!"

"Not the grade school, I told him. "The middle school."

His face lit up, and he leaped out of his chair, jumping around excitedly. Later, as I completed the application on-line, he stood behind me and rubbed my shoulders, encouraging me and telling me he knew I'd get the job. To make a long story short, that's how Kyle and I started middle school together.

I loved teaching in the same building that Kyle was in. He never once denied me in the hallway and even went out of his way sometimes to pop in my room to say hi (or ask for money, snacks, or Ibuprofen). I was sad to see him leave for the high school three years later, but the blow was softened, because Kendall entered 6th grade the next fall (last year).

I love seeing Kendall in the hallway (she, too, does not hide when she sees me). I am also happy to be one of her Student Council Advisors (It's a real treat to work with normal kids once in while.) I do not take this for granted, which is why when the Picture Day folks came a couple of weeks ago and invited families to have their photo taken, I jumped at the chance. Kendall was all for it, too. We got the proofs this week.
Next year will be Kendall's last year with me at the middle school. I'm going to hold on to her as long as I can, but when that's no longer possible, this photo will be a treasure...

Did you know....?

"Did you know," said 8th grader, Kevin. "that Canadians are mostly dark-skinned?"

"What?!" I asked, trying not to overreact. "What do you mean?"

"They have dark skin in Canada, like those Iraq people, kinda."

"How do you know this?" I asked gently.

"I have a good friend I met on the Internet. He lives in Toronto, and his name's Rahsheed. He's like Pakistanish or something, but he's really cool."

The great thing about this proclamation from Kevin is that his intent was to teach his peers (and me, maybe) that not all people from the Middle East are to be feared. But in the process, he also brought to light a very important issue that hits my classroom in this small, rural school district in northeast Wisconsin; we are so insulated from the rest of the world. Many of our students grow up never having seen a person of color (in the flesh, so-to-speak) in their their entire lives. Thus, they rely on their "experience" to shape their views.

I took the opportunity to explain to Kevin (who goes home to milk cows every night, does his homework, and has wonderful parents) that Toronto is one of the biggest cities in the world and that in addition to people with brown skin like Rasheed, there are also a couple million people of other races. (Tomorrow, we'll do a little Web search to learn more.)

In the meantime, I feel blessed to have opportunities like these. While comments like Kevin's are shocking sometimes, I am grateful that he spoke it out loud, rather than keeping his misguided thought to himself. Who knows how many others in the room held the same "knowledge." Teachable moments like these are so valuable.

"Canadians are mostly dark-skinned...." Pretty funny, eh?

Wordless Wednesday

Okay, who am I kidding? I could never be "wordless!" This is a photo from several years ago, when Mr.4444 broke his pinky toe as he walked past the couch, hooking one of his incredibly long toes on the edge of it. I'm serious. This man's toes are so long, he can give you "the toe," just for fun. When we went to the hospital that day, they actually put a SPLINT on that toe, believe it or not. Anyway, true to form, I was laughing so hard (yes, that's how compassionate I am) when he showed it to me that when he asked me to take a picture before we left for the hospital, I could not do it; he took it himself. And, no, he wasn't mad at me (he knows me well enough by now to not take it personally). Besides, he got the last laugh when I did the same thing to my own pinky toe, ten years later (sorry, no photo of that one!)

Homework (Yes, for you!)

You know when you used to be in school, your teachers sometimes gave you homework that was absolutely pointless and stupid and seemed like a complete waste of your time? This is not one of those assignments.

I don't know how I came upon this type of poem, but I liked it immediately (and I am not a fan of poetry.) I was attracted to it because it does not take a lot of creativity; only memory. I have my students do it every year, and no matter what their skill levels, the results are beautiful.

I wrote my first I Am From poem from the perspective of my childhood. I found the experience of writing it to be very empowering and beautiful. That's why I am "assigning" this homework to you. And know this:

*It's super easy to write
*There is a good return on your investment of time; you may even want to put yours on the fridge!
*You can tweak the format however you like (as I did)
*There is no due-date (consider it an open-ended Meme)

The only thing I ask is that if you write one, please consider posting it on your blog and letting me know. If you don't have a blog but want to share, feel free to email it to me, as I love reading those of others. This can be a very personal poem, depending upon how you write it, so of course if you want to keep it private, that's your business; I just want to encourage you to write one.

Okay, so here's mine. I just want you to know that I love this poem. It's real, it's true, and it's who I am. However, when I finished it, I felt compelled to write a second one, based upon my life today. (I'll post that one another time.)

I am Barba Jean

I am from books, clutter, and board games,
beer cans, back-hands, hand-me-downs,
food stamps, free lunches, homemade cookies,
Girl Scouts, and singing.

I am from clotheslines, bikes on the lawn, stray pets,
and flowerbeds filled with Grandma's cuttings.

I am from Astor Park, Porlier Market,
Roosevelt Elementary, St. Mary's Church,
the "alley," St. Vincent Hospital,
and the East River.

I am one of "the Kinney kids," The Draeger Clan,
Grandpa Granville and Grandma Blanche.
I am "Barba Jean" and "Blondie."

I am from "What the hell is the matter with you?!"
"Dummy!"
"Dad's home!" (Run upstairs before he gets inside!)
and "Your mother is a saint."
I am from family secrets.

I am from homemade pizza, Hamburger Helper,
old-fashioned popped corn, Christmas cookies,
homemade bread, and homemade mayonnaise.

I am from manila envelopes filled with Mothers Day cards,
short stories, and childhood photos.

I am from alcoholism, dysfunction, and love.
I am from family.


P.S. In case you missed the format, here it is: Stuff from your house, from your yard, from your neighborhood, people you're from, quotes heard in your house, food your family likes to eat, and places you keep your memories).

(Class dismissed.)