Pajamas ARE Professional Attire

Despite the fact that I harped on and nagged fifteen 8 year olds all damn day long, it was a pretty pleasant and relaxing day.  You see, it was "Pajama Day."  I've heard about Pajama Day, but I've never actually been a party to it.  I thought it was like "Color War Day" or "Dodgeball,"  things you've done when you were a kid or maybe saw on a movie once or talked about at a training that some other district in some other state did once, but like you never actually had it happen at YOUR OWN SCHOOL.

Pajama day actually happened today.  Almost every single kid in the entire school and almost every single teacher wore pajamas.  And on top of that, I don't think there were any issues with "appropriateness."  Imagine that?  Basically, you could have walked a pink elephant through the school and had similar odds of nothing going wrong or being particularly out of the ordinary, so I think that is a huge deal that all of the kids were so chill and easy going, especially when they adhere to a very strict uniform code every other day of the year.

To top it off, in the afternoon we had a reading event where the kids traveled around and listened to different stories in select teacher's rooms.  The upper grade kids mentored the lower grade kids.  700 little bodies roaming around the school every 15 minutes, selecting a room, settling down, paying attention, and starting all over again.  And they did great.  Personally, I was impressed.  That's a lot of responsibility and adjusting for that many kids.

I ended up working after school to get my grade book in order.  Most of the other teachers are done with all of the that mess and it makes me realize that I need to be more diligent about putting in grades each week.  After the winter break, I'm going to plan that shit and try to be more efficient with my grading.  I've got my planning stuff down almost to a science, so if I can get that in gear I will be unstoppable.  I say this thing about the grading almost every 9 weeks, though, so I don't know... I can hope that something about New Year's resolutions will amp me up.

Anyhow, since tomorrow is our class party, I had to stop at the store.  It was really late, because first I had to swing by daycare.  Then, as luck would have it, the power went off.... the whole place went pitch black... freaky!  All of the registers had to be rebooted and the lines backed up.  I got stuck for 40 minutes with a baby on my hip wondering if I had it in me to just leave my cart full of party goodies and head for home so I could put the baby to bed.

To top it off, I was in my pajamas still.  I hadn't bothered to go home and change, so people were staring at me and giving me the most horrendous looks.  It was as if they were thinking... "You lazy piece of shit, you can't even put on real clothes.  You're poor daughter has to grow up with a wacko mother like you."

In my mind, I'm thinking, "THIS IS MOTHER-FUCKING PROFESSIONAL ATTIRE BITCHES!!  HOW FAR DO YOU GO TO MAKE YOUR EFFING CUSTOMERS HAPPY?  CAN YOU  PULL THIS SHIT OFF AT WORK AND STILL MAINTAIN ORDER?  WE ARE LEARNING TO READ!!!!!!"  Instead of actually saying that I just talked to the baby and let people think I was fucking nuts.  Some days are just like that.  Next year though, I'm packing a change of clothes.

Life Lessons with Career Day and Santa

We had Career Day last week.  That is a story unto itself, but one moment comes to mind today.  An owner of a hair salon was speaking to my class about her job.  She was stylish and smartly dressed.  She told the kids that she felt like she never had to work, because she loved what she did so much.

So, did they have any questions?

(Of course, they did.)

Geneva: How much money do you make?

Me:  Whoa!!! Whoa!!!

Nice lady: I make enough money to make me happy.

(Wow! Nicely handled... are you sure you aren't a teacher?) Me: Okay, class, life lessons time.  Turn your body towards me.  Listen up.  Nobody did anything wrong, because I didn't explain this earlier, but you need to understand that it is very impolite to ask someone how much money they make.  The same way it's inappropriate to call someone "poor" or say someone else is "rich."  Okay?

Class:  murmurs... mumbles... okay... (whispers of how much does she make? followed by my death glare)... more mumbling...

Nice lady:  nods along and smiles

Me (sensing generalized confusion): Guys, impolite means that it's rude.  You know how our class has rules?  Well, there are some rules in life, too, and one of the rules is that we don't talk about how much money people have unless we are family or very close friends.

Class: (light bulb!)

Geneva (raises her hand and the Nice Lady calls on her): So, where did you get your earrings?

Fast forward to dismissal a few days later.  A heated debate breaks out in my classroom about whether or not Santa is a real person.  The kids are packing up and stacking chairs and in a hurry to get out and go home.  They are also in an emotional tizzy, because a few of them have not contemplated that Santa might be fictitious.  Compounded with the pressure to make a hard nosed point and resolve this critical issue, voices are rising and the argument is reaching critical mass.

I start to worry that they are going to ask me what I think.  We have been instructed to change the subject if asked about the plausibility of Santa.  Since teachers are authority figures, it's illegal for us to share our opinion on the matter.  (I start going through my head of possible answers to the question and settle on: The school district has contacted Santa, I'm not sure if it was a real or fake Santa, but he was asked not to come to school.  He's too big of a distraction from learning.  [big cheesy smile])  Luckily it didn't come to that, because the kids were taking matters into their own hands.

Santa Claus is NOT REAL!  (Geneva is emphatic.)  He is just a rich man that passes out gifts to everyone!

A hush falls over the room.  For a moment I am stunned.  What just happened?

RoseMary looks at me with wide eyes.  I notice that most of the kids are looking at me with similar expressions.

You can't say that word.  She almost inaudibly whispers to Geneva.

What word?

(I admonish myself silently.  I don't remember having the Santa talk with them.  In fact, I thought it was just me that couldn't say Santa.  Dang, this whole Christmas thing has gone too far...  now even the kids are paranoid.... no wonder my principal is in knots about this stuff.)

Rich.  You can't say rich.

Yeah!  You can't say that, Geneva!  That's impolite!  It's not nice to talk about how much money Santa has!  (Several kids hop on this band wagon and start pointing.)

Ever the diplomat, Geneva knows that she has lost this battle.

Okay, okay!  You know what I mean... He's just got a lot of stuff....

I have to turn and face the window.

Life lesson: Don't laugh at children that are trying hard to be respectful good people, even when they are FUCKING HYSTERICAL!!!!

Merry Effin' Christmas!

When I was a kid, my elementary school had a little "Elf Store" where the students could go and shop for gifts for their parents.  I remember that I bought my parents an enormous clay ash tray.  There's a pretty good chance that they still have it around just for when "smoking" guests come to the house.  It was a thoughtful gesture to say the least.

I have a Rudolph plaque on my living room wall that my entire 4th grade class signed the year that I moved over the holidays.  My tree has a play dough ornament lovingly sculpted and gingerly painted by yours truly with my name puffily written on the back every year from 1983 to 1988.  

I love them.  I used to take them for granted, but now, I know.  Unless, you go to a private Christian school, Christmas is a thing of the past or whatever you make of it at home.  It's practically a dirty word at school.  My poor principal.  She is a good woman.  You can just tell.  She wants to do a good job.  The pressure is on her, just like it is everyone else. 

It's funny what issues bring to light that your boss is in the same boat as everyone else: "the don't let me lose my job over something stupid boat."  Our principal is FREAKED OUT over Christmas.  We can't say, "Merry Christmas" unless a kid or parent says it first.  No Santa, no Rudolph, no Christmas trees, and no red and green anything together.  

Also, no candy, and especially no candy canes.  So, lots of no, no, no, no, no!  I'm wondering what horror story she heard that made her paranoid enough to ban Santa.  I think it's sad that we can't dive into the holiday spirit the way of yesteryear.  I don't need to go out and baptize the kids, but it would be cool to read "The Night Before Christmas" or "The Grinch."  

I know that she is just looking out for all of us.  I know that there probably is some parent lurking around our campus just dying to pounce on some poor unsuspecting teacher.  It makes me breathe a sigh of relief that I held back the other day when counseling a student that I really wanted to witness to. And I'm not an evangelical. 

I believe in God and Jesus and the resurrection, but I don't really get all in your business about it.  I mean, I barely get myself to church a few times a year, so I'm not one to talk.  But on occasion, I do feel compelled to tell a kid that God loves them and will always be there for them.   I've managed to say this metaphorically and never directly thus far.

This year I am particularly glad that I've never crossed that fine line between "positive emotional influence" and "spiritual/religious guidance."  It's just too scary when you have a little baby who is counting on you to take care of her to risk it.  But it feels like a betrayal of my beliefs somehow and I kind of hate myself for that.  How do I love the separation of church and state and despise it all at once?  

Maybe three or four seasons ago, my sister and I went and did some gift shopping at the mall together just a week or two before Christmas.  We had the most difficult time finding a place to park, when finally we spotted a car backing out right in front of us.  We put our blinker on "left."  The car backed out towards us and another car zipped into our spot.  We looked at each other... a mixture of shock, horror, and distain on our faces.  We were caught in a mix of traffic standstill and watched as some class A asshole took our spot and began to walk inside the mall.

My sister reached over me and honked the horn.  She rolled down the window and climbed halfway out stretching over my body with her arm extended and her middle finger shooting straight up in the air, the rest perfectly coiled at attention. 

"Merry Fuckin' Christmas!!!" 

The parking offender barely turned his head sideways, but I think he did flinch.  

"Yeah!" I said.  "Merry Fuckin' Christmas!!!"

Just then, my sis pointed to a spot that was open.  A car had just backed out and we had just a split second to pull in before some sucker who was patiently waiting with his blinker on... I looked at my sister.  She looked at me.  

We parked and giggled the whole way into the mall hoping that nobody keyed our car.  I don't think we got the bird, but I didn't look back.  I suppose I shouldn't look back now, either.  Christmas just ain't what it used to be...

Mean people suck

Of course, I got the early morning duty the week after Thanksgiving break.  I have a tough time getting to work by the first bell anyways, but this one is killer.  It's only 10 minutes earlier, but with a one year old and a stop at daycare and my sweet little stint of insomnia that just hit.... I am dying!

I've skirted in a couple minutes past almost everyday this week and yesterday I was almost 7 minutes over my duty time.  Not good.  I was still one of the first teachers to take the kids outside though.  Today I walked into the cafeteria, 4 minutes late.

I have only worked at my school since August.  I don't know most of the staff by name, but I am friendly with everyone.  People probably think I'm a little goofy or aloof, but I just am caught up in my head most of the day and too busy trying to raise a toddler by myself to reach out to anyone just yet to make friends.

Mrs. Cookie is a para that I mostly see in the cafeteria.  She is stern and rarely smiles.  Until this afternoon, I thought her name was Mrs. Crookie.  Apparently, Mrs. Cookie is also extremely serious about morning duty and keeping all of us teachers in line.  When I walked into the cafeteria this morning (slightly out of breath from running across the field so I could get there faster) she greeted me with, "Ms. Milky! These kids are waiting for their recess!  Come on... that is sad."  She gave me a look of disdain.

I was taken aback.  Really?  Bitch?  Did you just talk to me like that?  I think you've said like two things to me.  Ever.

I smiled and said absolutely nothing.  I just walked the kids outside.  Something went off inside of me, though.  Once all of the kids were on the blacktop playing, her words kind of hit me.  It was sad.  I wish I had been there on time.  Paperwork and promptness.  My two greatest crosses in life.  (Okay, maybe not crosses, but papercuts?)  I know this, though.  I just don't like it when other people have to magnify them to me in such an ugly way.

I found myself crying.  Not the kind where you are crying like a baby.  Just where tears are falling and you have to wipe them off so that people won't see.  I couldn't stop.  I felt insanely sorry for myself.  Suddenly, I missed my friends from Bowie.  I wanted to walk into one of their rooms and go bitch about that bitch.  I don't have one of those people at my new school.  It's just not that kind of place.  Matt says that work is for work, but school has always been where I've made my closest friendships.  I felt awash in loneliness.

I did go and talk about it with my two friends in redirect down the hall.  I felt a little better, but it's they kind of thing where I can sit on top of the desk and we can all just laugh about it for or go drive around at lunch for a smoke.  One, I don't smoke anymore.  Two, I don't get to work early enough to sit around for ten minutes.  Three, I don't know them like that.  More tears.

It stayed with me for most of the day, but after I talked with Matt on my way to a training I felt a little better.  Another chat with my sister shored me up by the evening.  Still, I wonder about people who just have a mean attitude.  I know I can't go around feeling beat up about it and that I'm probably just "sensitive" today for other reasons.

You suck mean people.  Even if I am in the wrong, you suck for being mean about it.  

Thanks for the Break

I'm back... Sorta... Thanksgiving break was a godsend.  I got to see my baby and hang out with my man.  I saw my family.  I ate.  I drank.  I had a good time.  I brought home a big bag of papers to grade and books to read and record.  I didn't touch any of it.  Not once.

Well, maybe, once.   The night before school started and then I had a glass of wine instead and stayed up until 1:30 in the morning worrying about everything that I had to do to get ready for school.  I do that kind of stuff sometimes.  I still haven't caught up.

I'm writing this blog, because I can't stand the thought of grading papers.  I hate grading papers.  It's not even like they are hard to grade.  They are even pretty cute once I get them all sorted out.  I guess everybody has something that they hate about their job.

Let's see, I also gave up cussing over the break.  It's going okay.  Matt doesn't like it when I cuss.  He says it makes me "sound like a dude."  That super queases me out, so I had to quit.  I am going go ahead and put in a clause though... writing doesn't count.  My writing persona gets to say whatever the fuck she wants to say.  Sorry, baby, I've got to have one holdout.

That had to go in there, because a lot of fucked up shit has happened since the last time I wrote... hopefully, I can fill you in... one post at a time.

Oh poop.

All of my friends know... I don't talk about poop or anything relating to poop.  It's a no-no.  I swear like a sailor and could probably make a foul-mouthed pirate blush, but poop talk is not in my comfort zone.  For the sake of the blog, I have taken the bull by the horns approach, but in my everyday life it's just another story.  Who I am as the writer in my mind and who I am as a person in real life are two totally separate things.

In my class, we use the American Sign Language sign for the letter R as a way of asking permission for the restroom.  The middle finger laces over the pointer finger and I know that someone has to go.  There's no talking about it, because the bathroom is private.  I don't let kids use the bathroom during a lesson, unless it's a total emergency and then I tell them not to even ask.  Just get up and go.  An emergency means that you are going to wet your pants and since A) I don't want to scar any kids for life with utter humiliation and B) I hate a smelly mess, I allow for the "emergency clause."  

Surprisingly, there has been very little abuse of the emergency clause.  I think this is also in part to our regularly scheduled bathroom break before lunch.  Yea!  Happy day... see how I don't have to talk about the bathroom, even though I'm surrounded by 8 year olds all day, every day, five days a week?!?!

That is, until today, when Lukas decided to get out of his seat and whisper in my ear.

I have to poop.

Huh?

I have to poop.

Okay.  Go.

I don't have to pee.  I have to poop.

Ummm, are you okay, Lukas?  

Yeah.  I just have to poop.

(Oh. My. God.  Please don't say it again. Please don't say it again. Brain, be still, stop panicking.  It's just a word.  Smile gently.)  Okay, so go use the restroom now.

I did not get it.  Why did this kid have to tell me that he was going to poop?  First of all, let me just say that I didn't know if Lukas could speak English for the first 4 weeks of school.  And mostly, that was just because he barely spoke at all.  When he finally did start talking, it was about rocks, then about legos, then about his parents divorce, and now, poop.  

Kids will never cease to amaze me.  I know that there is something up with that, but I just can't figure out what it is.  Does he not go away from home?  Was that like a big deal or something?  Was he confiding a secret to me?  Was he just trying to freak me out?  

What the fucking shit is that damn poop talk about?  It's freakin' me out...

Ms. Milky is M & M

At the initial parent meeting, I warned them all about my propensity to rap.  

I kind of think that I'm Eminem.

There were a lot of smiles and a few chuckles when I confessed this, but it turned into full blown laughter and I knew that I had the parents hooked after my demonstration.  I broke out into a little bit of my self-penned "Dime Rhyme" and the "Rollin' Multiples" song that I borrowed from KIPP.  

Done... I made them believers.  Just.  Like.  That.  

The kiddos eyes got really big.  Is this really gonna be my teacher?  

That was when I knew that this year was going to be different.  That I was finally going to get to do what I do.  That I could finally be the teacher that I have always wanted to be.  

Until this year, I lived in a lot of fear that I wasn't a very good teacher.  That I sucked actually.  That didn't have control of my class and that I didn't know what I was doing with curriculum.  

In actuality, I have been a good to an excellent teacher.  A new teacher who was unsure of herself at times, a teacher who wasn't supported at others, and even a teacher who was bullied, picked on, and harassed.  In those latter times, I was filled with self-doubt and worry.  I let my lack of confidence undermine my abilities and esteem.  

I decided that this year I would take risks.  That I would allow myself to fail and try again.  That I would try something new.  That if something made sense that I would give it a go.  That I would do the things that I was passionate about and that I would have fun doing them.  

I love to rhyme.  I love to rap.  So I decided I would rap and rhyme in class a lot.  I know that kids learn to read by being read to, so I decided to 1) buy a whole lot of on-level books for my classroom 2) read them onto cds 3) create a system for my students to listen to the books on cd and read the books at the same time.  I developed an organizational template for writing and a pre-writing system that accompanies it along with a system for developing voice so that my students can begin to write in ways that make sense right away.  

And it's working!  I kind of can't believe it.  I'm not exactly sure why, but the things that we are doing are helping them to think on their own.  

They are reading.  They are thinking.  They are beginning to write.  

I am not afraid that I am a terrible teacher anymore.  I am exhausted.  I am having fun.  I feel more light of heart.  I am not looking over my shoulder waiting for an administrator to tell me that it's not enough.  Maybe that will happen later.  I don't know.  But so far, so good, and that's good enough for me right now.

Here's an example of one of my classroom raps for your entertainment:

The Dime Rhyme

I got my mind on my money 

And my money on my dime!

Penny, nickel, quarter, dime!

It's small, ridged, and flat 

So we put it in the back!

1, 5, 25, that's fine!

10s the magic number when we're talkin' 'bout dimes!

A nickel is fatter and wider than a dime

Cause size don't matter this time!

I got my mind on my money 

And my money on my dime!

I gotta double up my nickels 

To make one dime!

I got my mind on my money

And my money on my dime!

Only One Thing on the Menu? Gasp!

Salad.  Baked potato with cheese.  Or beef and cheese nachos.

Those are your choices today.

I say something along those lines every morning to my 2nd graders before taking their lunch count.  Today I was met with a chorus of groans and moans.  I put two fingers up (our classroom quiet signal) then I pressed them to my lips (my personal sign for "seriously get quiet").

I waited for the class to settle into their chairs and look in my direction.  I scanned the room and raised my eyebrows, impregnating my pause for dramatic effect.

When I was your age, we only had one thing on the menu.

Michael clutched his chest and gasped for air.

Ohhhh!  That's hurtful!

All the other students nodded in agreement.

That's hurtful. (They echoed.)

I trotted over to my desk with a massive grin on my face.  I jotted the exchange down in my notebook, so I wouldn't forget it.  Always a follower, Michael had bounded out of his seat and was looking over my shoulder at what I had written.

You think I'm funny.

Then he smiled.

Yes, I think you're funny.

Michael walked back to seat still clutching his little heart.  (And mine.)

Dressing the Part...

Tomorrow is Halloween.  One of the greatest day's of the school year.  It is also a day that has been fucked up by religious zealots that don't know how to have a good time.  Oh my gosh, did I just say that? I hope I didn't offend anyone.  Seriously, I hope I didn't, because if there are any religious zealots reading my blog I'm fucked.  Well, they're probably already offended by my excessive use of the word fuck and me being a teacher and all so I'm probably good.

We aren't allowed to freaking say the word "God," but we're expected to instill moral character.  And the zealots think that the first thing the teachers are gonna do on Halloween is dress their kid up like devils and sign them all up for our coven, since we're all practicing Wicca on the side.

I just wanna play dress up and eat candy for no good a reason.  I just want the kids to have fun at school.  I like it when they want to be here.  It makes it better for all of us.  The kids learn more when their play is full and rich and deeply rooted in imagination.   And that is what Halloween is all about, not Satanic ritual.  Well, it's about creative play and large scale commercialization of a national holiday.  Come on people!  Get behind the freakin' economy... buy a costume, eat some candy, and get this recession moving!

Anyhow, principals have found a whole route around the zealots.  They are a pretty imaginative lot themselves.  They call it "The Great Day of Reading" or something similar.  The teachers are allowed to dress up as "storybook characters" and then they read the story that their character is related to to their class.  Some schools make the whole day into a day of reading and have all of the teachers rotate around to different classes and some schools keep it more low key.

My current school is of the low key variety.  No scary costumes allowed for teachers and the kids can only wear cheerful style Halloween shirts with jeans.  I've decided that I am going to be Viola Swamp, the meanest substitute in the whole world!  She is the antagonist in "Miss Nelson is Missing."  I can't wait!!!

It calls to mind a few years ago at Bowie, when Mrs. Trout had a mandatory costume day for all of the teachers.  It was on Halloween.  She sent out an email that said that you had to come to school in costume.  One of the teachers was a religious zealot named Mr. Crouton.  Mr. Crouton had been a 5th grade teacher with me the year before and was new to the profession.  He had a lot of enthusiasm, but he was terrible.  The kids got him down and he kind of gave up.

Not that I blame him.  He was used to a lot of success in his previous occupation and Mrs. Trout was not one for slow learners.  She gave him a lot of credit the prior year that he didn't deserve and it came back to bite him in the ass, when there were more eyes on him and mounting pressure to deliver results that he couldn't possibly produce.  So when he explained to Mrs. Trout that he didn't dress up for Halloween for religious reasons and she retorted that he better get a costume or get a new job in front of other staff members, Mr. Crouton was primed to call the teacher's Union.

And that is just what he did.  He spent the better part of the Great Day of Reading in a Great Day of Covering His Ass.  My hat is off to him, because that Mrs. Trout would have handed his ass to him on a platter if she could have and instead he served her up a shit sandwich.  Mr. Crouton had his duties slowly taken from him piece by piece.  Throughout the year, specialist came to his class to take over and teach his class.  He got paid to virtually do nothing.  Eventually, he got another job in another district for the next year.  I don't know how he faired over there.

Mrs. Trout has the Great Day of Reading a few days before Halloween now.  It avoids a bunch of pitfalls.  I guess, Halloween is a scary day at school after all.

Arson...It's Not Just for Grown-ups Anymore

A few years back, I worked at Bowie Elementary (also an alias) in a Houston-area ISD. Bowie was whack. This was primarily because the administration at Bowie hated dealing with the deranged behavior of the students, so instead of the students realizing that they were at school where there were high expectations for behavior and learning they thought that they were in a precursor to prison day camp. All of us teachers were really doubling as prison guards and reading, writing, math, and science were a cute little sideshow until they felt like wrecking some havoc.

I made some great friends, while I worked at Bowie. In fact, it was a great friend that got me the job there in the first place. We still keep in touch and I get to hear about the effed up shit that still goes on there. Not that I am happy about it. It breaks my heart to hear about how these excellent teachers get put through the ringer every fucking day, because the principal doesn't have the guts to lay down the law. You can have your class on lock down, but when your kids act like these kids act and nobody gets your back, you are FUCKED! And that's a fact. Here's an example of what I'm talking about... My best friend calls me yesterday.

I had the best day today.

Really. Why?

Brendan, tried to burn down the school.

What?

Yeah. You heard me. Brendan. Tried. To. Burn. Down. The. School.

So.... what did they do? (I'm referring to the admin, because this is what matters in this situation. I'm always curious how Mrs. Trout handles the behavior issues at Bowie.)

Oh, they let him sit in the office for an hour, cause they had to read "Green Eggs and Ham" for a Great Day of Reading first. Then he was sent to Exile (teacher talk for the extended suspension campus) He's gone!

They let him sit for an hour? He tried to burn down the school. And they didn't attend to him for an hour?

Yeah. I know, 'cause they couldn't read any other time of day.

This is what pisses me off. A child brought a lighter to school and held it to the bathroom wall in front of even younger students. He scared them so badly that they started to cry and reported him to their teachers. He said, "I'm gonna burn the school down and I'm gonna kill Mrs. Wall."

To a kid, an hour seems like forever. And sitting in the office is a consequence of no consequence. And as all that time ticks by, he is thinking that everything is probably okay for him or he's plotting how he's going to try to burn the school down even better next time. As an administrator, you should know that if you don't handle issues like potential arson IMMEDIATELY then you are sending the message that it was NO BIG DEAL!

Even if the kid is sent to Exile, you didn't do a good enough job of sending the message that attempting to burn down the school is a a REALLY BAD CHOICE WITH MAJOR CONSEQUENCES! That when you try to burn down the school, it puts people in so much danger that even the principal stops the very important thing that she is doing to deal with you. This is why Bowie Elementary School and other schools like it suck. A principal without principles leads everyone astray.

Dumpster Diving with Ms. Milky

I've seen some seriously messed up shit at school. On my second day on the job, one kid busted another kid's two front teeth out. Another kid had a bowel issue where he was completely unaware that he had crapped his pants. One of my favorite students was a kleptomaniac. He couldn't NOT steal. Also, he had a thing for Sharpies.

I've seen my fair share of straight up hungry-ass kids. The kind who have some pretty empty kitchens at home. This can require some tricky maneuvering depending on the intensity of the situation. Sometimes, it's just a couple of snacks in drawer and other times it becomes more invasive.

Right now, I am providing my entire class with snack everyday. If I don't, it gets too hairy and we don't learn anything, because Tawanda gets too consumed with stealing other people's food. So, instead of fending off Tawanda everyday, I just pass out snack and they all get the same thing and she is de-incentived to take from other people, thusly turning my classroom into a giant squabble-fest each day.

What I haven't seen though is the mind blowing "holy-shit-did-you-really-just-do-that???" mess that Tawanda pulled today.

The girl ate out of the trash.

She ate out of the trash IN FRONT of the other students!

She grabbed the remnants of an already day-old cupcake that had been sitting at the bottom of the trashcan all day underneath snotty tissues and glued-on paper scraps and bits of thrown out nerds. Then she shoved it into her mouth. I could see the green frosting all around her little lips. She tried to scrub the evidence off with hand sanitizer, but they were still sweet smelling and sticky.

I won't go into the other weird things that she did today. It's too much. I don't even know if I can emotionally handle the mess that this poor kid is going through, so I don't know how she is handling it. It's so clear to me that someone is hurting her and/or neglecting her. Someone who should be taking care of her.

Don't worry. I've called about it. A few other people and I have a direct number to one of the supervisors at cps. But here is what I want to know? When is somebody going to actually protect this child? Maybe I'm just a know-it-all teacher that wants to point my finger at the parent before I suggest helping the parent or maybe everything inside my body says that this kid is being abused and trying to "help" her abuser/gatekeeper/neglector is fucking ridiculous.

Let's help the abuser once he/she is in prison. For fuck's sake. FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!

Like I said, I've seen a lot of messed up shit. I know that there is horrible stuff that happens to kids that I will never know about, even kids that are in my class. But this is a case, where I know that a kid is being abused and neglected. She is eating out of the trash. She is doing things that I won't write about on an anonymous blog. Something is terribly wrong with the way that our government goes about "protecting" children from their own "caregivers."

Free Drugs for Red Ribbon Week

This morning we had an assembly for Red Ribbon Week. Picture roughly 800 kids on the blacktop dancing to a drumbeat. There were cheerleaders, football players, dancers, and a good chunk of the marching band.

A sweet girl with a microphone attempted to rally the students.

Who wants to play football?

Who wants to be a cheerleader?

Soccer?

What about swimming?

Well, if you do drugs, then you can't do any of those things! Get it?

Okay. Now, we're gonna take a pledge. Everybody raise your right hand.

I promise that if anybody ever asks me to do drugs...

All the kids- I promise that if anybody ev..... jdjfjdfjajdj... do drugs....

I will just say no!

All the kids- I will just say no!

Forever and ever.

All the kids- Forever and ever....

Okay, guys, y'all stay drug free!

(Behind the scenes... quick! Somebody give the mic to the cheerleading coach!)

Cue some drums and the cheerleading coach. The kids did a cute little dance/cheer thing and high-fived the football players and end scene.

Fast forward to dismissal. I run into this super sweet first grade teacher. We stop to chat.

You know what one of my kids said to me today?

What?

Hey, it's Free Drugs day at school!

What did you say?

You're half way there, baby.

She throws her hands up into the air and walks away. We've got a tough row to hoe.

Got Plans Anyone?

I am supposed to be writing lesson plans right now. At the moment, I don't really know how that is going to be accomplished. I have ZERO motivation to do that. I'm exhausted.

The plan expectations are ridiculous and with that said.... they aren't as bad as they could be. Just objectives, vocabulary, materials, before, during, and afters, and two rigorous questions for 5 subjects 5 days a week, plus technology plans.

Sometimes I just wanna scream... BITE ME!!!!

There is like no time to write plans. None. Zip. Zero. Nada.

Someone should write plans for us and then we should be able to go in and tweak them. There's an idea, but who's for maximizing time and energy. Efficiency in education. Fuck that. Let's just give every teacher a general outline and a giant weekly homework assignment. That'll be an awesome use of their time that they aren't being paid for in the first place.

Ahhhhhhhh!!! Why has nobody thought of this????

I hate planning. Teacher's.... are you with me?

What's Chaz Gotta Do with It?

Somebody told me that I kind of looked like Chaz Bono the other day.  Excuse me?

Yeah.  Before he was a man.  When he was Chastity Bono.  You kinda look like him then.

Ummmm.

So I googled some pictures of Chastity Bono and I guess if you just look at the ones where she's in make-up and has really long blonde hair with bangs and is holding her guitar, then maybe I bear a resemblance to that.  I guess, because I'm white and I have long blondish hair.

On the other hand, I suppose I look kinda like Pamela Anderson or Blake Lively if you want to use that criteria... so I mentally gave that person the finger, smiled, and said thanks I feel famous.

The whole Chaz thing came up, because my team was talking about a student with a gender identity issue during lunch.  Ashley is in Ms. Bullock's class.  She's a tomboy.  Not just a girl that can rough and tumble, but an honest to goodness tomboy.  This year, though, she's stepped it up a notch.

Most of the kids don't realize that Ashley is a girl.  Almost all of them refer to her as "him."  Ashley wears cargo shorts, a polo shirt, and sneakers everyday.  Mostly she plays basketball or games with the boys at recess.  On occasion, she will accuse another girl of being a boy, but she doesn't seem to make an issue out of it.

About a week ago, Ashley cut off her hair and began to style it like a boy haircut.  This blew my mind.  Ms. Bullock was entirely unfazed.  I think Ashley is one of those kids that saps your energy in so many other ridiculous ways that the kind of hair style she chooses or clothes she wears seems petty to nitpick.

Ms. Bullock is also emotionally and mentally evolved.  "I don't want to decide what Ashley's gender is when she's 8 years old.  What if she changes her mind?  So, it's all yes ma'am and no ma'am for me."  See what I mean?  Who looks ahead like that?  Sometimes kids wind up with just the right teacher.

Today, Ashley decided to check into the boys bathroom at recess.  Who would stop her?  She looks, acts, and talks like a boy, so anyone who wasn't familiar with her would just assume she was right where she was supposed to be.  So, now she's not allowed to use the restroom during recess.  Simple solution.

For some reason, I have a hard time wrapping my mind around this situation.  I don't get it.  Can kids know that young that they should have another body than the one they were born with?  Seems like maybe so.  Or maybe not.  What if she does change her mind?  Hair grows back, clothes can change, and new friends are made.  Where does this come from though?

And is there anyway that we can isolate this issue for what is... a kid that is confused... and stop comparing me to Chaz!!!  I'm happy for you now, man, but I've got to draw the line somewhere.  Luckily, I think I've found it and it's somewhere near the boys bathroom.

Why I Changed the Blog Title

So I had to change the title of the blog.  It began as Effed Up Shit My Kids Say.  Then I told my mother the name of the blog and it was just too much.  It took me almost two hours to change over my GMail and the Facebook account and then the blog even got deleted and I had to email Google.  All because of the disharmony I felt telling my mother the name of the blog and then realizing that it didn't really fit with the message of the blog or the intended audience.

My intended audience is primarily teachers, educators, and the cool parents.  I know some readers (if there ever are any) may take issue with my cussing, but I have to do it.  I know that in school I can't cuss, but if you only knew what was going through my mind half the time you would be amazed at what didn't come out of my mouth.

I think that most teachers have a teaching persona that they wear during the day.  And in the background of their minds, they have a little narrator that they dialogue with that keeps them sane throughout the day.  I converse with myself constantly.  There is a stream of consciousness that hurls out rhetorical questions and asinine insults, while my face says and mouth pleasantly nods, smiles, redirects, and reteaches without so much as a furrowed brow.

That's what mothers can do to you.  They worm into your subconscious and keep your demons at bay.  On occasion, mine seep out when I think that nobody is looking.  I preach about this constantly to my students.

You have to have integrity.  You must do the right thing when nobody is looking.

I don't know if writing an anonymous blog full of cuss words about my teaching life lacks integrity, but something about referring to my students as "effed up" felt bad.  So, it had to go.  Even though I feel like I've got to hang on to that creative license to write how I think sometimes, I don't want to put down my students.  I mean, they can't help it if their parents are totally fucked up.

Just kidding.

Sort of...

Let's just say that I don't ever want to know what they say about me at my kid's daycare.  Fair enough?

But, the bottom line is that I don't think I'm alone.  I think a lot of teachers are like me.  We struggle.  We love these kids.  We work so hard to help them succeed.  We take a lot of criticism from a lot of people who don't know what the fuck they are talking about and granted sometimes we don't know what the hell we are doing, but we are doing our best.

I personally know some administrators who have changed their surnames to Redtape.  I've deforrested 40 acres in the Amazon filling out bullshit paperwork that never go anywhere for kids that are "generally low" and will never get the real support and services that they need.  Who hasn't?

So maybe it's not that my kids are effed up.  Could it be that something else is failing them?  I know the answer to that, but I don't have the solution.  I know and so does every other teacher out there that works his or her ass off for their kids everyday.  I'm not special or unique.  There are thousands of under appreciated teachers out there and I could be any one of them.

Holy Head Lice!

A tiny black bug just dropped from my hair.  I was blowing my nose and I felt something move near my face.  There it was in the bathroom mirror... hanging from the ends of my side swept bang.  Bam!  It flung to the floor.  I examined it for a moment nestled in a wad of tissue paper before flushing it.  Whoosh!

Suddenly, my head itches all over.  I start thinking about Geneva and Hope and Olivia.  Why didn't I send the other two girls to the nurse to get their hair checked, too?  What does lice look like anyways?

I go and google head lice.  There are 8 billion pictures of lice.  Is that the bug that just came out of my hair?  I wish I hadn't flushed it so quickly.

I call Matt.  Okay.  You can't laugh.  You can't be grossed out and you have to promise to help me.

Okay, but you are kinda freaking me out.

Seriously.   Don't laugh.

Okay.

Okay.  I need you to come over and check me for lice.  Remember when I told you that Geneva had it last Friday?  I let those dang kids climb all over me.  They play with my hair and hug me and I just can't be mean.

Baby, just feel around your head.  See if you can feel one of them.

(Mentally crushed and emotionally breaking down inside.)  Nooooo!  I can't.  Please.  Please, just come and look.  I can't see them.  I don't know what they look like.  My head itches.  I need you to check.  Please.

Okay, baby.  I'll be there in 10 minutes.

Now, that is love.  The man brought a flashlight.  And he didn't even make fun of me.... well, mostly.  He only told me I had lice twice before I got the all clear.  Now, that's what I call homework.

Beef Jerky Bribes

All this talk of hot Cheeto blackmail reminds of the great "Beef Jerky and Skittle Bribe" of 2004.  Anna Marie was one of the fastest talking girls I have ever met.  She had a way of making you despise her and absolutely fall in love with her simultaneously.

She was smart and funny and sneaky as a snake.  There was a new boy in class who was just straight up wierd.  He ate his boogers, talked in a squeaky voice, tattled constantly, and looked like a cross between a Fraggle and a shrunken head doll.  Poor Mitchell crossed paths with the wrong girl, because one day Anna Marie decided that she was out to get him.

Not one to get her hands dirty and sensing my innate preference for the girls in the class, she bribed four of five of the sweetest little angels to drag Mitchell behind the playground slide and beat him up for stick of beef jerky and a bag of Skittles.  Two of the little darlings stood as a human shield while the other two slugged him in the stomach.

My co-teacher and I were clueless.  Another student ratted them out and brought the remnants of the evidence (a jerky wrapper and empty Skittles bag), as well as a bleary-eyed Mitchell to sketch out the story.  Anna Marie copped to the story almost immediately.  She smiled this huge smile and put her hands in air and said, "He's been driving me crazy, Ms. Milky!" It was like seeing that wrapper and empty bag was the equivalent of catching her with her hand in the cookie jar.


Kids never seem to think... hey... you littered!  They just know that they are in trouble and confess.  It amazed me that it seemed reasonable to beat the hell out of someone and conspire to have others do it for you, just because someone was bugging you. I think about Anna Marie from time to time and I wonder how she is doing.  I can imagine how Mitchell is doing and that is too dreary for me.  I hope that nobody has beaten the shit out of her.  I hope that nobody has beaten the fire out of her, either.

I spent a good part of the year protecting Mitchell from bullying, but I know that the kids that were doing it were being bullied by someone else.  And that is why my thoughts linger with them.

Fifth Grade Flashback!

Let's talk about 5th grade!  Not my favorite year of teaching.  I never got to give it another go around, but I'm okay with that.  If I could sum it up in one word, it would be clusterfuck.  That's what makes the 5th grade flashback so much fun!  I can visit it in my mind, but I don't have to live it.

Like the day Elisa snipped off a chunk of my hair in the back and called me a bitch for writing her up.  Then she refused to leave the school and the Assistant Principal had to call the cops to remove her from campus, since we couldn't physically remove her ourselves and her mom was unreachable.  Nevermind that she committed a crime when she cut my hair off.  It's called assault.

The principal assigned her to a day of in-school suspension.  That's typically what students got for coming out of uniform.  This is one of the many reasons why I couldn't stand my administrator from that school.  No consequences of consequence.  I'm all for compassion, but I want the consequences.    

I walked Elisa out of the building myself that day.  I hugged her at the curb and let her cry.  I don't remember if she said she was sorry.  It was a rocky road for me and Elisa from there on out.  I felt sorry for her and I did my best to hold her responsible.  At the end of the school year, she told me that I was the third best teacher that she ever had.  Not too shabby.  Considering.

The F-Bomb

Last Friday, Tawanda dropped the f-bomb.  

But I meant to say "bastard," she said.  

I had earlier explained to her that the word bastard referred to kids without fathers around and that it wasn't appropriate for school.  Tawanda has a knack for using colorful language when speaking about other children, so we frequently have to clarify her expressions.  It takes the power out of her words.

It just came out.

Tawanda was also pulling up her skirt to show her bloomers to the entire class.  This was while we were discussing the difference between privacy and secrecy.  

Why would I need to discuss the difference between privacy and secrecy you ask?  Well, two little girls in my class bullied another little girl all week.  Hope and Olivia told Geneva that if she would bring them hot Cheetos that they would not disclose to the rest of the class that she had lice. 

What the fuck?

They are seven years old.  What kind of mafioso stunt is that?  Geneva lives at the downtown shelter and doesn't have two sticks to rub together, much less materialize hot Cheetos.  Olivia was kind enough to give Geneva a blackmail extension of sorts.  Hope was a little less forgiving and had already let the cat out of the bag.  

I realized that my kids had learned this shit from somewhere.  Somebody had said to them, if you won't tell then I'll give you this.  Or you better not tell or I'm gonna do something bad to you.  And a light went off in my head that my kids have secrets that they don't want people to know and that they don't know how to determine when it's a harmless secret and when it's a hurting secret. So... that's how we got to the discussion on privacy vs. secrecy.

And that is when Tawanda pulled up her skirt.  And that is when she said fuck in front of all of my second graders.  And that is when Jacob put his hands on his ears and said, "Everything is okay.  Everything is alright."

I looked at poor little Jacob.  Sit down.  Everything is okay.  Everything is alright.  Say it with me guys.  Jacob that is a good coping skill.  Right on man.  Way to go!  Everything is okay.  Everything is alright. It's just a word.  And words are only as powerful as we let them be.  

And one of the kids said "Come on let's help Tawanda."  And they all sat down and listened.  So, we finished our lesson on the difference between secrecy and privacy.  And I hope that the message got to the kid that needed it.  I don't know who it was, but I know it need to be said.  

Tawanda got in trouble.  Big time.  But I still think it's just a word.

On a Real Test You Gotta Cheat

Ms. Milky is this a test?

No, but it's for a grade.

Oh.

Then I overhear one kid say to the other.  What's the difference between a test and a regular grade?  Geneva answers without hesitation.

On a real test, you gotta cheat.

Teaching... my a$$

I'm a teacher.  Sort of.  That's my job title.  I've taught third grade, fourth grade, second grade, and fifth grade.  I've substituted from kindergarten all the way up to senior year and in the gym. And most of the time I knew what I was doing, especially if you take out the first semester that I ever taught.  And by most of the time, I mean 51% of the time.  Most meaning more than half.

Here's the scary part.  I'm one of the good ones.  I really care.  I like my job.  I work hard at it.  I try to do it well.  I am engaged in being the best teacher that I can possibly be, because I believe that it matters.  I know that what I do directly impacts the learning and lives of the students in my classroom right now and in the days, weeks, months, and years to come.  And I still fuck up.  All the time.  There is just no way to get this job right the first time, every time.  It takes constant practice, diligence, and refinement.

If you spent a day in the classroom with me, you would know what I'm talking about.  And you would understand why I say that I'm only sort of a teacher.  Sometimes, I feel more like a referee or a prison guard or a counselor or a medic.  Even when someone isn't fighting or brooding or crying or injured, I had to step up my game in order to engage the students more in the classroom.  So, I feel a bit like a rap star sometimes. I've found that there is very little that I won't do to keep my kids in line.

My intention for this blog is to keep it short and sweet.  I have soooooo many quips from over the years that I don't think that I can possibly run out in one week.  Let's kick it off with one of my all time favorites:

The time Jordan stole mace from my desk and sprayed Moquanna with it, causing a classroom evacuation that led to a "whole school" evacuation in response to a false "chemical warfare"drill.   Sweet!