When the janitor watches you fill your water bottle at the hallway water fountain and says “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” that is NOT good.
#heknowsthings
Category Archives: Kids/Teaching
Two kids went home sick today, the first school day after Halloween, which is just sad.
These nerds need to step up their candy-gorge game. I expected half the class to be out.
I’ve had a stomach ache for 3 days.
Overreaction
Today there was a cockroach in our classroom the size of my hand.
It was literally the largest bug I’ve ever seen in real life, and it was hanging out right under one of our computers. My co-teacher spotted it first and relayed the information to me in the calmest, quietest tone she could muster (and if you know my co-teacher, you can appreciate the restraint this took) in order to not draw the kids’ attention, whispering the phrase “I’m going to throw up” no less than six times.
I’m not good with bugs. But more and more kids were spotting it, and the classroom was one second away from full blown hysteria. I appreciated that my co-teacher was PRETENDING to take action by grabbing a tissue box, but, let’s be real, she wasn’t going to do shit, other than possibly puke on herself.
It was up to me.
So I calmly walked over to the roach with a mountain of tissues, scooped it up, and placed it in a plastic ziplock bag. The kids gasped and then erupted into applause. They were being absurd and beyond dramatic. Then, for the next 20 minutes, they were unable to focus on their writing task. They were giving me the thumbs up, congratulating me, telling me how brave I am– pretty much anything they could do to avoid their work. You know how 9 year olds are. It was a total overreaction and completely ridiculous.
I’ve never felt cooler.
CPR Training
Me: “When should we perform CPR on a child?”
CPR Trainer: “When the child is unresponsive.”
Well then. Break out the AED machine. My entire class is legally dead.
Not Every Story Needs Context
My co-teacher (on the phone with her husband): “So, Emily decided to take her bra off, and then our principal walked in to observe us.”
I mean…there was a bit more context to that story but yeah.
That’s pretty much exactly what happened.
(For the record, yesterday was National No Bra Day. I’m a philanthropist.)
A Teaching Metaphor
People often ask me what it’s like to teach at a city public school, so I figured I’d go ahead and create a pat answer that almost anyone can relate to.
You know that feeling you have when you’re trying to fold a fitted sheet? It’s like that.
But instead of one sheet, you’re folding 30 sheets at the same time.
And every sheet has its own unique challenge, in addition to the inherent challenge of it being a GODDAMN FITTED SHEET THAT WON’T FOLD.
Some of the sheets have holes in them, and no matter how gentle you try to be, you end up accidentally ripping them more, because they’re just too damn fragile.
Some are as stiff as cardboard and simply can’t be bent in any direction, no matter how hard you push, tug, and pull.
Some smell like stale sweat so you have to figure out a way to fold them without breathing, lest you vomit.
Some are falling apart at the seams.
Some have bed bugs.
Some are tear-stained.
Some are straight up covered in pee.
But you’re still expected to fold all 30 of them every single day, all at the same time, and put them neatly away. In a pristine pile. In a tiny, overheated closet that can’t possibly hold a pile of 30 sheets.
Then at 3pm, EVERY SINGLE DAY (even on the days you DO manage to create an actual pristine pile, which happens an average of 1 day per decade), the sheet manufacturers come by, rip open your tiny closet, rummage through your neat pile, and derail everything you worked so hard to do.
But don’t worry, you get another chance to fold them bright and early the next morning.
And every morning.
For the rest of your life.
But yeah otherwise teaching is great!
Things We Get Asked at Work
Kid (to my coteacher): “Um excuse me, can you please blow in my eye?”
No. No she cannot.
No literally. There is definitely a rule in the teacher handbook about blowing in children’s eyes.
If not, there should be.
Sometimes I Have to Explain Things In a Way the Parent Will Understand
As I sit here writing an IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for a student in my class, I am reminded of a meeting years ago in which the parent of the child asked why her extremely emotionally disturbed son wasn’t at a higher reading level. I explained that young James was not excelling in reading (note: he was progressing, just not excelling) because he spent his days at school tantruming, curling up in a ball, instigating fights with other children, and hiding under the security desk in the school’s main lobby.
She then asked, “But you’re the special ed teacher, isn’t it your job to stop him and make him learn?”
I then showed her the learning goals I had outlined and was implementing for James, and explained that while it is my job to support his needs to my greatest ability, that is also my job for 28 other students in the class, and it is not always possible for me to “stop James and make him learn,” particularly when he is screaming curse words and throwing chairs at me.
She then asked “Then what is the point of having the special ed teacher there if she’s not helping the special ed kids?”
I then showed her the positive behavior reward system I had written and implemented for James, and explained that I am helping him, and he is progressing. I just can’t be all things at all times.
She then said “But if you were really helping, James would be at a higher reading level.”
I then showed her the pencil in my hand, and explained that I keep a pencil in my hand almost all day, as it is a superb tool for teaching children. To demonstrate this to her, I got a piece of paper, and showed her how with this pencil, I could write words, create visuals, edit mistakes, and expose children to all kinds of new educational concepts.
But no matter how hard I tried, when I pointed my pencil at students, I couldn’t seem to get it to shoot out fairy dust.
Because it’s a fucking pencil.
Not a magic wand.
And I’m not a wizard.
So SHUT YOUR FACE, lady.
Ebola Mom, Part 44
(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
First time tutoring Ebola Mom’s kid since last school year…
Me: “Hey kiddo! How was your trip to Europe?”
Kid: “So good! We stayed in REALLY fancy hotels! I had to wear a fancy dress to dinner EVERY night!”
Me: “Oooh, how nice!”
Kid: “Yeah. And I got you a present!”
Me: “You did?! Aw, you shouldn’t have.”
Kid hands me this:
Me (trying to hide my what-the-fuckness): “Oh, M&Ms!”
Kid: “My mom said I could only spend $2.”
Me: “Ok, well. That makes sense. What with the cost of the fancy hotels and all…”
Kid: “Yeah. So I wanted to get something nicer but I could only get candy.”
Me: “Well, they’re M&Ms all the way from Europe, so they must be special!”
Kid: “Actually I got them at the airport.”
Me: “That’s still Europe!”
Kid: “JFK Airport.”
Me: “Oh.”
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