I’m actually really glad that we’re being forced to give the kids this last-minute, 2 hour practice state test because I was just thinking about how our students don’t cry enough.
Plus it’s giving our classroom paraprofessional plenty of time to catch up on her sex-and-murder novel.
So really, everyone wins.
Guys– I’m worried. I think there might be something wrong with my month-old nephew. Now hear me out.
Last night, I offered to babysit so my sister and brother-in-law could go to dinner. They’d only be gone a couple hours– all I had to do was feed the kid and put him to bed. Child’s play. (Or baby’s play, if you will).
So everything was going fine. I told him it was time to eat, and he ate. I burped him, he burped. Right on cue. No problem. But THEN, guys, things got weird.
I told him it was bedtime, and he stared at me with wide eyes. Wide, alert, play-with-me eyes. “No, no,” I reminded him, “Bedtime is when we SHUT our eyes.” But he continued to stare at me, making the most awake-looking face one could possibly muster. “Oh god,” I thought to myself. “He thinks ‘bedtime’ means ‘be awake.’ How is he THIS confused? This is literally the least confusing concept to understand.”
“Ok, don’t panic,” I told myself, taking a deep breath. “Maybe he’s just a visual learner. No big deal. I’ll just model it for him.” So I put him down in his chair, facing me, and then I closed my eyes and mimicked a light snore. “Now do you remember what bedtime means?” I asked him. He cocked his head a bit so I took that as a yes. Turns out he was just pissing himself. No shame at all, this kid. None.
So I took him back into the nursery and urged him to try again. “Ok, so, now that I gave you that very clear reminder about what bedtime means, it’s time for you to show me what you’ve learned.” But did the kid shut his eyes? No. He opened them even WIDER. I didn’t even think it was possible for such small eyes to open that wide. Nor did I know it was possible to be THIS BAD at following directions. I’m a teacher, I’ve seen kids screw up plenty a direction, but rarely do they do the EXACT opposite of what I ask. This is bad.
For the next 70 minutes, he continued to lay there, not understanding what bedtime means. At one point he even started cooing and making what I can only assume were meant to be jazz hands. Is this kid fucking serious?
So what do we think is going on here? Does he not speak English? Does he have some rare processing disorder where information goes in, and then his brain turns it around to mean the EXACT opposite? Do you think my sister knows something’s up, or does she have her rose-colored mom glasses on? Should I tell her?
GUYS– HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT BEDTIME MEANS. I just hope they have specialists for this.
While reading a book about the slave trade in Colonial America, a student raised her hand to share a thought:
Kid: “Miss Emily, I have an inference about the slave trade. I bet they paid more money for the younger slaves, because they’d live longer. Of course, slavery is wrong and horrible, but I’m just putting myself in that time period, before they understood how horrible it was, and I’m picturing how the slave owners would think. They’d probably want to get the most for their money. And if they knew they could have the slave for more time, I bet they would pay more money.”
I looked at her, impressed by her thoughtful and analytical inference.
“So, like, you know,” she added, “It’s the same idea as when you buy a guinea pig.”
Right. There it is. You’re 9.
Dear Kids,
Sorry for the numerous assaults on your innocence today. The very challenging math test in the morning should have been enough for one day. Instead, we then did a half-hour vocabulary lesson with the words “mourn,” “mourning,” and “mourners.” I think you get it now– everyone dies. And it’s fucking sad.
Oh– but then, just for good measure, we read you the next chapter in our book– a very descriptive passage about the conditions of the African salve ships en route to Colonial America. We probably could have stopped at the part about the white men tossing children’s bodies overboard to the sharks, but we thought it would be better to then drive home the point by focusing, in great detail, on the foul odors, blood, vomit, and feces that permeated the ships.
Knowing this was coming, I wanted to hand each of you a Prozac when you walked in the door this morning, but my co-teacher said that was inappropriate. So I swallowed them all instead.
Enjoy your weekend visit to the ice cream store and petting zoo, and sorry again for crushing your innocence!
xoxo,
Miss Emily
As our class waited to enter the cafeteria, I showed a student a picture of my month-old nephew, face-planted on a blanket, doing absolutely nothing, as babies do.
Kid: “Aww! Cute.”
Me: “I know! Isn’t he SO smart!?”
Kid: (looks quizzically at the picture)
Me: “Like, the way he’s just lying there! It’s genius!”
Kid: “Ummm…I guess?”
Me: “I’m telling you, a baby who can rest like this– he’s going to cure cancer one day.”
Kid: “Oh I see. You’re messing with me.”
Me: “Yes! You’re finally able to read my sarcasm!”
Kid: “Well, it’s not really fair– sometimes you’re being sarcastic and sometimes you’re just being weird.”
Me: “Ah. So the truth comes out. You think I’m weird.”
Kid (backtracking): “Well, yeah…but like, weird is GOOD. There’s no such thing as weird, really. Weird just means different.”
Me: “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
Kid: “No!”
Me: “Really?”
Kid (defeated): “Ok…yeah.”
A student in my class was having a “lady problem” and needed to go to the nurse. As I walked her there, I could tell she felt embarrassed, so I put my arm around her, smiled and said, “Don’t worry. It’s a very common thing. Part of the joys of being a woman!”
Her: “I haven’t found many joys.”
Me: “It gets better, kid. Promise.”
Her: “Really? Like how?”
Me: “It just does.”
Her: “But in what ways?”
Yeah I got nothin.
Kid: “Woah, Miss Emily! You look like me now!”
She’s Indian.
Here’s an alarming thing to hear from the first student to walk in the door this morning, before I had finished my coffee and with no context.
“Miss Emily– I named my box!”
Please see Ebola Mom Part 1 , Ebola Mom Part 2 , and Ebola Mom Part 3 if you are not already familiar with this woman (a tutoring client). Then read the conversation below, which began with her texting me that her daughter wasn’t feeling well and stayed home from school today. I am supposed to tutor her tomorrow.
Oh, like your face? When I slap you across it?
A kid approaches me with his morning work, looking exhausted:
Me: “What’s wrong, bud?”
Kid: “I’m jet lagged.”
Me: “Ohhh, did you go somewhere good over break?”
Kid: “Yeah. Boston.”
Me: “Hmm, ok so Boston is in our time zone. Also it’s a pretty short flight.”
Kid: “We drove.”
Me: “Ok, so basically, you’re just tired.”
Kid: “I guess.”
Me: “Jet-lag involves being on a plane. And changing time zones.”
Kid: “Got it.”
Another kid approaches, sees his tired friend, and asks, “What’s wrong, man?”
Kid: “I’m jet-lagged.”
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