Apparently, Not Everything Is About Me

I have been really busy the last few weeks. Nothing particularly interesting, just busy. So when I sat down to write, I had to search my memory for a bit to decide what to write about. I eventually came up with something, but want to share a couple of pictures first.

A few days ago I was visiting my friend Brad's house. His son Bradyn was running around the house doing what 2 year olds do. Screaming, laughing and throwing things at the guest. After an hour or so, he began to slow down and sat to watch TV. He curled up in a chair with a doll and was very quiet.

As I got up to leave, I got my first good look at the doll.

His dad says it's Braydyn's favorite and sleeps with it every night. Brad had bought it at a haunted house a few years ago and Bradyn took a liking to it. Brad and his wife eventually decided to just let him have it.

Bradyn plays with trucks and blocks the same as other boys his age, but the nipple-pierced demon is his favorite toy. I will be keeping my eye on this kid.

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For this next picture, I don't have any story, it just really caught my eye.

A pink Mustang. I'm still not sure how I feel about that.

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The new school year started last week. Kirsten and I both had a great summer and hated to see it come to an end. However, it has ended and it is time to get back to work. As Kirsten was getting ready for her day, I ran out to the mailbox. In the way back, I noticed some bright colors on the steps by our side door. Since I had not yet put in my contacts, I couldn't tell what it was, but knew it was out of place.

From about 20 feet away, I saw that it was a vase of roses. Now, I am not really a big fan of flowers, but a huge smile immediately came to my face.

In the few seconds it took me to retrieve them, my mind went through a series of thoughts.

WOW! Red sent me flowers! She is so awesome. I love her.

Wait, she's still looking for work and money has been tight, so I doubt she would spend her money this way. Plus, she usually puts more thought into her gifts. I don't think she would send flowers even if she was sending a gift.

These are on the steps of my side door and it is only 7:30 in the morning. A flower company did not deliver these. It must be someone local.

Have I done something nice for someone lately and they want to say thank you?

Do I have a secret admirer?

It wouldn't matter who it was. I am very happy with Red, but it would be flattering. Who sent me these flowers?

I grabbed the flowers and pulled out the card to settle my racing mind.

KIRSTEY? WHAT?!?

It hadn't occurred to me for even a moment that they could have been for someone else. I'm not the only person in this house. Am I really so arrogant, that I could only conceive of the gift being mine. Well, I am that arrogant, but that's not really the point.

I have written in past posts about my daughter dating, but I guess the reality of it isn't really at the forefront of my mind. I have accepted it, but am not really used to it yet.

How Many Preschoolers Fit in a Box?

This morning I tackled a task that I have been dreading for the last few months. Due to summer activities and one of the regular workers asking to take the summer off, my church has been a little short-handed on preschool workers. Last April, when I was approached to help, I adamantly declined. I have no desire to work with small children even when I am getting paid for it. You can read here (Teacher Troubles) about the time I was stuck with 24 of them for an entire day. Despite my protests, they didn't back down and I reluctantly agreed to take one day. Today was that day.

I had forgotten about agreeing to do this until a book was set in front of me at last week's dinner. It contained the lesson plan for today. My daughter, who was to be my assistant, was told she would have to walk me through it. She has assisted with the children many times and apparently is pretty good at it. Neither of us picked up the book, each assuming that the other was going to get it. On Wednesday, when I asked Kirsten for the book, we realized what had happened. I looked all over the church and my home for that book and finally realized that I would be walking in blind with no lesson.

I have taught hundreds of times and most of the time write my own lessons, but it is generally for teenagers or adults. At those ages, the lesson are information based. With tiny little moron kids, you have to do activities to keep their minds occupied and prevent them from biting each other. Then, while you have them distracted, you try to sneak in a nugget of knowledge or two and call it a productive lesson time. I am not good at this type of teaching.

Clowns make people happy.

There were seven children, including two I had never seen before and would not speak. One of them was a boy content to dig through the bins of toys and keep himself occupied. He wouldn't acknowledge me in any way, but he seemed pretty low maintenance, so I didn't mind. The silent girl sat at the table and stared at me, but would not speak. I could almost detect her head moving when I asked her a question, but I couldn't be sure. I was just happy that no one appeared to be scared of me. The smaller children often seem to have a heightened sense of paranoia.

The kids were pretty well behaved and I spent most of my time throwing toys back in the bins so there would not be a huge clean up afterwards requiring me to take bids from contractors. My daughter was on bathroom duty and escorted them when they suddenly realized they had to go. I was grateful to have her there for that, but then she said, "Who's ready for a snack."

ME: (exasperated) Why would you say that?

KIRSTEN: Say what? 

ME: About the food?

KIRSTEN: It's time to eat.

ME: We are only in here for an hour and everyone is happy. What have you done?

KIRSTEN: Dad, we have to feed them.

ME: No, we don't. Once again, one hour.

KIRSTEN: I don't see what the problem is.

ME: You don't fix what isn't broke. This will only lead to disaster.

As we were having this debate the kids had made their way to the table and were already demanding what they wanted.

ME: See what you've done.

KIRSTEN: Just throw some food at them.

Kirsten pulls a box of graham crackers out of the closet. I objected on the grounds that we had to clean this room before we left.

ME: No. Too many crumbs.

Kirsten rolls her eyes, returns to the closet and comes back with prepackaged apple slices.

ME: No, too sticky.

Kirsten appeared frustrated. I don't know why, I was only trying to help. She doesn't always think these things through. She suggested we start with the drinks since the kids were starting to complain. She gave each kid a cup and asked me to grab the juice.

ME: Juice? That will get everywhere and once again, sticky.

Kirsten stepped around me to get the juice and knocked a box of raisins to the floor. One of the kids immediately started crying.

SHORT PERSON: (wailing) I don't like raisins.

Raisins OR bloated ticks

I picked up the box and yelled, "This box is full of bugs!" I then threw several of the raisins on the table and told the kids to kill the bugs. They just looked at me.

ME: (urgently) Kill the bugs before they crawl away and get in the other classes!

The little boy that hadn't spoke all through class ran up to the table and smacked his hand on one of the raisins and squished it.

ME: Good! Now, quick, eat the bug.

He popped it in his mouth and smiled. I threw more raisins on the table and the kids simultaneously went nuts trying to smash them all and cram them in their mouths before they crawled away. This included the kid who insisted he didn't like raisins.

We made it through snack time with no messes and never did serve the drinks, but the kids didn't notice and Kirsten did not object. We passed the rest of the time making animal noises and I scared one kid by removing my finger. She hid in the corner until I promised to put it back on and not do the trick again. I debated since she was very quiet in the corner, but the other kids had grown weary of that trick anyway.

Parents eventually started showing up to reclaim their children and due to our pre-planning, there was very little clean up. Once again, I have survived a room full of small children. However, I still have no desire to do it again.

And I Mean It, Stanley

I've mentioned in earlier posts that I have been spending a lot of time in local schools to meet the requirements for my degree. Illinois standards require teaching majors to spend a certain number of hours observing students and teachers in a classroom setting for every hour of college instruction. Since I am getting my degree in secondary education, I am assigned to junior and senior high schools for my observation credits.

However, I spend even more time in the schools as a substitute teacher. As a substitute, I have worked with all age groups. I have written about some of those experiences here. I quickly learned why I am specializing in secondary education. I really do not relate well to younger children. I have since taken my name off the list for grades kindergarten through fifth grade. I didn't have much of a choice. On one day (if school had lasted another hour), I might have been jailed for choking half a dozen second graders. It was a horrible day.

No! You can't take your pants off.

I'll stick to what I know. I work very well with junior and senior high age kids. I have even discovered that I can work with preschoolers as long as there are helpers in the classroom that know what to do. I would never attempt that age by myself. I have been bitten, stabbed with a pencil, cussed at and spat on. Without another adult in the room to keep me in check, I might act out my fantasies of chucking a 4 year old through the nearest window. They are pretty small. It wouldn't be that difficult. However, their outbursts are typically short lived and I even enjoy it for the most part. Just don't leave me alone with them.

Last month, I was cursed had the privilege of returning to the same preschool class every day for three weeks. This actually makes things much easier than going to a different class every day. I had the opportunity to learn the names and strange idiosyncrasies of each ankle-biter. It makes all the difference in the world when you get to know the kids. It is so much better.

Each day involved lots of crafts, lessons and activities, but my favorite part was the beginning and end of each day. I would start each day reading a couple of books to the kids. This helps them to calm down and gain a little focus before starting the day. We ended the day with the same activity right before their parents came to pick them up.

I enjoyed this for several reasons. One of the biggest was the fact that I got to sit during this time. Another reason was that I actually had the attention of the whole class. That rarely happened. I would do the voices of the characters and add my personal commentary to each page. It was great to hear the kids laugh and say the words with me. As much as they liked to hear the same stories again and again, I tried to introduce them to a new book each day.

I remembered reading this as a child.

I would get to the school early so I could dig through the library and find a book to read during story time. On one of those days I came across a book that I vaguely remembered from my childhood, And I Mean It, Stanley. I thumbed through it quickly to see if it was the story I remembered.

Throughout the book, the child is yelling at someone not visible in the pictures. She is building things with the junk in her back yard and yelling that Stanley better come out to play now. The whole book is rather one sided. This little girl is yelling and getting more and more irate as the book progresses.

It finally reaches the climax when . . . well, I don't want to give away the ending in case it ever gets made into a movie. I don't want to spoil the ending.

Being a book from my childhood, I was excited to share it with the children. As they started coming into the classroom and taking their spots on the rug in front of me, they started making their demands requests for the book they wanted to hear. I told them I had already selected a book for the day.

Once they all got seated and quiet, I pulled out the book. I explained that I had read this story when I was a kid. As I was showing them the book, I saw something on the cover in the top right corner I had not noticed before.

That is my brother's name!  KYLE MINOR
This is the same copy that used to be in our house.

When I said I had this book as a kid, I didn't know I had actually owned THIS specific copy. It threw me for a moment. We grew up 30 miles away from this school. It had been at least three decades since we physically had the book in our possession. Somehow it had made some travels, passed through countless owners and ended up in this school in my hands.

Once I regained composure and snapped back to the present I told the kids what I had found. They didn't seem to be nearly as impressed as I was. I read the book to them with more enthusiasm than I would have otherwise. We all celebrated when we got to the ending and began our day.

At the end of the day, they requested to read the book again and I was more than happy to oblige. Soon, the parents began to show up and one by one the kids got their hugs and left for the day. Once the room was empty, I pulled the book out to marvel at it again.

After a couple of minutes, I realized that my amazement was silly. The book was still in the same county as last time I saw it. It had probably been donated to a library by my mother or sold in a yard sale. At some point it was given to this school. It really wasn't that big of a deal. I set the book down and turned off the lights for the day.

Before I closed the classroom door, I returned to the book and quickly placed it in my coat. After all, it had my family name on it.

RELAX!!!
I brought it back the next day.

Teacher Troubles

A couple of weeks ago I wrote (read here) about my apprehension of returning to my high school alma mater as a substitute. The day really went very well. I only oversaw study halls, had really good kids and there is not a single teacher still teaching there from my days in those halls. However, being the beginning of the school year, not many teachers are calling in sick yet. That assignment, on August 26th, was my first and I did not get another one until September 7th.

I am going to school to be a high school math teacher and really only want to work with junior and senior high school kids, but until I get my name out there and the work starts coming in, I cannot be too picky about what assignments I will accept. I need the money and will take a job to get paid rather than sit at home waiting for the job I want. When I signed up with one of the school districts, they asked me if there was any age I did not want to work with. I told her that as long as I could change it later if needed, then I would take any assignment. She inquired, "Does that include preschoolers?"

Why? Why? WHY?!?

I had not considered that. Preschoolers? Do I want to work with little rugrats that aren't aware there is green slime creeping out of their nose and encrusting itself on their upper lip? Noisy anklebiters who are perfectly happy until, suddenly, they realize they have to pee and then all civility stops until their pea-sized bladder is emptied? Greedy little slobs who still haven't figured out how to get food to their mouths without covering the rest of the room as well? Tiny cretins who expect you to applaud wildly simply because they spun around without toppling over despite the fact that they knocked over two other children in the process? I will have to think about that.

As I filled out the paperwork, I considered the question she had posed to me. Actually, I don't want to lie. I pretended that I was considering the question. I did not want to give the slightest impression that I wanted nothing to do with those little..........I should probably stop right there. After acting like I had mulled over the question, I informed her that I was probably better suited for older kids. I declined to be on any lists for pre-school classrooms. If I were being perfectly honest, I really didn't want to be on any lists for any grade below 7th, but money is money, and what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

I was given a user name and password to a website where I could browse available jobs to sign up for. I fired up my laptop as soon as I got home and immediately snatched up a job at a small school on the other side of town. The site was very user-friendly and easy to navigate around, but it was very uninformative. Even after accepting an assignment, the only info I had about it was the time to arrive, where to report to and the name of the teacher I was replacing. A few hours later, I grabbed another job at the local junior high school. Finally, I was going to get to start working. Unfortunately, my first job was almost two weeks away.

When I arrived for my first assignment, I found the office and got signed in. The office told me the room number and suggested I familiarize myself with the room before the kids came in. When I walked in the room, I immediately noticed the tiny chairs around a table that was about 2 feet tall. OH NO!!! I quickly looked around the room. There were cardboard posters displaying things such as an apple with the word 'RED' and murals of the alphabet along the border at the ceiling. A little girl came in behind me and pushed her way past my legs to go to a desk covered with plastic frog cutouts with names written on them. She picked one up and stuck it on the bulletin board. Assuming the purpose of the frogs, I read it and asked, "Is that your name? Sakia?" She said it was. Reluctantly I asked, "And how old are you, Sakia?" She proudly held up three fingers.

I had a mini-panic attack right then, but believe I was able to hide it. Not that it would matter. What does a three year old know? Within a few minutes, the room began to fill with children. Some were crying, a few were asking to go to the bathroom and over half were overwhelmed with curiosity about who I was. Once they stopped coming in, I counted 24 little people. 24! What was I to do with these kids all day?

Y!   Y!   Y!

I soon learned that today we were to work on the letter Y. The outline of a capital 'Y' had been printed onto 24 sheets of paper. I instructed the kids to all rip up a sheet of yellow construction paper (yellow because it starts with 'Y') and glue the pieces into the 'Y' outline. This would make a large yellow 'Y'. Unfortunately, most preschoolers do not take instructions well. I believe this is why the unemployment rate is so high in this demographic.

While assisting one of the tables with the complex task of ripping paper, one of the boys looks at me and yells, "Did you forget to brush your teeth?" I know why he asked this. Due to a prenatal medication my mother took while carrying me, my bones and teeth are not white, they are gray. I have never had white teeth and never will. I told the sweet child that I brushed my teeth twice every day. He asked (even louder this time), "Did you forget today?" I said no and then told him that I have gray teeth. Mine aren't white like his. He grabbed my lips and said, "That's because you don't brush them."  The honesty of children does not make them more endearing.

I did make it through the day. We read books, played outside and absolutely destroyed that classroom. However, I was pleasantly surprised that when I said it was time to clean up, the kids started grabbing toys, putting them in their containers and replacing everything on the shelves. The room was back to normal within a few minutes. Maybe they could get jobs in the cleaning service industry.

When the end of the day finally arrived, I went to the office to check out and inquire if there was anything else they needed from me before leaving. I was told they had been watching me on the camera system all day (creepy) and would like me to come back the next day if I was free. I choked out the words, but agreed.

I returned the next day and had a much better experience. Especially, since I now knew their names and knew which ones to keep a closer eye on because they were more prone to trouble (i.e. hitting, biting, wandering off, etc). I am absolutely certain I do not want to work with this age group for a living, but have learned that I can survive a day and am willing to be there when needed.

As long as they don't touch me when they're sticky.