Why, You Ask, and Why I know it's Time for Break

I'm writing this while watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Why, you ask?  Because after receiving an email from my 12 year old principal demanding that all teachers teach up until the last minute before break,she decided that today would be a Rodeo day.  What's that you ask?  My school's mascot is a mustang.  Why, you ask,, do elementary schools need a mascot?  I guess it's for the football team that we don't have. (Football dominates the south and I firmly believe that the brain injuries sustained in this wholesome activity is the reason the south supported Trump.)The Rodeo is a reward for those little mustangs who have not bucked or bitten anyone too seriously.  Except that there were a few mustangs who ordinarily wouldn't have attended because they actually did bite someone (or kicked, or hit or whatever) but because this is just a babysitting venture, they got to attend the good behavior reward and brought their lovely manners with them.  Within 5 minutes, those little mustangs who had been bad all semester long were doing what they always do, so they were hauled off to a tent.  Why, you ask, is there a tent in the gym?  I don't know.  But the PE teacher gets to sit inside it and scan the audience looking for misbehaving and talkative mustangs and then makes them sit in the tent with him.  To me the tent looks like more fun than watching a movie, but at this point I'm tired of asking why.

 Anyway,, the specialists, who will be standing on sentry duty during while the classroom (real)  teachers go to An Important Meeting that will last exactly five extra minutes too long because that's the passing time allotted to specials so that we can get ready for the next class, which is next to impossible because the meetings don't end on time and one class ends as the other class' teacher is waiting impatiently for you to take over so she can go to An Important Meeting that will last five minutes too long.

A few weeks ago the 12 year old principal told the specialists that we would have 90 minute classes for 3 grade levels and the following week the same schedule for the 3 grade levels we missed)  Why, you ask?  So that the classroom (real) teachers could get 90 minutes to plan.  And of course, they were still 5 minutes late to pick up their students.  Specials classes are 45 minutes long, which for elementary grades is 15 minutes too long,Specials should be two 30 minute blocks a week, according to things like research and facts (which have been replaced by opinions masquerading as facts) but we're not here for children.  We're here for meetings.  And I don't know about you, but I am not a fan of extending my classes 30 extra seconds, let alone another 45 minutes.  90 minutes with kindergarteners who have a 3 minute attention span .

One teacher suggested switching classes after the 45 minute mark.  Even though I am only at that school one day a week and I would be teaching a class I didn't have, that seemed a better deal.  The baby Jesusette principal caught wind of it and was unhappy.  Why?  I don't know.  In her email she stressed that the specialists would be teaching engaging lessons for that block and the fact that we weren't going to show any movies should have been enough. Luckily, the AP, who isn't 12 years old, thought it was perfectly acceptable.

So this quarter I've missed 2 out of the 9 classes  That's like missing two weeks of curriculum.  I'm old school.  I care about teaching.  I actually do plan on teaching until the last day of the year.in April, even after the high stakes testing is over and teachers are generally involved in such educational activities as unpacking their room, stripping the walls of data and showing movies , Stupid me.  I'm doing a wrap up of the year's songs.  I'm finding it harder and harder to care when I'm just a glorified babysitter.   I was planning on teaching until the sides of my walker rusted or I thwacked a kid in the head with my three pronged cane, but I'm now hoping to last two more years.   I can't watch education go the way the rest of the country is going to go.  It was my salvation for so many years.  No matter what was going on the world, I could immerse myself in my profession.  I loved every minute of my day.   No more.  All these 12 year old principals and other nitwits in charge of anything more important than emptying a dustpan are systematically destroying a once rewarding profession   No wonder younger teachers are bailing.  Heavy sigh.

Other Fun Stuff:  When I was growing up, I used to watch a TV show hosted by Art Linklater called Kids Say the Darndest Thing. Mr. Linkater would interview wholesome, fresh-faced kids who would unwittingly say something with a double entendere or unintentional meaning. Change the word darndest to insane or really weird and we're now updated.

 Student:          I have a scratch on my gum and it hurts.
 Me:                What would yo like me to do about it?
 Student:         Shrugs and walks away
Student:          I cut my finger and I have to go to the nurse.

Me:                 I look at the finger and decide I need an electron microscope.  I rummage through 

                       my desk and bring out my(imaginary) electron microscope and peer through its

                       powerful lens.  I notice that yes, indeed, there is one red corpuscle that has gone

                       rogue and left its cohorts who were safely nestled under the skin.  I put the 

                       microscope away and say: I suggest we amputate so we can save the limb.

Student:          Blank stare

Me:                 Well, should I call the OR and schedule the surgery or just saw off the finger
                       off so we can save the limb.  I have a rusty pair of scissors right here.

Student:           Really?
Me:                 Now it's my turn to stare
Student:          Ohhhhh. You're kidding.  ....right?

Student:           upon entering my room:  I have to use it.
Me:                  Use what?  ( I know full well what the kid means. I just hate that expression. ) Do
                       you need to use a tissue?  Pen?  Paper?  What do you need to use?
Student:           The bathroom.
Me.                  Why didn't you ask your teacher on the way here.
Student:           She said to ask you.
Me:                  You can ask her when she comes to pick up your class.

Student.            My stomach hurts
Me:                   Do you need to use the restroom?
Student:            No.
Me:                   Do you feel sick?
Student:            No.
Me:                   Do you feel like you might throw up?
Student:             No.
Me:                   What do you want to do?
Student:             I don't know,
Me:                   Well that makes two of us.
                         Student turns around and deposits his recently consumed lunch on my carpet.
                         I'm guessing she did feel like throwing up.

Student:            My head hurts.
Me:                   Ok.  Take it off
Student:            Ms. J, then I couldn't see
Me:                   Or talk.

Me:                    Ok students. Let's get to our spots for story time. Today's story is about ...
Student:             Ms. J my sister's birthday is tomorrow.
Me:                    A child who gets bitten by a dinosaur for not raising his hand in class.
Student:             Are dinosaurs real?
Me:                    Yes.  And they bite.

Me:                      Fifth grade, let's make a sitting circle so I can teach you the dreydl game.
Student:               Ms. J you said we were going to play the dreydl game today.
Another student:  Ms. J, can we play that game with that clay thing you turn?
Me:                      I changed my mind. Today we're going to silent as a rock and still as a road
                            kill..

Me:                      Ok second grade.  Let's find our way to story time.  My story today is The Old
                             Woman Who Swallowed a Pie  (sung to the tune of the Old Woman Who
                             Swallowed a Fly.
Student:                Ms. J. My mother said I can't hear that story.
Me:                      What?  This story?  Your mother has read this story and has forbidden you to
                             hear it?
Student:                I can't hear it.  I can't be in the same room.
Me;                       (Wishing he would be in another room)...Fine.  Go put your head down
                             on the desk in  the back of the room and cover your ears.
                             When the teacher comes to pick up the class I ask her about this.
His teacher:          He's a pathological liar.  Don't listen to him.

Crazy B:               (from the pathological liar child) appropos of nothing: I can't talk to white people.
Me:                      Why?
Students:              My mother says I can't.
Me:                      Why?
Student:                Because
Me.                      Why?
Student:               Because they can take me away.
Me:                      (to myself)  If only
Me:                      I'm white.  You've been talking to me for five months now.
Student:               I know.
Me:                     You know, it's offensive to say things like that.
Another student:  That's racist
First student:       What's that mean?
Entire class:         It's when you don't like people because of how they look.
Crazy boy: :        I'm not racist.  I just can't talk to white people.
Me:                      Go to the back desk so that I can't talk to you. (hopefully never again)