Playing the Name Game

Midterm report cards came out this week, and I still can’t say hi to the kids by name when I see them at Wal-Mart.

Normally by this point in the first semester, I would have most of the kidlet’s names memorized and associated with their faces and not just with the desk they have most recently occupied.

But not this year. And it’s not just because more kids have been packed into the classrooms. I think the problem with the learning of the names is stemming from the names themselves.

 

I have always been impressed with the creative names the folks in this cute little valley assign to their offspring. For example, consider the names of some of my favorite branch folk, all born and raised here: Zealanda, Timbri, Marika (Mahhh-Ric-ah), Marika (Ma-REE-Ka) , and Marika (Mare-A-ca).

I have a theory about why the names in my valley are so unique. This theory is based on all of the endemic species on the Galapagos Islands.

For those of you who don’t help 7^th grade life science students with their homework in the mornings, endemic species are creatures that can only be found in a specific location. Thanks to their remote location, there are lots of totally unique animals on the Galapagos Islands.

Now, my cute little valley might not be geographically remote, but I think a pretty good case can be made for this area being somewhat culturally remote. And that remoteness seems to have resulted in some names that are more than a bit endemic.

This year’s names have been especially tricky because they don’t follow the laws of phonics. Like, at all. So I have to fight the urge to have this conversation fifteen times a day. (***Note to Reader: The name used in the imagined conversation below is not the name of an actual student, but is like the names of about twenty actual students***)

Me: Esstearah, please come on up to the Smartboard and underline the complete predicate of this sentence.

Esstearah: Umm, it’s like, pronounced “Star”.

Me: Umm, no, sweetie, it’s not.  The English language is messed up enough to make it possible to spell “fish”as  “Ghoti”, but not nearly messed up enough to make “Esstearah” spell “Star”.

But one of my co-teachers holds the current record for most creative spelling of a name. While teaching in a district further north, she had a student named La-a. Any guesses on how that is pronounced? La-a?

Go on. Guess…

No? Ok. I’ll tell you.

According to La-a’s dear sweet mother, her name is pronounced La- DASH-ah.

Because the dash isn’t silent.

A Tale of Two Evenings

This week, I had the privilege of helping out with two very special events.

On Wednesday evening, our presidency hosted the second annual Relief Society Presidents Dinner/Group Therapy Session with President Jones. The decor was classy...

The conversation was insightful...

The food was carefully prepared, and very delicious...

And the purpose of the evening, to learn from, counsel with, and vent to our beloved Stake President, was achieved.

Then, on Friday night, I hosted my Idaho Falls nieces for a girl-power sleep-over.

The guest list was very exclusive. The only people invited were either named after me, or related to people named after me.

The decor was functional, with a variety of night-lights prominently featured.

The food was, ummm, shall we say, "kid-friendly"?

And the purposes of the sleepover, to have as much fun as possible while making the biggest mess as possible, were not just accomplished, but accomplished with enthusiasm!

But when it was all over, the blue room cleaned up, the blankets and pillows packed up, and the girls returned to their mother, I couldn't help but think that something had been missing.

But what could have been missing?

It wasn't My Little Pony videos... we watched plenty of those.

It wasn't it wasn't night lights... we had five of those.

It wasn't cereal that met the bare minimum nutrition guides lines for human consumption... we had a lot of that.

We didn't miss shopping trips...

or craft time...

or computer game competitions...

or playing dress up...

So what could our sleep over have been missing?

Sorry, buddy. You will be invited as soon as you are potty-trained.
There are a couple things Aunt Mindy doesn't do, and changing diapers is three of them.
Which, thankfully, didn't limit my helpfulness at the Relief Soceity Presidents dinner.

Not My Best Moment

I had a fight with another teacher this week… in my head

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, the entire argument was imaginary.

It’s not the first fight I have fought within the confines of my cute little brain. In the world of figmental fracases, I am a contender for the heavy-weight title. But this time, for this delusional duel, I was in rare fighting form.

The source of contention was a computer lab, THE computer lab that my yearbook princesses need during 4^th hour every A-day. The other teacher, Mr. X, had already made himself very comfortable in the afore mentioned lab, prompting some of my less than charitable qualities to rear their ugly heads.

I imagined presenting my problem to Mr.X. I visualized his response, and came up with an impressive counter argument. Then I anticipated what he would say next, and came up with several well-thought-out retorts. And so it went: He will say this, and I will say that. He'll argue this, I'll argue that. And so on and so forth.

During the thirty-five minutes it took me to change the screen resolution on 17 of the lab’s computers to teensy tiny (which was only a slightly passive-aggressive act because teensy tiny is the setting recommended by the yearbook site), I did my best mental Don Quixote impersonation, titling at 35 minutes worth of windmills. 

After thirty-five minutes, I came to three realizations. First, because the powers-that-be at my school love me best, the computer lab was as good as mine. Second, because of Mr.X’s class schedule, there really wasn’t any conflict or competition for 4A at all. Third, this fight, the fight that I had been rehearsing in my head for the last 35 minutes was NEVER EVER going to happen. Like ever.

So you would think, at that point, I would smack myself on the back of the head for being silly, change the resolution on the other three computers my yearbookers would need, and go on with my life.

But you would be wrong. Instead, while changing the resolution on the other three computers, I continued to fight the fight that I knew I was never, ever going to have.

A waste of time? Yes. A waste of energy? No doubt.  

But you should have heard my closing line. Assuming Mr. X was still going to fight my rightful claim to the lab, I was going to storm off to talk to those powers that be, but not without getting in the last word… or, in this case, a series of words.

“Well, we may have already picked the yearbook theme for the year, but it’s not too late to change it to Mr. X sucks!”

I’ll admit, it’s not exactly a Shakespearean retort, or anywhere near the level of Churchill’s elegant verbal backhands, but in junior high world, that is one heck of a dis.

Which is why I should spend a little less time with junior high kids.

And maybe a little more time with a licensed therapist.

Two Conversations With Ruby

The following conversations took place over Labor Day weekend. The names have not been changed to protect the innocent.

Note to Readers: For a more authentic experience, read Ruby's parts in the conversations with the cutest speech impediment possible. For example, Ruby should be pronounced "Woo-Bee", the brothers should be pronounced, "da Brudders", Milo should be pronounced "Mi-Whoa" and recess should be pronounced as "Wee-cess".

Conversation #1
(in Jenny's Kitchen)

Me: Hey Rub-i-Star. What are you learning in school?

Ruby: Nothing.

Me: Nothing? Really?

Ruby: Yep. (pause) Well, I am learning recess.

Me: Coolieo.



Conversation #2
(in my car on the way to Target)

Ruby: When we get to Target, will you buy me a Barbie?

Me: Sorry, not this trip.

Ruby: Why not?

Me: Because I don’t have money for Barbies. I spent all my money on gas to come and see you.

Ruby: Gas doesn’t cost money.

Me: Ummm, yes, it does.

Ruby: Did you buy the brothers something when you took them to the store?

Me: Nope. Maxwell used his birthday money.

Ruby: What about Milo?

Me: Well, Milo is too little to have money so I bought him some juice boxes that you helped him drink, remember? And they didn’t cost very much.

Ruby: Mindy, know what? You should get married.

Me: Married, eh? I never thought of that…

Ruby: When you get married, you get a husband. Then your husband goes to work and gets money.

Me: I go to work and I get money.

Ruby: You go to work?

Me: Yep.

Ruby: Where?

Me: At school. I’m a teacher, remember?

Ruby: That’s not work.

Me: You must be a republican.

Ruby: No. I’m just Ruby.

Me: Alrighty then. Look, we’re almost to Target.

Ruby: You need a husband to go to work. Husbands get lots of money. Then your husband can give it to you. And then you can buy me a Barbie.

Me: But what if I marry a husband who has a lot of nieces and we have to spend the money on Barbies for his nieces?

Ruby: What?

Me: What if the husband I marry has lots of nieces, nieces named Sapphire and Diamond and Pearl,  and he wants to spend all of his money to buy those little girls Barbies and there isn’t any money left to buy you a Barbie?

Ruby: (Ponders this… then…) Will you buy me some Barbie clothes?

Me: Now, or when I get a husband with money?

Ruby: Now.

Me: Sure. If they are modest Barbie clothes.

Ruby: (Ponders… then…) Or nail polish?

Me: Nail polish it is!

Everyone Needs Their Own Spot

Everyone needs a place to belong, their own special spot where they fit.

Some people's spot may be on the back of a tiger, surrounded by cousins, or propped up by Grandpa.

 

K-Rae will be finding her own spot in kindergarten this week. She was made for school, and will be running the place by the end of the week.

 

Your spot might be a seat in the middle of the river, with the wind blowing through your hair and the water flowing over your toes.

 

Your spot might be in the back of a very fast boat, choice hits from the 80's pouring out of its speakers, surrounded by friends who are family.

 

There are many places that I love:

my cute little home,

my parent's living room,

any and all libraries...

 

But my spot,

 the place I fit best,

is a little room in the corner of the junior high, where the desk was a mess two hours in to the first day of the school year.

 

As much as I enjoy my summers (and GOODNESS do I enjoy them!), my classroom is my spot in the world. And this year, thanks to a suggestion by my visiting teachers, my spot it spotted!

 

This is where I am at my best, my comfort zone, my sphere of influence, my laboratory, my kingdom, my stage.

 

Its not a perfect place.

 

It is sometimes too hot, and often too cold.

It can be full of loud chatting when it should be lost in quiet thought.

Just as often, it can be totally silent when confident answers should be offered up at high volumes.

This year, thanks to budget cuts, it is bursting at the seams with far too many kidlets, with shelves that are far to empty of books and supplies.

It houses angst when the idiots in Boise stick their noses in where they don't belong.

It radiates joy when that D has clawed it's way up to a B.

It's where I guzzle ice water, eat cold cereal for lunch, hand out mints before tests, and sing grammar songs at the tops of my lungs.

It is also where I sit with legs crossed, wishing I hadn't guzzled so much water.

It is the spot where kids give me equal amounts of standing ovations and dirty looks.

It is my territory, my habitat, my element, my dominion, and my neighborhood.

 

It is my spot.

 

But the middle of the river at sunset is a close second.