A Good Day

Today was a very eventual day at the junior high. Our librarian's son, a very accomplished military pilot who was on his way to somewhere military related, flew his giant DC-something-or-other real low over the school. Most of the classes came out to watch as the ginormous cargo plane buzzed us twice. It was such a great addition to the academic day that I proposed we make "airplane watching" a part of the daily curriculum. The kidlets (and many of the teachers) agreed with my proposal becuase, well, THAT GIANT AIRPLANE ROCKED!

Earlier in the day, we finally got around to have the silly string war that the kidlets earned during their Accelerated Reader Challenge in February. It was a total blast...even though I still have silly string tangled in my hair, stuck inside my ears, and smooshed into my clothing 11 hours later.

When the fumes settled at the end of the fight, it was clear that the teachers had kicked some serious kidlet backside. Here I am explaining to this sweet little 8th grader that, "Teachers rule and students drool!" You can tell by the big smile on her face that she agreed.

And as if today wasn't already cool enough, my A-day kidlets made it even better by singing the ECA Song at the top of their silly-string-fume-damaged lungs to the principal and other assorted staff members who were cleaning up the silly string carnage from the floor outside my room.

THE ECA SONG

(to the tune of "Kill the Beast" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast)

The test will make off with your playstations!

He'll come after your Wii's in the night!

You're not safe until your grade is mounted on your fridge!

I say we kill the beast!

We're not safe until its dead!

It will come stalking us at night!

Said to sacrifice our grades to its monstrous appetite!

He'll wreak havoc on our summer if we let him wander free!

So it's time to take some action kids!

Its time to follow me!

Through the halls, down the ramp,

Through the lunchroom to the classroom,

Its a nightmare but its one exciting ride!

Say a prayer then we're there

At the doorway to a classroom

And there's something truly terrible inside.

Its a test! Its got fangs, razor sharp ones!

Massive paws, killer claws on four arms!

Hear it roar, see it foam, but we're not going home till it's dead!

Good and dead!

Ace the TEST!

Eat a mint, grab your desk,

Find that knowledge in your thinking place!

We're counting on Miss H to lead the way!

On page one, then page two

Where we'll find a tricky question.

Its the kind that you don't see every day!

It's a test just as long as a novel.

We won't rest till its good and filled in!

Sally Forth, Tally Ho!

Grab your lead, breath real slow

Now's the moment...here we go!

We'll find all the answers and fill in the bubbles!

We won't pass what we don't understand

And so it scares us

And this final is mysterious at least!

Grab your lead, and your guides!

Don't forget those study guides!

WE'LL SAVE OUR GRADES AND SOCIAL LIVES!

WE'LL ACE THE TEST!

And they will "Ace the test" too...just wait and see!

Taking One For The Team

One of the most vital qualities that can found in successful educational professionals such as myself, is the willingness to "take one for the team" or suffer immense amounts embarrassment in the name of the educational process. Last week was full of opportunities for we bestowers of knowledge to heap indignities upon ourselves so that the children might reach their full educational potential. In my classroom, the catalyst for teacher-humiliation-extravaganza was my all-time favorite narrative poem, The Highwayman.

The first casualty to suffer in the name of education was Iron Man. When I first started reading this poem with my classes, I would pick a female kidlet to dress up as Bess, the Highwayman's doomed love. The girls didn't mind the dressing up, but they did have a problem with having the drama musket tied to them to facilitate Bess's noble act of self sacrifice. So last year I tried dressing up boys as Bess, but that worked a little too well. They loved recreating Bess's death scene so much that we spent half the class period resolving disputes over who got to put on the dress and have the musket tied to them.

In an attempt to avoid those problems this year, Iron Man was recruited to "take one for the team" and be our Bess stand in. The kids enjoyed it, but at the same time were somewhat concerned for Iron Man's emotional well-being. A few even suggested that I invite the school counselor down to talk to him about any issues his cross-dressing episode may have left him with.

After reading the poem and acting out several key scenes, the kidlets were assigned to write a newspaper article. In order for them to write truly informative articles, the kidlets needed more details than the poem provided, so we held a press conference so that they could interview various witnesses to the events in the poem.

First up was Bess's grieving father, Mr. Lordland the landlord.

Once the kids had finished practicing their higher-order-thinking and questioning skills on Mr. Lordland, they were able to interrogate Tim the vengeful stable boy. It was Tim's tattling to the red coats that led to the deaths of Bess and her sweetie the Highwayman and the kidlets grilled him mercilessly about that. They also asked him why he was speaking with a southern accent when the poem was set in 18th century England.
Next came one of the red coats who had been present at both of the unfortunate deaths. Merv the soldier. The kids were particularly hard on him because, according to the text, the soldiers were drunk on duty when the tragic events transpired.

But even the kidlets disapproval of the drunken redcoat was nothing compared to the abject hatred they very quickly developed for one of the Highwayman's victims, the Grand Duchess Wealthina VonRichie. Days later, the kidlets were still complaining about how rude she had been to them during the press conference because they were"poor disgusting gutter rats."

But in the end, my two days of self-inflicted multiple personality disorder were worth it. The kids review valuable writing skills and practiced vital thinking and questioning skills. And some day, with a lot of intense therapy along with serious pharmaceutical intervention, Iron Man and I may recover from the "Highwayman" unit.

And it helps to know that I am not the only teacher in my school willing to suffer humiliations on a grand scale for the good of the kidlets. In February, we challenged the kidlets to earn 5,000 Accelerated Reader points and promised them that if they made that goal, our principal and the guy teachers would wear dresses to school.

Well, the kids ended up with 9,000 AR points, and the male role models at our school went above and beyond the call of duty...dressing up as Hannah Montana and her back-up singers to perform a special musical number at our talent show last Friday.

Talk about taking one for the team...

And this was after the state legislature voted to cut our salaries.

How much do we love our kidlets?

What would we do to help them succeed?

We care enough to "take one for the team" on a regular basis... and love every minute of it.

A Rose By Any Other Name...

My sister and her husband just welcomed a new baby into their home, which is exciting for many reasons. There is the anticipation of the arrival, the drama of the delivery, and the surreal feeling of having your home inhabited by a soft, sweet, squishy stranger who wasn't there the day before.

And then there is the excitement that surrounds "the name." Bestowing a name upon a squeaking, squirting infant is exciting for any family, but it has a heightened feeling of drama thanks to my family's long tradition of choosing names that come with narratives. Take my dad, for example. His name is Homely. Part of the narrative behind his name is the undisputed fact that he was the ugliest baby ever born in the St. Anthony hospital, a title he ll still wears with pride to this day.

Then there is my sister Jenny (the mother of the newest name-ee in our family). She has the unique distinction of being named the same thing twice. When she was born, my folks named her Jeanette. That was it, no middle name, just "Jeanette." But after a few months of having folks address their new baby as "Jenny", my hippie parents apparently decided that people calling the child something other than her proper name would result in some bad chi, so they did what any loving, chi-concerned parents would do: they spent the time and money to legally change her name to Jenny Jeanette...essentially naming her the same thing twice. Kind of like Pago Pago or Sirhan Siran.

Jenny continued the tradition of names with stories behind them when I was born. My parents were going to name me Emily until my sister, who was two at the time, saw me and announced, "No! Mindy!" Instead of correcting their first born, by hippie parents had a conversation that must have included at least a few phrases like this: "Hey...the kid is naming the baby! How groovey is that? It's, like, so totally cosmic." I don't think they took into account that Jenny only knew a handful of words at the time. To this day I count my blessings that my name didn't end up being "Dolly" or "Binkey" or "Poopie."

My brother Warren managed to make it through the naming process without too much emotional scaring, but then Spencer came along. Spencer ended up with a name that was unique in many ways, but especially for its length. On his first day in kindergarten, the teacher had all of the kidlets take a seat on the carpet and showed them the alphabet. She told them when she pointed to a letter that was in their name, they should stand up. When Spencer stood up for almost every letter of the alphabet, the teacher's first thought was that this kid wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. She tried to explain to him that all of those letters weren't in the name "Spencer." You can imagine her surprise when my little brother informed her that "Spencer" wasn't his full name. His full name was "Spencer Larry Rodriguez Gonzales Gooseface Haws. Eventually Spencer ended up shortening the whole thing to "Goose", which morphed into "Moose" in 9th grade and he has been "Moose" ever since.

Now the next generation is dealing with the name issue. All of my niblets have fairly normal names that have some sort of significance behind them. Of course, they all also have nicknames bestowed upon them by their loving Aunt Mindy. Bentley is either "Bent" or "Yeltneb" (Bentley backwards) depending upon how much I want to annoy him. Maxwell is "Max-Pax" and Jonah is "Joe-Bo" (both nicknames that I jacked from their momma). Ruby is my little "Rubistar", while Kenna Rae is my "K-Ray" and Kylie Marie is the one and only "Kylie Monchichi", due to her startling resemblance to the character from the 1980's of the same name.

And now I have a new niblet to nick-name. I would like to introduce you to Milo Fisher (His middle name is my great-grandparent's last name). I am going to meet him this weekend, at which point I will greet him by his official niblet nickname : Mi-Guy. I can't wait. I love holding babies when they are still new and squishy!

If you would like to get to know Milo and his family a little bit better, check them out here . Welcome to the family, Mi-Guy. You have absolutely no idea what you are in for :)

Tests and Trials

My 7th graders recently staged their own episode of "Literary Law & Order" with Prometheus as the defendant. We read in class about how the well-intentioned Titan disobeyed a direct command from Zeus and gave humans fire (along with the unfortunate "free-gifts with purchase" that came along with it, including old age, disease, and worry). Zeus was so upset with Prometheus that the Olympian sentenced the Titan to an eternity of being chained to the top of a mountain where he would become the daily breakfast buffet for the giant vultures who got to come and rip out his liver. The kids thought that punishment was slightly cruel and unusual, so we decided to set up a court appeals to rehear Prometheus's case. The kidlets did a great job filling all of the trial parts, including judge, jury, witnesses, and bailiff. I was really impressed with their command of legal jargon and courtroom protocol.

In fact, they impressed me so much that I was going to dedicate an entire post to joking about how all of their real-life court experiences had prepared them for our mock court... until recent events surrounding some of our kidlets stripped that joke off all of it's intended humor.

So instead of seeing a billion photos of last week's trials, you get to see a billion photos of my bulletin board. Isn't it pretty? Or, at least it was pretty before that blasted End of Course Assessment started ripping it to shreds.

The second semester Final Test is even meaner, hairier, slobbery, and more dangerous than the first semester Final Test. This version has mutated to include four arms, a tail, razor-sharp horns, claws, and fangs, and has a nasty case of acne that even Pro Active couldn't help.

The second semester test started breaking through the bulletin board last week, but the kidlets had done such a great job defeating his smaller and less-zit-riddled cousin in December, they weren't really too concerned about this new threat...until today when he finished breaking through the corner of the board and brought his buddy the ISAT with him.

That dastardly duo managed to cancel spring and threatened to ruin the kidlet's much-looked-forward-to Summer Vacation!

Panic began to set in but, ever the fearless leader and educational warrior the kids know they can turn to, I swooped in with a battle plan to help them defend their 4th quarter report cards.

Today we started learning the stirring battle hymn of the seventh graders, "Kill the Beast" (a re-written version of the tune from "Beauty and the Beast" that I will share on a future post) and we began to get reacquainted with Captain Study Guide. Hopefully the combination of Captain Study Guide's vast store of knowledge and the adrenaline-producing strains of our ECA song will overpower the evil tests and liberate the kidlets from a dreary future of summer school and/or punishment chores.

Of course, after we spend 7 weeks getting ready, they had better defeat that test by a pretty sound margin...otherwise cranky parents, extra chores, and confiscated Wii's are going to be the least of the kidlet's problems.

Seriously.

Where do you think Zeus learned that whole "daily disemboweled by giant vultures" trick?

From his 7th grade English Teacher.

It's in the handbook.

April 1st

Dear Seventh Graders,

After talking to a few of you after school today, I thought it would be a good idea for me to clear up a few things.
First of all, please think back to first hour. Do you remember watching BNN? Good. Now, remember that "Breaking News" announcement at the end about our beloved principal leaving us to take a job over at (shudder) Minico? Well, that was a April Fools joke. APRIL FOOLS. That's TODAY. Remember?

Now, think back to the start of class. I reminded you about how sick I was after I came back from grading all of those thousands of essays in Boise. Remember how I told you that the doctor finally got my test results back and discovered that I am allergic to black ink and all of the DWA essays (that had to be written in black ink) had made me OD? Remember how I told you that, from now on, all of your assignments would have to be done in blue ink or pencil? Well, that was an April Fools joke too. Black ink won't hurt me at all...so you will have to go back to your kryptonite plan to get out of your Myths, Fables, Folktales test. Good luck with that.

Oh, and to the kidlet who placed this delightful rubber insect on my water mug today, may I just say, "Thank you, whoever you are." This April Fools prank was much less traumatizing than the one I fell for last year when sweet, innocent, angel-child Cara got me to eat a graham cracker frosted with toothpaste. Just thinking about that....bleegh!!!! I think I just threw up a little in my mouth, which actually makes my mouth taste better than that toothpaste cracker did. It was that gross (shudder) .

And to all of you who didn't have the privilege of spending your April Fools Day surrounded by 7th and 8th graders, I feel very sad for you right now. You really are missing out. Tell you what...I'll make you some treats to make you feel better. How do some nice crisp honey grahams frosted with a pretty mint icing sound? (shudder, shudder, retch, shudder)

Hummm....I guess it will take a few more years before I feel comfortable joking about that one. In the mean time, there are still a few hours left for April Fools pranks, so try it out on someone you love!

Ode to the Parke Avenue Branch

(I was going to write a little apology to the original poets, but then I realized that they are all dead... so they have bigger problems than me massacring some of their finest work. So to all of you living, breathing readers, please enjoy the literary blood-bath that is this post.)

Parke Avenue Branch...
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways!
I love thee to the depth and breath and height
That my contented stomach reaches,
Filling up on treats at Family Night.


I shall be typing this with a sigh,
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two hats sat perched, side by side; and Lance,
Lance chose the hat less tried,
And that has made all the difference.


Many a boy with a basement bedroom
And way too much time that is free
Can sign up for a talent show spot in their branch
Then show up, strip down, and play Wii.

But when the audience cheered,
Others just cried, "This talent we just don't understand!"
But one stood in the back and announced to the crowd,
"Next year I am bringing Rock Band!"

Oh....I'm being eaten by a green feather boa,

A green feather boa,

A green feather boa.

Yes, I'm being eaten by a green feather boa,

At Relief Society Fancy Nancy Night!

Relief Society Presidency...

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more more lovely, and more fair.

Winning the Elders quorums' hearts,

Karaoke-ing with curlers in your hair.

Roses are red,

Carnations are too.

Diana's sweet moves,

Brought me joy, through and through!

Once upon a Monday dreary,

while we pondered weak and weary,

Over many a talent act galore,

There inside the seminary doors,

Saw we an act that made us roar,

The likes of which will go down in yore.

But quoth the branch presidency:

Nevermore, nevermore.

Oh Captain, My Captain!

Our talent show is through!

And we have all be entertained,

Most of all by you!

Oh Captain, My Captain!

Some day a General Authority you shall be!

And I will make a load of cash,

Selling this photo to Salt Lake KSL TV!

The Great Space-Off

Let me start by reminding all of you that I am a very intelligent person.



Really.



I am.



I have the college degrees to prove it.



That said, this post is about how a 1st grader kicked my trash in a space knowledge competition.



It all started when I saw this book at our half-priced book fair the week before spring break. I knew that my nephew Bentley was really, really into space at the moment, so I bought it (along with many, many other tempting tomes) thinking that it would be fun to challenge Bentley to a little space trivia match while I visited his family over spring break.

Bentley had been looking forward to this contest of cosmic cognition, so much so that he had set up a questioning format and scoring standard. I arrived at his house on Tuesday morning, and our super-sonic space smackdown started as soon as he got home from school. I went into that match-up feeling confident...then crawled away from it feeling lower than space dust after having Bentley pummel me with question after in-depth-question. The score was ten to six. I lost.

The sting of my intergalactic defeat revved up my competitive spirit. I challenged the little ankle-bitter to a rematch... then went to the library and checked out a book on black holes. Why black holes? Because Bentley is scared of them, making black holes the only space topic that he hasn't studied in-depth. Some of you may think that my decision to go heavy on the black hole questions for a rematch was low, the kind of dirty trick an immature, prideful cheater would stoop to. And to those of you who are thinking that right now, I only have one thing to say: Hello. My name is Mindy and I am an immature, prideful cheater. Deal with it.

Our rematch happened on Saturday. Bentley had changed the rules a little this time. Instead of playing until one of us reached ten points, the first to twenty would win. And, in what I assume was a gesture of pity directed at me, Bentley said that I could use my space book, and he would use ONE of his MANY space books as life lines.

I had spent the previous morning reading the black hole book and rereading my space book, writing down questions as I went. I ended up with three pages of questions that I thought would assure me an astronomical victory. Questions like, "How many days did it take for the Apollo astronauts to get to the moon?" After asking for a clarification ("That depends...which Apollo mission are you asking about?") he answered correctly without even cracking his book. Next I asked about the name of the layer of hot gas around the sun that we normally can't see unless there is a solar eclipse. Bentley yawned, then answered, "The corona," in the same tone of voice he would use to answer an equally unchallenging question like, "How many ears do you have."

That first grader went on to answer almost all of my questions correctly, even my sneaky, underhanded black hole questions. The only answer that he didn't already have neatly stored away in his freakishly developed brain was how far earth was from one of the other planets. He grabbed a calculator, typed in several memorized distances, and then announced the correct answer. That was when I knew I was in trouble.

But as impressive as he was at answering my questions (and the little nerd was very, very impressive at that) he was even better at asking me questions...really, really hard questions.

Really, really hard questions that he knew the answers to.

Things like, "What kind of star is Gliese 581?" (That was the "easy" question he started off with that was supposed to help me build confidence...if didn't work), "What delayed the shuttle launch in 1995? (I guessed "ice". The correct answer was woodpeckers damaging the fuel tanks), and my personal favorite, "In the Old Testament, the Israelites wrote about seeing something in the sky that looked like a UFO. What did the Bible UFO shoot?" At that point point I made a request. "Bentley," I said, "How about you ask me planet questions, because my book is only about the planets in our solar system." And how did my nephew, the little boy on whom I have spent countless dollars to buy presents and candy, respond to his beloved aunt's request? "Mindy," he said in an extremely condescending tone, "I'm trying to win."

And he did.

And I was sad. And deflated. And humbled. And cranky.

I tried to tell myself that my multiple losses to a first grader were no real indicator of my actual intelligence. I attempted to sooth my humiliation-riddled soul with the knowledge that Bentley is a freak of nature, a kid who had a 6th grade reading level in kindergarten and won't unwrap a piece of candy without checking to see if it is free of trans fats. I told myself that, in a challenge of wits with any other human being, I could come out victorious without even breaking an intellectual sweat.

So when Maxwell challenged me to rock knowledge competition when I come to visit the next time, I had a very Zen attitude about it... and then immediately jumped on Amazon.com to order every college level geology book I could find.

Losing to a first grader is one thing, but losing to a kindergartner? No way. Maxwell is going down.