They've Got My Back

I have a lot of good friends here in my cute little cow town.

The kind of friends who can be counted on to don false facial hair for Red Ribbon Week's Mustache Day (I mustache you not to do drugs... Get it? "mustache you"... Junior high humor at it's best!). I would have been somewhat reluctant to sport the stick-on lip-fuz had if I thought I would be the only teacher to participate. But I knew Valerie would be game to play along. And she was!

Then last night, as I was finishing up sub plans in preparation for today's district meeting, I confessed to Valerie that I was a little nervous about attending the meeting.

During the last district meeting I attended, a principal from another school had started talking smack about my school. That time, my assistant principal was there for me to commiserate with. This time I would be on my own.

But then Val let me know that her husband, a very nice, smackless-talking principal from another school would also be at the meeting. That piece of information led to this exchange:

Val: I told Bill to watch out for the mean girls trash-talking about the junior high and to protect our good name, if necessary.

Me:Excellent. He can be my "second" if I have to challenge anyone to a duel.

Val: Does he need to bring weapons?

Me: I am more of an Iron Chef kind of dueler. Perhaps if he keeps a spatula handy?

And guess what Dear Sweet Bill had waiting on the table when  I got to the meeting the next morning?

The biggest, meanest looking spatula in the whole wide world! My fears of the smack-talking principal lady vanished instantly. Truth be told, I kind of wanted somebody to say something, so I could have an excuse to brandish such an imposing weapon.

Giant camp spatula: $18.95
Thirty stapled, collated copies of the district improvement plan: $35
Substitute teacher to cover classes for an all-day meeting: $60
Confused looks of the assembled district leaders when they saw the giant camp spatula sitting on the table for the duration of the all-day meeting: Priceless

The Never Ending Saga of the New Heater Continues... Wherein the students get rained-on and inhale pieces of dead insects

So the very nice heater-fixing men have been hard at work trying to get the new heater running. Besides trying to make sure that I don't lose any fingers or toes to frostbite this winter, the very nice heater-fixing men have also been helpful in other ways.

For example, my English kidlets are currently working on prepositional phrases and the heater guys have provided some wonderful examples. The heater guys walk through the classroom. They climb up the ladder. They crawl inside the ceiling. They walk on the roof. And they occasionally shout interjections at the heater... which is fine because some impromptu reviews of interjections never hurt anybody.

There were a couple of interesting events added to the new-heater-time-line this week.

On Tuesday, my third hour creative writing kidlets were working on their poetry quest when one rather chatty little girl raised her hand. The following is a transcript of our brief, yet damp, exchange. The kidlet's name has been changed in that it has been rendered slightly less weird.

Chatty Kidlet: Umm, Miss Haws? Is it raining?

Me: Yes, Taniquianna. Now please focus on your quest.

Chatty Kidlet: But, Miss, it's raining.

Me: I know that Taniquianna. You will probably have inside lunch today, but that isn't your problem right now. Right now your problem is your poetry quest.

Chatty Kidlet: But Miss Haws... It's raining INSIDE!

And sure enough, it was! Poor Taniquianna, her poetry quest, and the three empty desks around her were, in fact, being rained on. Apparently, when the crane removed the old heater, it also removed part of weather-proofing.

The part of the weather-proofing directly above Taniquianna's desk.

 But don't worry about her. Taniquiana got a free hall pass to collect paper towels from the bathroom, and then she got to move to a dry seat that was next to the people she most enjoys chatting with. No harm done.

The second heater-related event happened at the beginning of fifth hour on Thursday. Just as the kids were sitting down, a cloud of dirt, dust, and insect remains fell from the ceiling vent and filled the room.

It might have been because they had a fire drill the day before. Or it could have been the earth quake drill we also had that week. Or it might have been the story on Channel One News that morning about the foiled NYC terror plot. But no matter what the reason, the kidlet's reaction to the cloud that filled the classroom was complete and total panic. It was hilarious.

I figured that the very nice heater-fixing men must have given the blowers a test run, so I wasn't worried. I let the kids take a walk to the drinking fountains to clear their pipes while the dust settled. They had started to settled down, when another teacher came walking through the hallway and noticed that my room and the lunch room were both engulfed in a smoke-like haze. That teacher, knowing that the previous junior high had actually burnt down during a school day, ran to alert the principal. Seeing the teacher panic reignited the kidlet's panic which made for a rather unproductive class period.

The very nice heater-fixing men were very apologetic, but I told them not to worry about it. The look on the kidlet's faces as the mushroom cloud descended upon them was hilarious. The memory of it brings a smile to my face and warms the corners of my heart.

And that should be enough to keep me going until the heater is up and running and able to warm the rest of me.

On The Bright Side...

So... remember how the heater in charge of heating my classroom hasn't worked for, like, the last five years?

Well, five years minus the week it was working last year. But I don't really count that week because, while it was giving off heat, the heater was also giving off semi-noxious fumes.

Please don't confuse those semi-noxious fumes with the obnoxious fumes that waft off of the 8th grade boys. Those fumes are a subject for a completely different post.

This post is about the ongoing saga of my heat-less classroom. Or at least, it was when I started it...

Anyway, when the school year began I had already resigned myself to the idea of spending yet another winter teaching while wearing multiple layers of clothing, gloves, a scarf, and wrapped in a blanket while a chorus of buzzing space heaters drowned out the sound of 30 sets of almost-completely-permanent-grown-up teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Then, one magical morning in September, my principal appeared in my room bearing glad tidings of great joy... my classroom (and the other areas in my immediate vicinity) would be getting a brand-spanking-new heater! That would actually heat things! Without poisoning me or the kidlets! It was like Christmas morning! With heat! And no semi-noxious fumes!

Of course, the ginormous non-poisonous heating heater needed to replace the old one... on the roof of the school right above my classroom. That meant that a crane would be involved. And THAT meant that I was going to have to vacate my classroom for a day so as to ensure that none of the kidlets were in danger of being squished in any giant crane/old roof related accidents.

 

And so, for one day in September, I hauled all of my teaching stuff to a room on the other side of the building where I taught the very confused kidlets.

 

Well, before the teaching could start I had to wait for the kidlets to find the room, and then explain to them why I wasn't in my room. Then  it took a little longer to assure them that I would eventually be returning to my real room, before showing them where the pencil sharpener was and explaining why I couldn't bring my smart board with me. But then some teaching happened.

 

 When school ended, I started wheeling my stuff back to my original room, only to be told that the new heater didn't fit the connections into the building from the old heater. The very nice maintenance guys then explained that eventually, when they figured out how to connect the new heater to the old hook-ups, I would have to vacate my room yet again.

 

And a week or so later, I did vacate the room, but only when the giant crane with kidlet-crushing potential was actually in use, which happened to coincide perfectly with my kidless prep time. It was quick and painless.

 

I didn't see or hear from the maintenance guys for almost a month afterwords. Then, just as I started redecorating my room with a nice Octoberish-theme, I found out the crane and a small army of maintenance guys, electricians, and heating guys would be invading my classroom yet again.

 

So Monday morning, I once again moved five classes (four subjects) worth of stuff out of my room, through the lunch room, out of the commons, down the hall, and into room 148.

Where I found a cheerful note from my very kind, new-heater-facilitating principal.

But then Monday in room 148 turned into Monday and Tuesday in room 148.

When I found out that Monday and Tuesday in 148 was in danger of turning into Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in 148, I politely explained to the maintenance guys that Wednesday in 148 was not an option because a sub was taking my classes that day. "You see," I explained, "the kidlet wig out when they have class in a different room. The kidlets also freak out when they have a sub. Therefore, having a sub in a different would cause a wig-out-freak-out of massive proportions precluding any learning of any kind from happening that day."

Then the maintenance guys repeated that my room was probably going to be off limits again on Wednesday.

Then I told them that I would cry, which resulted in them telling me that they could probably work around the kids on Wednesday after all.

So the kidlets will only have to have half of a freak out tomorrow with the sub, and they can do that freaking out in the comfort of our usual classroom.

On the bright side, there is a good chance that, sometime in the next two weeks, the new heating, poison-less-heater will be ready to do some heating. My little sojourn in the 140's hallway also provided me with a renewed appreciation for my classroom... and some great material for example poems for our rhyme scheme lesson.

Also, with all of the constrution work going on in the room, it gave Iron Man a chance to try out a new, safety-oriented look. The maintence guys thought Iron Man's hard hat was pretty entertaining...

... Although they thought Anita, our sentence dissection nurse, was just disturbing.

 

But, thanks to those disturbed maintenance guys, my room will eventually have heating capabilities this winter. Which means that the temperature in the classroom will be high enough to allow me to open the back door a crack every now and then to let out some of the obnoxious fumes emanating from the 8th grade boys.

Bright side indeed!

2012 General Relief Society Meeting

The day of the General Relief Society meeting is, without fail, one of my favorite days of the year. I get spend the day hanging out with some of the most amazing ladies on the planet.

This year, we focused on the 170th anniversary of the organization of the Relief Society. Our fearless President gathered up tons of historical Relief Society awesomeness. And the one and only Sister Woodhouse provided some amazing decor and delicious refreshments. Oh, and Sue and I were more than happy to help arrange the historical awesomeness, set up the amazing decor, and sample the delicious refreshments. Sue and I are helpful like that.

Each of the wards and branches in the stake created beautiful, educational, and uplifting displays that featured different aspects of their own Relief Society's histories.

And even though we always enjoy the spiritual feast that is the actual meeting broadcast, there an extra special feeling of sisterhood that night thanks to the astounding turn out from the sisters in the Stake. 130 sisters joined us in the stake center, even though we didn't serve dinner... and there was a Boise State game going on at the same time.

So to sum up: We set up, we were spiritually lifted up, and then we cleaned up.

Conference is awesome.

If you missed some of the talks, or just want to review them over and over to savor every beautiful truth, go here!

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.