"I Wuv You, Mrs.B!"

"Mama says if you love someone you should say it, right then, otherwise the moment just passes you by."

Javier tells me nearly every day that he loves me. 

This little guy spends a half day with our Special Day Teacher and then comes to my class, with an aide, for the afternoon.  He's very sweet and innocent, and also very egocentric.

When I say egocentric, I don't mean it in a way a woman would describe a self-centered, arrogant man.  Young children are described as "egocentric" because it's part of development.  Do you remember that tiny bit of time from a 100 years ago, when all that ever occurred to you, or mattered to you, was your own immediate satisfaction?  As kids age, and around about 6, they begin to realize the world is a pretty big place and they start to learn that it doesn't, actually, revolve around them (most kids anyway!).

Javier is different.  He is still in this stage.  When he wants to turn in his homework, it must be right now.  The other day, a fellow teacher handed me his homework folder and explained that Javier was outside the classroom door, unsuccessfully turning and pulling with all his might on the locked door, trying to get in.  Another kid would have figured out that I wasn't there and turn it in later.

He has a hard time with structure, so when he wants a drink and I tell him no, he throws a fit.  Before he had an aide, he used to sit and cut his word sort into a million pieces, which made it look like it had snowed under his desk.  I'd tell him to stop cutting his paper into a million pieces, so he'd yell, "OK!" and then happily continue on as if I never said anything.

His impulsivity simultaneously gets him in trouble and is the cutest thing about him.  I sometimes envy his ability to live life in the moment.  He loves to play in the sandbox and sometimes throwing sand at that girl right there seems like it would be really fun...and the look on his face as he throws it is one of pure joy.  The second a thought enters his mind, it's acted on with no thought to the consequences, which is something that will not make him happy, but will, conversely cause him to bellow and cry, as it involves being removed from his favorite thing to do.  I, on the other hand, usually consider the consequences to nearly everything I do.  Should I just not show up to work today and see what happens?  Hmmm....let's not and say we did.

I don't let him get away with stuff.  Nobody at school does.  There are consequences to everything he does, including when he does make the right choices.  Lately, his aide has been rewarding him with smiley faces when he raises his hand to speak.  But when he shouts out, he gets one crossed out.  The same goes for when he deliberately, and seemingly innocently, walks straight through someone else's castle made of blocks.  Hey, it's fun destroying stuff!

"Sowry!"  He shouts, and expects to walk away as if "sorry" fixes everything.  Sometimes as he's apologizing, he's walking toward his next victim, seemingly on a castle destroying rampage a l`a Godzilla, complete with his favorite toy airplane in his hand.  The subsequent "logical consequence" is dolled out, but it's lost on him and only serves to make him cry for the moment.  It's mostly to keep an atmosphere of fairness for the kids who've suffered because of him.

Just when I'm at the end of my rope, he does something so completely sweet, it brings tears to my eyes. 

One day this week, for no apparent reason, my whole class was suffering from spring fever and were very...let's say, enthusiastic.  No amount of jogging laps put a dent in this enthusiasm.  In the afternoon, I'd had enough of one boy's constant laughing and wiggliness (I know, how could I?), I was reprimanding him, "If you keep messing around and don't settle down to do your job, you will turn a card," Javier wants to tell me he loves me, and does so, at the same time I am saying those words, he's saying, "Mrs. B, I wuv you...,  Mrs. B!  I wuv you...," (apparently irritated at my slow response), "I WUV YOU MRS.B," and has taken a swatch of my hair and is twirling it gently between his fingers, as the rest of the class looks on.

Deeeeeeeep breath......

...smile...

..and say, "Thank you, Javier, I love you, too."





 

Shall. We. Play. A. Game?

I adore my class. 

They try hard.  They really do.

They have so much fun, laugh, smile...

They have got to be the most uncoordinated, silly, and well-meaning kids I've had the privilege to teach yet.  This is what I like about them...they're just like me!

They love when I teach them games.  They have no idea they're really learning from the games, they're just happy they get to "play." 

For example...we play Stinky Feet, Dodgeball, Around the World, Collect 25 Cents, Money Memory, Sight Word Memory, Sight Word Go Fish, Double Compare (it's really War), Dot Addition, Addition Bingo, Subtraction Bingo, Time Bingo, (anything "bingo"), Speed Math, Highlighter Game, and a variety of card and dice games, all geared to get them to master the California State Standards.  I've learned that most anything can be turned into a game.  With this class, if I call a worksheet a game that I will let them play, they're all over it.  If it involves rolling dice, all the better.  It's just a matter of semantics.  Even walking in line quietly can be turned into a game.

I can't say I've invented these games myself, rather, most of them I've picked up along the way from other people.  I can say, however, that I've mastered the art of taking someone else's idea and tweaking it to fit my own needs. 

For instance, take Stinky Feet.  A colleague of mine introduced this game to us several years ago.  It helps kids master sight words by tying them to something gross-feet that stink!  How wonderful is that?  In fact, it's so fun, they can NOT play this game quietly, it's physically impossible.  The rules aren't even complex.  It consists of a shoe box with a hole in the top, sight word/spelling word cards, and "stinky feet" cards.  They pass the box around, pick a card, read it, show it, and everyone either agrees or disagrees with a thumbs up or down.  If a "stinky feet" card is pulled, everyone says, "p.u. stinky feet!" while pinching their noses in a supposed grossed out state.  Simple, right?  Not.  They're not particularly interested when it's someone else's turn so they will look at just about anything else, including the bottom of their shoes, instead of confirming for their friends that they read the word correctly.  They will also peak and try to get the stinky feet card!  Little stinkers.  This is war!  I took out most of the stinky feet cards...two can play this game!

Around the World is another game that they all clamour and beg to play, yet nobody really likes it when they have to wait their turn.  They all stand in a circle with me in the middle with a giant stack of sight word cards.  Two compete at a time and have to be the first to say the word I flash.  That person gets to advance to the next person in the circle.  If one person goes all the way around the circle (world), he/she wins!  Hardly anyone ever wins, but there's always hope.  In a blur of word after word flashing before their eyes, the messing around that ensues behind my back fades to the background.  I think that's the fun they associate with this game...imagine them all giggling and consorting behind me, totally believing that I have no idea what's going on. When I reprimand them without even turning around, it becomes silent again, I say something about the eyes in the back of my head, and we continue.




How NOT to play dodgeball in elementary school.

That brings me to another game that involves circles.  Dodgeball.  Elementary school dodgeball is supposed to be nice and is played with soft red balls.  No overhand throwing is allowed and the ball must hit below the belly button (that means below your butt, which is a whole other reason to get a giggle).  The kids in the middle are supposed to be aware of where the balls are (sometimes 2-4 balls at a time can be in play).   The first problem is that the circle that is painted on the blacktop is too big, which results in the second problem:  the concept of "spread out" is completely lost on first graders, which results in huge gaps and clusters of kids, all hoping/not hoping the ball comes to them.  Oh, also, kids are not supposed to run in front of someone to whom the ball is traveling and steal it so said kid can have yet another turn, while the timid kid who just needs a chance gets yet another chance to stand on the sidelines.  When this type of kid finally gets a ball, he/she stands there, holding it for 5 minutes, contemplating who should be tagged, then rolls it ever so carefully and consequently never tags anyone.  The third problem is when your class cannot get these simple rules down.  But as the game progress (if one can call a bunch of kids standing in a some kind of circle throwing balls and running around "progressing"), I realize that it doesn't really matter.  They're all laughing, trying, and having fun while exercising and learning to lose, learning to win, and learning to enjoy playing a game for the sake of playing a game.

There are so many games we play, I can't possibly detail them all, and you wouldn't want to read about every single one anyway, so I will end with BINGO.

Ah, bingo, what would the elementary school teacher do without you?  Students have become masters at creating bingo cards and pretty much know that one word/time/number goes in each box.  Still, there is always someone who asks if he/she should cover the free space (!).  Sometimes they play for a sticker, sometimes for a skittle (yes, one skittle is enough motivation), sometimes a stamp on the hand or "smelly sticker" (just flavored lip balm rubbed on their wrist like perfume), and sometimes for actual prizes. 

Yesterday we spent the afternoon playing Time Bingo.  The day before, they cut and pasted a variety of times (like what you'd see on a digital clock) onto a blank bingo card.  They played for leftover Halloween candy that I've had stashed, which I found the other day.  One child asked, "If we don't get bingo, do we all get a candy at the end?"  I answered, "Well, no, only kids who get bingo get a candy."  He accepted that good-naturedly and went back to his seat.  I, on the other hand, knew that every single one of them would get a prize.  I'm not that mean.  I'd pull a time piece out of my box, display that time on my clock and show it (think of the women in the middle of the boxing ring holding up the card that shows what round they're on-except I wasn't wearing a bare-all bikini), but I didn't say what time the clock was showing.  Nobody asked, nobody looked confused, so I kept going...maybe I taught this better than I thought.  Maybe I'm a awesome teacher!  Woohoo!!!



I showed the clock while they matched to the digital time.

In a little bit, a boy yelled Bingo!  He read off what he had covered and decided on a Tootsie Roll.  We played again, and again, someone yelled Bingo!  and chose a prize.  This was taking too long, so I declared that there will be NO MORE BINGOS UNTIL YOUR WHOLE BOARD IS FILLED.  It's called "blackout" bingo.  Does everyone understand?  Your entire board needs to be covered to get a bingo.  Yes, heads bobbed in affirmation, we understand. 

"Do NOT clear your board, we will just keep going from here." 

I said this at least 3 times.  I noticed that Sandy's board was empty and she looked confused and like she was about to cry.  I sensed an ominous foreboding...so in order to prevent a melt-down, I got her squared away and we continued. 

Someone yelled Bingo!  This person cannot have Bingo yet, as I haven't even filled my board (that I use to keep track of what has been called).  Once again, I smiled, "Your whole board must be completely filled to say bingo."  "Ooooohhhhhh!"  Now they understand.

Five minutes later, several students called bingo! and got a prize, my board is filled and I know that everyone should have said bingo by now.  Little worried faces gazed at me, pleading, because they MUST receive a piece of candy today and they must not be the only ones who lose...ever feel that way?  So.  To play along, I have each one tell me what they have left, I declare that, yes, that was indeed called, so get your candy!  Wow!  Everyone wins!

Shouldn't we all be playing more, working less?  I got to thinking on one of my commutes that if I approach more of life's challenges as a way to win a game, wouldn't it be a whole lot more fun and a whole lot less stressful?  While driving, I play a mental math game and try to estimate, based on driving speed, traffic conditions and prior knowledge what time I will arrive at school.  Driving is a game of cat and mouse, as I don't like when someone is in front of me at a stop light, so as I approach, I try to find a way of getting in front (this is NOT obnoxious at all).  Another favorite is one I play while I'm on Weight Watchers. I treat my food journaling like a game of How Much Food I Can Pack Into 26 Points a Day.  It's even more fun now that I have an iPhone and can do it with an app.

Don't even get me started on Angry Birds (Space is my fave), Draw Something, or Words with Friends (which I am losing)...I have a feeling these are the tip of the iceberg and will someday make their way into my classroom, adapted somehow in a way to get kids to learn. 

The possibilities are endless!

Hmmm...

It's Easier to Be Happy

Angry Little Boys.

There are a lot of them in the world.  Isn't it just easier to be happy?  I heard that once in a movie, although I can't remember which movie it was.  When I heard it, it was like a weight was lifted, because, yeah, it kind of is.  I'm basically a happy person, I can usually see the bright side of things and am always aware that my situation can be worse, no matter how hard it seems in the moment....the fact remains that somewhere, somehow, somebody else is in a worse situation.

I don't understand how seemingly small things can make people so angry.  Ever heard of,  "Don't sweat the small stuff?"  I certainly have and I don't. 

I walked over to his seat where I saw that he couldn't possibly write any sloppier.  The scene came complete with a scowl and a frown, body slumped and heavy sigh. 

"I know you can do better than that," didn't help much.  I said it partly because I believed this was a negative attention grabbing ploy.  I wasn't giving in that easily.

"No I caaaaaan't!"  Tears ensued.

"I've seen your homework and you CAN do better than this."

He started to cry harder and bellowed, "That's my mom's writing!"  His mom does his homework?  In writing that looks like a kid's?  Okaaaay.  Now it made sense...I always wondered why his homework was always better than anything he ever did in class. 

I made him cry and now I feel like shit, and he feels even more like shit.

But, being that I'm such a happy, optimisic person, I knew I could salvage the situation so I changed tactics and showed him how to keep track of what he's copying off a mini-white board by erasing what he's copied with his finger.  When all the print is gone, he's done.  He liked that.  He was done in 3 minutes, after wasting 30 in class.

I figured out why I'm so tired this year....it's this kid.  The one who crushed my foot with his in a moment of anger.  The effort of getting through the day, day after day, with everyone accounted for, intact, happy, and having learned something is so very, very draining.

I have no idea what his life is like.  I only know that he never, ever shows me who he really is.  He doesn't show anyone at school even a glimmer of a normal 6 year old boy who likes to do little boy things.  Other little boys say hi to him, and he doesn't acknowledge them.  He never smiles.  He never laughs.  He also hasn't received any birthday invitations (to my knowledge) and isn't enrolled in any after school activities or sports.  So sad.  I refuse to believe one's situation is who s/he is.

I've invested a lot into this child, and that's understating.

This past week, that has all changed.  I don't know if something changed at home or if it's the Daily Report I started him on last Friday (on which he earns smiley faces and comments about his day).  He's been responding, trying, raising his hand to contribute, participating, playing, running, and READING!, cutting, gluing, coloring, drawing, and laughing.  Yes, laughing.  He left school with a smile on his face 4 days in a row. 

"Mrs. B, I don't usually read because it's boring but today I was reading and (shoulder shrug) kinda liked it," was music to my ears.  I had noticed that he was indeed reading quietly at his desk and purposely didn't say anything because I know he is very self-conscious and that he wouldn't want to be caught enjoying himself (gasp!).  I sensed this was a breakthrough moment.  I love those.

As happy as that made me, I knew it wouldn't last.  At the risk of sounding judgmental, some families thrive (is that the right word?) on upheaval.  This would not last...

When I found out that he's moving out of state, I was surprised, but not really surprised.  This was news I greeted with mixed emotions.  I was and still am, angry, happy, irritated, relieved, and sad all rolled up into one jumbled mass of confusion.  In any given moment, I can't wait for him to go and I don't want him to leave.  If they're moving, why did they (his family) let me go to so much trouble to get him services?  People don't just up and move 3 states away without knowing about it for some time, right?  I feel like I've been played.  I hope he at least will remember me not as the teacher he hurt, but as the teacher who cared enough to not give up on him. 

Maybe one day, when he's plopped in front of a tv, he'll come across the movie I mentioned and hear that line.  "It's easier to be happy," and feel that release of letting crap go. 

That's me, always hoping, wishing, and dreaming of peace on earth.  But when he goes, I'll give him a big hug, shed a little tear, wave good-bye.....then smile a sad smile.

Early Bird Special

I have 22 "regular" ed students in my class and 2 "special" ed students.  That's a ratio of 24 to 1, not in my favor.  It's so draining to have this many small beings needing me all day long I'm exhausted by lunch. 

At 43, I sometimes feel 103, or what I imagine that age feels like.  My feet hurt, my back hurts, my neck hurts, my muscles need massaging, I eat early and go to bed early, and wake up really early.  I take Joint Juice for crying out loud, and sleep on a Tempurpedic mattress with a Tempurpedic pillow after a hot bath.  I yawn through happy hour.  I don't like to commit to social get-togethers too far in advance in case I'm too tired, or in too much pain, to muster the energy to get dressed and put on make-up.  I can fake it for only too long and that train usually leaves the station when the last bell of the day rings at 2:55 pm.  Sometimes my first thought in the morning is, "I'm am soooo going to bed early tonight!"  If it weren't for coffee...

This year has been especially hard, even though I had pneumonia last year, because of my foot injury, further proving that to teach one must be in top shape physically.  I never knew exactly how much time I spent on my feet until I was grounded.  I never knew how many times I walked across campus, walked circles in my classroom, walked out to the playground after recess, walked to the library and computer lab, walked to assemblies, to the office, to the workroom and lunchroom and to my car and back. 

Oh my gosh, it's 8:21 pm.  What am I doing up?  Good night!

Danger Zone

    I really like the tv show, "Archer."  It's crude and so unlike something anyone would imagine would entertain a teacher.  Just because I'm a teacher doesn't mean I'm not human.  There's a line from the show in which Archer, the self-proclaimed "awesome" ISIS spy declares that another character better call Kenny Loggins because she's in the "danger zone" (in your head say these words in a high-pitched-trying-to-be-cool-but-you're-not singing voice) referring to the very classy and classic, 1980's movie Top Gun.

One day in October, while I was in my classroom doing what I do, the student who usually causes disruption was doing so, so I told him to get out from under the table and join the group.  He wouldn't, so I reasoned with him, telling him that he is part of this group and nobody else is under any tables.  That didn't work so I ignored him for a few minutes (because I don't like to reward negative behavior with attention).  That also didn't work so I asked,  "What if all of us were under tables right now, how would that look?"  Pretty ridiculous, and many of the students thought so too, so there were some giggles.  Sometimes diffusing a situation with humor is the ticket.  Nope.  Not this time.  I was tempted to just let him stay there.  Turns out, I didn't know I was in the danger zone as I never heard the "nanah nah na na, nanah" to warn me of impending danger.

I didn't convey my feelings of impatience (hello? we have a schedule!) but I was getting pretty ticked off.  If there were a thought bubble above my head visible to all, I'd be in real trouble right about now.  I'm very glad we do not live in a Minority Report kind of society.  I lowered my voice an octave and firmly told him, "Get. Out. From. Under. The. Table. Now.  and come turn a card."  I counted, "1 (not one iota of movement)...............................................................................2 (he's still there but moving in the general direction)......................................3."  Out he came with a very angry look on his face.  On his way to the card chart (scroll down to the * below), he passed in front of me and vehemently stomped on my sandal-clad foot with a grunt and a scowl on his face.  I was astounded, but calmly, took his hand and told him, "You hurt me." 

It was recess time, I was finished reading the story anyway, so I excused the rest of the kids to the playground.  I, of course, had yard duty (what teachers have to do instead of using their 10 minute break to go to the bathroom and get ready for the next lesson), so I took him outside with me.  I had him sit on a bench until he cooled off.  I was shockingly not angry, but mostly concerned, as what he had just done immediately registered on his face.  In the days to come, he'd present me with flowers that he'd picked out of someone's yard and a handwritten apology note (he hates to write). 

I didn't think much of the incident in terms of my own physical health.  It didn't really hurt at the time and I figured I was unharmed.  I was mostly worried about this quiet/sweet kid who demonstrated such volatile behavior over something so small.  I know children react physically because they don't yet possess the language to convey emotion.  Dealing with this was my priority and I wanted to do it right. If he doesn't learn to channel his anger now...

Fast forward 3 months...my foot continues to be painful and after way too many phone calls, appointments, and tests, it's been determined I suffered a bone bruise and was told I'm lucky.  Yup, real lucky...let's see, I've spent my own time writing sub plans so I can be out of my classroom to rest my foot and go to physical therapy and doctor appointments.  I hate it when the doctor gets a little giggle out the fact that a small child caused such destruction (if you're going to laugh, don't do it in front of your patient!).  I feel guilty for being out of my classroom so often the kids have begun asking me daily if I'm going to be there after lunch, never mind that I spent my own money to buy a new pair of shoes that I don't even like. 

When I am at school, I have to be off my feet for 45 minutes out of every hour (c'mon) and I flinch every time a small little foot comes within 6 inches of mine.  Oh, don't forget the orthotics I now have to wear that make my feet feel like I'm walking on rocks, and the nightly icing and 3 times daily dose of ibuprofen (since Halloween) that's probably doing a number on my kidneys.  I'm so lucky.  I bet you wish you were me...I'll feel like new in 6-8 MONTHS. 

If I could morph, I'd like to be a little more like Lana, Archer's counterpart.  She has a rockin' body and doesn't take any you-know-what from anyone and usually has a couple of guns strapped to her body (I'd probably wear more clothes than she does though).  I could've used some back up that day.  Being in my classroom alone with 24 little children with questionable language skills and clumsy tendencies can feel like the danger zone sometimes.  What if they decide to mutiny?

photo by unknown

*  The "card chart" is an attempt at recognizing those kids who follow rules and work hard every day.  It consists of 5 colored cards in a labeled pocket.  If you break a rule, you move one of your cards.  Blue=great day.  Yellow=warning, try harder (or, "you're pushing it, buddy)  Green=lose recess (sit on a bench and think about how you're going to change your behavior)  Purple=community service (pick up trash during your recess) (I don't like to imagine certain individuals in their future garb of flourescent orange with their grabbers on the side of the freeway but the image never escapes me and makes me sad) and Red=visit the principal AND call your parents (aka BIG trouble).  If a student gets to end of a day without moving a card, he/she gets a stamp on her/his chart and when it's full it's time to celebrate with a piece of candy and Pat on the Back!  A Pat on the Back is figurative "good job" coupon-sized piece of paper with an imprint of a hand and when a kid saves up 20 they get awarded a Dragon Tag.  A Dragon Tag is a necklace that's like a military dog tag only it's made of plastic and has a picture of Sparky on it.  Sparky is our dragon school mascot who "flies in" for the Positive Action Assembly at the end of the month whose reception is unrivaled by one that would be received by Santa Claus.  A Positive Action Assembly is a gathering in the MP room to honor kids who have demonstrated our word of the month. 

Sign Language

Six year olds need to talk.  If you think about it, they've only been talking since maybe 2 years of age, so they're experimenting and learning all the nuances of language, some better than others.  They ALL need to talk to me first thing in the morning, "Mrs.B, have you ever seen that movie, 'Ghostbusters?  Mrs. B, do killer whales like kids?  Mrs. B, my homework is at my dad's house or in the car and we can't find it we looked everywhere.  Mrs. B, can I get a drink?  My TOOTH CAME OUT!  Mrs. B, will you read Zombiekins today if we get all our work done?  Mrs. B, I don't feel good......Mrs. B, we got a puppy!  Mrs. B, I watched Ironman? with my dad?  and I'm going to be Ironman for Halloween!  Mrs. B, I didn't go trick or treating because I was scared."

I am not kidding, this is all at the same time, and I can't even remember all the other whacky tidbits of information I've been privy to over the years. 

First Graders are hilarious.  But I'm on to them with their tattling...I think.  I've learned that when a child comes to me with a complaint, they're pretty much only telling me the parts that will make him or her look like the poor, innocent, wronged child they claim to be.  Once the whole story comes out....

"Mrs. B, he threw sand at me in the sandbox and now I have sand in my eye and can I go to the office?" 

"Who threw sand?"

"Buddy."

"On purpose?"

"Uh huh."

"Buddy, did you throw sand at her?"

"Well!  She ruined my hole." (I guess that means yes)

"What hole?"

"The hole I worked on all recess and we were going to bury sticks and pretend they were bones and dig them up but she kicked in all the sand we dug out."  At this point witnesses approach.

"Yeah! she did it!  I saw her..." 

"Nu uhhh!  I was digging and sand accidentally flew into her face!"  (how many times have I heard that one?)

"Stop."  It's determined by me (the judge) that nobody is being kind and decide they could have behaved differently at the get-go.  I never make anyone apologize, but suggestively say "What would you like to do to make it better?"  Usually they all apologize and eventually get their eyes flushed.

No wonder we invented first grade sign language.  There are days when I just can't hear another human being say "Mrs. B?" 

We (teachers at my school) decided on signals to lessen the damage to our ears and to conserve our sanity.  To ask to go to the bathroom, students merely cross their middle finger over their pointer finger.  Urgency is conveyed by facial expression, holding of the crotch, or how close to your eyes the criss-crossed fingers are to your face, or a combination of these.  The other day I was in the middle of a game when a girl silently walked up to me, one hand on crotch, eyes bugged out and eyebrows crinkled and slowly moved her crossed fingers to within an inch of my nose.  Cross-eyed, I gave her permission with a nod.

The Quiet signal has morphed from two fingers held up in a "peace" sign to "Quiet Coyote" which is a variation of "hang loose" with pointer and pinky held up and thumb, middle and ring finger touching.  It's always ironic to see a class (mine) walking in line with their Quiet Coyote signals up but sound like a herd of elephants.  That's when I have to resort to desperate measures..."double silent signals!"  To which half the class responds with both hands in the air, one with Quiet Coyote and one with a peace sign.  Silence will last a good 30 seconds with this one.  We're never getting the monkey...

There are a couple of different ways to respond with a "yes" or a "no."  One hand in a fist that bobs up and down means "yes," so does a thumb up.  "No" is a side-to-side shake of a hand with fingers straight, or a thumb down.  The meaning of "silent" is usually lost, however, since these signals are usually accompanied with a spoken response.

My principal awards a San Francisco Giants rally monkey stuffed animal every Friday to the class that behaves in public, meaning whenever your class goes on campus beyond the classroom.  You never know when she is going to be lurking in the halls, the library, the cafeteria, the playground, or even in the bathroom (so we tell the kids) so you BETTER BEHAVE if you want that monkey on Friday!  I've wrapped up all the signals into one single encouraging phrase as in, "Let's walk in line Monkey-Style!"  Then all their hands go up in Quiet Coyote, eyes face front, and lips are closed!  At least for 30 seconds.

Keeping kids quiet is a lost cause.  It's not human nature to be quiet all the time.  Really, talking is how we all acquire any language.  Have you ever tried to learn a second language?  Speaking it is the hardest stage.  So in a way, I'm glad my class is noisy sometimes, because that must mean they're learning. 

It's just so funny when I actually tell them to talk... and not one word is spoken.

Grandma

Grandparents.  What would kids do without grandparents?

I, for one, have only one grandparent, my grandma, my mother's mother, and don't know how I would have turned out without having had her in my life.  My father was adopted and his parents were already dead when I was born.  My mother's father...who knows?  As she lays in her nursing home, riddled with dementia and not knowing who I am, I wonder who she really is/was.  She used to tell stories of her youth, her daddy, her mama, and of her life that spans 88 years and spent mostly in Signal Hill and Long Beach, CA, and Albequerque, New Mexico.  She was the youngest of 5 children, grew up during the Depression, lived through World War II, and wholly and completely loved John F. Kennedy.  She was watching the news when the Watergate story broke and when the Twin Towers fell.  She told us about the love of her life, her fiance, who was a fighter pilot in World War II and was shot down and killed.  She's had to say good-bye to too many life-long friends.  Through it all, she had three daughters-my mother and my two aunts, 4 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren.

Grandparents are and always have been important figures in the lives of the young...meaning, anyone who is not as old as they are, even if said grandma is only in her 40s. I hope I never have to know what it's like first hand what my grandma experiences at her nursing home. I think if her old self saw how she is now she wouldn't have very nice things to say (because she never minced words). From what my mother and aunts tell me, they can't understand her unless she's cussing.  Dementia has got to be the most evil disease anyone can suffer.

Grandma raised her 3 daughters and then helped raise her 4 grandchildren-my two cousins, my sister, and me in the 70s and 80s and continued to be a force to be reckoned with through the 90s and 2000s.  She liked to remind everybody that she was not a "babysitter" but rather, one of our caregivers, and there's a difference.  Grandma watched us while my mom was at work on the graveyard shift.  I have many, many fond memories of those nights.  Once, after she put us all to bed, she got to watching Laugh In, a 70s era comedy show where the contestant had to sit in a big overstuffed chair and try not to laugh at comedians.  We snuck out of bed, crawled down the hall, and hid behind her chair.  The ensuing, "YOU GIRLS GET BACK IN BED!" was all it took for us to haul butt back down the hallway, giggling hysterically the whole way.  She didn't even get out of her chair.

She took us to Thrifty's for ice cream cones on a regular basis because "it's the best" and let us get a triple scoop. Oh, how I loved dessert time because that meant a big bowl of mint chip ice cream in front of the T.V. watching Merv Griffin or Lawrence Welk (I loved the Champagne Lady), or my favorite, The Dukes of Hazzard, after macaroni and cheese, hot dogs with ketchup, and salad with ranch. On separate occasions, she'd take us to Woolworth's to get a candy bar and wait ever-so-patiently as we hemmed and hawed about which one to get. It was a very difficult decision, as the candy selection was huge.  She took us to pick out our birthday present and let us have it early. She had a Toyota Carina that was beige and had a bumper sticker that said, "I 'heart' my Grandkids," and made us all wear our seatbelts (remember when seatbelts were optional?) and would strap it around two of us at a time if she had to.  If we got ready in time, she'd take us to school so we didn't have to ride the city bus, and if we argued with each other, she'd just yell and start flapping her hand in the general direction of the backseat and slap whoever was unlucky enough to be in the way. 

She had a full-time job at Bank of America.  She was a teller, then later, an escrow officer.  She retired, but kept working as a teller and trained new tellers.  She used to work at the branch on the Queen Mary, where we'd get to visit her.  That's where I learned to count money.  I used to count the pennies by twos for her, so she could close up.  I loved visiting her there because we could go behind the counter! , and see the vault, and run around on the deck of that big ship and nobody said to stop.

My grandma is full of passion, especially for her grandkids and great-grandkids (my cousin's children).  Her favorite gift was to receive photographs of us...us with a cat, us with a dog, us together, each of us separately with or without a pet, with our elementary school friends, high school friends, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, and of every non-special occasion that ever was.  She was the one who always had her camera at every single family function.  Before she became unable to fully function, she was in the middle of having the slides her daddy took on his lonely road trips put onto compact discs.  I would like to see those someday.

She also used to watch Mtv, even if we weren't sitting with her.  She'd crochet a baby blanket and sing along to Duran Duran and Thompson Twins so she'd know what her grandkids were into.  I still have the blankets she made me, and I always will.

There is a volunteer at my school who all the kids call "Grandma."  She works in Kindergarten, so every student who has been through our Kindergarten knows who she is.  I don't think she (or the kids) know what an indelible impression she's making on everyone.  All she has to do is make herself visible and kids will run up shouting, "Grandma!" and hug her.  She walks slowly, wears glasses, and hunches over, but the kids never have to be told to be gentle, they just are.  She is stern but loving, and they respond.

A student in my class has a grandma who comes in to volunteer every Thursday.  She provides, without even knowing it, that unconditional love and acceptance that comes with being a grandma.  Kids who just met her want her attention, but don't beg for it, they wait their turn.  Is it because they just know she will make the time?  It's that "Grandma Vibe" that I'm talking about.  She will do whatever I ask of her.  She tears worksheets from 24 workbooks, she helps kids with math, and she helps students plant tulip bulbs in the garden.  I only ask her to do things I believe she can physically handle, though.  She even shows up, wheeling her walker, with homemade oatmeal cookies for the kids and zuccini bread for me.

I have so much more I could say about grandmas (sorry grandpas, I have no experience with you, unfortunately, although I'm positive you are just as dynamic and full of love as grandmas are) but this is a blog, not a book. 

Give your grandma a hug!

My grandma passed away on Monday, January 7, very early in the morning.  She was 89.  She waited until my mom, who had been sitting with her all night for two nights in a row, to leave to take her last breath.  We believe she could still understand us, as we'd get a reaction when we talked to her.  I told her, over my mom's iPhone speaker, that I love her and not knowing what else she wanted to hear so she could finally let go, I told her that none of us do drugs, smoke, and we all eat healthy.  We all have jobs and are happy in our lives.  She started to moan something with three syllables.  I want to believe she was saying, "Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer" or "I love you, I love you, I love you."  We've since been scanning old photos like crazy to put on our shared website so I can make a photo book filled with our stories and remembrances of her.  She was a powerful figure in our lives and will continue to be until my dying day.