I like to give myself a little laugh in the morning. You see, our school starts earlier than any other school I have ever known to exist. 8:00 on the dot, kids pour into my class. Which means I have to get to work a whole lot earlier.
In preparation, the night before I always calculate how much time I'll need to get ready the next day. If I have an idea of the outfit I will wear, I can shave off two minutes from my "get-ready." A ponytail day? Surrrreee - seven minutes off hair time (you can see ponytail's are a favourable option for this reason...). Have a tan? Five minutes off concealer time. Sweet, I can basically roll out of bed and off to the j-o-b.
I do however, have a paranoia about sleeping through my alarm, which forces me to set 3 different alarms with very different musical settings to wake up to. This is where I get very creative in my wake ups - I like to give "Future Katie" a chuckle. Recently, I have programmed my phone to begin my alarm with the Harlem Shake, to then move into the Arrested Development Theme, to some Taylor Swift - any will do, they are so damn catchy and pleasant. The Harlem Shake usually gets a nice giggle in the morning, and depending on how many hours shut eye I got, I might even get up with my own version of the Shake.
I might even leave myself a note, because at this time in the morning, your body is completely disassociated from the person you were the night before. It's as if a stranger planned these things for you, which would be very considerate if someone did do this for me - concept also gets a chuckle.
I wonder what I will think of doing for Future Katie tomorrow. Which song shall I choose? Maybe the Carmen Sandiego theme? Perhaps a Teach Me How to Dougie Remix? It is great to wake up to a song that you know has a specific dance to it. Really gets the laughs in the mornings...
It's the little things folks.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Cheetos Fingers
As you may have gathered, I think children are adorable BUT they are also germ bags. Today put my gag reflex to the test.
It was a boy's birthday and his mum kindly brought in cake. It was meant to serve 15, so we were preeeetty proud we served it to 30. We had one leftover slice that was offered to me by my teaching partner. How kind.
The kindest moment is yet to come though. One of the boys in my class thought the cake was too far for me to reach across the whole 3 feet from the door to the office, so he scooped it up with his tiny, germ-ridden fist and passed it to me with expectant eyes. How kind times two. "Here Ms. Thomas, for you!"
Mmmmmm...delicious. His fingerprints were molded into the sides of the icing. I could clearly make out the indentations of the minuscule ridges from his thumb pad. What to do?
The plot thickens. This child was in after school club (yes this was after hours) and I had just sat with him chatting while he polished off his bag of Cheetos (in England they are called Wotsits - ugh). Now as you probably know, eating this particular type of food produces a layer of film along your snatching fingers called cheese scum. This of course occurs in whichever country you eat them and no matter the name - Cheetos, Wotsits, etc. You also probably know, that the only way to remove this layer is to either burn it off or commence the loud, wet, sucking actions which removes everything but the smell. I know, I know - gross.
I watched this whole process 3 minutes before he passed me my cake.
Now do I refuse the cake, no doubt offending the child and wasting a delicious piece? Or do I push through and try to choke it down with as much enjoyment as my twisting stomach will allow?
I went for it. He was staring up at me like Bambi in the forest, waiting to watch me really enjoy the cake he had already tried. To reference another Disney moment, it was comparable to Lady nosing a meatball toward the tramp in a back alley (none to far from our actual situation). This forced me to make a lot of "mmmm so good, thank you!!" and "mmm mmm tasty!" comments and loud eating noises to cover for my winching expression. He was very pleased with himself that he had done me a such a large and thoughtful "favour."
Needless to say I am not hungry for dinner as my stomach is still flip flopping.
Let us all also hope he didn't go to the toilet right before he ate his Wotsits...
It was a boy's birthday and his mum kindly brought in cake. It was meant to serve 15, so we were preeeetty proud we served it to 30. We had one leftover slice that was offered to me by my teaching partner. How kind.
The kindest moment is yet to come though. One of the boys in my class thought the cake was too far for me to reach across the whole 3 feet from the door to the office, so he scooped it up with his tiny, germ-ridden fist and passed it to me with expectant eyes. How kind times two. "Here Ms. Thomas, for you!"
Mmmmmm...delicious. His fingerprints were molded into the sides of the icing. I could clearly make out the indentations of the minuscule ridges from his thumb pad. What to do?
The plot thickens. This child was in after school club (yes this was after hours) and I had just sat with him chatting while he polished off his bag of Cheetos (in England they are called Wotsits - ugh). Now as you probably know, eating this particular type of food produces a layer of film along your snatching fingers called cheese scum. This of course occurs in whichever country you eat them and no matter the name - Cheetos, Wotsits, etc. You also probably know, that the only way to remove this layer is to either burn it off or commence the loud, wet, sucking actions which removes everything but the smell. I know, I know - gross.
I watched this whole process 3 minutes before he passed me my cake.
Now do I refuse the cake, no doubt offending the child and wasting a delicious piece? Or do I push through and try to choke it down with as much enjoyment as my twisting stomach will allow?
I went for it. He was staring up at me like Bambi in the forest, waiting to watch me really enjoy the cake he had already tried. To reference another Disney moment, it was comparable to Lady nosing a meatball toward the tramp in a back alley (none to far from our actual situation). This forced me to make a lot of "mmmm so good, thank you!!" and "mmm mmm tasty!" comments and loud eating noises to cover for my winching expression. He was very pleased with himself that he had done me a such a large and thoughtful "favour."
Needless to say I am not hungry for dinner as my stomach is still flip flopping.
Let us all also hope he didn't go to the toilet right before he ate his Wotsits...
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Worry
I love my job.
I am pretty sure if you searched through my writings, you would be able to see this statement repeated many times. I don't love my job because I get summers off or I get to laugh at poo jokes (although, those are some perks) but I love it because of the kids. I know what it sounds like, before you say it to me later, I do know but it's true.
An older teaching mentor I had at my last school said, "I don't have any of my own children, but I have 30 adopted ones each year." It is true. People say teaching is rewarding and you feel like you are making a difference but I am not sure that is what drives me to love my job. Away from it all, looking back on children I have taught, I feel a sense of pride, sure. I feel fulfilment from their progress and development during their time with me however when you are in the midst of it, you really are in the shit. I don't mean to parallel teaching 5 - 10 year olds with war, but isn't it? Let's be honest, every day I am in a battle. Crayons are flying around the room, children don't want to follow instructions, people are getting hit (by each other, not by me...), they are missing their families, and there are tears...lots of tears. I leave every day feeling like I have run a marathon, only to go home and think about what to do tomorrow.
The reason I say I don't think teaching feels rewarding when you are in the middle of a school year with a group is because you worry. You worry all the time. I can't imagine what it will be like to have my own children, who I can't send away at 3:30, to take a break until 8:00 the next day. I find it hard to comprehend worrying any more than I already do. Sometimes parents disagree with you as their child's teacher, which is fine (any parent reading this, I understand why you are upset and want to meet with me every day after school - this is not a criticism right now) but sometimes I just want to shout "I love your kid too! I am doing my best!"because I do love them, and I am certainly trying my best.
I try my best not so I can be the best or get an award from my head teacher but again, because I worry - always. Sometimes the worrying about them is so bad, I wake up in the middle of the night to text people (last year I was particularly worried about a bunch and an old TA friend received many a text about my anxieties). What I want to say to parents is:
You stay up late worrying your child will fall behind? I stay up late worrying about how I can prevent that. I stay up late examining APP grids, and ELGs and targets and curriculum maps to see where your child needs to go next and for EACH child under my care. My google search engine is filled with "books that are good for retells," "3D shape games" "practical money activities and resources" or maybe even "funny phonics raps." I worry that they don't have enough friends, or maybe they have the wrong friends. I worry that they aren't getting adding by counting on. I worry that they might not ever be able to take turns. I worry that they won't be able to cope as well with a teacher who has a different teaching style when they move up a grade next year. I worry where they will be in four years, six years, in high school. I worry that I am not doing enough, or maybe I am even pushing too hard. I worry they won't make their targets. I worry about WHY they won't make their targets. I worry that if they don't get something, it is because I am not being clear enough or I am not teaching it the best way possible. I worry I am failing. Now multiple your worries by 30 because I worry about all of them the same.
So yes, I worry too.
This is why you don't often have time as a teacher on a weekend or after school to feel rewarded or like you are out to do good. You are busy trying to keep your head above water, while 30 munchkins sit on your shoulders trying to stay afloat too. But I will say there are wow moments. Not always me feeling rewarded or good at what I do, but where a child really blows me away with something they do or say. Today one of my boys said to a little girl who was crying, "Don't worry, I missed my mum too but you will be ok. It's fun here, we will look after you," and gave her a tissue. Another girl looked at me while I was sitting at a focus table and said "Ms. Thomas, have you seen _____? I don't know where she could be?" Then she smiled and me and discretely pointed to her best friend "hiding" herself under an open-area table. "But Ms. Thomas, she must be somewhere, I just don't know where she is." All the while, the other little girl was blissfully giggling that she had fooled us all.
I might be worried about some smaller, more bureaucratic elements of teaching but we are shaping tiny humans and I have to remind myself they will be alright. That is why I love my job, because they make it easy to love what I do. They might not be able to double 7, but I hope from being with me they can laugh and they can be good people.
Fingers crossed.
I am pretty sure if you searched through my writings, you would be able to see this statement repeated many times. I don't love my job because I get summers off or I get to laugh at poo jokes (although, those are some perks) but I love it because of the kids. I know what it sounds like, before you say it to me later, I do know but it's true.
An older teaching mentor I had at my last school said, "I don't have any of my own children, but I have 30 adopted ones each year." It is true. People say teaching is rewarding and you feel like you are making a difference but I am not sure that is what drives me to love my job. Away from it all, looking back on children I have taught, I feel a sense of pride, sure. I feel fulfilment from their progress and development during their time with me however when you are in the midst of it, you really are in the shit. I don't mean to parallel teaching 5 - 10 year olds with war, but isn't it? Let's be honest, every day I am in a battle. Crayons are flying around the room, children don't want to follow instructions, people are getting hit (by each other, not by me...), they are missing their families, and there are tears...lots of tears. I leave every day feeling like I have run a marathon, only to go home and think about what to do tomorrow.
The reason I say I don't think teaching feels rewarding when you are in the middle of a school year with a group is because you worry. You worry all the time. I can't imagine what it will be like to have my own children, who I can't send away at 3:30, to take a break until 8:00 the next day. I find it hard to comprehend worrying any more than I already do. Sometimes parents disagree with you as their child's teacher, which is fine (any parent reading this, I understand why you are upset and want to meet with me every day after school - this is not a criticism right now) but sometimes I just want to shout "I love your kid too! I am doing my best!"because I do love them, and I am certainly trying my best.
I try my best not so I can be the best or get an award from my head teacher but again, because I worry - always. Sometimes the worrying about them is so bad, I wake up in the middle of the night to text people (last year I was particularly worried about a bunch and an old TA friend received many a text about my anxieties). What I want to say to parents is:
You stay up late worrying your child will fall behind? I stay up late worrying about how I can prevent that. I stay up late examining APP grids, and ELGs and targets and curriculum maps to see where your child needs to go next and for EACH child under my care. My google search engine is filled with "books that are good for retells," "3D shape games" "practical money activities and resources" or maybe even "funny phonics raps." I worry that they don't have enough friends, or maybe they have the wrong friends. I worry that they aren't getting adding by counting on. I worry that they might not ever be able to take turns. I worry that they won't be able to cope as well with a teacher who has a different teaching style when they move up a grade next year. I worry where they will be in four years, six years, in high school. I worry that I am not doing enough, or maybe I am even pushing too hard. I worry they won't make their targets. I worry about WHY they won't make their targets. I worry that if they don't get something, it is because I am not being clear enough or I am not teaching it the best way possible. I worry I am failing. Now multiple your worries by 30 because I worry about all of them the same.
So yes, I worry too.
This is why you don't often have time as a teacher on a weekend or after school to feel rewarded or like you are out to do good. You are busy trying to keep your head above water, while 30 munchkins sit on your shoulders trying to stay afloat too. But I will say there are wow moments. Not always me feeling rewarded or good at what I do, but where a child really blows me away with something they do or say. Today one of my boys said to a little girl who was crying, "Don't worry, I missed my mum too but you will be ok. It's fun here, we will look after you," and gave her a tissue. Another girl looked at me while I was sitting at a focus table and said "Ms. Thomas, have you seen _____? I don't know where she could be?" Then she smiled and me and discretely pointed to her best friend "hiding" herself under an open-area table. "But Ms. Thomas, she must be somewhere, I just don't know where she is." All the while, the other little girl was blissfully giggling that she had fooled us all.
I might be worried about some smaller, more bureaucratic elements of teaching but we are shaping tiny humans and I have to remind myself they will be alright. That is why I love my job, because they make it easy to love what I do. They might not be able to double 7, but I hope from being with me they can laugh and they can be good people.
Fingers crossed.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
I've Lived Here How Long?
In the hustle and bustle of London, it is easy to miss things and not quite understand everything around you. There are so many people, places, and stimuli that sometimes you tune things out. Big things. Things that are flashing into your face every single day. I'm coming up to 3 years in London and I have just discovered one of those things.
When I lived in Forest Hill, I bought weekly travel passes, so it didn't matter how often I travelled or what route I took to get there. Now, for all you bumpkins who experience the substandard transport of the TTC or maybe the glorious transport of owning your own car, it is a fixed rate, held on something called an Oyster card that you tap on sensors to get in and out of stations. However, since I have moved I no longer use a weekly travel card, but instead a pay as you go method, still loaded onto my Oyster.
Now enough of the nitty gritty - basically everyday I see a pink - not yellow- tap in sign during my journey. In fact, they are all over the place. Heaps of them, littered this way and that. BUT they are in the middle of a platform or off to the side so that you DO NOT need to tap them to continue with your journey. This has of course led me to ignore them forever. Every single day I see the odd few people pull out their card and tap this little pink spot whilst trundling along to their next platform. Do I ever read the sign? No. Do I ever stop to think about what they are doing? No. Hmm. And to be honest, if it weren't that shiny, rich colour of pink, I probably would have continued to ignore it forever...but like the ferret I am, I was intrigued by it's appeal.
So I go home after a long day of work and realise once again the pink sign. I glance at it - "pay as you go travellers" - interesting. I walk around it - yes it does seem like something I should do. And I then...avoid it and continue walking. Well oh heck, I might as well google it when I get in.
Yup, it is exactly for me and my form of travel. Yup, it would be saving me bundles of money a week. Yup, I am a complete ostrich, moving my way through life with my head in the sand. What I WAS paying for a week of travel - £40. What I SHOULD be paying a week, doing the exact same route just tapping the G.D. fuchsia sign - £19. Smeh, what's money?
Everything is the answer you're looking for. Everything.
Here it is - easy to miss right? No.
When I lived in Forest Hill, I bought weekly travel passes, so it didn't matter how often I travelled or what route I took to get there. Now, for all you bumpkins who experience the substandard transport of the TTC or maybe the glorious transport of owning your own car, it is a fixed rate, held on something called an Oyster card that you tap on sensors to get in and out of stations. However, since I have moved I no longer use a weekly travel card, but instead a pay as you go method, still loaded onto my Oyster.
Now enough of the nitty gritty - basically everyday I see a pink - not yellow- tap in sign during my journey. In fact, they are all over the place. Heaps of them, littered this way and that. BUT they are in the middle of a platform or off to the side so that you DO NOT need to tap them to continue with your journey. This has of course led me to ignore them forever. Every single day I see the odd few people pull out their card and tap this little pink spot whilst trundling along to their next platform. Do I ever read the sign? No. Do I ever stop to think about what they are doing? No. Hmm. And to be honest, if it weren't that shiny, rich colour of pink, I probably would have continued to ignore it forever...but like the ferret I am, I was intrigued by it's appeal.
So I go home after a long day of work and realise once again the pink sign. I glance at it - "pay as you go travellers" - interesting. I walk around it - yes it does seem like something I should do. And I then...avoid it and continue walking. Well oh heck, I might as well google it when I get in.
Yup, it is exactly for me and my form of travel. Yup, it would be saving me bundles of money a week. Yup, I am a complete ostrich, moving my way through life with my head in the sand. What I WAS paying for a week of travel - £40. What I SHOULD be paying a week, doing the exact same route just tapping the G.D. fuchsia sign - £19. Smeh, what's money?
Everything is the answer you're looking for. Everything.
Here it is - easy to miss right? No.
Monday, June 3, 2013
The Caterpillar and the Tadpole
Today I read THE most horrifying book to the children, unintentionally of course.
The story was called The Tadpole's Promise. It starts with a tadpole and a caterpillar falling madly in love from looking at each other through a pond. Very sweet, though I knew from the beginning it was going to be doomed as they would never be in each other's worlds #GoldenCompass. BUT little did I know how tragic it really would turn out.
You see, normally I would do a prereading of every book I read to the kids but this was the first day back after holiday and things were going a bit crazy. I just asked a lovely boy to pick out a story before launching into reading it with full voices and actions, made up as I go.
The gist of the story was that the two fall in love and promise each other they will never change - you see how this is beginning to get risky. 1. both a tadpole and caterpillar are both very limited forms and 2. youth must mature.
Also, the caterpillar has a beautiful rainbow stripe down her side which the tadpole falls in love with and calls "his rainbow" BUT the caterpillar keeps coming to the pond and discovering her lover has once again changed and she is heartbroken. When the tadpole begins to grow it's front legs, loses his tail, and has back legs, she announces this is the last straw and strops off in a hump. Eventually she comes to her senses but by now she has also changed. So she flies as a butterfly back to the pond to say she will always love the tadpole no matter how he changes, but this time she sees a frog. As she goes to fly in to ask the frog where the tadpole has gone...he leaps up and swallows the butterfly whole. The last line is "so the frog waited on his lilypad, always wondering where his rainbow went."
This is the point when the children began to scream. Not little shrieks, but full out Home Alone wails and it wasn't long before I realised I was screaming equally as loud with them. Not only do they not end up together, but he consumes her entirely and doesn't even know it!
Luckily there were no tears, only screams of disbelief and shock. Once the screams died down we did burst into a fit of giggles from being so caught off guard. I quickly moved on to a round of singing Che Che Koolay before dismissing them to free choice.
I can't wait for parent comments and questions tomorrow or my nightmares tonight.
Here is the worst:
The story was called The Tadpole's Promise. It starts with a tadpole and a caterpillar falling madly in love from looking at each other through a pond. Very sweet, though I knew from the beginning it was going to be doomed as they would never be in each other's worlds #GoldenCompass. BUT little did I know how tragic it really would turn out.
You see, normally I would do a prereading of every book I read to the kids but this was the first day back after holiday and things were going a bit crazy. I just asked a lovely boy to pick out a story before launching into reading it with full voices and actions, made up as I go.
The gist of the story was that the two fall in love and promise each other they will never change - you see how this is beginning to get risky. 1. both a tadpole and caterpillar are both very limited forms and 2. youth must mature.
Also, the caterpillar has a beautiful rainbow stripe down her side which the tadpole falls in love with and calls "his rainbow" BUT the caterpillar keeps coming to the pond and discovering her lover has once again changed and she is heartbroken. When the tadpole begins to grow it's front legs, loses his tail, and has back legs, she announces this is the last straw and strops off in a hump. Eventually she comes to her senses but by now she has also changed. So she flies as a butterfly back to the pond to say she will always love the tadpole no matter how he changes, but this time she sees a frog. As she goes to fly in to ask the frog where the tadpole has gone...he leaps up and swallows the butterfly whole. The last line is "so the frog waited on his lilypad, always wondering where his rainbow went."
This is the point when the children began to scream. Not little shrieks, but full out Home Alone wails and it wasn't long before I realised I was screaming equally as loud with them. Not only do they not end up together, but he consumes her entirely and doesn't even know it!
Luckily there were no tears, only screams of disbelief and shock. Once the screams died down we did burst into a fit of giggles from being so caught off guard. I quickly moved on to a round of singing Che Che Koolay before dismissing them to free choice.
I can't wait for parent comments and questions tomorrow or my nightmares tonight.
Here is the worst:
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Planned bedtime
I live with 3 guys. I enjoy it and much prefer it to living with 3 girls (no offence to 203). There is less drama and a lot less fuss, but there are some trade offs.
First of all, I take pride in my appearance...sometimes, most times, whatever. When I lived with girls, I didn't care who saw me without makeup/hair done etc, because they lived the same struggle as me. Night time was when the monsters came out. But living here, I always feel like guys are some superficial being with the IQ of a toaster. Of course they know we wear makeup. Of course they can probably predict what I look like without makeup - I am not Pamela Anderson, no one could predict that mess. But somehow this misconception of men's understanding has led me to planning my bedtime routines. When do I shower? When do I remove makeup? When does my hair get washed? When is it necessary to wear a bra? When do I really NEED to get out of my pjs? In 203, I remember a period of time where the girls and I wore pajamas all day, every day unless we absolutely had to change (which usually meant we were going some place fancier than a mall, because knowing us we were still in comfy clothes there too). Basically we could be the biggest dirt squirrels on the planet and none of the opposite sex/interested sex would know, because when we wanted to lure them in, we sorted ourselves out.
In my current situation, I leave my make up on as long as possible which is a change for me. I used to come home from work (around 6) and immediately take out my contacts and off came the makeup. Now, it's burning onto my skull until I know I can no longer keep my eyes open. Why, you might ask, do I need it on? Well...if anyone were to knock on my door, then I would need to look respectable. And in case you were wondering, no one ever does. That is, knock/come home when my makeup is on. The exact moment that they do is always approximately 7 minutes after I have removed all disguises. This leads me to hiding in my room, with the lights off, and headphones in. Great, that's healthy...not.
I also plan my shower routine, which usually involves lurking into the stall around 4:00 pm (when I get home now because I live so close to work) so that no one is around when I skulk back to my room with my drowned rat hair. Who showers in the afternoon? Manual labourers and kindergardeners, is who.
It is a small price to pay for a drama-free and very entertaining household. So I will continue to linger like a cave troll during late nights. I am excited for my cousin Meg to join us soon and experience what I do. Hopefully united we will stand and stay in comfy clothes as long as we want! Huzzah!
First of all, I take pride in my appearance...sometimes, most times, whatever. When I lived with girls, I didn't care who saw me without makeup/hair done etc, because they lived the same struggle as me. Night time was when the monsters came out. But living here, I always feel like guys are some superficial being with the IQ of a toaster. Of course they know we wear makeup. Of course they can probably predict what I look like without makeup - I am not Pamela Anderson, no one could predict that mess. But somehow this misconception of men's understanding has led me to planning my bedtime routines. When do I shower? When do I remove makeup? When does my hair get washed? When is it necessary to wear a bra? When do I really NEED to get out of my pjs? In 203, I remember a period of time where the girls and I wore pajamas all day, every day unless we absolutely had to change (which usually meant we were going some place fancier than a mall, because knowing us we were still in comfy clothes there too). Basically we could be the biggest dirt squirrels on the planet and none of the opposite sex/interested sex would know, because when we wanted to lure them in, we sorted ourselves out.
In my current situation, I leave my make up on as long as possible which is a change for me. I used to come home from work (around 6) and immediately take out my contacts and off came the makeup. Now, it's burning onto my skull until I know I can no longer keep my eyes open. Why, you might ask, do I need it on? Well...if anyone were to knock on my door, then I would need to look respectable. And in case you were wondering, no one ever does. That is, knock/come home when my makeup is on. The exact moment that they do is always approximately 7 minutes after I have removed all disguises. This leads me to hiding in my room, with the lights off, and headphones in. Great, that's healthy...not.
I also plan my shower routine, which usually involves lurking into the stall around 4:00 pm (when I get home now because I live so close to work) so that no one is around when I skulk back to my room with my drowned rat hair. Who showers in the afternoon? Manual labourers and kindergardeners, is who.
It is a small price to pay for a drama-free and very entertaining household. So I will continue to linger like a cave troll during late nights. I am excited for my cousin Meg to join us soon and experience what I do. Hopefully united we will stand and stay in comfy clothes as long as we want! Huzzah!
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