Four Groovy Buttons!

One of my classes has paired up with the Young Fives class at my school for reading buddies.  We meet once a week and help the little kids learn how to read and do projects.  The seventh graders LOVE it, and the small ones do too!

Today our class was tasked with helping the kids learn about subtraction.  The teacher had a book about Pete the Cat and his four groovy buttons; she showed the pictures while we listened to an audio recording.  The basic plot is: even though Pete's buttons pop off one by one, he just keeps on singing his groovy song.  Eventually ALL his buttons pop off, and Pete is left with only his belly button.  I'm including a link for you if you happen to be unfamiliar with Pete, as I was.

Well, Pete's groovy song is possibly the biggest, baddest ear worm that ever reared its ugly head.  Really.  Listen to it.  I DARE YOU NOT TO BOP ALONG.

As a result, the seventh graders were dancing around singing the button song once we returned to our classroom.  Which was quite the sight.  Then this exchange occurred:

Student:  Don't you think that book is inappropriate for young five students?

Me: Um, no.  It has a cat singing a groovy song.  What could be inappropriate about that?

Student:  At the end Pete is practically naked because all the buttons have fallen off his shirt.  This movie should have been rated R for brief nudity.  Totally shocking.  Belly buttons sticking out all over.

Me:  I could get on board with your logic on this one.

I'll Try Not To Let It Go To My Head

We have morning assembly in the gym each day before classes begin.  My class sits at the far end of the gym, so we have to walk the length of the floor before we sit down.  My former students have taken to applauding as I walk by.  I swear I had no part in initiating this ritual, but it sure is an ego boost each morning!

Some people may think it's sad that my self-esteem rests on the accolades of eighth graders.  I say you should take the accolades where you can get them and enjoy them while they last.

Should I be Offended or Flattered?

New school year!  Yaaaaaaaaaaaay!  More fodder for my blog!

My class sits in the back of the gym at our daily morning assembly.  The eighth graders (my former students) sit on the bleachers directly behind my class.  I did not take this fact into account last year when I tormented them taught them language arts to the best of my ability.  It's only been two days, and already I have been mocked, kicked, and glared at.  I'm certain it's all done out of love, but this gives you a sense of the relationship that this group of girls has with me.

Anyway, the girls were glaring at me before assembly started.  This, of course, simply provokes me to come over and taunt them further.  When I did, one of the girls gave me a big hug.  I do not deny that I was slightly surprised by her gesture, but it was really sweet.

"See? Some people appreciate and love me," I said to the rest of the gaggle.

The hugging girl abruptly broke off the hug, slid down the bleachers, and said, "Oh, I wasn't hugging you because I missed you.  You're just really, really soft."

Hmmmm.  Soft is not generally an adjective I would use to describe myself, but maybe she had a point....

Ewwwwww.

School hasn't officially started yet, so no amusing kid stories.  But don't worry, I cause enough chaos all on my own to keep the ball rolling here.

Yesterday morning my beagle got really sick.   Like, throwing up nine times sick.  I thought he was dying.  Of course, yesterday was my first day of meetings, so I couldn't really not be there.  I made the decision to bring him with me to work so I could keep a closer eye on him.  The second we got into the car, he instantly became happy, rambunctious dog again.  He was relatively okay all day at school and I took him to the vet as soon as I could.  After running $200 worth of tests, the vet diagnosed him with a serious G.I. upset, probably caused from eating something he shouldn't have eaten.  In case you are unaware, beagles are notorious for garbage-digging.  So I paid up and took him home, pumped full of fluids and anti-nausea meds.

This morning, the beagle seemed fine.  He was sitting on my bed while I got ready to leave.  We got brand-new staff t-shirts yesterday with the intent that we were to wear them at our back-to-school carnival so parents would know who staff members are.  I was not going to wear mine until the evening because wearing something that I need to keep clean all day invariably leads to me spilling something on it.  Inversely, if I wore a different shirt during the day and changed at night, the likelihood of me NOT spilling anything is 100%.  Math never lies.  I folded the shirt and left it on the bed, ready to put in my backpack, while I brushed my teeth.

The beagle puked on my shirt.

Panicked, I ran through my options in my head:

1.  Wash shirt in sink and pray that it dries in time for evening event

2.  Wear a different shirt to the carnival, confusing parents and aggravating my boss who bought the shirts specifically to be worn at the carnival

3  Wipe it down and wear it as is (not really an actual option, because gross)

4  Throw it in washer and drier at home, which would delay departure by at least an hour and cause me to be late to school

5  Find laundromat near school. Wash and dry it between meetings and event.  Seems smart.  Problem: no laundry detergent or cash on hand. 

5.  Call teammate who lives five minutes from school and beg her to wash my shirt and bribe one of her children to move it from the washer to the dryer during the day.  Have teammate pick up shirt while picking up children.  SOLD!

I remain hopeful that should you attend the carnival tonight, I will be wearing my new shirt.  The beagle is not invited. 

Apparently We Need to Focus on Empathy

Two small things from today:

First of all, a student said (creepily), "When you die, I'm going to scatter your ashes as far away from me as possible."  She had just given me a slushy, however, so I'm hoping that I have nothing to worry about from her.

Secondly, we were watching E.T. in class today to study product placement.  Yes, really.  We got to the scene where E.T. is dying and Elliot is crying, and a girl starts laughing.  LAUGHING.  I gave her the stink eye, and she said, "I can't help it!  It's just so cheesy!"  Some of the other kids turn around and told her to be quiet, but one kid announced, "I don't care if he dies!  It's just a movie."

It's going to be a looooooong ten days...

The Ice Cream of the Future!

I had never had Dippin' Dots (the ice cream of the future) until I went to Cedar Point with my students six years ago.  My co-worker, who we'll call Mr. Skywalker, introduced me to these delicious frozen treats.  I admit, I was skeptical at first, but he persisted and soon I was won over.  The only place I have ever seen them is at Cedar Point, so now my visits to the amusement park are spent hunting down Dippin' Dot vendors and consuming as many different flavors as possible in eight hours.  Here's what they look like, in case you have not been made aware of the future of ice cream:

The cookies and cream are my favorite.

In unrelated news, apparently one can BUY a Dippin' Dot machine:

I have a sneaking suspicion that homemade Dots would pale in comparison to Cedar Point ones.  Plus I'm lazy.  But it does please me that such a contraption exists.

This isn't the point of my story though.  Our annual field trip is on Thursday, so of course I have been informing the students that they need to bring money to purchase Dippin' Dots and then send selfies of themselves consuming said Dippin' Dots to Mr. Skywalker, who has since moved on to another school.  It will make him CRAZY and make me laugh.

As I was informing the students of their assignment at the amusement park, one student raised her hand and said, "I don't like Dippin' Dots."

As I began to give her the stink eye, another student at the back of the classroom stood up and yelled, "SHE'S A WITCH!"

Really.  Full-on Monty Python.

Then in the mass chaos that follows, I heard another kid say, "Dippin' Dots do weird things in my mouth."  Apparently he was relating what his MOTHER says about Dippin' Dots, but I think it's funnier without knowing that part.

I Just Want To Bang On The Drum All Day

Disclaimer: I have a very good relationship with my students.  They know that most of what comes out of my mouth is total nonsense, especially prior to 9:00 A.M.  No drummers were hurt in the creation of this post.  Really.  Idle threats, all of them.

I am fairly certain that the entire percussion section of the seventh grade band is in my homeroom.  And when is band?  Immediately after homeroom, so the drumsticks are omnipresent.  The rule is that drumsticks are only to be used on, you know, drums.

There are no drums in my classroom.

Do you honestly think, for even one second, that there is no drumming occurring in my room?  I mean, really.  IT IS CONSTANT.  These kids drum even WITHOUT the sticks.  I know, because I had to ban them from my room after band class.  FOR OBVIOUS REASONS.  The drumming and tapping has been driving me insane all year.  In fairness, the kids themselves warned me that they liked to tap even before they became seventh graders, so it's not like I wasn't prepared.

But this morning, there was drumming.  I do have a stool in my room that is roughly the same size and shape as a snare drum. Apparently it was too much temptation for this particular drummer to resist and the madness began.

Me, standing outside my door in the hallway:  I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO COME IN THERE AND RIP YOUR ARMS OFF, BUT SO HELP ME....

*drumming comes to an immediate halt*

Fellow non-percussionist classmate standing in the hall with me:  That wouldn't solve the problem.  He'd just drum with the stubs.  Or use his head to bang on the wall.

#truth.  Kid's got rhythm.