On Friday I graded the last of my students' finals and finished all of my paperwork. After a three-hour nap and a trip to the gym, I was ready to join the family in Dallas for a couple days. We had great plans for Saturday -- lots of free time and relaxing with family, maybe Harry Potter with the little brother, and a sisters' outing at night.
Life with little kids doesn't afford much free time, though. Will had a piano recital at 1:30, and Nathan had a basketball game at 4. The sisters and I planned a night at Billy Bob's, which meant that I'd have to take Nathan to the 10:30 showing of Harry Potter. Relaxation Plan foiled.
When Nathan and I pulled into the movie theater at 10:15 on Saturday morning, the building was suspiciously empty. "Our first movie isn't till 11," the employees grumbled at us when we tried buying tickets. No problem, I reassured the bro. We'll just go get snacks at Target before the movie. But the Target had gone out of business, so we went to a gas station instead. We returned to the movies half an hour later, purchased tickets, and found our theater. Then we looked at the time on the tickets. 12:30. I had to tell a very disappointed little brother that his movie would have to wait. Harry Potter Plan foiled.
Next event: Will's piano recital. I went for a run before lunch and ended up being about 15 minutes late to the recital. No worries, I thought. These things take forever anyway. Unfortunately, Will had been the first kid to perform. Recital Plan foiled.
After the recital, Sister #3 and I joined #2 at Nathan's basketball game. We got there almost on time and waited for a while for the other team to show up. They didn't. Forfeit. Instead we watched a scrimmage. Basketball Plan foiled.
#3 and I did a bit of shopping and then drove home to put on boots for Billy Bob's with #2. We drove an hour to Ft. Worth, paid the parking attendant, and faced a line wrapping halfway around the seven-acre honky tonk. After waiting half an hour or so, #3 had the genius idea of checking to see if getting in was even an option. It wasn't. Tickets were sold out, for both the concert and for general admission. Billy Bob's Plan foiled.
Still hoping for a fun night out, the girls and I decided to drive to Dallas and hit up the Idle Rich Pub. We found a great parking spot and marched up to the uptown pub in our honky tonk duds, eager to grab a booth and talk for a few hours. But #3 isn't 21 yet, and they wouldn't let her in. Outing Plan foiled.
I drove back to Denton and went to bed. Ending the day seemed like a good idea.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
When we get lost
Every time I drive my siblings around, they beg me to get lost. And given my nonexistent skills with a map, this is a pretty fortunate arrangement.
It all started last week when I dropped my mom off at the airport on Saturday morning. The two little girls were in the back, snug in their car seats, rather grumpy from waking up too early. Getting back to my parents' house from DFW is very easy. If you take the north exit, that is. The south exit will shoot you into a spinning maze of turnpikes and toll roads and overpasses. I took the south exit.
We drove around in circles for a while, the girls growing more and more restless. Even three- and five-year-olds can tell when they're being driven in circles. I stopped at an empty parking lot to let them run around while I looked at a map, but they were too cold. So we buckled in and hit the road again.
Then I had my brilliant idea. Getting lost with Courtney = Donuts! That way, instead of associating getting lost with frustrating car rides around Dallas, they'll think of donuts. Brilliant, I know.
Fortunately, donut shops are easy to find. We stopped at one, ate and relaxed, and then I called a friend who always gives understandable directions. "What happens when you get lost with me?" I asked the kids when we pulled into the parents' driveway 45 minutes later. "We get donuts!" the five-year-old shouted.
Since then, whenever I make a wrong turn, I hear a chorus of little voices asking, "Are we lost? Do we get donuts?"
It all started last week when I dropped my mom off at the airport on Saturday morning. The two little girls were in the back, snug in their car seats, rather grumpy from waking up too early. Getting back to my parents' house from DFW is very easy. If you take the north exit, that is. The south exit will shoot you into a spinning maze of turnpikes and toll roads and overpasses. I took the south exit.
We drove around in circles for a while, the girls growing more and more restless. Even three- and five-year-olds can tell when they're being driven in circles. I stopped at an empty parking lot to let them run around while I looked at a map, but they were too cold. So we buckled in and hit the road again.
Then I had my brilliant idea. Getting lost with Courtney = Donuts! That way, instead of associating getting lost with frustrating car rides around Dallas, they'll think of donuts. Brilliant, I know.
Fortunately, donut shops are easy to find. We stopped at one, ate and relaxed, and then I called a friend who always gives understandable directions. "What happens when you get lost with me?" I asked the kids when we pulled into the parents' driveway 45 minutes later. "We get donuts!" the five-year-old shouted.
Since then, whenever I make a wrong turn, I hear a chorus of little voices asking, "Are we lost? Do we get donuts?"
Friday, November 26, 2010
Busted knee ≠ chicken pox
I grew up as a book-lover in an athletic family. I always trailed behind the rest of the family during family bike rides. On ski trips, I asked if I could bring a book along and just ride the ski lift around and around. I was the kid who never scored in soccer games.
Then, this summer I started running with my coworkers in Mexico, and I was shocked at how much I enjoyed it. So I continued. I planned on running a half marathon in November and trained by running the 15K trail around White Rock Lake as often as I could. Things were progressing according to plan when, a week before the race, my knee suddenly gave out. I spent three days on the couch with frozen berries on my knee (I was too cheap to buy ice trays.) and decided that the race was doomed.
Instead, I set my sights on the eight-mile Turkey Trot race in Dallas on Thanksgiving. My family runs the race every year, but I always stick to the three-mile version. Sister #3 said that she would run with me, so I began retraining.
As the days of training dwindled, I kept an eye on the weather. I can't stand the cold. I'd rather run in the gnat-infested humidity of a Texas summer than the drizzle of cold any day. Thursday's temperature was forecasted at freezing, with rain. The Turkey Trot must be run, though. I decided that if I could run a 15K in sunny weather, I'd be able to run the race in the cold.
I grew up with athletes. I know what tapering is supposed to look like. I know that it doesn't mean running a hard run three days before a race, especially a hard run that likes to destroy knees. I just assumed it wouldn't happen again.
It did. I ran around the lake on Monday afternoon. By the next day, my knee wouldn't bend. #3 called to tell me that she was tapering for a swim meet and couldn't run the race with me, and I told her it was fine, that I wouldn't be running the eight-mile anyway. I tried explaining to her what had happened. "I just thought bad knees were like chicken pox," I said. "Once you catch it once, it won't happen again." She laughed.
So I'm back to short runs. I miss the lake, though, and I'm beginning to wonder: Can you catch a bad knee three times?
Then, this summer I started running with my coworkers in Mexico, and I was shocked at how much I enjoyed it. So I continued. I planned on running a half marathon in November and trained by running the 15K trail around White Rock Lake as often as I could. Things were progressing according to plan when, a week before the race, my knee suddenly gave out. I spent three days on the couch with frozen berries on my knee (I was too cheap to buy ice trays.) and decided that the race was doomed.
Instead, I set my sights on the eight-mile Turkey Trot race in Dallas on Thanksgiving. My family runs the race every year, but I always stick to the three-mile version. Sister #3 said that she would run with me, so I began retraining.
As the days of training dwindled, I kept an eye on the weather. I can't stand the cold. I'd rather run in the gnat-infested humidity of a Texas summer than the drizzle of cold any day. Thursday's temperature was forecasted at freezing, with rain. The Turkey Trot must be run, though. I decided that if I could run a 15K in sunny weather, I'd be able to run the race in the cold.
I grew up with athletes. I know what tapering is supposed to look like. I know that it doesn't mean running a hard run three days before a race, especially a hard run that likes to destroy knees. I just assumed it wouldn't happen again.
It did. I ran around the lake on Monday afternoon. By the next day, my knee wouldn't bend. #3 called to tell me that she was tapering for a swim meet and couldn't run the race with me, and I told her it was fine, that I wouldn't be running the eight-mile anyway. I tried explaining to her what had happened. "I just thought bad knees were like chicken pox," I said. "Once you catch it once, it won't happen again." She laughed.
So I'm back to short runs. I miss the lake, though, and I'm beginning to wonder: Can you catch a bad knee three times?
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Firemen, flirtations, and bloody noses
I am single, and it is largely because Wolverine has held my heart for years and I just can't bring myself to give it to another man.
I did, however, have second thoughts last week when I saw two handsome firemen sitting in the booth next to mine at Chick-fil-A. I did the quick glance-over -- flat stomach, decent arms, no ring on finger (Do firemen wear rings?), young, but not too young.
I heard the voices of my sisters telling me to flirt, so I did a quick self-evaluation. Pros: dressed all right for a Saturday, hard stomach from lots of running, jeans freshly washed and not yet baggy. Cons: the crew of little children sharing the bench with me.
I keep my little siblings on most weekends. I really enjoy being with them and sharing in their lives, but it does make it harder to form adult relationships. I sat in that booth, reading cow comics with the nine-year-old and watching the three-year-old play and pondered my situation.
I've been mistaken for a mom since I was 14, so I really couldn't comfort myself with thoughts that I looked too young. Probably, I looked like a single mom with way too many kids for her age, and who's interested in that? Plus, how do I even go about flirting while I'm watching a gaggle of youngsters? I got up and down to get the kids ketchup more often than was needed, walking slowly past the fireman table each time. Then I just started laughing. Even without kids, I'm a pretty poor flirter, but really? Ketchup retrieval? Not hot at all.
Too soon, the firemen were gone, and mere seconds later, the three-year-old came wailing out of the play area with blood streaming from her nose. I hushed her and carried her to the bathroom to stop the nosebleed. We came out a few minutes later, pale pink wet patches on my jeans from where I'd tried to scrub the blood out, and I was grateful that an elderly couple had replaced the firemen in the booth next to mine.
Maybe I'll just stick with Wolverine for now.
I did, however, have second thoughts last week when I saw two handsome firemen sitting in the booth next to mine at Chick-fil-A. I did the quick glance-over -- flat stomach, decent arms, no ring on finger (Do firemen wear rings?), young, but not too young.
I heard the voices of my sisters telling me to flirt, so I did a quick self-evaluation. Pros: dressed all right for a Saturday, hard stomach from lots of running, jeans freshly washed and not yet baggy. Cons: the crew of little children sharing the bench with me.
I keep my little siblings on most weekends. I really enjoy being with them and sharing in their lives, but it does make it harder to form adult relationships. I sat in that booth, reading cow comics with the nine-year-old and watching the three-year-old play and pondered my situation.
I've been mistaken for a mom since I was 14, so I really couldn't comfort myself with thoughts that I looked too young. Probably, I looked like a single mom with way too many kids for her age, and who's interested in that? Plus, how do I even go about flirting while I'm watching a gaggle of youngsters? I got up and down to get the kids ketchup more often than was needed, walking slowly past the fireman table each time. Then I just started laughing. Even without kids, I'm a pretty poor flirter, but really? Ketchup retrieval? Not hot at all.
Too soon, the firemen were gone, and mere seconds later, the three-year-old came wailing out of the play area with blood streaming from her nose. I hushed her and carried her to the bathroom to stop the nosebleed. We came out a few minutes later, pale pink wet patches on my jeans from where I'd tried to scrub the blood out, and I was grateful that an elderly couple had replaced the firemen in the booth next to mine.
Maybe I'll just stick with Wolverine for now.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Culture shock and entitlement
I noticed culture shock in small ways throughout my first weeks back in Texas -- like when I wiggled my pointer finger to say "yes" or searched for the nearest taco stand after a hard day. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of re assimilating into American culture, though, until I started taking the school shuttle to campus. Have you ever noticed how strange public transportation is in the U.S.? How predictable and safe?
We have bus stops, and the bus stops at them. It will not stop at every corner. It will not stop at either side of the intersection. And it will not stop in the middle lane. It stops at the bus stops. And I've never seen a bus stop sign next to a sign that tells me I can't board, like this one in Puebla.
The buses are frequent and predictable here. I have never waited 20 or 30 minutes for a bus. Neither have I seen three of the same buses racing each other and ignoring all the people gesturing for rides.
The buses wait for passengers. On my first day riding the bus in Denton, I saw a kid walking up as the bus was getting ready to depart. He wasn't running or waving his arms, and his face didn't wear the expression of panic I always felt when I was trying to persuade a stopped bus to wait for me. He looked sure of the fact that he would be getting a ride, like he was entitled to it. Such an American.
The buses stop for passengers. They really stop. I was standing at the bus stop the other morning with about half a dozen other people. As the bus pulled up, I walked right up to the edge of the curb. No one else budged. Then, once the bus had stopped and rocked back, the people started moving. Such a waste of time.
The rock back motion is important, I'm realizing. Inside the bus, no one stands up until it has rocked back. In Puebla, I don't think the bus ever stopped long enough to rock back. When boarding the bus, I learned to grab the handles before stepping in, because as soon as one foot was in the bus, the driver was off. Dismounting was a trickier feat, requiring plenty of planning and courage as I prepared several blocks in advance for my heroic leap to the pavement below as the bus briefly slowed down.
The buses are quiet and ... boring. Where's the blaring 90's music that made me feel like I was on the roller rink? Where are the psychedelic pictures of Jesus? Where are the crucifixes and horses' hooves hanging from the rear view mirror? Passengers never hang out of doors when the buses get crowded. The buses always go the speed limit. I never fear for my life.
Even after several weeks of riding the bus here in Denton, I haven't gotten used to it. I still mutter under my breath that we are wasting time when passengers take so long to dismount. I still inch forward to the curb when I see my bus approaching. And I still wonder why these Americans feel entitled to a safe, quiet ride on the bus.
We have bus stops, and the bus stops at them. It will not stop at every corner. It will not stop at either side of the intersection. And it will not stop in the middle lane. It stops at the bus stops. And I've never seen a bus stop sign next to a sign that tells me I can't board, like this one in Puebla.
The buses are frequent and predictable here. I have never waited 20 or 30 minutes for a bus. Neither have I seen three of the same buses racing each other and ignoring all the people gesturing for rides.
The buses wait for passengers. On my first day riding the bus in Denton, I saw a kid walking up as the bus was getting ready to depart. He wasn't running or waving his arms, and his face didn't wear the expression of panic I always felt when I was trying to persuade a stopped bus to wait for me. He looked sure of the fact that he would be getting a ride, like he was entitled to it. Such an American.
The buses stop for passengers. They really stop. I was standing at the bus stop the other morning with about half a dozen other people. As the bus pulled up, I walked right up to the edge of the curb. No one else budged. Then, once the bus had stopped and rocked back, the people started moving. Such a waste of time.
The rock back motion is important, I'm realizing. Inside the bus, no one stands up until it has rocked back. In Puebla, I don't think the bus ever stopped long enough to rock back. When boarding the bus, I learned to grab the handles before stepping in, because as soon as one foot was in the bus, the driver was off. Dismounting was a trickier feat, requiring plenty of planning and courage as I prepared several blocks in advance for my heroic leap to the pavement below as the bus briefly slowed down.
The buses are quiet and ... boring. Where's the blaring 90's music that made me feel like I was on the roller rink? Where are the psychedelic pictures of Jesus? Where are the crucifixes and horses' hooves hanging from the rear view mirror? Passengers never hang out of doors when the buses get crowded. The buses always go the speed limit. I never fear for my life.
Even after several weeks of riding the bus here in Denton, I haven't gotten used to it. I still mutter under my breath that we are wasting time when passengers take so long to dismount. I still inch forward to the curb when I see my bus approaching. And I still wonder why these Americans feel entitled to a safe, quiet ride on the bus.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
I miss blogging
I've started graduate school, which requires plenty of writing. Also, life provides far fewer stories now that I'm no longer teaching eight-year-olds or living out of the US. Hence, no blog posts.
But I miss light, easy writing. So maybe I'll start again.
But I miss light, easy writing. So maybe I'll start again.
Friday, August 6, 2010
You know it's a Texas summer when ...
In honor of a full week of temperatures between 105 and 110 degrees, I thought I'd provide some clues to let you know when you're smack dab in the middle of a Texas summer.
-Your sister tells you that if you're going to run in the morning, you'd better be back before 7 a.m.
-To avoid heat stroke, you have to leave the pool by noon.
-Your little brother stands outside watching the spray from a sprinkler evaporate.
-The heat makes you shiver and gives you goose bumps.
-The best survival strategy in the afternoon is to pull the shades, turn off the lights, and sleep through the heat.
-Your sisters discuss using the car to bake cookies.
-The dollar theater is your best friend, but only if your parking spot is close to the front door.
-The bugs swimming through the humidity make an evening run both a workout and a protein shake all in one.
-You complain with everyone else but secretly feel proud each fall for surviving yet another Texas summer.
-Your sister tells you that if you're going to run in the morning, you'd better be back before 7 a.m.
-To avoid heat stroke, you have to leave the pool by noon.
-Your little brother stands outside watching the spray from a sprinkler evaporate.
-The heat makes you shiver and gives you goose bumps.
-The best survival strategy in the afternoon is to pull the shades, turn off the lights, and sleep through the heat.
-Your sisters discuss using the car to bake cookies.
-The dollar theater is your best friend, but only if your parking spot is close to the front door.
-The bugs swimming through the humidity make an evening run both a workout and a protein shake all in one.
-You complain with everyone else but secretly feel proud each fall for surviving yet another Texas summer.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The end
My time here is done. A year ago, I was making my final decision, never dreaming how right it was.
I finished teaching on June 29th. I taught my students "Leaving on a Jet Plane," and we sang it together while they cried (SUCCESS!). I packed up my classroom and finished paperwork the following day. Since then, I've just been chilling at the school. I visited friends, read, napped, emailed, and got paid -- a pretty good setup, really. Now, though, that's all over. I've said my goodbyes, packed up my belongings, paid my last bills, and eaten my last tacos. I'm gonna miss this place.
Now I'm off to grad school, but I'll never forget the year I spent down here or the friends I made. Goodbye, Mexico.
I finished teaching on June 29th. I taught my students "Leaving on a Jet Plane," and we sang it together while they cried (SUCCESS!). I packed up my classroom and finished paperwork the following day. Since then, I've just been chilling at the school. I visited friends, read, napped, emailed, and got paid -- a pretty good setup, really. Now, though, that's all over. I've said my goodbyes, packed up my belongings, paid my last bills, and eaten my last tacos. I'm gonna miss this place.
Now I'm off to grad school, but I'll never forget the year I spent down here or the friends I made. Goodbye, Mexico.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Crossed signals
I get my stellar directional skills from my dad. We're both wonders with a map. Take the time I spent two hours trying to find my way home from the DFW airport, for example. Several days ago, my dad told me he had a great deal on a ticket and was going to visit me for a couple of days. He would be flying into Mexico City. Puebla is a couple of hours away from D.F., and since his trip was so short, I decided I'd come pick him up. That way, we'd be able to spend a few more hours together and I wouldn't have to worry about him finding his way to me.
I left on time, a bit early even. I arrived at the airport in time. I waited where I said I would wait. For three hours. Just when I was considering calling my family in Texas to find out if my dad had actually left, my phone rang. It was a taxi driver, calling for someone named Mark. I asked to speak to him. My dad was waiting outside of my apartment in Puebla. "See you in two and a half hours," I told him.
OK, so maybe our communication skills aren't great, but we still had fun. We ate tacos Sunday night (about all we had time to do after our miscommunication), attended a wedding (an exciting experience for my dad), toured Puebla, and celebrated the 4th of July with my coworkers (which ended in a conga line and salsa dancing). Plus, I got to see the Mexico City airport one more time! Who wouldn't give up eight hours of his or her Sunday for a chance like that?
I left on time, a bit early even. I arrived at the airport in time. I waited where I said I would wait. For three hours. Just when I was considering calling my family in Texas to find out if my dad had actually left, my phone rang. It was a taxi driver, calling for someone named Mark. I asked to speak to him. My dad was waiting outside of my apartment in Puebla. "See you in two and a half hours," I told him.
OK, so maybe our communication skills aren't great, but we still had fun. We ate tacos Sunday night (about all we had time to do after our miscommunication), attended a wedding (an exciting experience for my dad), toured Puebla, and celebrated the 4th of July with my coworkers (which ended in a conga line and salsa dancing). Plus, I got to see the Mexico City airport one more time! Who wouldn't give up eight hours of his or her Sunday for a chance like that?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Spanglish
Because of their large vocabularies in Spanish, my kids make some funny English sentences. Here are some of the ones I've collected:
-I detest rolling.
-Is this obligatory?
-Thunder is insupportable.
-The lightly illuminates the sky like fireworks.
-Fish and corn are exquisite with lemon and tajín.
-Spanglish is the fusion of English and Spanish.
And here are a few sentences without good vocabulary that I just found funny:
-The red skins live in a colony.
-I can eat healthy because I eat god.
-I slavery my backpack. (This was after I explained that slavery was when one person /owned/ another.)
-My friends are rolling all the time.
-We have too much independences.
-I detest rolling.
-Is this obligatory?
-Thunder is insupportable.
-The lightly illuminates the sky like fireworks.
-Fish and corn are exquisite with lemon and tajín.
-Spanglish is the fusion of English and Spanish.
And here are a few sentences without good vocabulary that I just found funny:
-The red skins live in a colony.
-I can eat healthy because I eat god.
-I slavery my backpack. (This was after I explained that slavery was when one person /owned/ another.)
-My friends are rolling all the time.
-We have too much independences.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The World Cup
Five years ago I didn't know what it was. Now I'm wearing a Mexico shirt, painting my face, and watching more soccer games in two days than I've ever watched in my life.
My students were trading player cards for weeks. "Waka Waka" and "Wavin' Flag" played from every corner. I didn't even have to switch my brain to Spanish to understand that every lunch conversation was about teams, players, and June 11 plans.
Something woke me up early on Friday morning. Perhaps it was the static excitement in the air. Perhaps it was the fireworks exploding every five minutes. Perhaps it was just indigestion. I donned a Mexico T-shirt and ate my Raisin Bran in front of the opening ceremonies before heading out into a traffic-free street.
At school mothers escorted their children in, carrying "extra" TVs nicer than any my family has ever owned. Before I had even unlocked my classroom door, students were thrusting a stick of face paint into my hands. In several minutes, a child's TV was hooked up, the snack bar was running, and the room had been transformed into a stadium. I only had nine of 27 students show, and my partner only had 11, so we combined our groups and tag-teamed the day.
During library (where my students also watched the game), I joined the older grades and most of the teachers in the auditorium. There, the game played on a large screen and students ran in circles when Mexico scored. A few teachers led the room in cheers.
Since that game, I've watched several others, most of them at a sports bar with coworkers. Honestly, I don't care a bit about soccer. I don't care if Italy wins the World Cup. I don't care of Slovakia wins the World Cup. Heck, if Canada had a team, I wouldn't even care if they won the World Cup. Still, I'm soaking in this experience. I may never again live in a place that cares about this tournament. May as well enjoy it while I have the chance, eh? So for now, Vamos Mexico!
My students were trading player cards for weeks. "Waka Waka" and "Wavin' Flag" played from every corner. I didn't even have to switch my brain to Spanish to understand that every lunch conversation was about teams, players, and June 11 plans.
Something woke me up early on Friday morning. Perhaps it was the static excitement in the air. Perhaps it was the fireworks exploding every five minutes. Perhaps it was just indigestion. I donned a Mexico T-shirt and ate my Raisin Bran in front of the opening ceremonies before heading out into a traffic-free street.
At school mothers escorted their children in, carrying "extra" TVs nicer than any my family has ever owned. Before I had even unlocked my classroom door, students were thrusting a stick of face paint into my hands. In several minutes, a child's TV was hooked up, the snack bar was running, and the room had been transformed into a stadium. I only had nine of 27 students show, and my partner only had 11, so we combined our groups and tag-teamed the day.
During library (where my students also watched the game), I joined the older grades and most of the teachers in the auditorium. There, the game played on a large screen and students ran in circles when Mexico scored. A few teachers led the room in cheers.
Since that game, I've watched several others, most of them at a sports bar with coworkers. Honestly, I don't care a bit about soccer. I don't care if Italy wins the World Cup. I don't care of Slovakia wins the World Cup. Heck, if Canada had a team, I wouldn't even care if they won the World Cup. Still, I'm soaking in this experience. I may never again live in a place that cares about this tournament. May as well enjoy it while I have the chance, eh? So for now, Vamos Mexico!
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Third-grade drama
Yes, I'm still here in Mexico. Yes, I'm still teaching. Well, more like glorified babysitting these days. The kids are ready to be done, our curriculum is nearly finished, the World Cup is beginning -- basically, I'm just trying to keep the kids from walking on the ceilings for the next three weeks.
I haven't grown tired of them yet, though. Sure, I'm ready to be done, but somehow, the kids keep me laughing all day. One particular table is especially providing entertainment. My students are divided into groups of five or six for each six-week unit. One group has had a tough time working together recently. They've declared war in the standard third-grade manner: boys versus girls.
Yesterday, the boys of the table were staying late to finish a project. I was tutoring when they came up to me, indignantly holding out a paper that they found "on the floor." It was from a few of the enemy girls. I read it, promised I would talk to the girls, and turned away quickly so they wouldn't see me laughing. For your enjoyment, here are the contents of the note. And look, they wrote in English!
Blue ink: You are good friend!
Pink ink: And you too.
Blue: Thankyou!
Pink: About you want to talk
Blue: About how much we don't like the boys of this table?
Pink: that they are mediocres and bad
Blue: exactly!
Pink: yes.
Blue: I don't like that I do something that he don't like me and he said that he love me!
The note goes on to discuss which boy had altered his affections and why Blue Ink felt the need to use so many exclamation marks. Such sorrow. Maybe I should warn the little culprit that if he doesn't want problems with the girls at his table, he shouldn't promise them his love and then change his mind.
I haven't grown tired of them yet, though. Sure, I'm ready to be done, but somehow, the kids keep me laughing all day. One particular table is especially providing entertainment. My students are divided into groups of five or six for each six-week unit. One group has had a tough time working together recently. They've declared war in the standard third-grade manner: boys versus girls.
Yesterday, the boys of the table were staying late to finish a project. I was tutoring when they came up to me, indignantly holding out a paper that they found "on the floor." It was from a few of the enemy girls. I read it, promised I would talk to the girls, and turned away quickly so they wouldn't see me laughing. For your enjoyment, here are the contents of the note. And look, they wrote in English!
Blue ink: You are good friend!
Pink ink: And you too.
Blue: Thankyou!
Pink: About you want to talk
Blue: About how much we don't like the boys of this table?
Pink: that they are mediocres and bad
Blue: exactly!
Pink: yes.
Blue: I don't like that I do something that he don't like me and he said that he love me!
The note goes on to discuss which boy had altered his affections and why Blue Ink felt the need to use so many exclamation marks. Such sorrow. Maybe I should warn the little culprit that if he doesn't want problems with the girls at his table, he shouldn't promise them his love and then change his mind.
Friday, May 14, 2010
The bare necessities
As an introduction to our communities unit, I spun a little tale for my students. We were on a plane heading for South Africa when the engine died and the plane started to crash. We aimed our parachutes for the one small island we saw beneath us. There, we had to set up a new life. OK, so it wasn't incredibly creative, but I don't think the kids noticed.
I asked my students what jobs and people we would need in order to have a functioning community. I prompted them with jobs like "nurse, gardener, carpenter." Their answers were a bit less practical. "Someone to pump our gas if we figure out how to build cars," one boy offered. I also got "a bartender" and "someone to put makeup on the girls." Glad to see you have a good grasp on the essentials of life, kiddos.
I asked my students what jobs and people we would need in order to have a functioning community. I prompted them with jobs like "nurse, gardener, carpenter." Their answers were a bit less practical. "Someone to pump our gas if we figure out how to build cars," one boy offered. I also got "a bartender" and "someone to put makeup on the girls." Glad to see you have a good grasp on the essentials of life, kiddos.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Testing: Texas vs. Mexico
Testing: the one and only way of rating a school's success. A lot depends on those little scantron bubbles. Back in Texas, we teachers prepared all year for the TAKS test. This year, Mexico's ENLACE test just appeared out of nowhere. For my readers' enlightenment, I thought I should do a little comparing and contrasting of these two great nations.
Preparation
Texas:
-Carry around sample test questions in order to format any question the children might here to test script.
-Administer district-wide practice tests every few months. Analyze the results for maximum success on the real test.
-In the month leading up to the test, administer practice exams every week. Have students graph their results.
Attend teacher workshops that study the test and teach test-taking strategies.
Mexico:
-The test was for Spanish; I was told not to worry about it.
Teacher Training
Texas:
-Attend several hours of certification training prior to the test in order to proctor the exam.
Mexico:
-On the morning of the exam, give students plenty of work and leave them with a sub. All teachers gather in the teacher lounge for an hour of training. "Testing scheduled to begin at 8:15," the morning notices read? Ha.
Classroom Preparation
Texas:
-Cover anything on the walls that may assist students on the exam.
-Arrange desks so that students are sitting as far away from other students as possible.
-Make a seating chart to submit to the State.
Mexico:
-Seat students in rows by list number.
Proctoring
Texas:
-Circle around room continually, showing students that this is important to you.
-Allow breaks when needed.
-While circling, make sure you don't appear to be reading a students' test. Someone could be watching.
-When leaving the room alone, lock up the tests and lock the door.
Mexico:
-Bring grading work; you'll have plenty of time.
-Give students 15 minutes of break in between each 45-minute session.
-When leaving the room ... oh wait, no procedure for that one.
Stress Level
Texas:
-Students: Tears and vomiting
-Teachers: Heart-racing, fear, exhaustion
Mexico:
-Students: It's a day of plenty of breaks and free time.
-Teachers: It's a day without planning or teaching.
Granted, I work in a private school down here. Perhaps the test would be a bigger event in a public school. Still, I couldn't help but laugh on those two days I spent grading papers.
Preparation
Texas:
-Carry around sample test questions in order to format any question the children might here to test script.
-Administer district-wide practice tests every few months. Analyze the results for maximum success on the real test.
-In the month leading up to the test, administer practice exams every week. Have students graph their results.
Attend teacher workshops that study the test and teach test-taking strategies.
Mexico:
-The test was for Spanish; I was told not to worry about it.
Teacher Training
Texas:
-Attend several hours of certification training prior to the test in order to proctor the exam.
Mexico:
-On the morning of the exam, give students plenty of work and leave them with a sub. All teachers gather in the teacher lounge for an hour of training. "Testing scheduled to begin at 8:15," the morning notices read? Ha.
Classroom Preparation
Texas:
-Cover anything on the walls that may assist students on the exam.
-Arrange desks so that students are sitting as far away from other students as possible.
-Make a seating chart to submit to the State.
Mexico:
-Seat students in rows by list number.
Proctoring
Texas:
-Circle around room continually, showing students that this is important to you.
-Allow breaks when needed.
-While circling, make sure you don't appear to be reading a students' test. Someone could be watching.
-When leaving the room alone, lock up the tests and lock the door.
Mexico:
-Bring grading work; you'll have plenty of time.
-Give students 15 minutes of break in between each 45-minute session.
-When leaving the room ... oh wait, no procedure for that one.
Stress Level
Texas:
-Students: Tears and vomiting
-Teachers: Heart-racing, fear, exhaustion
Mexico:
-Students: It's a day of plenty of breaks and free time.
-Teachers: It's a day without planning or teaching.
Granted, I work in a private school down here. Perhaps the test would be a bigger event in a public school. Still, I couldn't help but laugh on those two days I spent grading papers.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Mexico City ... in bed
We were all scheduled to fly out of Mexico City early in the Semana Santa week. What better way to pass the weekend than to spend a few days in D.F., we figured. We left Saturday morning, loaded down with our luggage for our two-week break.
I've been having some anemia problems lately, but frequent iron and b12 popping seemed to be helping. As we neared Mexico City, though, I felt steadily worse. We checked into a hostel and lugged our suitcases to our dorm room before heading out to get food. I was sure the food would solve my problems, but after eating, I only felt worse.
After lunch, we went straight to Bellas Artes, a large art museum. I walked through a couple of rooms before the floor started rising up around me and my vision turned to tunnels. Really not wanting the attention that would come from fainting in a crowded art museum, I murmured quickly, "I'm going to faint," rushed to a bench, and lay down. Security wasn't too pleased with me stretching out on their bench, but my roommate pleaded my cause.
We stayed at the museum for a while while I rested. Kristen and Kay offered to get a taxi, but I said I could make it the three blocks to the hostel. Once outside, though, I started sinking into black again. I leaned against a statue, and the next thing I knew, Kristen and Kay were helping me into a cab and directing a confused driver to drive three blocks down the road.
I spent the rest of the day sleeping and the rest of the weekend doing activities that required little exertion. Good Mexico City trip, eh?
I've been having some anemia problems lately, but frequent iron and b12 popping seemed to be helping. As we neared Mexico City, though, I felt steadily worse. We checked into a hostel and lugged our suitcases to our dorm room before heading out to get food. I was sure the food would solve my problems, but after eating, I only felt worse.
After lunch, we went straight to Bellas Artes, a large art museum. I walked through a couple of rooms before the floor started rising up around me and my vision turned to tunnels. Really not wanting the attention that would come from fainting in a crowded art museum, I murmured quickly, "I'm going to faint," rushed to a bench, and lay down. Security wasn't too pleased with me stretching out on their bench, but my roommate pleaded my cause.
We stayed at the museum for a while while I rested. Kristen and Kay offered to get a taxi, but I said I could make it the three blocks to the hostel. Once outside, though, I started sinking into black again. I leaned against a statue, and the next thing I knew, Kristen and Kay were helping me into a cab and directing a confused driver to drive three blocks down the road.
I spent the rest of the day sleeping and the rest of the weekend doing activities that required little exertion. Good Mexico City trip, eh?
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