Substitute Teachers

Let us appreciate subsitute teachers for they are never loved enough.
In movies they are the butt of jokes.
In books they are ridiculed.
They always are being pranked and they're always so confused. Think of the Anne Shirley stories.  Or even Catch Me If You Can. 
Granted, in reality it cannot be anything like that.  All the poor substitute drama is exaggerated for a laugh or two right?
If only...
I've substitute taught and to my horror all those silly (but dreadful) stories about substitutes are true.
Children may seem angelic from afar but don't let their sunny smiles fool you for a minute.

Day one of Substitute Teaching:
"Alright class!"  I said after I briefly introduced myself, "why don't you all tell me your names."
They went around.
"Peter, Greg, Lucy, Carlie, Timmy, Meg, etc..."
Yet oddly enough, some of the names merited an eruption of giggles.
Oh well, we started the lesson.  "Lucy, why don't you read -"  The giggling now burst into a loud, reverberating laughter that filled the entire classroom.
"She's MEG." the girl I believed to be Meg stated.
"That's Lucy."  Peter  added, pointing to "Meg" who was actually Lucy.
Are. You. Kidding. Me.  I thought these name games only happened in the movies.
"Oh you clever things," I said trying not to show my amusement and also not be too servere, "Alright well Lucy or Meg, I think you should read for us."
Lucy read laughing occasionally between words.
I then began writing on the board.
I wanted them to tell analyze parts of the story for a report. They offered me their insights and I wrote them on the board for us to discuss.
Peter starting dying of laughter then.
"Peter, what's so funny?  Would you care to share with us?"
"WHY did you write FART on the board?"
Once again the laughter rang throughout the classroom.
I looked back at the board. The word was Faint. And if I may speak in my defense, it looked nothing like the word fart.
"It says faint, Peter."
"NO it doesn't."
"F-A-I-N-T.  Don't tell me you forgot how to read, Peter!?" I said, hoping that it would encourage him to show off his  reading skills and overcome his potty humor.
"It says Fart. FART.  That is NOT an N.  It looks like an R and I don't see an I."
I redid my N and and added a very ostentatious dot above my I. I was very pleased.  It was now unmistakably the word FAINT.
"Miss," Meg raised her hand, "What is that awful splotch above the letters?" she was referring to my "I.   "Is it the moon?"
So you see, people must love their substitute teachers because they truly bear the brunt of many, many jokes.

Aliens and Teachers

The greatest part of being a student teacher was the fact that it afforded the individual a break from the typical labors of academia and a chance to enter into a world of childlike wonder and drama that best suits those around the age of nine.
At one of the schools, let’s call it the Academy, I was given a day to teach the class myself.  I excitedly planned my lesson trying to conjure up something that was both educational and fun, and when the day I arrived I was ecstatic.
We first read a Shel Silverstein poem and analyzed and discussed. 
And then we composed a short story on the white board and took turns correcting each other’s grammar.
“Is anything wrong with this sentence?”  I’d ask.
“But Miss Ann, I think Greg’s part about the spaceship is ridiculous.”
“ Well don’t worry, Jenny, you’re turn is up next so you can add what you want to the story.  However, are there any grammatical errors?”
“It should be ‘is’ instead of ‘are.’”  One of the boys pointed out.
“True. Anything else? ... Alright, good work.  Jenny, you’re up.”
“Ok... so my sentence is ‘And then spaceship disappeared!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Greg wailed, horrified that his wonderful contribution had been so quickly destroyed.
Poor Greg.
By the time our lesson had concluded we read the incredibly haphazard tale of a little boy who broke his head and was abducted by aliens (who ended up not really existing).
The girls were enchanted with how gracefully the aliens and spaceships were eradicated from the story.   The boys, however, were less enchanted with with fact.
“MISS ANN!” Jenny proclaimed, raising her hand when it was all over. 
“Yes?”
“I would like to make a speech.”
“Oh alright, we have a moment.  Is it about class today?”
“Yes.”  She cleared her throat and stood up.  “I just wanted to say that today has been the MOST fun I’ve had at this place in YEARS.” She pounded her desk for emphasis.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I think that is quite an excellent speech, although I may just be being vain.
Alright, it’s time for my tea now...
OVER AND OUT.

Words of Wisdom

When you have Charles M. Schulz' genius in your life happy smiles are never far away.  Love innocence and seek what is truly good.  #smiles #laughter

Schoolmarm and Slugs

Becoming a teacher is pretty exciting.  It means a lot of new things.  Including a new place to live. 
However, obtaining a place to live is not as easy as I once so daftly assumed.   It all began with a dream come true - I had one of the sweetest housing deals that ever was.  It was essentially the post grad’s dream as far as price went and I was ecstatic to move in.
Operation Schoolmarm was just beginning.
And, truth be told, it was literally the perfect western schoolmarm tale.  There I was in my petticoat and shawl driving my horse and buggy out into the wild, wild west.  It was a bleak night and the winds began to pick up.  I wrapped my little old lady shawl closer around my shoulders for warmth.  Yet the night was relentless, the sky opened up and it began to pour.
At long last I arrived at my new abode and a flickering sense of excitement and “home” filled my heart.  Here I was.  Ready to brave the west, meet some cowboy, and teach a bunch of kiddos.  It was going to be a good life, and it all started here, at this adorable little house.
The End
Gosh, if only.  More like and then at this cute little house all hell broke loose. 
My Home Sweet Home turned out to be  infested with dead bugs of all shapes scattered throughout the house.  Mmm, apparently there had been a flea infestation.
I took a deep breath, determined to be optimistic.  It could be worse right?  I began to look around the house and found numerous oddities that were, well more problematic than odd, but let’s not end there, as I made my way back to the kitchen, feeling a bit worn and bummed and very, very not at home, I saw it. One huge, slimy, black slug crawling out of the corner of the kitchen floor.  And then another, and another, and oh for the love of all things good, the slugs just kept coming. Massive, thick, slimy, inky black slugs. Some of them were almost six inches long. 
Suddenly, my western drama had morphed into a B-rate 50s horror film, “Attack of the Slugs.” Mercy, they were even slithering down the windows! Ugghghhghhghguuhghguuhhguguguguhghguuhh.
However, like anyone who had just had their pride hurt at the thought of their dreams falling apart, I was, once again determined not to lose hope.  I found some salt and dumped it over one of them.  The gross creature writhed in agony and began to shrivel up.  One down and lord knows how many to go. 
I took a deep breath resisting the urge to puke and the urge to simply cry, when I noticed that the slug I had just suffocated actually began fighting back.  Slug verses salt was literally happening right before my eyes, and I watched that nasty fat blob fight tirelessly work to regain its form.  What the actual hell. I just watched a shrug shrivel up like a prune and then transform back into its odious, slick, slimy self.    I dumped more salt on it. It wasn’t working.  Oh my word. This was a nightmare.
And so on second thought...
I jumped right back in my horse and buggy and got the heck out of there. And it's a good thing I did because apparently the fleas came back to life too. 
Ew.
I think I may have given up entirely if I hadn't run into one of the kids I got to tutor as a student teacher the next day. 
Time to try again at this whole housing thing.
Operation  Schoolmarm is only just beginning. ;)
Over and Out!

Pretty Basic

It was a nice night.  The kind where you'd want to call up your friends, go out to a bar, sip a Manhattan, and laugh over the listless days of frivolous youth.
But I was decked out in my favorite hoodie trudging off to babysit.  This is where it's at. Oh.... yes....
As I arrived I was greeted by the typical "hide!! the babysitter is here" attitude.  Loved is not the word I'd use to describe it.
Mrs. J showed me the children's schedule.
- Dinner
- Play time
- Story time
- Bed time
Pretty basic.  Right?
And then after that I'd have about two hours of reading till Mr. and Mrs. J got home and my night would be over.
Not too shabby.
TASK #1: Successfully finish dinner.
There the kids sat, Sam, Betsy, and Gemma the baby.  The older two ate painfully slow often forgetting their utensils.  I'd try to encourage them to use a fork.  Gemma, on the other hand, ate like food was going out of style.
"I'm sitting in Mommy's chair!" Betsy gloated.
"Well look at you." I responded.
"I know." she started to giggle, "It's Mommy's chair!"
"Gemma, no! You can't just sit in Mommy's chair." Sam said, quite distraught over the prospect.
"Aw c'mon Sam, just let Betsy sit in your Mommy's chair.  Mmmm why don't you take another bite of those yummy looking green beans."
"They're gross."
"Miss ANN!!!!"
"Yes, Betsy?"
"I peed on Mommy's chair."
Are. You. Kidding. Me.
Dinner Success: Less Than Satisfactory - cleaning up pee is never a highlight.

TASK #2: Attempt an injury free play time
Play time was always great.  So, at least this should help make up for the dinner fiasco.  Sam, per usual, wanted to play soccer and make up stories.
Post accident Betsy was wound up however and quite obsessed with telling everyone over and over again about her mishap. She'd roar with laughter over Mommy's poor chair.
Well, at least she had a sense of humor.
Gemma just wanted to keep eating.  So I got the three of them together and figured that it was time to play a game.
"OH MISS ANN LOOK AT BABY!" Betsy screamed rushing over to Gemma. "Ooooh Baby!"
And this is when Betsy decided it was a brilliant idea to simply pinch Gemma as hard as she could.
Good heavens, could Gemma cry.  Literally her piercing scream seemed to echo throughout the entire house.  It was so loud.  So heart wrenching.  So blood chilling.  Gosh, I thought the neighbors could hear it.
"Betsy! You can't pinch your sister!" I immediately cried, rocking Gemma in my arms.  "I want you to go sit down on that chair for a little time out."
The main reason for giving Betsy time out was so I could try and get Gemma to quiet down. Sam brilliantly brought me some gross looking veggie fries that she seemed to find unbelievably scrumptious, but after one bite the howling would pick up again.
"Maybe she wants her blankie? Sam suggested.
"Ooh good idea.  Do you know where it is?"
And as we went to get her a blankie, somehow Betsy managed to literally fall right off of the chair and land on her head.  How she managed this I have no idea.
So, now we had two babies howling.
Play Time Success: F
TASK #3 - STORY TIME: tonight's goal: instill peace and happiness once again to the household.
Fortunately Story time seemed to bring things together.  We read about The teeny tinny woman who lived in the teeny tiny house.  And this teeny tinny woman in the teeny tiny house made those three kiddos smile and giggle like nothing else. So we read it four times.
Hey, story time was actually a success.  
The night went on and things were going much smoother.
By the time Mr. and Mrs. J got home I found myself somewhat tired and still a bit shaken up by the fiasco (seriously how do you simply fall out of a chair and land on your head?). At least things ended up fairly well.
But better yet, the next time I went Mrs. J said to me, "You know, we had prayer time before you got here and Betsy lead us today.  And she said, 'Thank you God for letting Miss Ann come to us.'"
I smiled quite floored and sincerely touched.
Maybe JUST MAYBE, despite all the mishaps, I was doing something right.