A horrible infectious disease is spreading through my classes, taking my little sweet monkeys and turning them into poo-flinging primates: Eighth-grade-itis. Apparently, it's a horrible disease that overcomes all the senses, including the sense of reason. A once-bright, intelligent student who is infected with this fungus-like disease becomes a stammering idiot, blabbering unintelligible thoughts onto paper and launching inappropriateness into the air like little balls of poo -- stinking up everything, everywhere, and NO ONE (including me) wants to touch it with a ten-foot pole.
I have tried, at no avail, to find a cure for this disease. But this being my first year with these monkeys as eighth graders, I feel as if I'm fighting some unknown disease from outer space [my teaching partners who have taught eighth grade for some time now find this HYSTERICAL, by the way].
Here's what I've tried so far: (1) loosen up -- don't laugh. I really thought it would work. The "look" got them back in line, as did a new seating chart. But it was only a Band-Aid. *sigh* Failure.
(2) Be more strict -- okay, it's not me. I can't be strict. Fair? Yes. Strict? No. I could never be some ruler-totin' nun. The kids saw right through it...and, of course, my finding a sign that read "Tag the Hag" with a not-so-flattering caricature of moi at the back of the room sealed the deal. That's just wrong. Failure.
(3) Get the poo-flingers on my side -- I really thought this one out. I pulled a few kids aside in each class, told each that he [yes, I'm being totally sexist here...all my poo-flingers are males] is viewed as a leader among their peers, that they could, single-handedly, morph the class into a working machine. That worked pretty well, until they realized that I had talked to more than one of them, then I had a mutiny on my hands. EPIC fail.
So, I did what any good teacher would do. Today, in each class, I had a heart-to-heart (well, homo sapien-to-primate) discussion with the little poo-flingers. I revisited my philosophy of teaching. We went over the long list of rules (I'm being facetious, of course, I have only three -- be ready, respectful and responsible -- I'm a BIG believer in Love & Logic -- more on that later). And, I really let them know that I understood how they felt. I lamented about my 8th grade year, how I, too, couldn't wait for high school...blah blah blah...I took them with me on a very long walk down Amnesia Lane, them kicking and screaming all the way. But it worked. They really got it, I think. They put the poo away and really got focused on their work again. The class is, once again, running smoothly (yes, I'm aware that it's only Monday).
Now if only my 7th graders weren't starting to arm themselves with poo.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Teacher Appreciation Week! It's great to be noticed...I think?!
This week is Teacher Appreciation Week. Not necessarily a week I mark on my calendar each year...I didn't even know it was TA Week until I read it on our reader board outside our school Monday morning. Is that because, subconsciously, I don't feel appreciated?? No...it's because I don't need a week to know how much I am appreciated. I see that every day. Some view teaching as a thankless job, but I see it a thankful. I'm thankful for my kids. I'm thankful that I can let the kids know I care. And I'm thankful that, every day, I can do something I LOVE to do. Not many people can say that.
So, as I passed the reader board with nothing more than a "huh" when I read about the celebratory week that's, apparently, all about me, the thought passed through my brain and was put in the file labeled, "RANDOM CRAP I PROBABLY WON'T REMEMBER."
I unceremoniously let myself in through the side door, greeted a few early arrivals with a forced smile (I had left my coffee on the counter at home), and let myself in my room. No sooner did I put down my bag and take off my coat when the door opened. There stood Carla, one of the the sweetest, most caring, kindest seventh graders I have this year, peeking in the door. "Good morning, Mrs. Tag," she said as she started inching through the door.
Now, let me take a minute to explain something. Middle-schoolers usually don't just come in for a visit with their teacher in the morning. It's not like elementary school where they can't WAIT to see you and wave at you like they haven't seen you in ages, when, really, it's only been about 17 hours.
Uh, no. Middle-schoolers come see you at 7:30 a.m. for one of three reasons: (1) you have assigned them a detention and they remembered before you did that they had to serve it that day; (2) there is some kind of drama that needs immediate attention, like a lost binder or puppy love gone wrong; or, (3) an attempt at a lame excuse about work not being completed...printer didn't work, late soccer game, forgot their book in their locker. You pick.
But Carla's visit revolved around NONE of these three, which threw me for a loop. She wanted to shoot the breeze. Started asking me how I was doing, wanted to know about the book I was reading. Had me sign her new glow-in-the-dark cast...all WAY too much for me at 7:30 a.m. without my morning cup o' Joe. But I played along, after all, she is a darling. And, dangit, I love these little monkeys.
Then, she said three words I have NEVER heard before: "Happy Teacher Appreciation Day". It was so sweet....she looked all nervous, and it sounded weird to her, too, those words coming out of her mouth kind of like a cross between Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas, her mind not quite knowing how to deliver the message. Of course, I oozed all over her, thanking her and telling her it was so sweet for her to remember. And let her know that she was the first to wish me Happy Teacher Appreciation Day (it sounded weird coming out of my mouth, too).
Begin the long pause, the awkward silence as Carla held out a gift bag. "Here." Wow! I thought. A gift? Seriously? Geez, in the 15 years I've taught middle school, I've only gotten maybe a handful of gifts total and this kid got me something for Teacher Appreciation Week?! It solidified that she was the sweetest thing ever. I took the gift bag and, seriously, had to choke back a tear.
"Open it," she said. I reached into the bag and picked up something small wrapped inside sunny yellow tissue paper. Her smile filled the room as I took out the small jar of ... eye cream? No shit. Eye cream.
Yep. And for the first time in a long time I was speechless. "It's eye cream, Mrs. Tag," she said with a gleam in her eye. "You keep it in the refrigerator." At this point, I'm still speechless but smiling at her excitement. "See, if you keep it in the refrigerator," she explained, "it will work better." Uh-huh, I thought, laughing a bit inside. And then it came. Her explanation of the gift....with all the seriousness in the world, she explained, "See how your eyes are puffy and that you have those wrinkles? This can help with those!"
Out of the mouths of babes.
Some people might have been offended, but not me. Now, believe me, this was the freakiest, funniest thing that has EVER happened to me as a teacher. But...more than that...this little monkey not only took the time to actually get me a gift for Teacher Appreciation Week, but she really put her heart and soul it! She thought about what might make me happy. She pays attention to my well-being (okay, a little too much, but still sweet). And she was so proud of herself she was about to burst. With a big hug I sincerely thanked her and even made a point to explain that I was going to put the eye cream in my mini-fridge so that maybe I could use it later.
What did I do with it? Well, I brought that little jar home with me. Why? I can honestly tell you that I'm never going to use it... as intended. Not that I don't need it (I mean, seriously, if a 12-year-old thinks I need it, I probably do). I will, however, use it as a reminder that students notice EVERYTHING about you...which can be both a blessing and a curse. But either way, I appreciate them for that.
So, as I passed the reader board with nothing more than a "huh" when I read about the celebratory week that's, apparently, all about me, the thought passed through my brain and was put in the file labeled, "RANDOM CRAP I PROBABLY WON'T REMEMBER."
I unceremoniously let myself in through the side door, greeted a few early arrivals with a forced smile (I had left my coffee on the counter at home), and let myself in my room. No sooner did I put down my bag and take off my coat when the door opened. There stood Carla, one of the the sweetest, most caring, kindest seventh graders I have this year, peeking in the door. "Good morning, Mrs. Tag," she said as she started inching through the door.
Now, let me take a minute to explain something. Middle-schoolers usually don't just come in for a visit with their teacher in the morning. It's not like elementary school where they can't WAIT to see you and wave at you like they haven't seen you in ages, when, really, it's only been about 17 hours.
Uh, no. Middle-schoolers come see you at 7:30 a.m. for one of three reasons: (1) you have assigned them a detention and they remembered before you did that they had to serve it that day; (2) there is some kind of drama that needs immediate attention, like a lost binder or puppy love gone wrong; or, (3) an attempt at a lame excuse about work not being completed...printer didn't work, late soccer game, forgot their book in their locker. You pick.
But Carla's visit revolved around NONE of these three, which threw me for a loop. She wanted to shoot the breeze. Started asking me how I was doing, wanted to know about the book I was reading. Had me sign her new glow-in-the-dark cast...all WAY too much for me at 7:30 a.m. without my morning cup o' Joe. But I played along, after all, she is a darling. And, dangit, I love these little monkeys.
Then, she said three words I have NEVER heard before: "Happy Teacher Appreciation Day". It was so sweet....she looked all nervous, and it sounded weird to her, too, those words coming out of her mouth kind of like a cross between Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas, her mind not quite knowing how to deliver the message. Of course, I oozed all over her, thanking her and telling her it was so sweet for her to remember. And let her know that she was the first to wish me Happy Teacher Appreciation Day (it sounded weird coming out of my mouth, too).
Begin the long pause, the awkward silence as Carla held out a gift bag. "Here." Wow! I thought. A gift? Seriously? Geez, in the 15 years I've taught middle school, I've only gotten maybe a handful of gifts total and this kid got me something for Teacher Appreciation Week?! It solidified that she was the sweetest thing ever. I took the gift bag and, seriously, had to choke back a tear.
"Open it," she said. I reached into the bag and picked up something small wrapped inside sunny yellow tissue paper. Her smile filled the room as I took out the small jar of ... eye cream? No shit. Eye cream.
Yep. And for the first time in a long time I was speechless. "It's eye cream, Mrs. Tag," she said with a gleam in her eye. "You keep it in the refrigerator." At this point, I'm still speechless but smiling at her excitement. "See, if you keep it in the refrigerator," she explained, "it will work better." Uh-huh, I thought, laughing a bit inside. And then it came. Her explanation of the gift....with all the seriousness in the world, she explained, "See how your eyes are puffy and that you have those wrinkles? This can help with those!"
Out of the mouths of babes.
Some people might have been offended, but not me. Now, believe me, this was the freakiest, funniest thing that has EVER happened to me as a teacher. But...more than that...this little monkey not only took the time to actually get me a gift for Teacher Appreciation Week, but she really put her heart and soul it! She thought about what might make me happy. She pays attention to my well-being (okay, a little too much, but still sweet). And she was so proud of herself she was about to burst. With a big hug I sincerely thanked her and even made a point to explain that I was going to put the eye cream in my mini-fridge so that maybe I could use it later.
What did I do with it? Well, I brought that little jar home with me. Why? I can honestly tell you that I'm never going to use it... as intended. Not that I don't need it (I mean, seriously, if a 12-year-old thinks I need it, I probably do). I will, however, use it as a reminder that students notice EVERYTHING about you...which can be both a blessing and a curse. But either way, I appreciate them for that.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
the first day of school....in May?
I have the first day of school jitters. No kidding. Why, you ask? Well, I have missed the last week of school because I had (and still have) pneumonia [pause here to receive good thoughts and looks of pity]. So that means my students have had a substitute teacher for the last five days. Yep. Five. At least it was only two substitutes in five days, but, still. I hate being absent, but, more than that, I hate coming back to what transpired the week before.
It's not just the mountains of paperwork waiting for me...I am already pumping myself up by singing, "Climb every mountain..." and saying my mantra, "I think I can, I think I can..." Of course, being the OCD teacher that I am, I stopped by on Friday after school and picked up a small part of the mountain...just a teaser, if you will. And it's gonna be bad.
My school seemed to be in perpetual full moon phase last week. Now, if you don't believe that the moon's phases has something to do with children's behavior, just come into any middle school the morning before and the morning after a full moon and you will get the full EFFECT of what I'm talking about. I mean, the little monkeys are already a handful, little hormones with feet, having meltdowns for no foreseeable reason (except to them and their fellow walking hormones). But the day after a full moon. Watch out! I swear the moon's pull is the kryptonite to any effective ADHD medication and is the sole reason for 7th grade girls crying over a forgotten binder and 8th grade boys breaking up with 8th grade girls. Oh, the drama.
So...I digress. According to our head honcho at our school (by that, of course, I mean the building secretary), we had seven substitutes two to three days in a row. Now, for most schools, that's a pretty low percentage. However, when you only have 13 teachers on staff...that's over half of your teachers gone for a day...or two...or FIVE if you're me.
Now, you have to first understand that I teach in a little town that resembles Mayberry in many ways. A corner store. Old people walking "downtown" in the morning and waving at the cars passing by. A superintendent that has coffee every morning at the "theatre" that doubles as a coffee shop. And from a teaching perspective, it's like teaching in Candy Land.
Except when I return from being absent. One day is doable. The kids (and I) enjoy the break. Two days is pushing it. Three is downright rude, according to my kids. Four is unheard of..and FIVE? FIVE??? It will certainly be the mother of all phases of the moon. And that, my friends, is why I am nervous about tomorrow. Nervous about being filled in on the drama that I missed (even though I REALLY don't ask....I swear). Nervous that my kids will rebel and be absent themselves, both in behavior expectations and performance. Nervous that I will be too exhausted to give my all (after all, I was told to take this week off, too....to which I laughed hysterically and asked the doctor if he was sentencing me to death).
So, we'll see. I'll let you know how the first day of school in May goes tomorrow. IF I survive.
It's not just the mountains of paperwork waiting for me...I am already pumping myself up by singing, "Climb every mountain..." and saying my mantra, "I think I can, I think I can..." Of course, being the OCD teacher that I am, I stopped by on Friday after school and picked up a small part of the mountain...just a teaser, if you will. And it's gonna be bad.
My school seemed to be in perpetual full moon phase last week. Now, if you don't believe that the moon's phases has something to do with children's behavior, just come into any middle school the morning before and the morning after a full moon and you will get the full EFFECT of what I'm talking about. I mean, the little monkeys are already a handful, little hormones with feet, having meltdowns for no foreseeable reason (except to them and their fellow walking hormones). But the day after a full moon. Watch out! I swear the moon's pull is the kryptonite to any effective ADHD medication and is the sole reason for 7th grade girls crying over a forgotten binder and 8th grade boys breaking up with 8th grade girls. Oh, the drama.
So...I digress. According to our head honcho at our school (by that, of course, I mean the building secretary), we had seven substitutes two to three days in a row. Now, for most schools, that's a pretty low percentage. However, when you only have 13 teachers on staff...that's over half of your teachers gone for a day...or two...or FIVE if you're me.
Now, you have to first understand that I teach in a little town that resembles Mayberry in many ways. A corner store. Old people walking "downtown" in the morning and waving at the cars passing by. A superintendent that has coffee every morning at the "theatre" that doubles as a coffee shop. And from a teaching perspective, it's like teaching in Candy Land.
Except when I return from being absent. One day is doable. The kids (and I) enjoy the break. Two days is pushing it. Three is downright rude, according to my kids. Four is unheard of..and FIVE? FIVE??? It will certainly be the mother of all phases of the moon. And that, my friends, is why I am nervous about tomorrow. Nervous about being filled in on the drama that I missed (even though I REALLY don't ask....I swear). Nervous that my kids will rebel and be absent themselves, both in behavior expectations and performance. Nervous that I will be too exhausted to give my all (after all, I was told to take this week off, too....to which I laughed hysterically and asked the doctor if he was sentencing me to death).
So, we'll see. I'll let you know how the first day of school in May goes tomorrow. IF I survive.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I know....right?
Every generation has their slang...we all said them. Phrases that drive adults nuts. In the 50's it was "cool". In the 60's "Peace". In the 70's "Far Out". The 80's welcomed a slew from Valley Girls like "Grody" or "Totally". The 90's brought "How's it hangin'" (of course, I never understood why boys asked girls this question, but I digress). The mighty OO's sprouted "Whasssuuuup". And now....in 2010....a new generation of annoyances for adults. Wait for it....wait for it... the winner is...."I know...right?"
If you've spent more than 10.5 seconds with a tween or teen lately, this phrase runs out of their mouths more than "like" or "OMG" ever will. And it's ten times more annoying. I actually looked it up online, thinking maybe it was just me. Maybe it's not as widely used as I thought. Maybe it's yet another one of Mrs. Tag's pet peeves. But, no. It's more than that. It's an epidemic of epic proportions. Here's what I found when I looked online for some kind of help with understanding whassup with this phrase. Where did I look? The one place I go to get caught up on what kids mean when they say what they say. It's a scary place to be sometimes. And it can be downright disturbing. But it's always on target. Where do I go? you ask. www.urbandictionary.com:
DEFINITION: An affirmation that you agree with or can relate to the preceding statement. It can be used whether the speaker actually knows or not, but in the latter case it usually means that the speaker can attribute the preceding statement to themselves as well.
And if the definition isn't confusing enough, here is a real-life example that prompted this blog:
ME to STUDENT: Jack, you're failing this class.
JACK: I know, right?
ME (trying to set a good example by NOT rolling my eyes): I don't know, do you know? Cuz you're not seeming to understand that you are FAILING the class.
JACK: Mrs. Tag, I know I'm failing, but writing's hard.
ME: So, writing is hard, I understand, but you still need to turn in assignments, Jack.
JACK: I know, right?
ME: *sigh* Okay, Jack, let's try this another way. What are you going to do to be sure to get your assignments turned in.
JACK: [long pause, puppy dog face in full use now]I dunno.
ME: Okay, so if you did know, what would you say? [an aside here: this is a GREAT tactic to use when trying to stop the "I dunnos" from your kids...I dunno why it works, but it does]
JACK: Well, if I did know, I'd say that I would do them at home and ask for help if I need it.
ME: Exactly! So now you have a plan!
JACK: I know, right?
ME: Well, hopefully.
JACK: [bewildered and confused, Jack is gently turned around and prodded toward his seat]
End scene.
If you've spent more than 10.5 seconds with a tween or teen lately, this phrase runs out of their mouths more than "like" or "OMG" ever will. And it's ten times more annoying. I actually looked it up online, thinking maybe it was just me. Maybe it's not as widely used as I thought. Maybe it's yet another one of Mrs. Tag's pet peeves. But, no. It's more than that. It's an epidemic of epic proportions. Here's what I found when I looked online for some kind of help with understanding whassup with this phrase. Where did I look? The one place I go to get caught up on what kids mean when they say what they say. It's a scary place to be sometimes. And it can be downright disturbing. But it's always on target. Where do I go? you ask. www.urbandictionary.com:
DEFINITION: An affirmation that you agree with or can relate to the preceding statement. It can be used whether the speaker actually knows or not, but in the latter case it usually means that the speaker can attribute the preceding statement to themselves as well.
And if the definition isn't confusing enough, here is a real-life example that prompted this blog:
ME to STUDENT: Jack, you're failing this class.
JACK: I know, right?
ME (trying to set a good example by NOT rolling my eyes): I don't know, do you know? Cuz you're not seeming to understand that you are FAILING the class.
JACK: Mrs. Tag, I know I'm failing, but writing's hard.
ME: So, writing is hard, I understand, but you still need to turn in assignments, Jack.
JACK: I know, right?
ME: *sigh* Okay, Jack, let's try this another way. What are you going to do to be sure to get your assignments turned in.
JACK: [long pause, puppy dog face in full use now]I dunno.
ME: Okay, so if you did know, what would you say? [an aside here: this is a GREAT tactic to use when trying to stop the "I dunnos" from your kids...I dunno why it works, but it does]
JACK: Well, if I did know, I'd say that I would do them at home and ask for help if I need it.
ME: Exactly! So now you have a plan!
JACK: I know, right?
ME: Well, hopefully.
JACK: [bewildered and confused, Jack is gently turned around and prodded toward his seat]
End scene.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The light at the end of the tunnel
As every middle school teacher does at this time of the year, I, too, have started counting down to summer. I'm sure the kids have been counting since day 179, but I reserve my pre-summer daydreaming until around T-minus 40 days. Today marks 35 days until the end of the school year. That's right. Just 7 more early morning staff meetings on Thursdays when I have to be ready to either meet with my teaching team or sit and either be read TO or talked AT by our building principal. Just 7 more Mondays where I am jolted into an awakened state by whatever 7th grade drama has peaked the interest of my 1st period class (which, by the way, starts at a rockin' 7:55 a.m.).
Of course, this also means just 35 more days with my 80+ 8th graders. I'm gonna miss those little monkeys, my "sunshines" as I call them. I've known these kids for two years now, having had the opportunity to be their teacher for 100 minutes per day, 5 days a week last year and 55 minutes per day, 145 days so far this year. That's a total of (***please stand by while English teacher tries to do math***) 433 hours I've spent with these kids while they've been turning into high-schoolers before my very eyes.
Oh, they have their moments, that's for sure. My "orange boys" (I call them that becasue they have "orange" personalities from some color personality test they all took at the beginning of the year -- basically telling me what I already knew about 8th grade boys: (1) they can't sit still; (2) they can't sit still; (3) did I mention they can't sit still?) are so comfortable with me as their teacher that they openly fart in class and look at me like, "what?" when I give them "the eye" (more on how "the eye" works in future blogs). I know their buttons -- for example, I know that Carl has to chew gum. Loudly. Like a cow. Darren has to argue. Carlyle has to eat his entire lunch before lunch. Ned is secretly a wonderful writer. Braxton is as good as Thoreau ever was at writing poetry. And Kamden can't take a compliment to save his life...though he deserves them every day.
And they know me. They know that I'm in a bad mood most Thursdays (for obvious reasons derived from afore mentioned experiences at 7 a.m. on Thursdays). They know that my daughter is everything to me. They know that, secretly, I like kids who break the rules. They know my pet peeves -- which can be dangerous.
Mostly I hope they know I love them. And that each of them has a place in my heart. Each of them has made me a better teacher. Each of them has driven me crazy. I have muttered each of their names as I've driven staples into bulletin boards or sharpened pencils into nubs.
They are middle school. And I can't wait for my sevvies to become what my eight-graders are to me: special.
Of course, this also means just 35 more days with my 80+ 8th graders. I'm gonna miss those little monkeys, my "sunshines" as I call them. I've known these kids for two years now, having had the opportunity to be their teacher for 100 minutes per day, 5 days a week last year and 55 minutes per day, 145 days so far this year. That's a total of (***please stand by while English teacher tries to do math***) 433 hours I've spent with these kids while they've been turning into high-schoolers before my very eyes.
Oh, they have their moments, that's for sure. My "orange boys" (I call them that becasue they have "orange" personalities from some color personality test they all took at the beginning of the year -- basically telling me what I already knew about 8th grade boys: (1) they can't sit still; (2) they can't sit still; (3) did I mention they can't sit still?) are so comfortable with me as their teacher that they openly fart in class and look at me like, "what?" when I give them "the eye" (more on how "the eye" works in future blogs). I know their buttons -- for example, I know that Carl has to chew gum. Loudly. Like a cow. Darren has to argue. Carlyle has to eat his entire lunch before lunch. Ned is secretly a wonderful writer. Braxton is as good as Thoreau ever was at writing poetry. And Kamden can't take a compliment to save his life...though he deserves them every day.
And they know me. They know that I'm in a bad mood most Thursdays (for obvious reasons derived from afore mentioned experiences at 7 a.m. on Thursdays). They know that my daughter is everything to me. They know that, secretly, I like kids who break the rules. They know my pet peeves -- which can be dangerous.
Mostly I hope they know I love them. And that each of them has a place in my heart. Each of them has made me a better teacher. Each of them has driven me crazy. I have muttered each of their names as I've driven staples into bulletin boards or sharpened pencils into nubs.
They are middle school. And I can't wait for my sevvies to become what my eight-graders are to me: special.
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