Starting a Blog: Day 4

A Post with No Name

Ah, Christmas break... a magical time that all teachers young and old look forward to after the first few months of school. If you have been looking forward to a new blog post, I am so sorry that it's taken me a while to write (I have been in my end-of-trimester/vacation coma)... and if you haven't been looking forward to a new one, screw you! (Just kidding, hopefully I'll be able to change your mind about how hilarious and sentimental I am with this story).

One Morning Meeting a couple of months ago, we announced to the class that we would be starting our long-awaited International Postcard Project. We explained how we would be collecting postcards from all over the world, and that we would be putting them up on our biggest bulletin board, on our biggest map of the world for everyone to see. The friends erupted in excitement and buzzed with uncontrollable conversation, "I'm going to get postcards from my uncle in Egypt!" I heard a little boy say. "My grandma lives in London, she'll send me a million post cards" a little girl said. "My dad travels around the world for his job, I'm going to get postcards from every continent!". So many friends were chatting away with their shoulder partners, oblivious to the one little boy on the back of the rug who was raising his hand, waiting to be called on...

"Yes Mitchell?" 

"Well, I wanted to tell you that I have family in Canada and Mexico so I'll probably be getting postcards from there." 

"That sounds wonderful, thanks for sharing that, and thank you for raising your hand so nicely."

"I also wanted to say that I can speak Canadian and Mexican really well, so you don't have to worry about translating." 

What could we say? My co-teacher and I glanced at each other from across the world rug in our teacher chairs wanting to laugh so badly, but we didn't want to crush his little spirit. He was so eager to share that information with us, that correcting his lovable little mistake would have been pointless. We simply bit our lips, and thanked him for offering, and moved onto reading the Morning Message together. 

This story reminds me to always look at the bigger picture, and to constantly find the real root of what I am trying to teach. We could have chosen to teach Mitchell that Canadian and Mexican aren't real languages, but instead, we chose to teach him to enjoy his moment in the sun.   

Boom. Hilarious and simultaneously sentimental. Right? 

...right? 

Starting a Blog: Day 3

Feeling Young While Getting Old(er)

My students have no idea how old I am. I could be eighteen or 45. I can't tell you how many times I've been asked the following questions by students from so many different schools, different cities, different states, different countries...

"Ms. K, how old are you?" or worse, "Ms K, are you married?" or worse, "Ms K, do you have a boyfriend?" or WORSE, "why not?". I always reply with a silly answer like, I'm two hundred and five years old, or something very teacher-y and firm,  such as, "excuse me, that is private information".

But one day, one of my students asked me how old I was, and I  knew if I told him that I was two centuries old that he would only keep asking incessantly, so I just 'fessed up and revealed my real age to him...24. I thought he wouldn't have any particular reaction, as 24 is a pretty common age to begin teaching, and I thought my little student knew this too, but, oh,  how I was mistaken. 

"Twenty four?!" he shouts...and we're in the library where no one else is talking, "Twenty four?! Ms. K...you're supposed to be like...thirty!". "I am?" I asked him, very curious as to why. And he replies with complete sincerity which is rare for this little friend, "yeah you're supposed to be like...thirty...and married".

I'm not sure if he meant that I look like I should be thirty and married, or if he thinks that all teachers are thirty and married...either way, just a few weeks later, a nine year old little boy  I tutor ensured me that I am DEFINITELY still young...and also entirely too immature to be an elementary school teacher.

We were reading a short story about a farmer's wife, tending to her home. Sitting at the kitchen table, I listened intently as "Joe" read the story out loud to me. I was paying particular attention to his use of inflection, as we were working on reading with expression that day. And he said in his sweetest little voice, as this was a sweet little story..."and she sewed his buttons to his buttholes...I MEAN BUTTONHOLES!". Joey looked at me horrified, thinking I would be so disappointed in him for saying something so incredibly inappropriate in front of his teacher, but instead found me laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face...so much so that my mascara was running. I couldn't get a grip. We laughed together for five minutes straight, while in the back of my head I'm thinking frantically "Shit shit shit! Stop laughing his parents are going to come in and ask what's going on!!!". The worst part was that his blunder happened in the beginning of the story, which meant that he had to read the rest of the ten page story with a straight face (myself included). We made it to the end, but as I was thanking his father when he handed me the check (like an adult professional, eh hemmm), little Joey said, "Dad, you're never gonna guess what happened with Ms. K. today, it was the funniest joke ever...". I don't think I have ever darted out a front door so fast. Since then, I have been dreading seeing his father again...I really should probably just quit.

So, in conclusion, I am basically living a false life...It's all so clear to me now! Deep down I really am a nine year old little boy, posing as a 24 year old female teacher, who is really just supposed to be 30 and married.