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Unless you work at The WB (what I affectionately call my school because it rolls off your tongue more smoothly than The WWB), you were probably unaware that I went from the classroom to an intervention teacher.

And because it's BOY Time (that's Beginning of Year Time, not romance) myself and others have been assessing.  Which means my professional life at the moment is simply one endless DRA.

I like routine as much as the next person, but after administering this test to about 30 kids, the texts get monotonous.  I'm fairly certain if you asked me to quote a Level A-C DRA book, I can recite it verbatim while standing on my head eating peanut butter.

So last week I'm beginning the assessment like normal when I realize I've lost my pen.  Knowing the test is useless unless I have a writing instrument, I offhand-idly remarked to the 1st grader in front of me, "Hang on a sec-I've lost my mind."

Y'all.

The kid I was assessing loves to help.  Which was probably the reason that after the words left my mouth, the kid decided he was on a mission, so he looked on top of the table.  He looked next to the table and finally he looked under the table trying his hardest to locate my missing brain.

Yes-you read that correctly.

He tried to find my missing brain. UNDER THE TABLE.

Should you need the same service, simply let me know.  Once he's found mine I will send him your way.

Until then, you're on your own.

Puppy Love

Y'all.

Today was such a long day that my body keeps going, "You got this, girl, it's Wednesday already!"

Then my brain cross checks that statement and reminds me, "Nope.  Four more.  With new bulletin board displays due this week.  And ESS.  And faculty.  And Academic team.  And reception.  And various meetings during your planning.  You got this girl, in another four days."

So I have but one story that truly brings a smile to my heart.

Precious and I have had better days.  Today he got mad and started pitching a fit, which made me politely remind him mom is a call away.  He stomped.  And pouted.  And put exiled himself to a time out (at least he knows his limit). 

But all of this was (almost) forgotten at the end of the day.  We are packing up, it's a dreary Monday (we're under a travel advisory until 9 a.m. tomorrow) and out of nowhere Precious turns around.

"Miss Foster?"

"Yes, hon?"

"Wanna come over my house today and play basketball?  My dog finally had her puppies so she can play with us."

"Some other time, sweet friend.  Some other time."

Hoping you and your sweet friends have a wonderful week!

Word Matters

Like all good nerds, I have a massive book pile adjacent to my bed.

In the midst of those books is a book or two on vocabulary instruction, but I'm not certain either could have prepared me for the "teachable moment" dropped at my feet today.

As far as technology and I go, it's a love/hate relationship.  I love it; it hates me-with a passion.

So when the the Smartboard in my room is uncooperative, I simply shrug and tell the kids, "Look at that.  It's being sassy."  I've said it so many times that while some of them are still learning to spell their names, they are crystal clear on the definition of the word "sassy".  They've even been known to say that word on occasion.

But imagine my surprise when the board started acting up today and one sweet little girl shook her head and said, "Look at that.  The Smartboard's being sexy."

Fame!

I don't know if it's the presence of Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez, but my little girls are smitten with the notion of being famous.

(Okay, so when I was in kindergarten I wouldn't play Hannah Montana, but Aurora from Sleeping Beauty.  Guess my students get points for pretending to be a real, live human being instead of a 2D picture.)

So it was no shock to the assistant with whom I share a classroom when Precious looked her straight in the eye the other day and said, "Mrs. Genius!! I'm going to be a star when I grow up!"  (Yes, I refer to my para as a Genius because she is.  For real.)

Mrs. Genius is a kind, caring adult to she inquired, "Wow!  What kind of star are you going to be?"

Precious pauses for a moment, taking this question seriously.

Mrs. Genius has seen Precious turn the tears on like a faucet, sing incessantly, and dance around the room so she's wondering if Precious will parlay those acting, singing, and dancing skills into a triple threat or devote her time to pursuing one career path.

After a brief rest, Precious replies, "A purple one.  Or maybe orange.  Or maybe clear."

Y'all.

I cannot make this up.

We Know About Labor

Today, I had a surprise walk-through observation.

At 2:00 p.m.

On a Friday.

And because we had just finished a math assessment, we were watching Reading Rainbow.

And eating Fruit Loops.

But please don't mistake us for slacking off.

One of my students was fast asleep-with her pencil still in her hand, poised in the writing position.

Should you more evidence that kindergarten is rigorous, check out the photo below.  Upon discussion of what a good citizen looks like, the sweetest child in my class had us scribe this:

And with that pic, I wish you and yours a very happy Three Day Weekend! Labor Day!

Young Love

If you celebrate a secular Christmas, then you’re acutely aware that Santa has a list.  And he’s checking it twice. 

Look out, Santa, my girls are coming at you. 

The last week of school,  I noticed some of my girls were passing around a notebook.  Of course I took it from them to see what was so important. 

It was this:

If you’re not fluent in 1^st grade scribble, let me break it down for you:

Boyfriends  

1. It has to be cute 

2. And Bad 

3. And Sexy 

4. Hot

5.Classy  

(I show the note to my friend Tabi who was, quite frankly, shocked.  “Robin!” she said, “Why did you have to go and find my list?”)

You gotta love these girls because they:

a) Made an excellent list.  It is titled, organized and concise.

b) Showed girls can do group work without drama.

c) Have totally got their priorities straight. 

d) All of the above.

And they say tax payer money is wasted on schools.    

The Greatest Science Experiment EVER

Today was the last day of school for us.  (Hello Christmas Winter Break, no alarm ringing, lounging in pajamas, and wasting time.)

And being the outstanding teacher I am, we were engaged in rigorous classroom experiences from the moment they walked in the door to the second they walked out.  (And that's not a joke, thanks to Mary's Polar Express unit. It's so awesome I'm plugging it on my own volition.)

However, Polar Express had to wait until we had finished our Reading Mastery lessons for the day, which is where I was privy to the most awesome hypothesis yet to be tested.

We have a thing in my room-we all like the spotlight on us.  And we will do whatever we can to make sure it's on us. 

Case in point:

Reading Mastery has just begun-half of my class leaves for different RM groups, but having a smaller audience means you can be more clearly heard, so we gear up for some pretty sweet soliloquys despite the less than full house.

I'm going over the checklist before we begin our lesson when I hear Precious say to no one in particular, "When white people get in the sun..."*

*This automatically gets my attention, as Precious can pop off some convoluted logic faster'n'a hot knife through butter so I can't wait to see where this anecdote goes.

"When white people get in the sun, they turn into black people." 

Y'all gotta understand that of the persons in the classroom, I'm the only white one.  I don't claim to speak for all Caucasians, but I know for a fact if I have sun exposure I don't turn black.  Red? Possibly. Tan? After the peeling subsides-maybe.  Pink? Yep.  Black-never happened.

Because I want to dispel this myth, I said, "Really?  Is that so?"

Precious pauses for a moment then replies, "Yes.  White people turn into black people.  My neighbor told me he used to be black, but he got the black smacked out of him."

I kept my composure until our principal did a walk through.  Taking the child and the principal aside, we repeated this newfound knowledge.  And in the midst of the ensuing discussion, we will be conducting a science experiment on that very hypothesis when we can finally go outside for recess.

And like all rigorous teachers, the data on this experiment will be unbelievable.

The Magnity of Our Profession

Thanksgiving is just a little over two days away, leading many to reflect upon the blessings and favors bestowed upon us.

I am no exception.

This morning I had a moment-a brief, shining glimmer into the weight of our profession.  Teaching is by no means an easy occupation, though the many snide remarks may lead you to believe otherwise.

Each day I utilize many skills-knowledge dispenser, nurse, psychologist, and, on occasion, counselor.  Teaching is full of noble tasks, the least of which is to supply students with answers to life's biggest enigmas.  Only a fool would take the sincere, tender, and gullible trusting innocence of a child and make it into an anecdote about which to laugh.

And today friends, I was that fool.

Let me set the stage: it's Monday morning, children coming in and trying to remember if they're in the right place, how to hang up a backpack, and what in the world to do on their morning work.  It's not normally a time for questions, but today Precious had something he simply had to get off his chest.

Precious came to me and quietly asked, "Miss Foster-yesterday at church a man told me if you kiss a girl all your teeth will fall out.  Is that true?"

Much like a child asking if Santa Claus is real, you have a split second to make a decision: a) tell the truth, b) flat out lie, or c) have fun with it.

As readers of this blog, you know what I did. 

I was uncertain as to the veracity of the church man's statement so I did what all super teachers do: marched Precious across the hall and had him repeat his question to Ms. D.  After all, Ms. D. has taught many more years than I and would know the answer.

So we did. 

Unfortunately, we couldn't understand Ms. D.'s response due to her laughter. 

But one day, we will get to bottom of this mystery.  And when we do, I'll be sure to let you know.  

The 5 Seasons

Like everyone I personally know, I was under the impression that there are four seasons.

Boy, did I learn a lesson today.

I was following along our Reading Mastery language script which calls for the recitation of various facts.  So I posed the thought provoking question: "How many seasons are there?"

To which 17 sweet voices replied, "Four!" and one indignant voice sounded off: "Five!"

I queried a second time to the same results, then a third, which is why I had to ask my small friend who kept insisting there are five seasons to clarify her thinking:
"Yuh-huh, Ms. Foster! There are five seasons!"

"And they are...?"

"Winter, spring, summer, fall and flu."

Dear Josh Hopkins

Dear Josh Hopkins,

Hope this letter finds you well.  Just a quick letter to apologize. And ask a favor.  A teeny favor.  Eensy weensy favor.  One that won't disrupt your every day life.  But first, the apology.

I sincerely apologize for lying when I told a six year old boy you are my husband.  But in the interest of being fair, I really didn't listen when he came up and started talking.  All I knew was he wasn't bleeding, violated or tattling and was excitedly asking something.  And holding this photo:

(Okay, so I might have thought he was asking to put the pic on my desk, which is as close as my 1st grade class gets to touching my desk.  And touching my desk is like eating from the forbidden tree in the garden of Eden.)

So this little mix up stems from an absent minded "yes".  I was helping a different kid with their work which is why I was preoccupied.  And in the child's defense, we do look kinda chummy.  And then I got so tickled at the absurdity of it all I couldn't fix my error.

Which brings me to the favor: Next time you're in Lexington and you see one of my students in Kroger and they start yelling, "Mom! It's Mrs. Foster's husband!! I would recognize him anywhere! There's a really cute photo of them on her desk!!", be a sport.  Play along.

I'll do the same for you.

Your (es)Stranged Wife,
RB

Observation(al) Humor

Because having report cards go home, a full moon, excitement over the upcoming spring break and two days of snow and temps that unseasonably cold wasn't enough, I got observed today for the last time this school year.

As I pulled out of the garage and saw the full moon shining, I was rest assured of three things: death, taxes, and certainty we would be squirrely.  (Anyone else feel like they can write a novel on the shenanigans that happen those unfortunate days we work and there's a full moon?)

On a good day, I don't like being observed.  It has nothing to do with my principal, I just don't like it.  Period.  You know those people who have testing anxiety?  I have observational anxiety.

For your entertainment, let me give you a rundown of how my day went:

2:00 a.m. 

It's pitch black and I awaken from a nightmare.  About the observation today.  One that involved my room being invaded by a SWAT team carrying body shields and wearing camo on their faces.  (I think I may have seen an Army ad before I went to bed.)  They came in through my window and the door between my room and my next door neighbor's. 

Needless to say, it was unsettling.

6:15 a.m.

Sit down at my desk.  Begin to print report cards to find server is down.  Realize I can't print my lesson plan.  Pray for divine intervention. 

7:30 a.m.

After printing out my eight page lesson plan I can no longer find it.  Reprint.  All but staple it to my hand.

10:00 a.m.

Principal walks in and the lesson begins.  I am reviewing the letter K and we are identifying the /k/ sound at the beginning and end of words.  Because we heard a story about sharks, we make shark fins to swim infront of our bodies when hear /k/ at the beginning.  Everything is going swimmingly until I see Precious up front.  Not content to move a fin infront, Precious begins to swim back and forth at the front of my rugs.

10:15 a.m.

I realized mid-sentence I am out of sequence.  I had meant to start by reading a book and now my lesson is all out of sequence.  I sheepishly admit this to the principal who just laughs and says he couldn't tell.  He was just enjoying the lesson. 

10:30 a.m.

Back on track.  After Precious infoms me that they were a machine and in sleep mode.  We take a movement break where one child proceeds to show the principal how skilled they are at galloping.

11:00 a.m.

Principal leaves and I am no longer in super stress mode.  I am able to form coherent thoughts again. 

  9:00 p.m.

Laugh about the observation.  Thank the Lord my principal is understanding. 

Letter-Sound mashUP

(First, did you notice how I mashed up the font on the title?  Just wanted to point out that bit of genius.)

Riddle For You:

What to you get when you cross and J and an H?

Answer:

A "JayCh". 

Don't believe me?  Ask the etymologist in my classroom.  He'll tell you.  But probably  because he invented it today. 

I can't wait to see what it looks like.

Educating in the Bible Belt

I live in Kentucky, where we worship Jesus and basketball.

As a teacher, this can lead to some very interesting conversations and totally make your day. 
Cases in point:

A few weeks ago my classroom neighbor was teaching when a shadow darkened her door.  It was our principle.  All the K kids have an unspoken promise to do something unbelievable when the principle is watching.  And today was no exception.

My friend continues to do her writing lesson, which is so quiet you could hear a pin drop (or the wheels turning in their heads).  The stillness is broken by a sweet little girl jumping out of her seat, waving her arms wildly and saying loudly, "Stop!! Stop!! I have a message from God!"

Everyone, principle included, turns to look at Precious.  Now that she has the floor, she is not yielding to anyone (a la television evangelist).  With the same mixture of drama and sincerity she says, "God says those at the front of the line will be the last.  And those at the back of the line will be in the front of the line."  (When I heard this story, I knew right away she was referring to this Bible verse.  Her Sunday School teacher would be so proud.)

Every now and then something happens that presents a problem to my friend.  My friend, a seasoned veteran, was uncertain how to proceed after this exchange.  Enter her assistant, who is all awesome, who smiles at the girl and says, "Hallelujah!"  and my friend says, "Amen" and they continued the writing lesson with no further messages.

Which brings me to my class.  Last Thursday, we were visiting the restroom.  I had all my students in the hall except three girls in the restroom.  As I walk by to tell them shake a leg sweetly encourage them to get in line I walk in the restroom.  As the three who were still inside are rule followers, I wondered what on earth could deter them from following directions. 

So I step in and hear the three of them.  Talking about baptizing each other.  In the sink. 

There's lots of debate about the place of God in the schools, and these stories illustrate you can ban the adults from talking about Him all you want, but the kids will pick up the slack.

In one form or another. 

Fantasy Football

So yesterday I notice Precious walking around the room. (Since Precious is my pseudonym for every kid, I don't know what I'll do if I ever have an actual student named Precious. We'll put that on the To Do list.)

He has a baseball card and upon further examination I see he's on it with all his football stats. I can read height, weight, shoe size and favorite color, but no position.

As I am nothing if not caring, I ask him, "What position do you play?"

He looks straight at me and in a loud and articulate voice, "Diamondback".

And now I'm wondering when he will strike.

Happy Halloween!

You Know It's Been A Good Day At Recess When...

10:45-11:45 is pretty much a blur every single day.

We have recess (thank you God it's been nice and we've only had one rainy day), followed by bathroom break, followed by wellness walk, followed by lunch.

With all this motion, sometimes things fall by the wayside.  Friday is a case in point:

We're walking back into the room after recess (keep in mind it's been 45 minutes since coming indoors). 

Precious looks at me and says, "Ms. Foster?"

"Yes, dumpling?"

"I have mulch in my underwear.  Can I go to the bathroom to get it out?"

On "Pulling Groups"

For your entertainment, a conversation in my classroom today.

Verbatim.

I can't make this up.

"So kids, remember today we will begin pulling kids for math groups.  You will work on your centers but when Mrs. Precious and I need you, we will pull you out to work with us.  Any questions?"

One of my smartest kids raises her hand and I'm immediately wary.  If she doesn't understand what we're doing, I'm in trouble.

"Ms. Foster, when you said you and Mrs. Precious will be pulling groups, will you be pulling us by the arm or by the back of our shirt?"

Truth is funnier than fiction.

*I feel like I should also put out a disclaimer that we don't put our hands on the kids.  We may give them a high five, but that's as touchy as we get.  Which made it even harder for Mrs. Precious and myself to keep from laughing.  You just never know how kids will interpret what you say!*

FYE

I don't know about your class, but mine knows just enough to be dangerous.

Case in point:

Today I had a child who wasn't with us at recess because he was with another teacher.  As I am a good (benevolent, caring, whatever sweet adjective you'd like to use) teacher,  when we got back from specials I let the child have some play time after we returned from specials.

This little boy loves all things with wheels and had been wanting to play with the new tractors I'd bought.  Again, for best practice (because I'm awesome, inspiring, genius- thank you for all these kind words.  I'm not worthy) I picked three friends to play with him.

Because when we hear the magic words (among them are "snack", "lunch", "bathroom") I have taken to spelling certain words.  Today, I looked at my assistant and said, "Don't let me forget, I owe Precious some R-E-C-E-S-S".

One priceless little girl's face lit up and she said brightly, "I know what that spells!"

I just know I'm busted-it's the 15th day of school and they've figured out one of my code words.  Shoot.

That sweet child looked at me and said, "It spells tractors!"

Is it no wonder why I worry about what they tell their parents?