I learned lots of new information.
For example, if he is on the playground, he feels very comfortable telling other first grade boys that he is going to beat them up and that they should run. As in, "Yeah, you'd BETTER run!"
He also feels it's within his right to state his dislike for me when he can't find his scissors. You know, the scissors I gave him one day ago that are somewhere in his desk but not in clear sight. I suppose I understand. I often dislike others when I misplace my sanity.
During lunch, my principal and A.P called me into their office to chit chat about their very special phone call with the administrator of new boy's previous school.
I'll just say this. BAGGAGE. Tons and tons of it. We would not be able to find Blakely anywhere in all of the baggage that he brought with him into my classroom. So. Staying positive. God put him in my room for a reason. And later in the day, when I called him a math wizard (yes, it was a stretch, but that's what I call my kiddos during math, and it just came out), he beamed. He hugged me, said he loved me, and that I was the best teacher he ever had. I know. But don't gush too much. It didn't last long.
My principal had him come up to the office when we were having our little pow wow. It was interesting. Mainly because my principal kept telling him that he needed to be nice to his "little teacher". And that he couldn't talk to his "little teacher" like that. And that "little Mrs Oldham" is going to have fun stuff for him to do and he needs to cooperate.
I could go one of two ways.
One: Does she say "big teacher" to the taller teachers? "Listen here, mister, you'd better respect your big teacher." Or "Your big teacher really cares about you and wants the best for you." Or "She's the best big teacher we have."
Two: Thank God she did not say "your teeny tiny teacher" because then I might be paranoid that she knows I have a blog!!! And then I would have to die. Die. People! My blog is a secret. SHHHHHHHH. You know nothing.
Speaking of scissors (way back up there in the second paragraph or so), guess why we needed them????
No, silly. We weren't cutting hair. Guess again.
No, stinker. We weren't trimming our nose hairs. Guess again.
YES! We did art!
Our Step Up to Writing topic this week was all about what happens when we're sick. The kids had tons to say because . . . well . . . they are full of germs and like to pass them around by either picking their nose and rubbing it all over the carpet, or by picking their nose and eating it. Yes. It's gross. I gag. Sometimes, if I am so lucky to see this happen right in front of me, I have to pause while teaching or reading a story to breathe through my mouth while I let the nausea pass.
We read these stories (along with some other titles that I can't recall because I was too busy being disliked):
Then we wrote. It went well. Blah, blah, blah. That's not the exciting part.
THIS IS! We made these little faces to go with our writing:
They're sick. Get it? :) I got this idea from my very first partner, Sheri, who helped me forage in the trash for the finger. I've done it every single year. It makes for a cute bulletin board. What's that? Huh? No, I don't have a picture of my bulletin board. Between new boy, assessments, the third grade team providing soup and bread for lunch today, the Bachelor, RHOBH, and catching up with the Kardashians, I've been consumed with other things. I am getting it up by Friday and the title is going to be "Ah-choo!"
(yes, we could have used yarn for hair but I was doing assessments and got lazy --- there, I said it)
I've had "Dance Moms" on in the background while typing this. Holy mack. Now THIS is drama. Whoa. Do you guys watch this?
No judgment here. Just wondering if it should be added to my syllabus. I think I remember getting a comment about it but I might be wrong.
I'm off to read your blogs now!