He did laugh out loud in class when he received this.
Mission accomplished.
Category: Teacher Problems
It was my shoes… honest!
It’s only when your students are absolutely silent during an assessment that you realise how badly your shoes sound like squeaky farts.
Barefoot for the rest of the lesson, it is.
I tried.
From time to time, teachers are asked to cover lessons for colleagues who are absent for some reason.
Today I had the privelege of covering a Y10 Health and Human Development class.
They could have been discussing exercise, nutrition or health… but, no.
That would have been waaayyy too easy. They had to be learning about male and female body parts and their functions.
While I was busy asking myself why these lessons always seem to be handed to me, I was interrupted by a student asking a question.
Student 1: “What’s the cervix again?”
Student 2: “It’s the trapdoor thing that stops the baby coming out.”
Wait. The what??
Very diplomatically, I suggested he might like to look things up in a dictionary, or at least the printed notes they had been given to read and highlight. I don’t think he did, though.
A little later, Student 1 had another question: “Are the uterus and the urethra the same thing?”
Again, I pointed him to the printed notes and the dictionary.
“How is that going to help me?” he asked.
“How indeed?” I thought to myself.
I’m sorry, Miss K. I tried.
Not as deep as I thought.
My students were working on their assignments to create an original interpretation of the story of Beowulf.
All was quiet, until one said, “There’s no more music. Only death.”
I commented on how poetic that was, and asked if she was going to use that for the scene where Grendel attacks the Danes in their mead hall.”
She looked surprised.
“No… I had music notes in the picture and I took them out.”
Sigh.
The Perils of Being a Teacher #23
Today I’ve been given a Year 8 Maths class to cover for a teacher who is away.
Maths. Seriously?
I struggled with Year 8 Maths when I was in Year 8. I have no hope of appearing to master it now, no matter how good an actress or improviser I may be.
So I advised the class: “I expect you to work quietly and stay focused on your work. If you need help, I strongly advise asking one of your classmates, because I am not going to be of any help to you.”
One boy raised his hand and asked incredulously, “Are you saying you can’t do Year 8 Maths?”
“What I’m saying,” I replied, “Is that my career as a teacher should be an encouragement to anyone who struggles in one area or another. You can be successful, even if something like Maths defies you.”
The strugglers in the class smiled, and everyone settled down to their work. They seem to know what they’re doing.
Phew. Dodged a bullet there.
The Perils of Being a Teacher #17
In a hurry to get ready for my next class, I *almost* mistook a glue stick for my lip balm.
Let’s just say it’s a very good thing that I have a keen sense of smell.
As It turns out, I’m not funny.
As I was walking through the corridor to the library, one of my Y10 students smiled and said, “See you later’ alligator!”
I stopped her and asked if she knew the difference between an alligator and a crocodile.
Three Y3 girls nearby listened with interest.
“Not really,” she said, “What is it?”
I answered with a grin, “One will see you later, and one will see you in a while.”
She rolled her eyes and groaned, and then one of the younger girls said, very loudly, “I don’t get it.”
“Yeah!” said one of her friends. “That’s a dumb joke.”
The third little girl, with a look of grave admonition on her face, said, “Teachers shouldn’t tell jokes when it sounds like they’re going to teach you something good.”
That’s me. Failing since 1.05pm today.
Not quite what he meant…
Student essay “Quote of the Day”: “The wealthy people in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ have big houses, expensive horses and carriages, and big balls.”
I’m still laughing.
The perils of report writing.
After being a teacher for twenty-six-and-a-half years, I’m surprised that it has only just occurred to me that the effect of report writing on the body is much like pregnancy cravings.
I’m working away, absorbed in the delicate task of crafting a finely constructed, highly expressive report of the achievements and needs of each student when all of a sudden, my body speaks to me.
“Sugar. I need sugar.”
I think of ice cream, then of oreos. Ice cream with oreos. Awesome.
I’m about to get out of my chair and go foraging, but then I remember that I have an enormous amount of work to do and I don’t want to get too distracted. Instead, I look for sweets in the drawers beside my chair. An almost-empty packet yields two licorice allsorts which are consumed in quick succession, shortly after which I decide that this may not have been a good idea, even if the choice of licorice did seem healthier than the unholy amount of chocolate consumed while writing Year 10 English until 1.45 am. Feeling a little queasy, I continue working.
“Mmmm. Pickles. I’d love a pickle.”
Subsequent investigation in the kitchen leads to the conclusion that there are no pickles in the house and then to the discovery that a couple of large slices of tinned beetroot makes a fabulous substitute. Who knew?
Feeling surprisingly sated, I return to my work and let my creative juices flow.
The industry with which the words flow from my mind to my fingertips and onto the screen is impressive. This lasts for at least fifteen minutes, until the dilemma of how to write about young Miss Elsie Whosiewhich’s failure to submit any work at all for the entire semester leaves one wondering if there are any cheese and onion flavoured potato chips in the house.
These thoughts are set aside with determination to at least finish writing half of the Year 10 history reports before I take another break, but before long the jar of coffee on the counter is calling out to me and I’m powerless to resist. Caffeine will keep me alert and help me concentrate, right?
I walk into the kitchen to make coffee but get distracted by thoughts of a peanut butter sandwich. Suddenly it’s all too much work, so I pour another glass of Coke Zero and head back to my study. It occurs to me just how freaking awesome cold coke tastes and feels. Delicious, ice-cold bubbly goodness delivering caffeine to my brain with every sip. Then I realise that I am a bit hungry and I should have grabbed that peanut butter sandwich while I was up. Dammit. I hunt for one of my Reese’s cups that I’ve hoarded in case of an emergency, and almost cry with happiness when I find it. Oh, that delicious peanut-buttery goodness…
Oh, wait. The caffeine was supposed to help me concentrate, wasn’t it?
Right. Back to it then.
WordyNerdBird 