If Only We'd Known...

I monitor a class each day that's called GRC and is basically a cross between a study hall and private tutoring. Twice a quarter I send our paperwork for my students' teachers to fill out. The forms ask for students' current grades in their courses, missing work, upcoming projects/test/quizzes, and comments.

After I collect all the paperwork, I have a mini-conference with each student to go through their class info and talk about how they're doing. The kids usually look forward to this time. There are lots of conversations that go like this:

Me: So, Mr. X says you're having trouble with quizzes. Does that sound right?

Student: Yah, I guess.

Me: Any ideas why you might be having trouble with quizzes?

Student: ....Umm....well....maybe I could study more?

Me: Yah, that seems like a great plan. Let's try that...

This week I was going through said routine with my kids. I call a student up to talk, and the other students work on homework. I have a very small classroom, so everyone is hearing what's being said. I don't like it, but can't really leave the room.

So I was conferencing with Maria (names have been changed to protect the...guilty? :) ). Maria has some trouble keeping her mouth to herself during class. Even if I didn't have her in three classes myself, I could have guessed that from the consistent complaints about talking from every teacher.

I was on Maria's 4th or 5th review out of six. We were basically repeating the same dialog for each subject:

Me: Hmm, Miss Y says that you need to stop talking in class...?

Maria: (look of surprise and indignance) I'm not TALKING!

Me: Really? Why would Miss Y say you were if you weren't?

Maria: Ok, so I'm sitting in class and I have to ask Camila for a pencil and Miss Y says, "MARIA! Stop talking!!"

(I stare dubiously at Maria for a moment)

Me: So how did you ask for a pencil without talking? Are you blinking out the message in moris code?

Maria: But I was just asking for a pencil!!!

Me: So you WERE, in fact, talking...

Maria: But!!

Me: Ok, the rule is no talking. How can we solve your pencil problem AND keep your from getting in trouble with Miss Y? Ideas?

Maria: I could bring my own pencil to class?

Me: EUREKA! I think that's a great plan. Let's try that.

As Maria and I hammered out ideas for how to annoy her teachers less, one of my other students, Josué, stops working on his homework and looks up at us thoughtfully.

And then these hilarious, heartening words spilled from his sincere middle-schooler lips:

"You know, Maria, sometimes in class it kinda helps to pay attention."

No sarcasm. No attitude. It was moment of heartfelt sharing of "new and profound" information.

I laughed long and loud. Then I repeated Josué's profundity for the whole class.

Me: Everyone! I want you to remember this wise thing Josué just said: Sometimes in class it kinda helps to pay attention.

Touché, Josué. Touché.

The Valentine's Day Cookies

This year I decided to make some cut-out cookies for Valentine's Day. I've never done that before. I think maybe the fact that I didn't really get to make Christmas cookies this year influenced my decision? Anywho, I knew I had a little heart cookie cutter and had never used it. So I mixed up the dough and put it in the fridge to do whatever sugar cookies do during the obligatory "one hour or overnight" stint in the fridge. Then I went in search of said cookie cutter.

I couldn't find it. I have a tiny kitchen, so it didn't take me long to realize that either I'd lost the cookie cutter or it's in Ohio in storage and I was mistaken in thinking I'd brought it along to Quito when I moved here 18 months ago.

Dangit. Now what? I considered using a knife and cutting them freehand. Thought about that for about 2 seconds. Nah. Then I contemplated just using a glass and making round cookies. But that seemed boring and not very Valentine's-y. I scanned back over a year and a half of shopping here to detect any heart-shaped cookie cutters in my memory. Nope.

Then, a stroke of genius hit me. I did have a set of Christmas cookie cutters from my awesome former Roosevelt House roommates (they sent me a care package last Christmas). I could take one of them and reshape it into a heart, right? I decided to give it a whirl.... here's the before and after:

This isn't the actual cutter I reshaped, cause I didn't take a picture of it before. But it was very similar to this little gingerbread guy.




Tah-dah! My first-ever metalworking masterpiece!

And the best part is that the cookies looked better than the cutter! Here's a picture:

What do you mean, "where's the missing cookie"? I couldn't very well not try the cookies to make sure they're safe, could I?


So, on my last round, I didn't have enough dough for a whole cookie sheet. Instead I baked them in my toaster oven. The extent to which I burnt those cookies may be indicative of how poorly (and slowly) my regular oven cooks. Maybe. :)


I just thought the contrast was comical.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Toothpaste and Carrots

Just now I opened the box of my new tube of toothpaste. If you're a regular reader, you may recall the fiasco of dropping the cap from my last tube down my drain. I finally used up that tube and once again have a cap on my toothpaste. Best of all, it's a flip-cap, so I don't have to worry about a repeat of the drain situation.

But believe it or not, I have a more random story to relate. As I was breaking the box down to throw it away, I was reminded of a Christmas while I was in middle school that I chose to put each of the gifts I was giving in some sort of household item box. And the gift that I remember most vividly from that Christmas season was definitely blog-worthy.

I hand-sewed a plush carrot for my friend Alicia Evilsizor.

Yes, you read that right. A carrot. Why? I have no idea. And in case that isn't weird enough, I'm fairly certain I boxed the carrot in a Velveeta Cheese box. Yep. Alicia received from me a hand-sewn. plush carrot boxed in a Velveeta Cheese box.

Kids are weird.

Journal Entry: August 13, 2008

I'm living in a city.

Again.

I'm a country girl, farm-raised. I love the feel of nothing around me but cow pastures and bean fields.

And here I am, living surrounded by millions of other people.

People so thick, they're stacked several stories high. Walled in by concrete and glass. Organized into blocks and neighborhoods and separated by strips of asphalt.

Lights stretch to the horizon; beyond it, even. Farther than I can see. They shield the stars from sight.

My soul is pressed in upon by the crush of humanity.

Rich people in their SUVs with their suits and tinted windows.

Poor people in ragged, faded clothes, hawking their wares.

Moms with babies, bundled fiercely against the chill.

Teenagers, laden with hormones and insecurities.

Bus drivers, teachers, politicians, housewives, store vendors. All with separate but interwoven lives. All working, playing, resting, loving, laughing, talking, winning and losing, in the same space.

Traffic ebbs and flows. Shifts begin and end. The new arrive. The old depart. The city breathes- one more day crosses over from present to past.

And as it does, I sit and watch it from the perspective of my third-floor window. As insignificant and as critical as every other person who passes under my gaze on the sidewalk below.