Don't Stick Your Tongue Out At Me!

As a kid, I was always in trouble for sticking my tongue out at my sisters. Later, as I grew older I shifted this gesture from an insult to a sign of affection. I've learned that in a tense situation, it can be as good as a wink. It's a silly sign that "we're okay."

When my students get fussy, I put on my big tough, mean teacher face, tell them we don't act like that, with my hands firmly planted on my hips, and then promptly stick my tongue out at them. Almost every time, the angry child will have to bite his lip to keep from busting up laughing. He then sits down and gets to work, and I walk away to put out a different fire.

The other day I had a particularly difficult day at work. I was drowning in the tested standards that I knew my kids didn't know yet. In the middle of my third lesson for one class period, the district maintenance guy showed up to fix my classroom door, which included drilling and loud, loud banging. By the time the next class arrived, I felt like my head was going to explode. Instead, my temper did. I raised my voice louder than I ever would on a normal day. Just when I was about to completely lose it, one of my beautiful babies (who is often the recipient of my unorthodox classroom management) looked at me, grinned, and stuck out his tongue.

Today, Chris walked into my classroom with his fashionable brown hoodie on. Hoodies of any color are strictly prohibited in school. I reminded him, thanked him and walked away. He took the hoodie off and settled in to get to work. However, when I had him join a table for a group assignment, the hoodie was quickly back on. I walked by twice, reminding him and thanking him, but this time it just didn't work. I have a fairly strict classroom policy of not embarrassing a student, so I took him to the hallway. I asked him if he knew why he couldn't wear the hoodie. He shrugged and said no. He said he didn't think it was a rule. We go over the agenda/dress code with the students every year, but I patiently showed him the rule in the agenda again. He responded with, "I'm not taking it off." A quiet declaration of war. I responded with two choices, go in my room with the hoodie off or to the office with the hoodie on. He couldn't choose. I told him if I had to choose, I would have him back in class without the hoodie, but that I knew I couldn't make him take it off. I asked him if there was some reason he didn't want to be in class today. "Yes. You're always making me do stuff!" "Like your class work?" I clarified. "Yeah, that."

At this point, I realized I was losing, and I told him we'd better head to the office. On our way down the hall, he kicked a pen cap across the hall. I smiled and said, "What'd that pen cap do to you? It didn't kick you out and make you go to the office just because you want to wear a hoodie." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smile. I knew I hadn't lost yet. It was clear he didn't really want to leave class. When we got to the office, I had him take a seat. I turned to him and said, "You know...if you were to change your mind later, you're welcome to leave the hoodie in your locker and come back to class. We'd love to have you back." I quickly informed the principal of our arrangement and headed back to class.

About fifteen minutes later, Chris walked back into class, without his hoodie. He immediately took his seat. I handed him his vocabulary assignment with a "Welcome back. We missed you." A few minutes later, I needed to take a small reading group to the library for an intervention. Chris had already gone with me yesterday, but he insisted on going with me again today. When we got to the library, he sat silently on the couch, just listening. At one point the group was busy working, I turned my head to check on Chris, caught his eye and stuck my tongue out. I was rewarded with a smile so big his dimple showed. I declare victory!

What Dreams May Come

Last night I had an extremely enlightening dream. While I was in tears through most of the dream, the realization of what it meant left me smiling when I woke.

In my dream, it started on a Friday afternoon. I'd been in a co-worker's room, laughing and telling stories with her and another friend. This was a very normal day for us. But, when I returned to my classroom, my assistant-principal was standing in the middle of my packed up room. I was extremely confused as it was only halfway through the school year, and I hadn't packed it. He informed me that on Monday morning I was supposed to report to a local high school, which would be my new teaching assignment. I was stunned. I asked him what I had done, why I was being moved. He shook his head, frowned, and walked out.

My dream then skipped in time to that first day in my new classroom. The classroom was gorgeous. It had every kind of technology I could imagine, with tons of windows and storage space. In the back was a huge closet on one side, and my own office on the other. The office was filled with bookshelves to create my own personal library. I should have been in heaven! But instead, I kept breaking down in tears. I didn't want to be here. I was anxious to meet my kids, hoping they would make this awful change better.

I had not planned my lesson, but had been provided ready-to-go curriculum. The lesson of the day was the issue of shame in Shakespeare's Hamlet. Okay, so this was my very favorite term paper I wrote my senior year of college. The kids walked in. They had done the reading they had been assigned and the class flowed beautifully. They were extremely intelligent and engaged. The discussion could have been taking place in a college classroom. I realized that these were kids who were preparing to score well on their entrance exams and to attend top colleges. This was, without a doubt, my dream job.

However, as the class filtered out, I felt an incredible emptiness. I missed the boisterous noise of my middle schoolers. I missed the way they had so many questions I could hardly get through my directions for an assignment with them. I missed the affectionate "Miss" that I probably heard fifty times in a class period. I missed my teammates that I have come to love so much. As I looked around this perfect classroom that had just held my perfect students, I desperately wanted to go home.

The Tickle Monster

For quite a while now, my nephew, Daegan, has made this funny little sound over and over again. I've not been sure how to emulate it, and I had no idea how what it was he thought he was saying. He is without a doubt an excellent mimic, so it was surprising to hear a sound repeatedly that seemed to have no meaning behind it.

One of our very favorite games to play is tickle monster. I attack him and tickle him down to the ground. It started several months ago when it was the only way to get the full belly laugh out of him that soon became "the best sound in the world" to all who love him. He still laughs until he can hardly breathe. On a rough day, it's the best medicine. With the loss of my beloved grandpa this past week, we'd all been tickling him a little extra to get that healing sound.

The trip to Omaha for the funeral didn't even begin until 7:00 at night. I worried how he would handle it, but he played with a favorite toy I gave him for Christmas. This toy is a favorite of both boys. It sings to them, plays games with them, and calls them by name. The adults' favorite part is that it can be set to play 2, 5 or 10 minutes of bedtime music (which can also be personalized.) Shortly before playing his own bedtime music and falling sound asleep, I caught him making that sound...as he tickled Scout and tossed him in the air, just like I do with him. I laughed, suddenly realizing the sound was "Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle."

Once we recognized the word, we repeated and used it every time we tickled him. His word became clearer, pronouncing the t more clearly. By the end of the week, it was what he did with anything he really liked. The dogs almost got tickled to death. He even tickled his fries at the fast food store. It was abundantly clear that he had learned this tickle game was a sign of affection.

During our fourth rough night in the hotel, Daegan woke up crying once again at 3 in the morning. Because his parents were sharing a much smaller bed than usual, and I was sleeping alone, I let him curl up with me to fall back asleep. He cuddled against me all night, and at 7 a.m., I was awoken by tiny little hands and the words, "Tickle, tickle, tickle."

Are you Joshua?

Tonight, my sisters and I had a long supper at one of our favorite local restaurants. The place was incredibly busy, and the wait staff could not keep up despite their very best efforts. Even as we left at 9:00, they were still hurrying, trying to take care of everyone. As my sister stood to pay her check she began to laugh, loudly. As I followed her eyes, I saw a young boy, probably about 7 or 8-years-old. He was standing, unattended in front of a full-sheet cake that read "Feliz Cumpleanos Joshua." He was using a fork to shovel the corner of the cake into his mouth as fast as he possibly could. It was obvious that despite the area this boy had recently demolished, the rest of the cake had not yet been cut into. My sister almost asked if he was Joshua, but she was afraid he might say no.

Saying Goodnight

Today, my family and I are laughing and crying as we remember the life of my almost 90-year-old grandfather. He is one of the strongest characters in the story of our family, and our memories seem endless. At dinner tonight, I remembered a beautiful passage from a book I recently read.

The Hummingbird's Daughter is the story of Teresa (Teresita) Urrea, a young girl who was believed to have healing powers given to her by God after rising from the dead after three days. After her ressurection, she speaks with the old curandera, Huila, about life after death. Huila is worried because she knows she will die soon, and Teresita says that she will not be able to come back the way she has. Huila is somewhat afraid of death. But, Teresita reassures her that is like when you have a baby that is refusing to fall asleep. You know it's what their body needs, and you are sure that as soon as they fall asleep, their face will have that look of peace, and they will even smile and sometimes laugh. So, you endure their screaming and squirming because you know how important that sleep is and that is the only way to achieve that peace.

Fifteen years ago, my grandfather dropped dead in the living room. An off-duty police officer heard my grandmother's 911 call and arrived in time to do CPR until the paramedics arrived. The whole family gathered around him to say goodbye, but he wasn't ready to say goodnight just yet. He fought, and he fought hard. That fight allowed him to see four grandchildren graduate both high school and college, two grandchildren get married, and two great-grandchildren enter this world and giggle at his touch. Today, he laid down for a nap and never woke up. He was finally ready to say goodnight.

Peace in the Backyard

In the past few weeks, we have received a new student in my class that I'll call Jack. He is quite large and looks older than most of the children. He is very quiet and withdrawn. He struggles to keep his temper under control. The students quickly picked up on his mood and avoided him as readily as he avoided them.

I have another student who I have blogged about before, Shawn. He is eager for attention and has a genuinely big heart. He also misses social cues when it comes to another student. We've had to talk repeatedly that when the little girl he's crushing on screams, "Shut-up" at him over and over, he probably should consider leaving her alone. Shawn also is fairly small and has more of a little boy appearance to him.

One day, my co-teacher and I were in the middle of a conversation off to the side of how to begin to incorporate our new student into our class and into a group. Suddenly, my para came over to get my attention. Shawn had pulled his chair up next to Jack and was animatedly telling him a story. Jack looked unsure, but was tolerating the story, for lack of a better word. I couldn't tell what Shawn was saying, but it was the most I'd seen him talk to anyone but a teacher in a long time.

Watching them, I had this image of my brother-in-law's black lab who once lived with their toy dachshund. They were brothers and protective of each other. But sometimes, the tiny one would yap and yap in the big dog's face, and the lab would just stare at him. We were always happy they got along but terrified that at any given moment the lab could snap and eat the dachshund for breakfast.

Thankfully, at the moment, there is still peace in the backyard.