It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas (and National Day)

For those of you who didn't know I'm going to Ireland for Christmas- in 3 days! To be honest, I can't wait to get out of Doha for a little while. I like it here but I'm in a festive mood and Doha's Christmas celebrations leave much to be desired. Even my students asked me last week, "Miss, we will decorate for Christmas in the class??" Sadly, no small ones. Papa Noel is not allowed, even though 75 % of them have told me about their Christmas parties/invited me to them/want to decorate. I think we'll make some Frosty's next week- he's nice and non religious. I am a little nervous for the whole meet-the-extended-Irish-family-including-thirty four aunts and uncles-a hundred and forty-seven cousins-grandparents-whole village-Christmas celebrations but I'm sure I'll survive without too many psychic scars.

One thing Doha does do festively though is National Day. If you recall my post from last year, you will remember that glitter, cars with children protruding from rooftops, enormous national flags, and impromptu street dancing are all involved. National Day is today- and last night Blaine and I walked along the Corniche Road and fortunately saw all of these things again. I have lots of pictures -Here's a few and I'll put the rest on Facebook if you're interested. It's such a strange display- it's a lot like the Fourth of July (my favorite holiday) except on speed because everyone is loaded and gas only costs a nickel anyway.




Reason number 527 I need a vacation:
"Misssssss!Iloveyoutoomuch!CanIgotothetoilet?!YouknowmyfatherisinAffffffffrica?!"
"Omar! Do you know why you're on the sad face list?"
"For talking, Miss!"
"That's right, Omar. So what do you think you should do?"
"Stop talking, Miss!"
"That's right, Omar."
"Okay. Okay, Miss."
[Twenty five seconds later]
"Missssssssssss! I love you toooo much! CanIgotothetoilet?IcanNOTwait!"

Every. Day.

Someone please give me a sentence...

I know I've been missing from blogland for a few weeks, and I apologize again. As usual. I've been busy with school etc. since I last wrote. More specifically, busy navigating the complexities of teaching second grade English to a bunch of Muslim children in a conservative Muslim country. We're reading fairy tales this year - seemingly innocent, right? You can tell a fairy tale any way you want and still have the same ending. There is surely a totally acceptable, approved version that I'm teaching. No possible issues could arise here, right? Wrong.

Just last Wednesday:
"Someone please give me a sentence for handsome."
[Silence]
"Okay, who can tell me what 'handsome' means? Yes, Ali?"
"Miss handsome means nice to see, like beautiful."
"Exactly, yes! Like beautiful, but we use it for a boy. Now someone give me a sentence for handsome."
"I saw a handsome prince."
[Small silent giggles and shifty eyes cascade around the classroom]
"Good. Thank you. Now, our next word is married. Who can give me a sentence for married?"
[Silence. I know this will go nowhere.]
"Okay, how about 'The princess married the prince.'?"
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!! Miss!!!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!
"Miss! Miss! No, put 'The princess married the princess.' It's better."
"Uhhhhmmm [Shit! Shit! What do I say???] well, I don't know......maybe. Maybe some places. *Fastest sentence I've ever said in my life.* Not here though. Let's say it this way. Please write it the way I have it on the board."

I know the ridiculous (and hilariously instantaneous) burst of laughter is due to their being seven years old, but how do you field even these innocent ideas of sexuality in a place that doesn't acknowledge any difference in orientation? Difficult, to say the least. I have no desire to lose my job and be deported (obviously) or give them a false sense of what their reality is, so what else could I say?

Follow this scene with two boys playing with something under their desk...rifling pages....whispering.
"Boys! [Jump out of their seats with guilty faces] What's this?!"

What do you think I see under their desk? Bugs? Notes? Toys? Basketballs? No. (All things I have seen though.) A copy of Sleeping Beauty, which we will read in March, open to the page of the prince kissing her awake.

"Misstyfelice! You see?? It is haram (sinful/forbidden). He is kissing her on her MOUTH!! Ewwwww. Is haram!"
"Put the book away, please. Don't bring this until we need it and I tell you to bring it to school. Or you might lose it. Then you won't have it when we need it."
"But Miiiiiissssss! It is haram."
"Well.... it's not haram because they get married. [Maybe?] Now put it away and pay attention."

Sigh. I can't even imagine what March will be like.

The black hole that is First Grade...

Little boys will discourage me from breeding yet...

[Door opens]
Ahmed: MISS!!! My pants wet! From the toilet.
Me: It's fine, Ahmed. Only water. It will dry. It's ok. Now go back to your seat.
Ahmed: No, Miss. Not water.
Me: ....What.
Ahmed: In the toilet...there is naughty boy! He take his [points to his below the belt area] and make like this [puts his finger right at his crotch and makes spraying motion].
*Sigh*

Or even worse....
[Door bangs open] MIIIISSSSS!!!!! In the toilet....there is a boy, very naughty! In his hands he take CA-CA! and he make like this [throws his hands in the air as another human might sprinkle confetti.]

WHAT is it with little boys and the toilet. I might start forbidding them to go.

Another one picks his nose and eats it...and now I know exactly when he's doing it because I will suddenly hear a chorus of five girls, "MISS! Mohammed, again he put his finger in his nose..and in his mouth!! Disgusting, Miss!" And Thursday afternoon, I looked over at Abdulrahman, quietly resting his head on his wheely backpack...and *double take* licking the wheel to make it turn.

Getting used to the difference between first and second grade might take some practice, too. I've discovered that Grade 2 students are certainly far more mature. Like yesterday, when I caught Kareem writing a love note to Fatima after their spelling test. I had told them to take out their books and read while the last few were finishing and out of the corner of my eye I see Kareem doodling at his desk.

I went over to take his scribbling away and put it in the trash and see "I LOVE YOU FATIMA" on a page torn out of his notebook. Could not even open my mouth to give out to him. I had to glide past and go erase the board so no one would see me laughing. Kareem is goofy and never stops talking while Fatima is the quietest, best behaved girl in the class. Watching him look at her slyly over his shoulder for the rest of the day almost made up for his abysmal spelling results.

Other than school news, life is going well in Sand-Land. There's still not much to do in Doha (last weekend I saw four of my students in the shopping mall). It's still sweltering, but the humidity is beginning to die down a little bit. And last weekend Blaine and I went out for our anniversary (eee) - one year. I can't believe it's been so long, especially considering none of my 'dating' experiences with the eligible non-brain-dead male population at BC ever progressed past a second date. Guess I finally got interesting. So we went to the restaurant we went to for our first date and had to refuse a fine bottle of an exclusive vintage water (it's not in a hotel so water is what you get, not wine). And then after our dinner, the manager gave us a free dessert! It was like they knew. Or like they remembered the awkward, clumsy, secretly elderly couple from last October and were impressed we can finally coordinate conversation and eating. All out, a very nice night topped off by ice cream (yes, after a piece of chocolate cake...but since Blaine doesn't like chocolate or cake- freak, I know- and I never say no to ice cream..) at Haagen-Daaz. So all's well for now.

Miss Batty

Ding ding! Round 2.

The moral of week 1: Little boys can't control themselves.

In Grade 1F:
I have a peeping tom and a flasher. Should work out well for them.
I have another boy who has never been to school (or seen other children before apparently). Generally it takes six tries for him to respond to his own name. He also cannot open or close his own pants. He also booty dances around the room shaking his rather large butt in the other kids faces when he wants a pencil or an eraser. I wish I didn't want to laugh at him.
Another boy only wants to dance. Instead of doing his mental maths today he jumped out of his chair exclaiming, ""Miss! I make dance!" and wowed me with some pretty sweet Gumby moves for a five old. Thanks, MJ.

In Grade 2C:
I have confiscated: two rulers, six pencil cases, one Bakyugan pencil sharpener the size of a softball, two baseball caps, one Matchbox car, and three water bottles.
During spelling: "MISSSSSSSSSS!!!!! MISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTYFELICE! I spill!!"
Well....WHY do you have chocolate milk out during spelling?!?!?

Our language lesson was about family this week..one little boy told me, "Miss! I have no sisters! Four brothers only." God bless your mother.

Welcome back.

And so it begins again...

Hello again! Back for round two in the desert. I've been getting resettled in Doha and into a routine (finally!). School starts again on Monday. I am the class teacher for 1F and the English teacher for 2C. Bye-bye babies! Thank God. Pictures of my new classroom to be posted soon. I get to teach science. Week one- 'observing seeds.' Can't wait. 

Also, the notorious kindergarten child moving up into first grade? 1F. Into my class. All of the assistant teachers keep saying, "AHHHH MOHAMMED*! You have Mohammed? Ah, is too much." Can't wait.

Snack time

[Sitting at my desk correcting a few final worksheets for them]

Small spastic child: Teacha! Teacha! Miss Patreesia!
Me: [turn to child] Yes, what do you nee...
Small spastic child: Eat! [Shoves a Cocoa Puff into my mouth while I'm still talking] Eat! Eat!

I don't even like Cocoa Puffs.

You might think that's cute but all I can say is it's a good thing that tomorrow is the last day of school.

A is for Azerbaijan...

Can you name the countries that go with these flags?
How many adults do you know who can draw this many flags from memory?
Most brilliant kindergartener of all time? Possibly.

Trials, tribulations, and tokens

Everyone, breathe! Concerts are over- with minimal tears, waawaas (booboos), and failures. Almost everyone sang, almost everyone left their costumes alone (except one boy who refused his tail and two others who took their ears off on stage and played with them instead of singing), and only one girl cried (and she kept singing through her tears- yes, she is a champion.) We sang the Itsy Bitsy Spider, the Wheels on the Bus, and Five Little Monkeys- all very successful. Especially Five Little Monkeys- I'm almost certain that the Greek Embassy across the street could hear their stomping on the stage. Some of the parents came up to me afterwards saying things like, "Ahhhh Miss Batreesa thank you so much! It is too much hard work you do for them" or "Ah it is lovely! Thank you Miss Batreesa!" or "God help you." That's right it's too much hard work. You should have seen me twenty minutes ago safety pinning tails and monkey stomachs on them and trying to keep them quiet in the back room of the stage.

But in the aftermath of the concert and the school year winding down, I'm returning to teaching life skills. Like tying your shoes. I obviously know children cannot tie their own shoes until they are taught but I just assumed that you teach your kid that before you send it to school to settle on an unsuspecting teacher. The only reason I discovered their serious lack of shoe-tying/velcroing skills is that the kids had to take their shoes off for our practices. Time to go back to class. Now, Choose Your Own KG1B Adventure:
1. Child lurks near my knees while holding its shoes and patting my upper thigh. Miss Batreesa Miss Batreesa Miss Batreesa Miss Batreesa Miss Batreesa
or
2. Child attempts to put on its own shoes. Because I am occupied by those who are making choice #1, I do not notice that 70% of them have put their shoes on the wrong feet until we return to class. How did they even walk that way?

I realized before I could teach them how to tie their shoes I had to show them which shoe goes on which foot. So yesterday after lunch consisted of me explaining a. the difference between left and right b. the difference between the inside and the outside of their foot and c. the difference between the inside and the outside of their shoe. Then I took their shoes away, threw them in a pile in the front of the room, had them get their shoes and put them back on. Minor chaos ensued and semi-successful outcome. Everyone got their shoes on the correct feet... eventually. We practiced again today. Maybe something we do until the last day.

And now for the final segment of my thoughts, tokens. Tokens of love and appreciation and personality insight from four year olds. To start this story off, for those of you who are wondering, yes it's summer again. With a vengeance. My glasses have started fogging up again when I go outside (the opposite of what used to happen in Boston). Today's high- 112. And today's special- P.E. Outdoor P.E. because KG1 doesn't rate gym time. Outdoor P.E. was all well and good when it was only 85 but now that the temps are consistently triple digits, I don't think it's safe to have four year olds running around in the desert. Plus they start to whine and I can't handle that. So today's P.E. consisted of me loosing the boys on the sole patch of grass on the grounds underneath a few struggling trees. Immediately I had three boys around me- "Teacher! For you!" "Miss Patreesa, for you!!" "Miss Batreesia, take!"

Any guesses as to what they were holding? Leaves. Tiny leaves scattered all over the grass. Then, all the boys wanted in. So every 2 seconds was punctuated by, "Miss Patreesa!!" and me receiving five new leaves. Until I had in my hands a pile of approximately 738 leaves.

"Miss Patreesa, take to your home!"
"Miss Patreesa, nice?"
"Miss Batreesia, from you!"
"Miss Patreesa, show to your mommy!"

Then some of them surpassed all bounds of sanity and starting breaking branches off the bushes and giving them to me..."Put for your hair Miss Patreesa!" "Miss Patreesa, put here! [points to my ear]" So of course, I did. Which immediately prompted, "Teacher, you crazy!" Thank you, Rayan. But he made up for it by running up to me shortly after, wrapping himself around my leg and saying, "Teacher, you beauty!"

I may have officially lost it. Putting tree branches in my hair? Where are they getting this vibe from? What do I do in class that gives them this idea about me? One of the other teachers did call me 'earthy' last week....

Point taken I suppose.

Who is that woman and why is she wearing my shoes?

Now I have to say it's been an interesting year. 371 days ago I said good-bye to a beautiful place that was my home for four years. But I also left behind a life of which I had never imagined myself outside. I was that girl who loved school her whole life. Absolutely loved it. That girl who was happier in Bapst Library than in Mary Ann's bar. Am I where I thought I would be last year? Yes and no. Physically, yes. Every other way, no. Every time I walk into the classroom I think to myself, What are you doing? Who are you pretending to be? When I received my bachelor's degree in literature and philosophy last year did I think I would be spending my days teaching thirty four year old children how to sneeze into their arms instead of my face? Anyone who knows me asks me what am I doing. And generally for a video tape of a day in my classroom.

I spend a lot of time here feeling like I'm living someone else's life- and it's not just the snot wiping, jacket zipping, shoe tying parts of it. That's most of it. It's the big girl job, but it's also the boyfriend, the black tie ball, the nice restaurants, the school concerts, the chaperoning field trips, the going to bed at 9 pm. Everything rolled into one. What's going on here? How did this happen to me? How did I become Daytime Mommy to thirty other people's children when I don't even desire my own? I thought I would be teaching high school. But this year has shown me that I can do this- I can do something I've never done before, that I never thought I would do, and honestly, that I've never wanted to do and never want to do again. After the first week, I wasn't sure how I would make it through the year. I still have that thought every once in a while, like when a child hasn't eaten any lunch for the fifteenth day in a row and I have to tell him that he needs to eat his sandwich so he can become Spiderman. And then tell him to take crocodile bites and actually hold the sandwich to his mouth. (See? Who was she?)

But like it or not, that is my life for the next TWENTY NINE DAYS and then I'm out of KG1B for a much needed two month vacation. Next year I'll be returning but tentatively to first and second grade which is something I'm really looking forward to. After having worked with actual babies, substituting for first and second graders is a dream. You can open your own books? You can write your own names? You can pull up your own pants? (Most of the time anyway.) Sign me up!

Now I will say that I enjoy the job most days and mostly I'm grateful that I have a job in a time when many people I graduated with were not so fortunate to find one. I can pay off my loans, pay my bills, and travel freely. So even though I'm not exactly where I want to be right now, I'm trying to remember that I'm 23 and when you're 23 and the economy sucks (or even when it doesn't) you probably won't be able to do exactly what you want right away. And since I don't know what it is that I actually want anyway, this is ok. Besides, this going to Turkey, Dubai, and India on my term holidays isn't so bad.

PS- On Saturday I was helping Blaine out with the concerts for Grade 3 and 4- just keeping children relatively orderly while waiting for their turn on stage. At the end, many parents came up to thank those of us who were there helping out:
Mom: "Ah thank you so much for helping! It is lovely today! You work here?"
Me: "Thank you, yes, I do. I'm a teacher here as well. I work in the Infants' School."
Mom: "Ahhhhh [speaks in Arabic to her friends] yes we thought you were a student!"

Hint: At the point when I said "Yes, I teach here," you should have stopped that line of conversation and not told me I look like a high schooler. Even though in honesty, 2/3 of the twelfth graders are twice my size in every direction. I'm still kind of mortified that five years after I graduated from high school and a year after I graduated from college, that someone still thought I was a high schooler. That embarrassed me when I was in high school. Ah well. At least she had on great flats.

By the numbers...

Number of working days until the school year is over: 28.

Number of concerts I have to organize: 1.
Number of songs I have to perfect with four year olds: 3.
Number of four year olds I have to make monkey costumes for: 28.
Number of four year olds I have to prevent from falling off a stage: 28.
Number of four year olds who will probably sing in the concert: 7.
Number of parents/nannies/siblings I have to impress: upwards of 75.

Number of working days until the concert: Not enough.

Words of admonition from Ms. Batreesa during rehearsal today: "EXCUSE ME but if I EVER see you untying another person's shoe laces during practice, you will NOT be in the concert! I never want to see that again!"

Sometimes when I say things like that, I think about the fact that I still owe BC a relatively large fortune.
And then I think about the fact that I have no desire to have children. For a very. long. time.

All you need is love...

The bounds of extreme love and extreme hate are fairly easily reached in KG.

From 'Teacher, I love you 11,' we've rapidly progressed to:
"Miss Batreesa, I love you sixtyhundredsixtyten."
"Teacher, I love you zerofifteeneightsixninefiveonehundredm."
"Miss Batreesa, I like you six hundred twenty-two."
"Teacher, I like you like that!" [Holds up all ten fingers]
"Teacha! Teacha!" [Grabs my hand, pulls my arm down, and plasters me with kisses. Starting at my hand and working up to my neck and then back down. Whoa child.]

General response:
"Oh my GOODNESS, that's such a big number! Thank you! I love you that much also."

A sampling of KGWWE Smacktalk:
"Teacher, he say for me x!"
"Teacher, she make like this for me!" [Sticks out tongue]
"Teacher, he say for me absent!"
"Teacher, she say for me wrong!"
And my personal favorite from lunchtime yesterday, "Miss Batreesa, she say for me this not sandwich!"

General response:
"Are you hurt? Are you x? Are you absent? Is that a sandwich? Then you're fine. Tell her that is not nice and that is all. It's not nice to tell on your friends. Only tell me if you are hurt."

Hello Summertime...

I walked out of my apartment this morning to an absolutely suffocating blast of heat. At 6 am. The sweat was practically dripping off my nose. Even on the bus. At 6 am. I had on a sweater and pants. M.i.s.t.a.k.e.
I forgot what this is like. And it's only going to get worse from here because the temperature will be going UP instead of down, like it was when we got here in August.

Today's high: 111.
Current temperature (7 pm): 97.
Accuweather Real Feel: 114.

In honor of Mother's Day...

Sometimes I think I'm turning into one of them:

"Now, let's count....zero, one, two, three...Yes, is this very important?"
"I want go home."
"Me too. Later. After math....four, five, six...YES? Is this very important? Do you need to go to the bathroom? Are you hurt?"
"I want mommy."
"Well, me too. I want my mommy too. And my mommy lives very far away and I won't get to see her until July."
"Where your mommy?"
"She lives very far away. In America."
"Why?"
"Because that is where her house is. That is where my family lives, where I am from."
"She will visit you in Qatar?"
"No, she will not visit me in Qatar."
"Why?"
"Because it is too far."
"So what your mommy name?
"My mommy's name? Her name is Geri."
"HAHAHAHAHHAHA NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Yes! Her name is Geri. Why?"
"Hahahahahaha Geri! Hahahaha and your daddy name Tom? Hahahaha!"

Is it bad that I appreciate their Tom and Jerry humor? I have to say though, pretty clever for a bunch of four year olds.

Thanks, Mom. I love you!

Easy as 1, 2, 3...

You would think from this expression that counting could possibly be one of the easiest concepts to grasp. One, two, three... Everyday we count from 0-10 countless times, and no pun intended there. Literally could not tell you the number of times we do it. We count forwards, backwards, on our fingers, on our number lines, on the board, on the big numbers I have over the board, we count shapes, blocks, children, we whisper, we shout, we increase from our zero voices to our ten voices (them shouting and dancing), etc.

And yet...

Me: Okay, let's count the pictures on the board. Ibrahim*, please come here and count the balloons.
Ibrahim: One, two, three.....six... four...six...nine....five.....
Me: What?! (I know I shouldn't but sometimes I can't help it.) Ibrahim. Count again. One, two, three...What comes after three, Ibrahim?
Ibrahim: [Vacant Silence]
Me: Come on, Ibrahim. You know this. What comes after three? Look at your number line.
Ibrahim: [Pondering Silence] Four.
Me: Very good, Ibrahim!!!!! Very good. Four. Four comes after three. Sometimes or all the time?
Ibrahim: [Pondering Silence] Oll...oll the time.
Me: VERY good! Now, we have one, two, three, four- what comes after four, Ibrahim?
Ibrahim: [Extended Pondering Silence] Three.
Me: [Silently ripping out hair] Three? Try again, Ibrahim. Look, number three comes BEFORE number four. Look, see? One, two, three, four- what's next?
Ibrahim: [Extended Pondering Silence Take 2] Fffff...five. Five.
Me: VERY GOOD, IBRAHIM! Excellent. Five comes after four. Sometimes or all the time?
Ibrahim: Oll....oll the time, teacher.
Me: Excellent, Ibrahim! Very good. Ok, high five!

Every. Day.

Kerala, Dubai, and just a bit of Doha

So for anyone who was curious, the baby shower went over quite well. And even though I'm not the biggest fan of babies, nor is my co-host Miss Alex, we had an inordinately good time choosing baby items in the clothes shop. Problem? Possibly. So THANKS for the advice from various sources. We had a lot of food and a game of musical chairs that got rather heated but everything ended well. The mother-to-be (who is my age) was really happy and she has since given birth to her son! From stalking her facebook he looks not as wrinkly or slimy as most babies appear and seems to be enjoying a few of his shower gifts already.

It's been a busy few weeks since I blogged last and I never wrote about India so here goes. I traveled with three of the girls from school and we stayed in a small bed and breakfast type place right on the beach. I keep choosing the right traveling companions- much like Turkey, our trip comprised heavily of bouncing from one meal to the next. Except this time it wasn't Arctic weather. Perfection. It was so quiet- we were the only people on the beach except the fishermen and their boats. I get the impression that traveling in Kerala is kind of like India-Lite- as evidenced by the fact that we were the only people on the beach. But it still it took us 3 hours to drive 45 km. The 'highway' through most of Southern India is a semi-paved two lane road that winds through a multitude of towns and tiny catchall shops on every corner. We drove to the very southernmost point of India where three bodies of water meet- the Indian Ocean, the Bay of Bengal, and the Arabian Gulf. One day we went to an elephant rehabilitation center, where elderly elephants rescued from horrible tourist places or poachers are cared for, especially when they can't be rereleased into the wild. There were about seven elephants there and we were so close to them-basically my childhood dream come true! One of them put its trunk on my head which was simultaneously really cool and a touch unpleasant.

We also went for a hike in a nature reserve at the edge of the jungle and saw a waterfall. I've never seen a waterfall before and secretly felt like Pocahontas while I was sitting on a rock observing. And then a gust of wind swirled some leaves down from the trees and it was basically proof that I can sing with all the colors of the wind. Even though I sometimes struggle to sing along in tune with the four year olds to the Alphabet Song. To complete the day we watched the sun set from atop the Western Ghats (we drove- let's not pretend I'm someone I'm not- up the mountain on a road with 22 hairpin turns and no guardrails).

Most of our other days were fairly low-key. Mostly involving the beach and shopping and random things like going to the innkeeper's friend's house. This friend was a florist and had a massive greenhouse/garden full of tropical plants and orchids. It was gorgeous but probably not the average tourist destination. There were so many orchids. And also a random cow (of which we saw many throughout the week) which tried to eat my skirt. We also took a ride on a houseboat that went along the backwaters of Kerala. It was very peaceful and we went past a lot of local homes along the river. Even though we weren't staying in a resort or anything, we didn't really encounter any of the storied poverty associated with Mumbai or Calcutta, owing to Kerala's relative sparseness of population density. Here along the river we saw more sights and homes that made me think about the reality of where we were. The positive thing about traveling in Kerala is that many of the tourist sites are managed by local people and the fees go directly to support the local communites that manage them. Our last day we went shopping for some clothes- saris and churidars (aka the tunic top and skinny pants). We thought we were off to a bazaar area but our hotel owner and her daughter definitely took us to the Indian Macy's. All the better because we got really nice clothes but we were definitely the only non-Indians there. We had some stares, especially since I was traveling with the Blonde Brigade. Leaving was so sad but it was nice to get home. The hotel owner, Matthew, drove us to the airport with his wife and daughters, even though our flight was at 3 am. They were such a nice family and it was really pleasant to stay with real people and not in a fake five star hotel somewhere.

Blaine and I also went to Dubai for Easter weekend which was really nice. While we were there I realized all of the things Doha needs before it becomes a proper city ready to host a World Cup. Examples: public transportation, taxi drivers who know where destinations like the airport are, beaches that cost less than one hundred dollars to use, sidewalks, destinations outside shopping malls, highways, traffic lights, NO ROUNDABOUTS, landscape architecture. In short, urban planning. Here we did go for the fake five star hotel option and I have to say it is a fabulously acceptable option in a place like Dubai, especially when you book it for about one quarter of its normal price. As a result, my tan is coming along quite nicely and I picked up some things that I can't get in Doha. Namely Twizzlers. A girl can maintain her candy standards anywhere these days.

And on a more local note, of all the designer stores available to me here in Doha, I've realized that my favorite place in town is definitely the Home Centre. For being a somewhat undomestic type of girl I certainly spend a lot of time (and paycheck celebrations) perusing its wares. Thursday, with no one to stop me, I spent and hour and a half browsing the store. Sample of my purchases Thursday afternoon: a wooden elephant hanging for the wall, two new mugs, placemats, and a new spice rack. It was totally ok...there's a sale on.

The sale goes until May 14...

Surprise!

So today I unexpectedly discovered that I'm hosting a baby shower for one of the assistant teachers. On Saturday. One of the women is pregnant and I asked my assistant if anyone was having a baby shower for her. Both of them are Filipina so I asked her if baby showers are something they do in the Philippines and she said yes. Now her English wouldn't be the best but she seemed to understand fine. And I said if there was one for her to let me know, because I wanted to get her a blanket or onesie or something for the baby.

Then today one of the other assistants says to me, 'So Saturday will be okay for you? For the party? It is okay at your apartment?" REWIND. Apparently they thought I was offering to hold a baby shower for this woman. And that baby showers aren't something they do in the Philippines. Oh, language barrier.

How do I get myself into these situations? I've never even BEEN to a baby shower. Help, please.

Jokes, jokes...

I promise to write about India this week but I just want to alert the world that kindergarteners are ill prepared to understand jokes. Just in case anyone had big plans to elicit some laughs from the under fives.

Me: Ok, I'm going to tell you a joke. Do you want to hear it?!
Baybays: YES!!! Yes, Miss Batressa!
Me: Ok, so do you know what afraid means? What are you afraid of?
Baybays: Lions! Monsters! Dragons! Tigers!
Me: Ok, good! So afraid means scared. Now, why was six afraid of seven?
Baybays: Because he was a lion! Because he was a monster! (Cascades of laughter)
Me: No, because seven 'eight' nine!
Baybays: (Stunned silence).
Me: Ok, right? Because when you had your lunch before, you ATE it? Like number eight? They are the same word, right? Like number seven ATE number nine *NOM*?
Baybays: (Stunned silence).

So maybe homophones are a bit advanced for KG.

*Shout out to the lovely Kristin Heinze for the inspiration for both the title and the punny subject matter.

Blog Break!

Going to India for a week (Kerala to be specific)...out of the blogosphere for me.

Admit One to Doha

Lots of travel books describe Doha as a kind of Disneyland of the Arab world. The other day, I realized those books are right. I was sitting on a bus outside the Doha Port, waiting to be transported from the Port entrance to a floating book festival (you can see it already, right? Floating book festival?) and I couldn't stop myself from saying out loud, "We're living in an imaginary place. Do you ever feel like we're living in a pretend world, Alex?"

Thinking about it then, we came to the realization that it's true. Life here is like living in a theme park- an expensive one. With a lot of rules. Where lots of exciting looking rides are still under construction. Except you always wait in line for these rides, assuming they are open because the theme park is, and no one tells you otherwise until you get to the front of the line only to find a big sign that says CLOSED! Sometimes the sign isn't even there, the gate is just locked up instead. And the rides that are open are the ones you've been on dozens of times already. It's not that those rides aren't fun, it's just that you've ridden them every day since you've been to Dohaland.

Thus my presence on (and rapid departure from) a ship of books that quite possibly a Mission ship.

Stockholm Syndrome

Daily occurrence:

Me: Zero, One, Two, Three, Four...yes, Mariam? Is this an emergency? Are you bleeding? You have to go to the bathroom?
Mariam: Miss Batreesa, I love you!
Me: *Sigh* Thank you, Mariam. I love you too. Five, Six...

*Two hours later*

Me: [Bending over to a child's table erasing something] Yes, this is ok, but can you try again? Yes? Again?
*Knocked off balance by a swarm of children beneath my knees, calves, shins,etc.
Chorus of shouts: Miss Batreesa! I love you! I like you! Miss Batreesa, I love you ONE HUNDRED! Teacher, I love you ELEVEN! I love you EIGHT! I love you FOURTEEN! Teacher, I like you five!

I've decided that:
100 clearly means full marks
Eleven, eight, and fourteen are also pretty high in the scales. Considering we can only count to seven.
The dear child that said "I like you five!" is also going as high as he can intellectually fathom.


Unconditional love from children I hold hostage from 7 am until 2:10? Priceless.

Dismissal

2:10 pm.

Me: Waleed*, push in your chair and come! Islam, push in your chair and come! Rana, push in your chair and come! Rana? Rana! WHAT are you doing?
Rana: Washing my hands. [She's perched on a chair in front of the sink. With her (open) lunchbox dangling around her neck and some other child's jacket swung over her shoulders and pigtails.]
Rana's mother: [Shakes her head] God help you.
Me: Ha, ah, well... OMAR! WHAT IS THIS? Stop swinging your bag in the air- you will hit Reem! Sit down! ALI, sit down!
Rana's mother: You have children?
Me: Me? No, no. No children.
Rana's mother: I would like to see you have some after this job.

Me also.

Lions and Tigers and...Towers? Oh my.

So it's been a month since I've blogged and I apologize for those of you attempting to follow it. I feel as though I'm seven years old again, getting a new diary for my birthday, always writing that I never use diaries but THIS TIME, I will. The next entry generally followed 3 months later. Apparently my character has remained much the same since I was seven. At least I'm consistent. So apologies. But at least now there's more to update you on. I had an unexpected vacation last week- thank you Ministry of Education- so I went to Dubai for a few days. You know, no big deal. There seems to be a fixation in Dubai with the biggest, tallest, best, etc. It's Doha on steroids. We were in both the biggest mall and the tallest building in the WORLD. Did I mention they are connected? Compensating for something missing in the national psyche? Perhaps. The Burj Khalifa- tallest building in the world. The world. It's something like 852 meters high and the observation deck is 450 something. For those of you using the English system that's approximately 2500 and 1300 feet, respectively. The elevator ride took 60 seconds and felt like we weren't even moving. It actually towers over the other buildings in Dubai- many of which are skyscrapers. From the observation level, you can even catch a glimpse of The World, a man-made island development mirroring the Earth. Stop, I know. The World sits off the shore of Dubai. Literally no matter where you are in Dubai you can see this building. It's slightly ridiculous actually. Also, inside the Dubai Mall you can find: the entrance to the tallest building in the world, a fountain, a waterfall, an aquarium and underwater zoo, a gold souk, and an ice skating rink. Not to mention more shops and restaurants than you could shake a stick at. For those of you thinking, "What about the skiing in Dubai?" that's another shopping mall for another day. Also known as the Emirates Mall, which we also visited. Yes, you can ski indoors. Yes, there is a chairlift to the top. Yes, there are windows that overlook the shopping mall and restaurants. Exploring these two massive places consumed much of our time in Dubai, although we did take a trip to the Palm Jumeirah (another man-made island chain, this one shaped like a palm tree) and a failed trip to the souks. Most of the rest of our time was spent on the beach. Yes, I got a tan. In February. Take that New England.

And since returning from Dubai, I feel like I've lived through a special circle of hell accessible only to school teachers: the field trip. To possibly the most dreaded of all locations: the zoo. The zoo. With KG children. Sixteen of them. And no outside chaperones. Pure terror. Every possible scenario was haunting me for days. The week before, one boy raised his hand and in his British lilt lisps,
"Miss Patricia, Maybe we will see lions and tigers at the zoo?"
"Yes, Ali*, maybe."
"Miss Patricia, if we see the lions and the tigers perhaps I will open the door and put Rana* inside."
"Oh rea...ALI! That's not nice. We don't say things like that!"
Meanwhile Rana actually drives me to the brink of insanity and I turn to Miss Christine and couldn't stop myself from saying, "Me also." Fortunately for everyone, Rana did not attend.

Now the bus ride was hilarious. All they wanted to do was sing "The Wheels on the Bus." No surprise there considering we sing that song on a daily basis. All things said, the Doha Zoo is not the nicest place I've been here. Some of the animals were caged in very small and cage-y looking places. But the children really did love seeing the 'e-e-elephant!" and the 'g-g-giraffe!" and the 'z-z-zebra!" and especially the 'M-M-MONKEYS!" Not sure if I was more afraid of the monkeys inside or outside the cage. Especially once I bought a bag of popcorn and started feeding them- the ones outside the cage, that is. They loved it. I used to be terrified at the thought of taking my own children to public places for fear that I would lose them, but after taking sixteen children to the ZOO for the day, I think I might be able to handle anything that comes my way considering I'm not planning on becoming the next Mrs. Duggar.

Unfortunately, now the zoo is all they talk about. Much as I am relieved nothing went wrong and no children were eaten by lions or kidnapped by perverts, it's not an experience I would like to repeat any time soon. Yesterday a child said to me, "Teachel?! I want dough to da zoo adain! With you and Miss Kisstine"
Not for fame or money, small one. Not for fame or money.

Bill Cosby WAS right...

Discussing new vocabulary - 'People who help us'


"And whose mommy or daddy is a doctor?"
"My daddy nurse and mommy doctor"
"Oh really? Very nice Lara. Yes, Rayan? Is your daddy a nurse too?"
"No teacher. My daddy Batman."
"Reallyyyyyyyy Rayan? Your daddy is Batman? How do you know?"
"Yes Miss Patreesa." [Sings Batman theme song.]

"And how do the police help you? Yes, Ali?"
"They catch the naughty boys in the cars." [Said with a lisp.]

"How do teachers help you? Yes, Ian?"
"To learn!"
"Excellent, Ian! How else? Mansoor?"
"In the school!"
"Very good, Mansoor! And how else? Ghadi?"
"And and and in the toilet!" [This actually is my job.]

Procrastination is not something I left behind in college...

I've truly been meaning to post another blog for quite some time but some things have gotten away with me... Prime among them - winter vacation, Istanbul, Florence and the Machine, children, and kitchen waterfalls. I'm going to leave the last one for a later date considering the voracity of my immediate wrath is already being heard two floors down. However winter vacation was fantastic and the trip to Istanbul was incredible. We were there for five days (which included three Christmas celebrations and much baklava) and saw Alex's friend from college whose parents live in Istanbul. We spent most of our time hopping from cafe to cafe...basically my perfect vacation. Also Turkey was freezing- only by my current standards of course - with the temp hovering between 6 and 10 Celsius which is a positively balmy spring day in Boston. Obviously I'll need to up my Jack London quota before I return to the Northeast Corridor. Also, if you've never heard of Florence and the Machine, check her out. She basically lives in my mental soundtrack these days.

Since this blog is clearly all about children I'd like to bring them back into the equation and stop pretending. First of all, I received a new student after the new term in January. Literally teaching royalty now. So strange to think that I live somewhere that a member of the royal family could be (and is) in my kindergarten class. Also mildly terrifying. Granted the royal family here is gigantic...but still. Hello, microscope.

I love that most of them have some capacity for English now because they are obsessed with telling me stories. For example,
"Teacher!"
"If you need to ask me something, raise your hand. *Pause* Yes, Ian?"
"Teacher, Me I take you...me take you.... Me and Ghadi and Steve and Abbas...we take you...you come...my jet...we take you, we go...we go...we go to the Lebanon!"
"Realllllyyy Ian? We will fly in your jet to Lebanon?! You will take me?"
"Nods. Yes and we go *whooosh* too much fast."
"OOooooo thank you Ian! I've never been to Lebanon."

Or, after telling them that my stove is broken and that no one will fix it for me. (My wrath was seeping over into my workday that day. I woke up to an inch of standing water on my kitchen floor AND the bus was late. To give you some perspective I had just slipped a note under the Head of Maintenance's door. Written in red pen.)
"Now is it important to have a cooker (yes some of the things we teach them are so British) in your house? Why?"
"Yes Teacher! To make hot the food!! Cooker! (Cooker was our vocab word last week ('In the Kitchen') which is how I justified this incursion into classtime.)"
"Yes, very good! Excellent! Now when it is broken shouldn't we fix it? Yes, Ghadi?"
"Teacher me I fix for you!"
"Ah ah! Me I fix??" **I'm waging a serious war on "Me I..."
"Teacher, I fix for you! Me I bring you...PURPLE cooker."
"Oh Thank you Ghadi!" **Couldn't even bring myself to correct him that time.

I've also taken to dispensing with 'song time' because there are more important issues discuss. Maybe you can learn good lessons from The Wheels on the Bus... life goes on? Don't miss the bus? Moving on, instead I now shed insights on some of life's bigger questions. For example:
1. Why it is disgusting to pick your nose. Yes I use the word disgusting and not yucky, gross, or icky. Yes they try to repeat it. Yes it's hilarious. But yes they will have a real vocabulary and not that baby talk drivel that I desperately hate. I also told them their fingers could get stuck that way. I AM MY MOTHER.
2. Why it is forbidden to play with guns in my class.
3. Why the most important thing to do is try their best.
4. The difference between the right thing and the wrong thing and a good thing and a bad thing.
And finally, my favorite thus far....
5. The difference between the truth and a lie.
Yesterday I actually posed the question, "What is the truth?"

This is what happens when you hire a Philosophy major to teach kindergarten.