Americana

In honor of Thanksgiving last Thursday, we had a little American adventure for P.E. last week. Usually I go for the soothing, non-contact options when I'm teaching P.E.- especially since my experience with 'Chase the Teacher' with KG1 in my first year. Mistake. Involved a lot of blood and nurse's visits. We frequently partake of yoga, hula hooping, obstacle races and the like. Last week I thought I'd give something a little more traditional a try. So, though my hand-eye coordination ranks alongside that of a blindfolded penguin and my own gym class experiences range from mildly traumatic to soul excoriating levels, I thought I might try a little sporting action with the boys while the girls were at swimming.

Considering I have twenty boys in my class, I thought baseball would be the perfect sport to try. This also considers that baseball is the only sport I understand the rules of and don't overly fear resulting traumatic spinal injuries in children.

[After they have 'warmed up' by walking, marching, skipping, and tiptoeing around the cushioned play area]

Me: Today I will teach you a new game. It's very fun and it's a game we play in my country.
[Excited glances and whispers dart up and down the line]
Me: Who knows what baseball is? Has anyone seen baseball on TV? Have you heard of baseball?
[Two or three hands go up, tentatively. Probably the same hands that would go up if I asked, 'Who knows who is the Prime Minister of Kyrgyzstan?']
Me: Ok. Who knows cricket? (Immediately 12 hands shoot up) Good. It's like cricket! I will show you.

Honestly, once they had the cricket reference, I barely needed to show them anything. (Probably better really). Mark my words, MLB, I have discovered an ore of untapped baseball talent. Dodgers short on fielders? Head to Karachi. Cubs need pitchers? Look into Colombo's classrooms. These kids had serious talent. Beaned it out of the enclosed areas and had the ball knocking off KG2 doors all around us. Every time. I figured I'd have to let them hit four or five times each....most of them hit the ball on the second swing. They loved it and can't wait to play next week at P.E. now; as one little one told me,
"Thish baysheball berry nishe!!!"

From the mouths of babes.

Happy Thanksgiving

This year, I'm thankful for many things. Old friends and family, new opportunities, work, the internet, and Turkish Air. Finding the local parade online was the highlight of many turkey-less Thanksgivings abroad. (Chicken is a sup-par substitute). We did have dinner with all the other trimmings, even cranberry sauce (though sadly not the kind with the ridges of the can on it- which we all know is the best kind). It was still Ocean Spray though! Just in a jar.

Enjoyable though Dubai is, I am itching to get home at Christmas. Three years is just too many Christmases to miss. So, Turkish, thank you. When December 16th rolls around I'll be sitting in Ataturk, which is like the most expensive airport in the world, for a seven hour layover without a single care. I woke up on Friday and found an online Christmas station and played it the instant I woke up (and I'm not one of those people). Point being, I'll be spreading Christmas cheer loud and clear for all to hear -isn't that how that goes?- this year. 

At work things are going....well, they're going. Challenges continue to abound. Namely that I got a new student added to the roster; one who speaks neither Arabic nor English (nor French nor Tamil nor Urdu nor Mandarin nor any other language spoken by a child in my class) AND who has never set foot in a school before.  *Sigh* He IS trying, and in all fairness to him, very hard. But at the end of the day he struggles to comprehend the most basic of directions. 

Me: Please sit. Sit. In your chair. Chair. [points fruitlessly to chair] Please. Sit. 

Him: *Cocks his head quizzically* 

Me: [Sigh and start to mime. Again.] Sit, chair, sit. Stand, up, stand. Sit. Stand. Sit. Stand. Sit. Stand. 

Him: Ahhhhhh! Seeet! St-staand? Staaaand. Seeeet. 

Me: GOOD! Yes! Sit! Sit. Thank you.

Note to self: While learning this, keep him away from the boy who has a speech impediment so he doesn't run home saying "Sh*t! Chair! Sh*t! Sh*t."   

I know he is trying SO hard and I honestly can't imagine how sad and frustrated and exhausted he has to be at the end of the day. (Well, I kind of know about the exhausted part). I have to keep reminding myself of this so I don't lose it with him, or the rest of them when the class devolves into chaos as I try to help him get a grasp on these most basic of things while the rest of them try to solve subtraction problems. I know he'll get there in time, I just wish there was something I could do to tell him that and make it easier for him.

The other kids are trying to be friends with him and it's adorable and slightly heartbreaking. The day before he came to school I decided to give them a little warning. Mostly for his own sake actually so they wouldn't run up to him and start poking him like some specimen in their fascination:

Me: Now class, tomorrow we are going to have a new friend in our class! We must be very nice to him and help him learn because he is coming from another country and he won't be able to speak to any of us. Yes?

Student 1: Miss, where he from? He speak Arabic? 

Me: No, he doesn't speak Arabic. He doesn't speak English either. Or French. He might be sad because he won't understand us so we must be very nice and help him.Yes?

Student 2: What he speak? He speak Iran? 

Me: No, he's not from Iran. He doesn't speak Farsi. [Briefly wonder how this child who IS from Iran doesn't know the name of his own language] The important thing is that we help our new friend learn just like we did when we first started in school before, right? We will show him good ways to behave and how to do everything in class. 

Student 3: [Disregards raising his hand in total shock] MISS! You mean he know NOTHING? How he know NOTHING?!

Needless to say, this conversation did not go according to plan but it seems they took the message to heart anyway. His name is unfamiliar to most of them, so I will spontaneously hear, "MISS! Our new friend needs help!" or "MISS! Our new friend is standing!" or "Miss Matrisha (yes, a child genuinely calls me that and no, no amount of persuasion that my name is PA-tricia is  dissuading him) our new friend already take his lunch!" 

I spotted 'our new friend' at playtime wandering with one of the boys whose own English is negligible speaking and gesticulating with abandon, then the other boy did the same. I would love to know what both of them were talking about/thought they were talking about because neither one can communicate with me, much less each other. 

Entertained as always. 

Back to School- Part 3

There's good, bad and ugly of our new home in Dubai.

Here's how it is:

97% humidity. In 110 degree heat. Serious. Imagine how sexy my hair looks these days.

Our apartment has a gas oven. Every time I cook images of Sylvia Plath rise up unbidden. Anyone who knows me can only guess how my stove checking has increased tenfold.

My saintly patience and extra effort with Mr. One Hundred the Nudist from last year has been rewarded by the universe with the special class this year. Little to no English.
Right now we're at
Me: "Now. Class. Open. Your. Books. Open. Your. Books. OPEN. Your. Books." [Supplemented by repeated mimetic instructions.]
Students: *Crickets and blank stares*
Don't even ask about when it's time for, "Now. Let's. Turn. To. Page. 29. Page. 29. Page. 2. 9. Page. 29."

Which is one thing. It's another when I'm expected to be ON PACE with the curriculum (which requires fluency and literacy- something most of these kids lack in any language) by mid-year. At this point, I have more success as a mime. Give me strength. At least there is no sociopathic biting nudist this year.

Besides the gas oven our apartment is fantastic. All new, with new furnishings and appliances. And a flat screen TV. Shiny. AND our kitchen has a marble island (love). The bedroom closets are huge, which is great, but covered with floor to ceiling windows, which is weird. Huge bonus- almost all six of them are mine.

There's tons to do in Dubai, everything is more accessible, the beaches are gorgeous and practically free, and we filled up the tank of our car for 13.00. Thirty gallons for thirteen dollars. Amazing. 

Chapter 1

So it's been a busy month, yet again. April and the beginning of May have seen concerts come and go, a new job gotten, and a few chapter titles for the book that begs to be written out of this experience. 

Concerts were great this year, loved being able to get past the nursery rhymes into real songs this year. We sang Let's Go Fly a Kite, Surfin' in the USA (complete with swim caps and goggles), and I had them doing a yoga demonstration for the parents. They rocked the yoga, even if the parents were clueless and it was something different for them anyway. I wanted to go with Colors of the Wind for our song, but I thought that might be a little toooo crunchy. So great success anyway, no tears at all and no dramatic crises of children being pushed off the stage or bared backsides (yes, really, you will understand why this pleased me shortly). 

And I got a new job in Dubai for next year, so I'm really looking forward to moving out there.

Now, on to the novel. A few people have mentioned that this would make great reading, and considering the zillion absurdities I encounter on the daily I'm starting to agree. 

Chapter 1: Bare Ass Bandits

*9:20 am. Standing in the window of my class watching them settle after snack. Notice one boy adjusting his pants. Think nothing of it. Open door.*

Twenty seven voices: "MISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! When you are gone Mohammed* remove his pants! Mohammed shake his butt! Mohammed show off his BUTT! He remove his pants AND underwear."

Stunned silence on my part. I turn to the substitute lunchtime teacher, (a brand new, innocent, shining girl whose dreams of teaching were probably shattered by the last month in my classroom) and much as she can see in my eyes that I'm willing this to be an exaggeration, she leans forward and whispers, "Miss, I'm sorry but it's true. Mohammed removed his pants and underwear and was showing off his butt. I'm sorry but I can't control him." *Sigh* Sweetheart, welcome to the club. These days he crawls around the room on his hands and knees grabbing girls' ankles under the desks while they're trying to work. Or spinning around on his back singing to himself. He hasn't opened a workbook in weeks. Or sat in a chair really. (It's possible that his father is a deaf mute based upon his reaction to information like this, i.e. to stare at a fixed point over my left shoulder. Come to think, he could be blind as well considering I have never seen his eyes, as in almost nine months he has not yet deigned to remove his Ray Bans, indoors, in my presence.)

Effff. How do I even deal with this? First of all, if he took off everything, his butt was not the only thing he was showing off. This boy is almost six years old. He clearly wants attention, so I don't want to give that to him in abundance. But at the same time, he is exposing himself in the middle of the room at snack and I certainly don't want a five-year-old-nudist epidemic on my hands in this country.  So I can't ignore it. I also can't help verbalizing my inner monologue at this point, "What's thisssss? Mohammed. What's this? Why are you doing this? Do you know, this is haram! What would mama and baba say?" Funnily enough, I think we both know the answer to that question is that they would say nothing. Which is why things like this are happening. The internal continuation was filled with more colorful invectives and many variations of the plea, "What, please, WHAT did I ever do to deserve this? What could possibly be worth this much karmic punishment?"

Did I mention this is the day of the concert? *Sigh*

Stay tuned for more tales of Fahad the Fondler, Talal the Toilet-Face-Shover and don't forget Chapter 2: YOU LIE!.

Fourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeks

April Fool's

Today I told the kids about April Fool's Day. They didn't understand it at first, but then once they got they embraced it and ran away with it.

Me: "In my country, today we tell jokes to each other. We trick each other. It's called April Fool's Day."
(Twenty five hands in the air)
"Miss!! In your hair you have two snakes!!"
"Miss!! On your face you have a spider!"
"Miss!! Under your desk there are five elephants!"
"Miss!! You dropped something from your bag."
"Miss!! I forgot my book today."

HAHAHAHAHA MISS! No Miss! We joke at you!!! April Fool!

Any help?

Well I know it's been quite some time since I've blogged but it's been an overwhelming few months in the classroom.

There's a boy in my class who I'm pretty sure has undiagnosed special needs. He's already been in school for two years before this and now we're in the third term and he can't read, write, do sums with numbers higher than 5, or count higher than 15. He struggles to even complete handwriting worksheets now. He can only baby talk, and his Arabic is the same. He's not progressing in the same way or even the same direction as the other kids and even though I know I haven't studied child development in depth, I can tell there's something going on. He just doesn't have the capability that the other kids have for the work load, but the curriculum isn't designed for special needs kids. Special needs don't exist here. And now because he isn't able to do the same work at the same level as the other kids (which is basically what the curriculum requires and his parents want), his behavior is out of control.

On a good day, he just lays on the floor under the desk. Usually backwards over the seat of the chair, but sometimes on the floor under two desks. He meows, makes siren noises, shouts "one hundred!" over and over again for the whole day. And even though I don't want to put him out of the classroom, he's not learning, he's preventing the other kids from hearing, and he's making me want to tear out my hair.

On a bad day, he runs around the classroom holding pencils, waving his lunchbox, pushing kids in the bathroom, hitting one of the eight-month-pregnant assistant teachers in her stomach, trying to escape the school grounds, smacking kids in the face with rulers, and kicking and biting me.

His parents keep saying, "We don't like to yell at him." It's not yelling he needs, it's help. Help that I can't give him. I don't even know where to start, because I don't know the underlying issue. And trying to figure out what that could be has been like trying to use webMD to discover the cause of a mysterious elbow pain. You come away thinking you have either an invisible bruise or joint cancer.
I've had everyone from other teachers, administrators, friends tell me to just ignore him. To put him out of the classroom. Now of course when he's violent, this is what happens. But since this is everyone else's attitude, I feel like who is going to help him if I don't.

Here's a kid who needs to be in the wading pool and this class has pushed him into the deep end without so much as floaties. I know I have a responsibility to the other 28 kids in the pool too, but that doesn't mean I want to watch him drown either.

His behavior has been in a downward spiral since Christmas, which is where my head's been at since. I've tried rewards, praise, stickers, being more forceful, modifying assignments by making them shorter, asking him to only answer 2 or 3 questions instead of 10, to only finish one page, anything I could think of I've tried. He's upset and frustrated too. I'm running out of ideas and not much is working. The only thing I've come across is that he likes Science class because it's hands on, so I bribe him with an extra science when the rest of the kids are doing writing or reading comprehension activities in the afternoons.

Any help?

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.