I Would Rather Do Second Grade Math than Sixth Grade

                When I subbed at the middle school last week, I was asked to fill in for the aide who works with youth who have detention or in-school suspension (ISS) as they call it.  When I arrived for her shift I saw a youth waiting in the room.  I made a comment about it when I went to sign in but thought that he was just there for homework support.  I didn’t know he had reacted to a situation (someone had been teasing him – bullying him) and got physical.  It just so happened that the dean of students saw him and wrote him up.  Nothing happened to the youth who had provoked whatever it was.

                He waited at the table with questions regarding his homework in math.  Oh, no!  I have been helping out with regrouping in second-grade math.  The sixth graders more complex problems threw me off.  I couldn’t remember any of the formulas. 

                “If Hector cuts 25 logs every 15 minutes, how many logs will he have cut in 35 minutes?”  The answers are multiple choice. I look at the choices.  36, 24, 41, 58 . . . .  I really don’t remember the choices except for 58.  I had tried doing the formula but seemed to be missing a step.

                “Well, we know that 30 minutes is twice the amount of 15 and so that would mean 50 logs.  Being that there is only one answer that gives us over 50, I would say that one.  I’m sorry I can’t figure out the formula.”

                There was another that the principal showed him was similar to another he had done on another page.  But then he had two questions that were more foreign.  What????  Math is like Klingon – I suppose there are some people who understand it.  I’m just not one of them. 

                His social studies teacher came in and looked at me.  She said, “Oh, good.  It’s you.”  Another indication that this boy (I’ll call him Sean, though that is not his real name) is basically a good kid.  More than one instructor came in throughout the day to make certain Sean hadn’t been “fed to the wolves” so to speak.  I ended up with four youth at the end of the day.  Two 6^th graders and two 7^th.  None were horribly bad in my presence, but the 7^th graders engaged in conversation, folding papers, shooting crumpled paper into the garbage, looking out the window – anything that didn’t involve education or being quiet.  They’d been warned several times NOT to talk, NOT to move from their seats, AND to spend their time wisely. 

When I was relieved for lunch, I suggested to Sean to have the other aide assist him with the problems we had missed.  When I returned a third aide was trying to figure out the problems as well.  I was so happy to realize it wasn’t just me who was having a problem.  I told Sean to tell his instructor that neither his mother nor three aides could figure it out and it was, therefore, unsolvable by any human on the planet.

By the time I left the two sixth graders were doing what they were asked.  I ended up writing up the other two.  My words may have added more in-school suspension for today.   I did not work at any of the schools today.  I chose to stay home which was wise on my part as I really haven’t felt well today. I did get my assignment finished and turned in.  Next week’s subject is Medicare.

Power in the Paddle

                I have assisted with crosswalk duty three times now.  There are four safety vests available – two are orange and two are yellow.  None will fit around me enough to close.

            There are two stop signs.  The one for the street is fastened to a pole about four feet long.  The other is fastened to a short stick.  

The short one is for the parking lot.  The cars in the street don’t always move at a slow pace, but the parking lot cars are generally moving slower.  Sometimes they will stop before the crossing guard walks halfway into the crosswalk.

            I have always been in the parking lot.  I must say that I do enjoy the sensation of holding up the sign in order to get drivers to stop and wait as children and adults are given the opportunity to cross from one sidewalk to another.

Hey, You Have Your Own Computer . . . Get Off Mine!

          I added the death date of Roland’s sister to ancestry.  Shortly after I noticed there were new leave hints and clicked.  It had the marriage of somebody that may or may not be his sister.  The dates looked correct but the middle initial was not the same and I don’t believe her husband’s name was her married name.  I ignored it but showed it to Roland yesterday.  Oh, my word.  I opened an entire can of worms that I surely hadn’t expected.          

             Roland was behind me saying, “Click on this.” “Click on that.”  Really?  You’ve got your own computer, Pal.  I don’t even know how to get into his account where he has every family lumped into one.  I personally have separated his family from my own.  I have a hard time knowing if the hints on my line match those in my family line – and many of the names in my line are not the most common of names.  His family line, on the other hand, has common names.  I don’t know if they’re related or not.  

             I was journaling my work status of the last two weeks – or trying to.  I have been so tired and unfocused or else I get interrupted.  Yesterday Roland wanted me to watch “Glass” with him – which I must say looked better than the prequel I had sat through and will never get those hours back in my life.  I was not interested in watching “Glass” even if I hadn’t had at least eight other projects that would have been far more productive.

         I was finally on my last page of catching up when Roland asked if I would go to facebook to look at his post right now as he was apparently seeking validation.  That’s when I asked about his sister.  He wanted me to add her picture to the profile and had me add others as well.  He got interested in doing family history again – but on my computer.  After I left my chair to fold clothes, he moved over and looked at hints and translated the Spanish words into English – another thing that trips me.  Family History.  It doesn’t excite me really.

Dash #742 Continuing Education

          I remember my mom and I taking a class together on storybook literature.  Sadly, I don’t recall the name of the instructor but he was of German descent and had had exposure to cruel fairytales versus what he called “watered down” versions that seem traditional in America. I think there had been only  four classes as we met only once a week for only for four weeks – at least that is what I remember.  I don’t know if I recorded anything about it though Corey may have my mom’s version of what took place.

          I remember our instructor showed us several frames taken from a graphic story.  I don’t recall there being words, but if there were, he would translate the German captions into English.  The story was on obedience and minding your elders.  Peter had been warned by several adults including mom, dad, and at least one grandparent.  They had told him not to go outside for it was too cold and he would be able to dress warm enough, but Peter went outside anyway.  He walked further and further away from his home and ignored all the signs of birds that were too frozen over they could no longer fly, or other animals.

          I believe that Peter ends up falling through the ice.  Some of the adults go out to look for him and find him frozen. They take him back to the house to thaw him out.  In the last frame the illustration shows three canisters.  I forget what was in the ones on either side – perhaps vinegar and cooking oil.  The container in the middle was labled Peter – implying that Peter had thawed into liquid and that was the only means they had for preserving what was left of him.

          He had also showed us a book about Mr. Thumbsucker who would cut off the thumbs of children who continued sucking their thumbs.  The idea was to motivate children to stop sucking their thumb but the pictures seemed quite gruesome. It wasn't just the stories themselves but also the illustrations that made the German versions seem much more dark than the American hand-me-down  versions - which I am grateful for.

          I remember enjoying fairytales as a child. Then again, I think my mom was a lot more selective.  I appreciate her introducing me to fairytales as I know she didn’t like them when she was a child.  Nor do I think she enjoyed them much as an adult. I don’t think the fairytales she grew up with were as violent as our instructor’s had been.  Also, my mom didn’t seem to have a great imagination and wouldn’t believe that bears could talk or pigs could build houses. 

          In our final class we were introduced to an orange and were supposed to form a relationship with it.  Our instructor said it was often a tender moment for many of his students and when they were separated from their orange, or saw another rip it apart, some would actually cry.  Mom and I exchanged glances that we surely wouldn't be making that kind of attachment or would be able to relate to that analogy. I made a comment about two other students I could see it happen with. And it did.  They cried.  We didn’t roll our eyes, but we didn’t feel the same attachment toward our oranges as they apparently did.

          It was an interesting class.  I think mom and I both enjoyed it overall – though I seem to be sharing the bizarre parts about it.  It had been a good experience for my mom and I to have this class in common and to share our experiences.

More Homographs

Same Spelling, Different Pronunciation

The bow of a ship is the front part.  A bow is also when I put my arm in front of me and lean over it.  People take bows after they perform.  A ship's bow and an stage bow are pronounced the same.  (b-ou)
A bow that I wear in my hair is pronounced differently than the two above it.   A bow can be used as a weapon to shoot arrows.  A bow can also be used to play an instrument such as violin. (b-O)

A minute (min-it) is a measurement of time.  There are 60 minutes in one hour.  Minute (my - nUte) is something small and obscure.  The grain of sand seems minute compared to pebbles. 

You may say a person from Poland is of Polish descent.  You polish surfaces to make them shine.  Polish (pO-lish) and polish (paul -ish) are not pronounced the same.

A sow is a female pig.  To sow is to plant seeds.  Sow rhymes with bow.  Two different pronunciations. 

Homophones

Different Spelling, Same Pronunciation

When I bawl, it means I cry hard.  That bawl is a homonym and is spelled differently from all others. 

The ball of my foot is just below where toes start to spread. 

Attending a ball would be like going to a dance or gala.

A ball is a round object or toy sometimes associated with sports (as there are several types)

The term "Have a ball" means to "have fun"

And let us not forget my life as a ball found here.

Crazier Than Ever

          Since spring break, the skies

overall

have been grey and have

produced a huge amount

of water. 

The rivers are not

overflowing, but

                    definitely not

dry as they were in winter. 

The temperature has been

47 – 52 degrees on average. 

On Thursday it was up to 82. 

What is up with that?!? 

Yesterday was not

quite as warm –

maybe 10 degrees less. 

Now we are back to

rain and clouds.   

April milestones

          It’s been just a few years since I wrote this post – referring to the stages of life and changes that we hope will never come.  Yet we are tried.  We can’t control what things might happen – good or bad.  For my oldest son’s in-laws, June is a hard month.

           

          For Roland’s family it seems to be April that seasons the time line.  His mom turned 92 yesterday.  Seven years ago we’d gone to Tucson to celebrate her birthday (here).  Nine days later, Roland’s eldest sister passed.  Today we learned that another sister died this morning.  Facebook reminders of two of my boys who married their wives in April.  

      Missionary papers and homecomings in April.  Jenna was also born in April.   This is my first recorded timeline. 

Inconvenience

We had a leak in our pipes

right underneath the sink.

In order to fix it, Roland had  

to turn off the water to the

house. The water meter to

our house is not only in our

neighbor’s yard, it is in their driveway.

What’s up with that?

Agism - Where Do I Start?

Currently, I am taking a class called “Sociology of Aging”.  I know it will be a good class and look forward to these next three and a half weeks.  The course will end before I know it.

My instructor is quite animated and reminds me of my late sister-in-law except happier.  I enjoyed listening to the lecture yesterday as the happiness in her voice and arm movement (I have only had one other instructor record herself).  I know her teaching methods aren’t going to appeal to everybody, but I enjoy the bonus of hearing joy.

I tried reading the book but was becoming bored with the way it was written and turned to YouTube instead and found some informative videos on the subjects and some that came across even more boring than the reading.

I have also volunteered to test market a hotspot device through the school so they can monitor how much time I spend on research and study.  Only they won’t be getting an accurate reading.  My internet, WiFi, hotspot, whatever cuts out on me every day.  Every Day!  I spend more time going from one device to another or not being on the internet at all.  I’ll start assignments or posts (such as this one) on one device and post it on another.              Grrr . . .

          So now that I’ve finished this post, perhaps I should start on my assignment. 

Dash #5 EMES & 40 school lunch

            I don’t remember the elementary school having a particular smell.  I remember the option of two ways to walk there on foot.  Seems like it may have been faster to walk up our street and over on third east and down than the safer way which we usually went – over 240 to 260 and came in behind the school. The playgrounds were behind the school.  

a really ROUGH map of my neighborhood

            Our desks had openings in the front.  They were wide enough to hold two plastic trays.  We called them tote trays.  It is where we put all of our school supplies.  We carried the trays each time we moved for math, reading, science, etc. according to whatever our learning level was.  If someone was absent, the desk could still hold my tray as well as that of the absent student.

            Before peanut allergies was a common thing I remember peas tasting like they’d been cooked in peanut butter.  I kid you not!  To this day I believe the peas at East Midvale Elementary School cafeteria were cooked in peanut butter or maybe a heavy peanut oil that tasted like peanut butter.  Now, I love peanut butter but I HATE peas and cooking them in peanut butter did not improve the taste.  I may hate peas more as a result.

            We had a cafeteria separate from the gym.  I don’t remember if there was a folding door that separated the cafeteria from the gym.  Maybe.  It would have made for more room for assemblies and programs.  The school offered many programs for parents to come and watch their students perform.  It felt like my parents had a lot more opportunities to watch programs than do the parents who have students in schools today.

            We had an old custodian by the name of Mr. Beckstead.  He wore green coveralls.  At least that is how I remember it.  Our lunch trays had compartments, I think two or three squares and a circle, and each compartment was for a different food item. When we were through eating lunch we had to take our lunch trays up to the garbage, but if the monitor was not satisfied with our eating habits, he/she would send us back to the lunch table to finish whatever we hadn’t touched.  Many of my peers would stuff unwanted food into the milk carton because the monitors never checked the cartons.

            When we were in the  5^th and 6^th grade we could help serve food.  In sixth grade, if a student’s grades were good enough and had the desire or were picked, they could work as a safety patrol monitor.  I remember students guiding other students across the street.  300 East is far too busy for a child to fulfill that duty.  It is done by an adult.  I don’t think as many schools offer safety patrol anymore.

Recapping the Last Four Weeks

          On March 18 I started a class in public communications.  My first assignment was to take (or make up) a situation from work and address it.  When I initially looked at it I had decided to speak on connecting parental support to the child’s behavior – but I had misread the point of the assignment.  Fortunately I decided to wait until Wednesday (the day of the lecture) before I started.

          A teacher’s aide, for the most part, rotates among different classes.  The particular schedule I had followed on that day was 30 minutes each with kindergarten to 3^rd grade, most of the time with kindergarten.  Also, that particular position required me to monitor the 4^th grade during recess and their lunch.  I was with the kindergarten class when the fire alarm went off on Monday for a fire drill. 

          By Wednesday I had changed my topic from behavior to the fire drill as the alarm went off a few hours before I returned home to watch the recorded lecture for the week.  The fire drill had been on Monday and there was a real emergency evacuation on Wednesday.  I was with the fourth graders whom I had never lined up with before.

          I found it interesting to compare the fire drill on Monday to the results that took place on Wednesday. Only my first assignment was supposed to be addressing a co-worker or someone I manage one-on-one.  My topic of conversation was not one that I would choose for just one individual but was able to make it work by pulling out a specific.  There have been so many times when I have not had a walkie-talkie with me (mostly because I haven’t made it a habit) but did have on Wednesday but not on Monday.  The assignment I turned in was on the importance of having the radio device with me at all times and not just at lunch.  I imagined the conversation from my manager’s point of view.  That is what I handed in.

          The following week’s assignment was to write a speech that I would give in public.  I was required to give the audience three things to talk about.  I incorporated that we practice fire drills to ensure safety, we are more focused when we are prepared, and when we are focused and calm it is easier to make adjustments – such as evacuating to an area that we had never practiced before.

          I have always been under the impression that the more excuses a person uses to convince another of something, the less believable it is. My throat had been dry since the class had started, and seemed to dry at more as the class progressed.  The week I was to record my speech was not a good week for me.  I hadn’t practiced my speech orally because of my dry throat and the rain fell heavily and was louder than I was I tried recording.  I compared my situation to Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day as mentioned here. 

          I ended up with a 107 out of 120.  Not bad.  I wouldn’t have scored myself that high.  I couldn’t even watch it as my voice didn’t even move in sync to my lips.  That really bothers me.  Now I am waiting for the grades for this last week.  Tomorrow I start a new class.

Coming to an End

                My communications class ends tomorrow.  I need to post my written speech, revised speech, where it went, etc.  I have been able to compare the subject of my assignments to writing the assignments (and presenting one in recording) for the class itself.  I’m sure it will make more sense once I get around to posting either tomorrow or Monday.  Monday seems more likely.  So sorry to keep ya’ll in suspense . . .