Parenting win

Scene: in the car.  We just left Starbucks, driving to the Y.  Very foggy winter morning.

Drake: When is it spring?
Me: March, I think.
Drake: What if someone had a parade in March?
Me: You mean, have a march in March?
Drake: [giggles].  Yeah.  And what if there was a place called March?
Me: Then they could have a march in March in March.
Drake: [snort-  hot chocolate out the nose]

End scene

Note to future self

It is January, 2014.  Drake turns 7 next month.  We are on chapter 15 in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.  While he knows the stories are just stories, he is pretty sure an owl will arrive on his eleventh birthday, bearing his letter of acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Here's what you need to do.
Step 1: Find a stuffed owl.
Step 2: Find some old fashioned paper and green ink.
Step 3: Write a letter to Drake, telling him we are going on a trip to Universal Studios Florida to go to the Harry Potter experience.
Step 4: Place letter in the beak of stuffed owl.
Step 5: Leave owl on breakfast table on the morning of his eleventh birthday.

You have four years.  Make it work.

Office Hours

It is no secret that I despise holding office hours.  It not because I am evil or that I don't care.  It's that no one uses them.  Well, I take that back.  MY students don't use them.  Even when students would benefit from coming in and chatting with me, rarely does a student come in.  I wondered, informally, if it was the generation, too proud to ask for help, or that the students just didn't care enough to be bothered by it.  I am wrong on both counts.

I sit in a communal office for all of the adjunct faculty.  This is where we hold our office hours, grade, and have mail delivered.  My colleagues in this room have students come to see them all the time.  All. The. Time.   What is the difference from their students and my students?  Subject matter.  Students are coming in to ask questions of their math, science, and foreign language instructors.  The other English teachers and I?  Tumbleweeds.

Why won't students ask for help when it comes to their own language?  ENGL 101 is a prerequisite for just about everything in college.  Upper division courses require a C or better in it, no matter the content area of said upper division class.  If ENGL 101 is so damn important throughout all of college, why won't the students seek assistance like they do for other subjects?  I don't understand, and I wish I did.  My hypothesis is that they feel, since they speak the language, that they know it and think they don't need help as a result.  I can testify that many do need help, especially regarding the elevation of their work to college standards.  I wish I could convince some of them to pop in and see me.

Maybe I'll take an nap during my office hours instead.

How Mythbusters got my kids to wash their hands

Boys are gross.  There are no two ways about it.  They are.  I've seen Flynn lick gum off the sidewalk.  They'll eat stuff off the floor.  Trying to get them to wash hands after going to the bathroom is an uphill battle.  Or, it was, until "Mythbusters".  We watch the show as a family.  They enjoy when stuff gets blown up, but they are fascinated by the show even when nothing explodes.  One episode was about bathroom myths: hand washing and stall selection.  (Since the episode, I now use the first stall.  It's the cleanest.)  The amount of germs on hands after bathroom use was tested with no washing, water only, and soap and water.  They proved only soap and water gets rid of the germs.  I have since used this information to my advantage.

Scene:  a flush is heard.  Two seconds later, the door opens, and Flynn bounds out.
Me: Flynn, did you wash your hands?
Flynn: Yes.
Me: With soap?
Flynn: Yes.
Me: If the Mythbusters came in with a black light, would they find bacteria colonies or clean hands?
Flynn: [hangs head] Bacteria colonies. [stomps back to bathroom]

So, thank you, Mythbusters.  Thank you for making my house a little less germy.

Style intervention

Someone needs to call Tim Gunn on my behalf.  I seriously need a style intervention. 

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at school the other day.  I swear I was starting at a reflection of my mother.  Don't get me wrong.  My mother is a lovely woman and dresses nicely.  I was unaware that my style has morphed into hers.  I'm about to turn 40, not 60.  Tim (my Tim, not Tim Gunn) asked me if I didn't want to look like my mother, then what did I want to look like.  And here's why I need the big Gunn.

I was to be comfortable and neat and not look like a slob.  I don't want to look frumpy any more, but I don't want to be a fashionista.  I would rather be timeless than timely.  I need to look somewhat professional, but not in a suit or a skirt.  Oh, and I'm cheap.  How do I accomplish all this?  Clearly, I am not able to do this on my own.  I'll accept help from any basic cable style guru at this point. 

The Flynnster

When I wrote a check today, I wrote the year as "2009".  Because five years ago you entered our lives.

You are fiercely independent.  I'm certain the only thing preventing you from going to the taco truck alone when you were three was the height of the gate latch.

You are your own person.  You can rock a fuzzy boa and backward pants like no other.

You are inquisitive.  I didn't know one person could ask so many questions.

You bring such joy, especially when you throw your head back and laugh like Snoopy.

Thanks for being my kid.

Critical Thinking

Studies are starting to come out about the dangers of overdosing on standardized testing.  I'm pretty confident the result is the lack of critical thinking skills.  Case in point: a student in my "Writing About Literature" class wrote a post for help because she couldn't find on which page Oedipus started.

...

Seriously.

Table of Contents ring a bell?

...

Anyone...?

I'm so glad one of her classmates responded.  I don't think I could have responded without being condescending and snarky.  Oh, and I told the class the chapter number of the play.  *smh*

Fortunately, there is hope somewhere out there.  I have met some really imaginative kids lately.  Today during before-school care, C (who I think is in 3rd grade), came in carrying The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes.   He then approached the other teacher and I, wondering if we had any mysteries to solves.  He asked for clues, which he wrote down in his notebook.  Mr. M (the other teacher) made up a mystery for the boy.  C asked really good questions about the "mystery".  It's so refreshing to see a young person thinking and analyzing.  I'm certain he will be able to find the starting page of Oedipus.