Yore the Best Techer, and other notes from the Happy Files

I have a file of notes students and parents have written me over the years.  Whenever I'm discouraged, I pull them out, reread them, and think "Oh, yes, that's why I teach."  (Not that I'm discouraged now... I just found them all when I was reorganizing.)  Enjoy!

you are the best P.E. teecher. and the best therd grade teecher. frum J.

Dear Miss A., i'm sorry I argued with you.  I made a big mostake! and im sorry I have to argue about almost everything.  I will work on that!  K.  (included a picture labeled: "me & You Not arging")

Dear Miss A., I remeber the banna spilt party it was very fun.  Your student, Q.

Dear Miss A., The room is very small. [note: written by a fourth grader after leaving my class]  Every boady is being wild avcors.  But I gesus youw coruld have gested that.  Good bye you ancient thing yuo. A.

Dear Miss A., You are the Best teacher in the school! Ther are meny beuootefel wimen in the werld and youare one of them.  sind -- your secrit eadmiyerer

Dear Miss A., I am sory I acsudentely hit Mrs E. on the bottum with my recordr.  I was swinging it back and fourth wen she backed into it.  Sinseerly, K.

Dear Miss A., I have been working on math and you have help me so much.  bie the way your nefew Joshua is very handsome.  Your student, M.

Dear Miss A., I'm going to miss the class.  I will miss the cany jar.  It was the best thing in the class room.  Do we the FORTH grade still get candy in the morning or do you think it would make us very highpers.  Love, K.

Mrs. A good luke with all of the boys.  I am glade we stell get to come to your class and get jellie beans.  Jolly Good work!  Love, J.

Dear Miss A,  I miss you so much.  I'm at Camp and I'm having a great time.  (I'm lying a little) Love, A.

Miss A, Rember in third grade phonics class you said there was no word that had a q that did not have a u after it.  I found one!  Qartar  Ha!  K.

The Gospel According to Brooklynn

On the topic of naps:
B. ~ Why do I have to have naps?
Me ~ So you won't be grumpy.
B. ~ I'm not grumpy.
Me ~ Oh?
B. ~ No, it's only the part of me that is grumpy.  In my bones.  But I am happy in my heart.  My heart is all full of happy.
Me ~ I see, so which part is the grumpy part?
B. ~ The grumpy part is all swept away from my heart.
Me ~ Where did the grumpies go?
B. ~ Far, far away when Jesus put all my grumpies in the sea.  I asked Him to.  In my dreams.

Songs of the Store

We took Brooklynn shopping while at the beach and lived to regret every moment!  I'm sure the folks in Goodwill were ready to call Children's Services:  "Mom!  You're hurting my hand!  Let go!  Waaahaaaa!  Mo-o-o-o-o-o-om!"  (Note to DHS workers who may be reading this blog: I was holding her hand loosely; the problem was that she was throwing herself on the ground while I was holding her hand.)

Once we got home, she had a cup of milk and went straight to bed where she composed her latest song:

"We went to the store,

And I cried, cried, cried.

And tomorrow we'll go to the store,

And I'll cry, cry, cry.

It doesn't matter,

I'll just cry, cry, cry.

When I'm hurt

I cry, cry, cry.

Sometimes when I'm not hurt,

I still cry, cry, cry."

Beach Vacation



An attempt at mass burial of the middle-sized cousins



After spending a week at the beach with nine children and eight adults, I've come to realize that adults and children have completely different definitions for phrases:

"trip to the beach"

Adults: leisurely strolling along the sand, watching the waves and seabirds, or simply sitting on the beach, soaking up the rays



Children: running wildly in and out of the surf, daring each other to go out further each time, flinging sand, lugging driftwood into the water to watch it trip unwary waders, and burying each other up to the chin in sand





"beach clothes"

Adults: swimsuit/trunks or sundress or beach wrap

Children: clothes?  at the beach?  why?

"soak in the hot tub"

Adults: relaxing in the warm bubbles, easing the knots in muscles, sipping a cold drink

Children: turning the bubbles on and off, plugging the nozzles to make all the bubbles come out of one nozzle, playing who can hold his breath the longest?, dunking each other, launching bodies off the adult who is trying to relax

"go for a hike"

Adults: trudge up a mountain path, avoiding the mud, enjoying the flora and fauna, rest at the top to enjoy the view and take photos

Children: run zigzag uphill near a mountain path, hitting every mud puddle on the way, stopping only to poke an unwary salamander, tumble around in the flowers at the top before running haphazardly downhill to smear mud on the interior of the cars

The unlucky amphibian



"play with cousins"

Adult: Sorry, catch, tag, Frisbee, Chess, etc.

Children: pick up the smaller cousins and use them as missiles to knock the bigger ones down the stairs

"go fishing"

Adults: bait a hook, cast, wait in silence, reel in, repeat

Children: pull worms to bits, bait a hook, cast, reel in 3 seconds later, complain about not catching anything, cast again, catch lakeweed, reel in with help, fight over who has the bigger worm, bait, cast, get help to untangle line from cousin's neck, cast again, drop rod in water, go wading fully clothed, strip down to beach clothes*, swim until lips are blue, cry about having wet clothes to put on

*see "beach clothes"

"bed time"

Adults: 8 o'clock

Children: We're on vacation!  What do you mean bedtime?!

Come here so I can yell at you!

Brooklynn sitting on her bed in time out for bossing me:  "Mom, I don't like you.  Mom?  Mom?  Mo-o-o-om!  Mom, I don't like you!  Mom, come here, I'm talking to you!  Mom, I really don't like you!"
I never did respond.  Poor thing!

Compliments from a three year old?

"Mom, your bruise is so pretty.  It looks like a vampire.  Vampires are black and purple too."

"Look, Mom," said in great delight, "I have rolls on my belly just like yours!"

"Your hair is so pretty like that, Mommy."  (My hair was greasy, pinned up loosely, and covered with weeds.  She liked the weeds.)

Gardening -- maybe

Tomorrow being the official start of summer, I finally planted squash (much to Derrick's dismay).  He had already planted corn, insisting that this year it would grow tall enough to produce something.  I think we could live out of garden entirely if we didn't mind subsisting on onions, mint, and tiny raspberries.  I thought we had potatoes last year.  I had planted potatoes.  But when I dug up what should have been new potatoes, it was only the leavings from my neighbor's cat.  I regretted not purchasing the bow-and-arrow set that read: "WARNING: Do not aim at people or animals.  Not even at cats."

They're great for spotting mice





Little girlie announced out of the blue the other day: "Mommy, I have weasel eyes."

"Oh, do you?"  (I'm used to this kind of comment coming from Derrick, my seven-year-old.  He has hawk eyes, and is half dog, half cheetah, and half eagle.  He also has little understanding of fractions!)

"Yes.  I have big weasel eyes."  Then the conversation disintegrated into an argument between the two children over whose eyes were better.

These proclamations about weasel eyes went on for several days.  I could not figure out what she meant until one afternoon:  "Mommy, I do have weasel eyes.  Weasel is kind of like brown."
Weasel -- hazel.  Yeah, they do sound alike.

Anatomy Lesson

Brooklynn was looking at her toes on Sunday:  "Mom, what's this toe's name?"
Me:  "That's your big toe."
B.:  "No, it's my thumb toe.  And that's my little pinkie toe.  It's so cute -- except it stinks!"

Today she fell onto my bed and started sobbing because her "head ankle" hurt.  Oh, you don't know where your head ankle is?  Neither did I.  Your foot ankle turns your foot, so your head ankle (sometimes called your neck) turns your head.

The Cost of Adoption

I've always told my son, jokingly, not to get himself injured or killed because I paid good money for him:  "Wear your helmet.  I paid good money for that brain of yours."  "Don't run after your ball in the street.  I paid $28 for you."  and so on.
I should mention that this year I am also his teacher -- not a situation I would recommend to any other single mom out there.  So at school I told him, "Don't tip your chair back.  I paid good money for you, and I don't want you to fall on your head."
Gasps filled the classroom:  "Your mom paid for you?  How much?"
Derrick, very proudly:  "Yeah, my mom paid $28 for me.  See, adopted kids, they're paid for.  Kids that are just born to their parents are free."
I didn't burst his bubble...