We were out on the playground taking advantage of a 70 degree afternoon last week. I was sitting in one of the swings. One of the little 3 year old girls came up behind me and started to give me a push. And then that sweet little angel said "Miss Amber, you're booty is too big!"
One of the boys in my preschool class told me last week that his little brother wasn't at school because he was sick.
Boy: "He's got monopoly."
Another teacher (whispered): "He means pneumonia."
This week has been all about Valentine's Day with my preschool class. On Tuesday, we read Love is Walking Hand in Hand by Charles Schultz. When we finished the book, I thought it would be interesting to let each child answer the question "what is love?" Here are the answers they gave me:
Those kids really impressed me with their answers. Sometimes they are just plain awesome.
Just when I start getting used to my schedule at work, it changes. But the new schedule looks more consistent at least. Only one 7am day instead of three. And no 10 hour days.(but still a 9 hour one).
Monday 7-4
Tuesday 8-4
Wednesday 8-4:30
Thursday 8-4
Friday 12-5:30
For a net loss of one hour. Not bad. I'm not so crazy about Monday still having to be the early morning, but I'll live.
When I first started working at the current daycare, one of the little girls in my class couldn't remember my name. She knew it ended with "-ber." Her mom told me a couple of weeks ago that in their house, I'm known as "Miss September."
I know, right?
Why, yes, that will work nicely. Thank you very much.
It didn't stay exactly like that for even one week, but taking an hour away from one day and adding an hour to 2 other days puts me up to 40 hours a week, so I'm not complaining.
I'm not taking a lunch on any of those days. But the kids in my class are good nappers, so that's not really a problem. I can eat while they sleep as long as I remember to take lunch with me.
The 10 and 9 hour days aren't exactly ideal, but it's ok. Even if I did go to bed at 7pm this Monday. After having 2 months of unemployment, it's hard to get into a sleep schedule that's more work-appropriate. It will probably take me a couple of weeks.
By the way...that 7pm bedtime this week? Wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't woken up at midnight and been unable to get back to sleep for 2 hours. Darn TVLand.
Since the fingerprinting fiasco, I've been working 4 mornings a week with the pre-k class at this preschool in town. It's good to be out of the house, and I do love what I do.
When I moved here I applied to just about every day care and preschool in the area before finally landing this part-time gig. Last week I got a call from another center in town. They have 2 full-time openings and are offering a full dollar an hour more than what I'm making now. I went in after work yesterday afternoon for an interview that lasted a whopping 15 minutes before being told the job is mine if I want it.
So today I talked to the director where I work and she's going to try to work the schedule so I can get 38-40 hours a week. If she can do that, I don't mind settling for less money. I would feel bad about leaving after only working there for a month. And that probably wouldn't look all that good on my resume in the future anyway. But if she can't get me more hours, I'll have to go where the money is. That degree that makes me so much more desirable than other applicants in this field isn't paying for itself. And I'm going to be looking into my own transportation before too much longer, too.
At least things are looking up in this area of my life.
...or is there something slightly obscene about this drawing?
I had given my class red, yellow, and green materials to make pictures of apples this week to go along with our Farmer's Market theme, and this is the drawing that one of my girls came up with. Very thought-provoking piece of art, no?
The longer I work in child care, the more this little gem is reinforced:
My job is the best form of birth control EVAR.
Seriously. Just looking at some of the kids where I work is enough to make me want to give myself a hysterectomy with a plastic spoon simply to avoid the possibility of my own children turning out like them.
And that's coming from the same person who listed "barefoot and pregnant for the rest of my child-bearing days" as profession of choice in high school.
I think it's safe to say that I'll be looking for a different profession before we get serious about having children of our own.
This story is not for the faint of heart. Those with weak constitutions should avoid reading this post. You have been warned.
This afternoon I was out on the playground with my class when one little 3-year-old ran up to me to tell me "I pooped." Yes, in his pants. Less than 10 minutes after I sent him to the bathroom to try to potty before recess.
So I get all of my little ducks in a line and take the class inside to deal with the issue. I send the little boy into the bathroom and get his extra clothes out of his cubby. It took less than 30 seconds.
In that amount of time, the child had pulled down his pants, stuck his finger in the poo, and pulled a chunk out to show me. Oh. My. Goodness. Children are nasty.
When I got to work this morning, the kids were playing on the playground. I noticed a couple of the boys from my class sitting off to the side and digging in the woodchips, so I headed over to see what they were up to.
Me: Whatcha doin'?
Hank: Planting a garden.
Me: What kind of garden?
Ryan: A veg-e-table garden.
Me: What kind of vegetables are you planting?
Hank: Carrots.
Ryan: And peas...and macaroni.
Maybe I'm the worst teacher in the world, but I didn't correct him. If he wants to plant macaroni in his garden, who am I to dash his dreams?
Yep. I survived my first full week in the workforce here in Arizona. I still don't know for sure yet, but I think I'm going to like the job. It's definitely better than being bored at home all day everyday.
I know it seems odd that I've worked a full week and still can't say whether I really like it or not. It's just that I really haven't been doing my job yet. And I won't until Wednesday. See, La Petite Academy doesn't just throw teachers into a classroom and wish them luck. They want to make sure the teachers know what they are doing first. So I won't completely take over my class until after a full day training session on Tuesday. I was supposed to go to the training this past Tuesday, but it was cancelled because I was the only one going. So this week my class has been combined with the early preschool class and I've been kind of standing back and watching how the other teachers do things.
While I appreciate not being thrown into a class and forced to figure it all out for myself, this whole wallflower bit just really isn't me. At least, not in a preschool. I like being in control. I like being able to run things my way. I'm a bit more of a..."structured" teacher than others. And I'm ready to have my class to myself and away from the early preschoolers. So I'm very much looking forward to Wednesday.
The good thing about this wallflower role I've been playing is that I've had a chance to watch my kids and get a feel for who they are. I've got some really neat kids. And I'm really looking forward to working with them.
The younger four-year-olds class is currently studying an animal theme. This week's focus was animals of the rain forest. Ms Melissa was reviewing the animals they had gone over the day before by showing a picture of the animal and telling something about the animal (while showing the anteater, for example, she said "it eats ants").
The kids were really having a hard time remembering "toucan." It was obvious that the answer was dancing on the edges of their memories, just out of reach. Finally Kiera piped up as sincere as can be with "IT'S A CAN-OPENER!!!"
This morning when I got to work, Mia was eating her breakfast at the table. When I walked in she told me that her husband Troy was hiding in our classroom under my desk. Yes, Mia is one of my students. She's four. After sending the imaginary Troy out to McDonald's to pick me up a sausage biscuit, I sat down at the table with Mia and we started talking. She said that when she gets old like her mommy and daddy (who are at the oldest in their early 30s) she's going to have this many kids (at which point she held up all 10 fingers). And then she started naming them all.
Star and Jade and Cinderella and Rainbow. And some boys, too - among the more memorable were Clock, Paint, Pencil, Computer, Spiderman, and Batman. And a boy named Star that will marry the girl Star, but not right away because they'll have to grow up first. Yeah.
The child kept naming children, and eventually realized she had long ago passed that limit of 10 that she had set for herself. So then she said, "I think I'll have zero-zero-one kids." That's 100 in child-speak.
"And they'll come to school here too, and when they get big like me they'll be in your class."
I love my job.
So, last week I mentioned that emergency personnel had to be called to the daycare to free one of my students' feet from a table that he had somehow managed to become stuck in during naptime. Yeah, I know. Naptime is an odd time to find oneself stuck in a table. And for that matter, a table is an odd object to find onself stuck in.
Anyway, I bring that little jewel of a memory up to tell you about what happened to this same child this afternoon. The kids were playing in centers. Alex was working a puzzle. I was putting my book center back together after what I can only assume was a tornado that blew through it. I had a clear line of sight to all of the children.
Evidently Alex lost track of one of the pieces of the puzzle he was working on. He assumed it had fallen on the floor, so he crawled under the table (not the same table as last week's episode of The Preschool Files) to find it. I don't know if someone startled him or what, but he ended up hitting his head on the table when he came back up. And immediately he had what appeared to be a horn above his right eye. I got him an ice pack and made sure he hadn't concussed. He was perfectly fine - except for the large protrusion on his forehead, of course. Not even so much as a headache.
Someone please tell me why it's always the kid who gets notes sent home about his inability to follow directions that ends up injured on my watch. If I didn't know any better, I'd be suspicious of me.
Here's the kicker: the puzzle piece he was looking for was underneath the puzzle the whole time.
