The Little Things...

...that make me happy that I am a teacher.

This Is What Happens When You Don't Follow Rules

Science. Roughly 3 weeks ago. We were working on creating conductor detectors, or "R2D2s".

My directions? "Try to create a system that can detect an object that will complete a circuit. Do not leave your seats. We will not be testing any objects yet."

I turn around to talk to a group of little scientists. As I'm turning I see motion out of the corner of my eye, but I dismiss it, assuming a student is throwing garbage away, etc.

Buzzzzzap. POP! Lights go out.

I turn around to see one of my students, a half completed R2D2 dangling from his neck, one wire in each of his hands and a look of complete horror on his face, frozen mid-hunch both arms extended toward the light switch.

I advance on the Guilty Scientist and in the calmest voice I can muster, command him to sit down exactly where he stands, which happens to be right by our classroom door. I take away the R2D2, note that the wires he was holding are burnt down to the insulation, and condemn the other two students in his science group to the same fate. I call the office to have the students picked up and forget to mention who I am or what classroom I'm in. Just that "A student has blown out the lights by sticking two wires into the light switch."

The rest of my class is being generally loud and unnecessarily obnoxious about the lack of light. Trying my hardest not to cry in frustration, I open both curtains, grateful to have my back turned to my students so I can collect myself.

All this happens in about 45 seconds. The room really is quite dark. I turn on my Read Aloud lamp and get the other 25 students back on track.

The 3 boys, including most-definitely-Guilty-Scientist are lead out of the room.

15 minutes later my students depart for lunch.

I'm left in my room, frantically collecting lamps from other teachers.

The notion that I'm a stupid new teacher and that all the other teachers will look down upon me keeps running through my head. The lights being blown out, its all my fault. I made a stupid mistake and ruined school property. How long will it take to get the lights back on? How will my kids see without lights? Can I even continue teaching? What will I do if I can't?

I sink into an inky black mood and fear that it won't go away by the time my students come back from lunch/recess. Read Aloud is next and it's my favorite. How can I read expressively if I'm so utterly pissed and downtrodden?

The lights get turned back on 3 minutes before recess is over. Apparently, "They make the breaker automatically switch off so it won't kill students such as Guilty Scientist".

My students return. I manage to pull myself out of the gutter and continue on with my day.

The moral of this story? Don't trust students with wires without very explicit instructions. And don't let one little mistake ruin your day. There are 24 kids depending on me. And that's what I told myself to end my little pity party.

The First Rule of Silent Ball: You Do NOT Talk About Silent Ball

My boys and I played Silent Ball today after recess whilst the girls were practicing their cheer for the Veteran's Day assembly.

Silent ball is simple. Throw a soft ball around the room. Success means catching it. Drop it and you're out. No moving. No talking. There is only one judge (me). Winner makes all the restrictions.

The winner? An overambitious gentleman with a heart of gold and a shaky sense of direction.

His restrictions? "Say their name before you throw it to them, spin around, in 5 seconds".

These restrictions = very difficult. I usually use one of those at a time. 2 max. But I let it slide.

The Gentleman in possession, exuding confidence. He winds up, spins, says a name and pitches the ball full speed. At the white board. 

This throw was at least 10 feet away from any other student. Nowhere close. I cannot emphasize this enough. I immediately start laughing. Which gets everyone else to start laughing as well.

Gentleman sits down. The game resumes. The restrictions drop because they are ridiculous. A few minutes later, Gentleman is standing back up and I throw it to him. A few boys point out that he is already out.  He smiles sheepishly but remains standing, a silent denial. I say, "no way, really?" because I honestly can't remember. There are like 14 boys scattered throughout the room.

Then my Soccer Star reminds me, "Remember, he was out first. He threw the ball really bad."

The throw in question floods back to me in a millisecond of sweet, sweet realization. And then I laugh uproariously all over again.

Gentleman reddens, hides a smile with an over-exaggerated frown and sits back down.

Hardest I laughed all week.

The High Five

Every day as my students are departing for home, I receive a high five from each of them. This could be considered the highlight of my day, as I get to have a one-on-one personal connection with each of them. Say their name, tell them to have a good day, smile magnificently, compliment their excellent high five technique, etc. I love it.

Last Friday one of my students decided that he no longer wants to give me a high five. I was devastated. I followed him and tried to talk to him and he simply shut down. He has a habit of doing that. Not my fault necessarily.

And then on Monday one of my students used the following sentence as an example of a vocabulary word we were learning:
Student 1: Mrs. Moffatt is a grand teacher.
Mrs. Moffatt: Thank you. And that was a wonderful way to use the word grand.
High Five Hater: [under his breath] No she's not.
Sudden and intense look directed at High Five Hater. Amongst the din of children talking, a quiet cracking sound can be heard. The origin, Mrs. Moffatt's heart breaking.


The reason I no longer get a high five? The kid hates me.

This has never happened before. Children love me. I'm goofy and relatable. And then High Five Hater enters my life.

I tried everything. Talking to him. Reasoning. Trying to be extra super awesome to him. Bargaining. Asking him to go to the back of the line so that no one else has to see him not high five me (This was for my sake, as I didn't want any other students to get the impression that they could opt out of this ritual). Crying (not).

And then today, as we're lining up, I allow High Five Hater to stand in the middle of the line, knowing full well that he won't high five me and that everyone will see it. I sigh and follow my class out the door and down the stairs, where I plant myself to administer high-quality high fives.

He approaches, growing ever closer, care-free, unaware that his approach causes me severe disappointment. As he passes, I raise my hand half-heartedly, telling him good-bye and have a good day. And he high fives me.

Joy! 100% participation once again. Let's hope it lasts.