Forgotten Beasts...what a great surprise!

One of the fantastic perks of being a writer (in addition to a teacher) is that many publishing houses are eager to send me advance copies of amazing books. I am careful about choosing to review books that seem to fit what I feel I would use in the classroom, or books I think some of my friends would love.  

I was so excited to receive the book Forgotten Beasts by Matt Sewell.  I have learned over the years that children have a huge fascination with dinosaurs, monsters, mythical creatures and the like.  Frankly, so do many adults I know! I know that I do. 

This book is larger than your typical book, which immediately lets you know that you are about to enter a larger than life world. The book’s actual title is Forgotten Beasts, Amazing Creatures that Once Roamed the Earth. The title alone lures you in. 

I was immediately intrigued by the beautiful illustrations that are colorful and beautifully done. 

The author uses almost all of the space on the pages to bring the creatures alive- and the size is a nod to the larger than life theme of the book.  The text is just long enough to engage readers of many ages, and yet packed full of fascinating information about each creature. He provides information such as size and weight of each creature, but also compares each to the current animal that it is in close relation to. This helps the reader make important connections which is what we as teachers are always trying to help the children with. 

I particularly love the 8 foot turtle called the Meiolania, the Pygmy Mammoth and the 9 ft. Diprotodon.  Do yourself a favor and pick up a copy of this online. It will not disappoint. 

Beware the buzz at the pool....

Sniff.  Sniff. Can you smell it? You know what I mean. That smell is here; the smell of new pencils, new books, new crayons and markers, the smell of new shoes, new clothes, and a new backpack and you know what that means. School is in the air!   Perhaps the biggest sign that school is right around the corner is the buzz that is flying around the pool, in the supermarket and at your local fall sporting practices.  Who will get the Best Teacher of All?  Who will be the lucky kids to get in the Best Teacher of All’s class?

Remember on Mary Poppins, when Jane and Michael wrote a letter and asked for the perfect nanny?  The father was stunned when Mary Poppins handed him the list that he had thrown into the fire.   It went something like this: 

(Start humming…) “If you want this choice position, have a cheery disposition; rosy cheeks, no warts; play games, all sorts.  You must be kind, you must be witty, very sweet and very pretty; take us on outings, give us treats, sing songs, bring sweets.”    

That’swhat keeps going through my mind at this time of year. That super duper wish list.   The wish list each parent and child has.  Here’s what I think the wish list is for the perfect teacher.  Wanted:  teacher; must be sweet, even-tempered, hip, funny, pretty, smart, young, experienced and energetic.  Must never yell, get mad, throw things or lose her temper.  Must be very patient, wear stylish clothes, have a lovely laugh and smell like fresh baked cookies.   

So, basically, that would count me out.  (And, perhaps, everyone I know.)

While we teachers may not all be young or hip or very tall, there are some things we have in common.  We are committed to our jobs and to your kids.  These are some of the things we can promise you.    We will get to know your child inside and out; we will learn about his pets, his siblings, his likes and dislikes and will always notice when he gets a hair cut.  We will push him to be independent, self-sufficient, confident and responsible.  We will help guide him when things don’t go his way and will laugh with him (and applaud) when they do. We will push him until he reaches the potential that we know he has, and we will be there when he falls, to pick him back up, dust him off and start him back up that hill. That’s our job, and that’s what we love to do.  

Contrary to what my kindergarteners recommended to our student intern, we will not be teaching kickboxing, having cinema time every day; they cannot ride mechanical bulls in class, skateboard off the roof (with kneepads, of course) and we will not buy them happy meals for lunch once a week. (I gotta give them credit for trying, however.)

As a mom, I’ve learned that often the teachers who work with my child every day know more about what is a good match for him than I do.  I have learned that it is important for me to keep my mouth shut on some occasions and it is equally important to voice my concerns at others.  I have learned that a teacher that was not the best match for Mrs. Jones’ son (that darned Mrs. Jones—always so hard to keep up with), was the perfect teacher for my son.

Yeah, we teachers don’t all look alike.  Some of us are tall, short, skinny, chunky, old, young, and black and white. However, we all love kids and want what is best for these young souls.  So please; trust us, respect us and join us in making this the Best Year Ever for your child.   One more thing - beware the buzz at the pool.  Sometimes that bee will come right back and sting ya. 

A funny thing happened on my way to my hip replacement...

It was supposed to be a fairly easy procedure. Well, at easy as a hip replacement could be. 

They would knock me out, go in and replace the old, arthritic hip and replace it with a shiny new one. Bing,Bam, Boom.  Easy, Peasy Lemon Squeezy. 

I planned on having it done June 27th- which would give me plenty of time to heal. Hell, after the last one I was walking without a cane OR a limp when I went for my 2 week suture removal.  I would have time to heal, recover by mid-July, go wedding dress shopping for Bitchy’s September wedding and all would be well! 

However, we all know better than that.  

Things were going way too well.  I had made it through the year, had several amazing retirement parties, attended a kick-ass bridal shower for Bitchy (more to come) and was just gonna check this last tiny thing off my list.

I was the first one for surgery on the 27th, which meant an arrival time at the hospital of 5:30 a.m.  (This is when being a morning person comes in a little handy.)

Fred and I are getting a bit used to these kinds of things, so after checking me in and wheeling me back to the pre-op area he decided to head back home for a few more winks.  

I was very comfortable with my surgeon, for he has replaced not only my other hip but both my knees.  Now don’t go thinking he’s surgery crazy, because he’s not. In fact he normally goes the conservative route- except when he knows there is no recourse.  He is also very well known for his low rate of infection and the nurses in the hospital all rave about him. Frankly, I’ve been raving about him for years. 

I woke up in my room after who knows how many hours of surgery and recovery and Fred was by my side.  I felt okay, but certainly groggy.  

“You’re fine honey,” he said.  “But there was a bit of a complication.”  I was still a but fuzzy, but he continued. “Apparently when they were hammering the joint into your bone, your bone fractured. “ 

“Oh, okay.”  I said, and went right back to sleep.   It wasn’t until later that afternoon when the doc came to see me that I fully understood the ramifications of said bone fracture. 

“Well, I don’t want you putting any weight on that foot for 6 weeks.” 

“WHAT?”  I said. 

“I said, I only want you to use a walker and toe touch on that side for six weeks.” 

“SIX WEEKS? Six.  Weeks??” I looked a him.  I was really trying to wrap my head around this. “Oh.  Okay.” 

He shook his head, “These things happen sometimes. Your bone was very brittle, and it fractured. We need to be very careful so it can heal.  We will take a look at it in 2 weeks and see if it’s healed enough to put any weight on it. But I want you to be prepared for the fact that it MIGHT take 6 more weeks.” 

So here I am, a week and some change into recovery, and reminding myself that things could be way worse.  Well, to be honest it was Fred that reminded me. As I was having a pity party yesterday, he said, “Hey, are you done working? Did you just retire?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do we have a great thing here together?” 

“Yes.”  

“Do we live in a beautiful home and get to go on wonderful trips?”

“Yes.”  

“And are we having a beautiful wedding here soon?” 

“Yes!” I said.  “Okay! I get your point!  No more whining!!” 

Now, if anyone out there hears me whine ONCE, come on over here and slap me. 

Even I would rather have chocolate...

As I’ve said before, I had an UNUSUALLY challenging class this year.  That being said, I would face each day with the words, “Today will be a better day”.   

Mostly it wasn’t.   But each morning I had hope!. 

Mornings are so very important to any classroom, as they set the tone for the day.  I tried everything to keep the mornings somewhat quiet and calm. I put classical music on, I had somewhat easy morning work on the tables, I separated them to different tables every day or so to try to find a way to keep them all working somewhat quietly. 

I failed miserably. 

They were a friendly and talkative group. And what I mean by that is, if one person got in a fight with one group, they could easily move on to another group and create even more chaos.  More than one of my cherubs has that particular talent.

I had two fellas in particular whose names were Alex and Zack.  They knew each other from pre-school and their families were fast friends who would often socialize together.  Normally that is a plus. Except when that friendship is more like a love-hate relationship that ends creating chaos in its wake.  Alex was very LOUD and looked for Zack as soon as he entered the classroom each morning. He also liked to copy every single thing that Alex did- from ordering the same lunch, to not listening to the teacher, to running around the carpet to having the same breakfast or anything at all basically.   

Zack had breakfast at school each morning, due to the fact that his parents left him at before school care each morning too early for him to eat.  We have a great breakfast program that allows anyone to purchase a breakfast. 

Alex, on the other hand, always eat breakfast at home.  I like to guess each morning what he had based on what was around his mouth or down the front of his shirt.  This “at home” breakfast never deterred him from purchasing one each morning, based on what Zack was eating. And, without fail, they usually ended up with chocolate milk as their drink of choice. Now I’m sure there isn’t enough sugar in the chocolate milk to get them too cranked up, but I still “strongly encouraged” them to get regular 2% milk.  (“Zack, I’m BEGGING you to get white milk. PLEASE You KNOW Alex needs all the help we can give him to try to remain calm.”) After a few weeks of going back and forth, Zack began getting white milk. However, much to our dismay, Alex continued to grab the chocolate. 

I gave up, knowing it was a battle I would never win. 

A few weeks before school was out, Zack came into the classroom with his breakfast, yelling for me at the top of his lungs, “MS. Marsh, MS.MARSH!!” 

I quickly made my way towards hi, hoping to “quell the yell.”  

“This is your lucky day!” he shouted anyway.  “The kitchen is OUT of chocolate milk!” And with that the rest of class started cheering.  

We began the day with rowdy laughter, but this time I was in on it.  That kind chaos makes it all o.k. 

Wedding planner extraordinaire, kindergarten style.

Most of the kids in my class this year were so excited about Bitchy getting married. They screamed at the top of their lungs the Monday after she got engaged. The girls were especially obsessed with the wedding details- but none more so than Bella. 

Bella not only loved tutus and cowboy boots, she also loved love.  In fact, she told practically every boy in the classroom that she was going to marry them.  But that is another story entirely. 

Near the end of the year she kept giving me suggestions to pass on to Bitchy and her fiance regarding the wedding.  The idea of a sparkly rainbow unicorn on top of the wedding cake was probably the most brilliant. In fact, I’m sure they are considering that as we speak. 

“Then, she has to wear lots of gems and sparkles and diamonds on her dress,” she said dreamily. “Is she having a flower girl?” 

“Yes,” I replied, “I think she is having TWO!” 

“Oh, good,” she said with a smile.  Then, her eyes opened wide, “And tell her she NEEDS a ring mayor!  Everyone has to have a ring mayor. They take the rings up the aisle, you know.  Make sure you write that down, Ms. Marsh.”   

(If I could convince Bitchy to put Bella in the wedding, I would do it in a hot SECOND. She’s all the entertainment one needs at a wedding with a unicorn cake and a ring major.)

Whatever you do, just don't send me to the E.R.

Bella was my ray of sunshine this year.  She made me smile every single morning as she waltzed into the room wearing one amazing costume after another.  One day it would be a tutu skirt with a unicorn shirt and another it would be an Elsa dress with cowboy boots. And frankly, who doesn't LOVE the Aristocats? It was one of the things I looked forward to each and every morning.

One way or another she brought me joy.  This was a big deal, as The Powers That Be thought it would be SO FUNNY to hand me a class with every SINGLE behavior problem under the sun.  How amusing. (More about that once I’ve recovered.)

Then, there was Bella.  My unpredictable, energetic, highly distractible Bella.  I liked to put her at my table for early morning work knowing she would find a way to make me smile.  She would never dissappoint.

“Ms. Marsh, my grandma is practically DEAD!”

I turned my head to look at her as she was coloring at my table. “Is this the grandma you just visited in Iowa?” I asked in surprise.  

“Well, it’s HER mom, so it’s kind of my grandma only older than her.  But, she’s almost really dead.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I said.  “How old is she?”

“Well,” she thought a minute, “She’s 49 and ONE HUNDRED.”

“I see.” I replied.  “Well, where does she live?”

“In the emergency room!”

I looked at her in shock.  “Oh, my!”

“Yeah, she lives there with all the other old ladies who are about to die.”

Oh, Bella.  Your light is one that I will miss.  (And I’m sure you’re great grandma will miss it as well.)

Word helpers are REALLY helpful.

We use what are called “Kid Writing Helpers” for writing in kindergarten. They are cute little pictures that help the kids remember the letters that go with certain sounds. The kids love them, and we have them on a wall that is easy for them to reach, so they can take them to their tables. We also make a chart that has pictures of each of them on it, and they keep these charts in their writing folders.

We use “the king of ing” for the word ending ing.  We use the “the wiz of is”, the "fuzz of was", the “pie of my” and many others.

Several weeks before the last day of school I moved them from their bulletin board to a new spot above the chalkboard. (Yes, I still use an ACTUAL CHALKBOARD.)  

I stapled them randomly above the board as I hurriedly put together a new bulletin board for the end of the year.

On the last day of school my paraprofessional was taking things off the wall, when she spotted it. I couldn't figure out why she was laughing uncontrollably until she finally pointed to it. A word that rhymes with bit.

You know what? NO ONE ELSE NOTICED IT.  For THREE WEEKS I was teaching the kids how to spell shit and I didn’t even know it.

That’s how you spell disuastion.  SH.IT.

It's a beautiful time for a wedding. (aka Bitchy'sBetrothed)

My mother’s name was AnnaBelle.  

She never met my children, at least not here in this life. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. She laughed at the drop of a hat- and brought joy and light to all of those around her.  She died when I was a mere child of 26. My father died 7 years earlier, and I was foolishly convinced that God would never be cruel enough to claim my last parent.

I was wrong.

After a fall in the kitchen, she left her 3 semi-grown children questioning the cruel winds that blew through their lives.

Now at 60, I am preparing for my daughter’s wedding. I am living with an amazing man on his gorgeous property that will serve beautifully as their wedding venue. It is a large stone house that has several beautiful patios and porches, and large trees and many gardens.

On one side of the property is a wall that consists of humongous boulders. There is ample space at the foot of the boulders for gardens, and I have tried over these last few years to find something that would grow in that particular spot. It holds a lot of water and get a whole lot of sun.  

I’d been thinking of hydrangeas for that spot for a while now, and when the wedding idea came up I had a brainstorm.  I called a gardener friend of mine last fall and he met me at the house. We walked the property and I shared my ideas with him. He smiled, and then this spring he went to work.

I took my coffee outside this morning, and walked around the house to see the hydrangeas. They are all looking marvelous. The white ones, especially, are growing tall and getting ready to bloom. The name of the hydrangeas? Annabelles.

The white hydrangaes that line the wall of boulders, the place where the bride and groom will have their first look, are called AnnaBelles.  

Now my mother will definitely be at the wedding. And she will be there in all of her beautiful glory.