Hubby warned me. But I didn’t listen.

I wanted to do a review game with the second graders to prepare them for their test. I wrote “Side A” and “Side B” on the board to tally their scores. The kids in the first desk on each side were up against each other to see who could answer the question first. Then the second desk, etc. It seemed harmless enough.

But these were seven-year-olds.

Two girls started crying when they didn’t win. Fortunately, I knew one had a freakish knowledge of Jupiter. I said, “Bonus question: what is that big circle on Jupiter called?” She smiled, raised her hand, nailed it. At least, I assume she did. I couldn’t remember what it’s called. Great red spot or whatever? Doesn’t matter. I gave her team a bonus point, and she sat up tall and smiling. Whew.

The other girl teared up at the end, thankfully, so I said, “Could you please help me pass out these worksheets?” You’d think I’d handed her a miniature live unicorn that occasionally, though cutely and discreetly, burps out bubbles and sparkles. Another crisis averted.

For the next review game, I made it Side A vs. Side B, but anyone on either side could raise their hand to answer. Since then, in every class, a student asks if we can do the game again. Now, when all they have to do is copy vocab from the board, I have them put both hands up when they’re done to see which side finishes first. Now the squirrely, chatty kids are focused up.

It’s crazy how easy it is to motivate kids through competition.

Toughen-Up TKDers

I’m still teaching Taekwondo after school on Fridays. Also competitive, they love relay races. I make them run from one end of the courtyard to the other, pausing to back fist this, knife-hand strike that. Most recently, they had to do an ax kick onto the pad on the way back to tagging their next team mate.

They did not do well with the ax kicks. Granted, they were rushing, but sometimes they just stepped on the pad and kept running.

“It’s clear we need to work on our ax kicks,” I told them and put them in two lines, but it was hard to watch both lines at once. “New plan. Everyone in this line. When you do it perfectly, you can graduate to the other line.”

Then I could critique each kids’ form. “Control your arms. Unglue your fist from your chest. 97%. 98%. 98.5%. You’ve almost got it.” As they returned to the line, some relayed their scores to each other.

The beauty was, they were forced to concentrate and do their best to get this down.

The ugly was, the two kids who were last to move into the other line got misty-eyed. “You’ve almost got it!” I said. “One more time! You’re just a smidge away.” I finally let them move on when their best would have to be good enough for now. Then they were fine. I shall use this “trick” sparingly.

I spent two days with the fourth grade.

I never want to see them again. Just kidding.

Because one of them belongs to me, I knew a bit of fourth-grade-boy lingo. For instance: “How was the math test today?”

My son, mid-chew at dinner: “Easy dubs.”

Translation: “Dearest mother, I found the mathematical assessment to be of an exceedingly fine nature, in that I feel confident in the surety of my success to the highest degree. It was, in fact, an easy win. The win, beginning with a w, therein spoken to you in the abbreviated form known in fourth grade parlance as ‘dubs.'”

So when another fourth grade boy approached and began, “BTDubs,” I was able to translate that in my brain, only missing the first half of his sentence while doing so.

These kids love to tell me stuff, so much that it matters not whether I’m actually hearing what they’re telling me, as evidenced by how often two or even three of them are speaking to me at once. Naturally, I hear none of it, but I say, “Okay,” to them all and we move on.

Unfortunately, that meant the boys played on the wet field at recess until a senior staff member came out and yelled at them. “Hey, you know you’re not allowed on the field after it’s been rained on! Get back over here.”

Oops. And the person yelling at them was, of course, Hubby. Double oops.

Having to teach all subjects reinforced just how right brained vs. left brained I am. For math, basic as it was, I was checking the little red answers in the sidebar of the teacher manual, not trusting myself. For grammar, I was going beyond the lesson, quizzing them on simple subject and simple predicate, drilling them on what parts of speech those were too.

During the worksheet time, one girl asked several times if she had answered the questions correctly. I could tell at a glance. Math, whatever. Grammar? Hang on a sec while I wipe the drool off my chin.

When I administered their spelling test, they told me the teacher gives them the words in a sentence. So here were a couple of mine:

“Number eight is something. As soon as I figure out what it is, I’ll let you know.” Snicker from the back corner.

“Number nine is anything. Write anything for number nine.” I had fun with them. And fear not, they knew the word was literally “anything.”

Heads Up Eight Up

Often teachers leave plans for subs that they think will make things easy on them, ie, not a ton of teaching, but more free time for the students to do make-up work, extra projects, whatever.

This. Is. The. Worst.

When I’m teaching, the class is great. When I tell them they can work on something else, all heck breaks loose, and I always fear an experienced teacher will walk in while paper airplanes are flying, shirts are torn, some kid’s nose is bleeding, and another kid is hanging from the metaphorical chandelier.

So, to avoid the chaos, I suggested they play Heads Up Seven Up. A few rounds in, my son hadn’t been chosen, to my surprise. I thought he was popular despite his maternal lineage. Naturally, I declared, “This time it’s Eight Up. I want to play.”

After pushing my son’s thumb down, I lined up with the seven students at the front of the room. The leader child said, “Heads up,” and, along with the chosen others, my son scrutinized his classmates to determine the likelihood of their guilt.

He’s not even looking at me. I totally fooled him.

At his turn to guess, he turned to me with a flat expression. “Mom,” as though there was never a doubt.

Whatever. I got him into the game, and he enjoyed himself.

Nepotism at its finest!

Last Q: The 16th- to 18th-century Safavid Empire ruled over what today is Iran. And according to Andrew, more than just that.

New Q: Located near Sumatra, Mildendo is the capital of this tiny fictional island created by Jonathan Swift.

BTDubs, I’m starting to think I should rename this blog “Teaching and Martial Arts.” What do you think?