PROMO POST PROMO POST PROMO POST!!! And last day of 2014!

When I think of 2014 I cringe. Every time. Don’t even remind me.

I’m like “Woah did that happen? This year? That too? That wasn’t like  a really bad nightmare? Oh then I did this too? In the same 12 months? Jeeez, what was I on”.

I’m not one of those who believe that the start of a new year equals the start of a new me. Unfortunately, it’s still the same old me.

I really wish that’s how it worked though (isn’t that what my whole life’s been about..not wanting to be me anymore). But this year, above everything, I’ve learned to hope. Yeah when you come from a place of wanting to sleep..for forever..the actual, somewhat simplistic but very significant act of just getting out of bed is what hope’s all about.

And I plan on taking that hope with me to tomorrow.

And yeah so the year’s been terrible blah blah and the year’s been hard yackety yack and my hair’s not grown as long as I thought it would yadda yadda but yo, you must MUST see the things to be grateful for or else you’ll just die in the muck of sadness, regret, bitterness, hurt, ungratefulness, other mucky stuff. It’s hard,when sucky things are happening, to find the unsucky things that you can smile about. Like (cliches alert) food, friends, family, hair growth, pretty toe nails, breath mints, Yonce, bad movies that you can laugh to, The Walking Dead (honestly if that series does not make you appreciate your life, I wish zombie futures for you), long hugs and warm beds.

But it has to happen. That’s the only way to live outside of a mental asylum. Lol. Not really LOLing. I’m actually very serious.

A little message to all of us, that I got from a very very very dear friend..

For tomorrow, believe with me, I wish you Love, Laughter, PEACE, Joy, Laughter, Guidance, CrEaTiViTy, Fun, Laughter, Friendship and...RENT. Did I mention Laughter?

And if your 2014 has been one looong, terrible, sucky day, I wish you a new day. 

Sometimes all you need is a new day.

(A personal butler wouldn't hurt either)

Disclaimer..I don’t actually own a gun. Or know how to use one. Unless it’s the same thing as using a hair dryer(or blowdry where I'm from). Then I’m an amateur!

P.S nobody (or animal) was actually hurt in the making of this blogpost(maybe just their feelings)

P.P.S Say hello to the cute kitty.

P.P.S.S I hate cats. So no, let’s not say hello.

The One With The Stepford Girl

So there’s this kid; she’s about five years old now and joined the school I teach in at three years old. In that year I was her teacher I learned a lot from her. Main thing I learnt is that she is a perfect robot girl brought to earth to monitor human behaviour for eventual alien colonization of planet earth.

I know I know every child is perfect in their parents eyes,

but this was not one of those who was highly praised when she joined school.

No no, not at all.

She was brought to class and diligently, bravely hugged her mummy goodbye. No tears, not tantrums, no screaming and kicking. And to date, I’ve never seen tears, tantrums, screaming or kicking. She then came to me and introduced herself, “Hi I’m Robot and I’m 3 years old” (I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what she said) then proceeded to sit on the carpet and stare at me.

Very creepy!

She was perfect in every aspect. She answered all questions and already knew how to raise her hands. At her age they don’t raise hands; they roll around chewing cushions. But she’d raise her hands and answer every question correct. She never got an answer wrong.

Also she was perfectly potty trained and has never made a mess since she joined school. She eats well; I mean we might as well give her a fork and knife. She never went home dirty, never got lost or disappeared, never shouted, never fought, never cried, never ran out of line, never hit, always shared, was always kind, her teeth were always brushed and most uncanny, her hair was never out of place. I think even her eyebrows were naturally shaped.

However, what she never ever did was swim.

During our first swim class all the tots wanted in, except her. She didn’t have a cossie and calmly told me so.

I thought she was telling me that because ACTUALLY she wanted to swim so I undressed her down to her tighty-whities and began to put her in the water. She then did this half cry, half whimper thing. Actually first and only time I’ve seen a semblance of anything close to crying from her.

I ask her what was wrong and she calmly told me, “I don’t ever swim”. 

WHO SAYS THAT? Who, who’s been alive for all of three years and began walking about a week ago (a week ago) and doesn’t know that they don’t swim because they’ve NEVER EVER TRIED IT  says, “I don’t ever swim”? Only just a spy robot disguised as a child that’s trying to take over the Earth, that's who.

Kids usually tell me they are scared of the water or it’s cold but they never say ‘I don’t ever swim’. That’s the complete antithesis of what makes a child a child.

So now Robot girl is older and, scarily so, much wiser. She knows all her sounds, can read to quite an advanced stage, has neat handwriting and is doing well in her new classes. She’s also about to complete her latest bestseller,Why Kids Are Right And Adults Are Dumb-Edition III.

So one day I observe her playing in the sandpit. Whilst chaos reigns around her, she is peacefully building a magical castle. I swear I can see it come to life before me.

 I’ve seen pretty abstract things in the sand pit before, and been fed even weirder things,

but hers is a work of art.

A few of the boys are running around and being rough and they kick up a part of her castle during their play. I watch her eye them with shining eyes and I think, “This is it. She’s about to break and become human. She’s about to cry”.

Instead she calmly picks up the debris of her old castle and continues building.

I’m now determined to see her robot insides and become rich off of her. I call her.

“Robot. Please come.”

She skips to me so gallantly and stands beside me, “Yes miss?”

I wonder whether to take the primitive route and pour water on her, watch her fizz and remove sparks, or whether to ask complicated questions like ‘solve P(xyz)+(WTF)’.

Instead I ask her,

“Robot, why are you so perfect? Why don’t you fight or push kids or disturb your mama? Why are you so calm and always smiling. And why the heck is your hair always in place?”(honestly she’s got African kinky hair! AND it’s always always in place).

She cocks her head to one side, calmly addressing me as if calculating something (she probably was using her X-Ray vision),

then says, “It’s Jesus”.

O.o

The aliens have landed! Go to church folk!

The One With The Little Boy Princess

So there’s this boy. He’s three years old. Quite mature for his age. I mean a little three year old that can acknowledge they are full by using their words..instead of, you know, doing the opposite of using your words is pretty mature for his age.

He’s also mature in the sense that we can have seemingly decent conversations (that should speak volumes about my own maturity) and all that.

 It does help that he has an older sibling- 6 year old brother-who has contributed in large (in my opinion)to his maturity. Do we feel like I’m using mature a lot in this post? Because I do. Let’s just exhaust it completely then I’ll never ever use it again. Mature,mature,mature,mature,mature,manure,mature,mature. Well done all you lazy readers for not noticing manure is in the sentence)

So at the age of 3, gender roles aren’t really defined yet (especially in this day and age where boys wear pink and girls are allowed to cook badly). There are no stereotypes (yet) and everybody can be anybody at 3 years. However, this little one has been highly influenced by his brother (and his brother’s older friends)to react in a certain way regarding certain things. For example, the little one can only hug me in private (that’s not meant to sound creepy at all). Little forehead or cheek pecks are a no-no. Tears are shun, and if they do fall, greatly denied. Playing with girls (in public) is also a no. Yet my class is the one where communal changing by the poolside is accepted (they’re 2 and a half for Pete’s sake).

This one time, during free play, I happened to hear him sing (sometimes he’s also too manly to sing in class) whilst making a little Barbie doll dance. And to top it off, he was wearing our classes princess tiara.

As soon as he saw me, the guilt on his face was like that of a man caught cheating.

He quickly removed it and picked up the toy truck.

2 minutes later, he was back to the doll and crown. Liberation, right?

NOT!

Anytime he felt my eyes on him, he quickly threw the tiara like he’d just noticed it was atop his head and picked up the truck.

I felt so bad for him living that lie for the rest of his 30 minutes of free play. Regretting why he wasn’t true to himself before it was too late..and it was circle time. Losing sleep over his past (morning) during naptime.

No I refuse to let him go through that turmoil.

I’m starting a campaign:

Do you booboo do you! No judgement.

My Day In Pictures

Something about the lil ones that irks me a little bit. Just a little bit.

We’re having a good day.

Absolutely brilliant.

Immensely, amazingly, awesomely brilliant day.

Then this.

I get being so happy when seeing a loved one. Heck, I may have teared before at seeing a long lost friend/ family member coming in from a long journey (mainly because they bear no gifts).

But the person who you see daily, are with always and are apart from for all of six hours doesn’t need this reaction at seeing them. Especially not every time. It’s like the lil one just came back from war and wasn’t sure he’d ever see his loved ones. Ever. Ever. Except it was kindergarten.

Six hours people. Six hours.

Oh well. Goodbye.

The One With The Report Cards

So this is a post I was planning to put up about 2 months ago. Then I didn’t. So that sucks. But many people (that’s a lie) ask me how it is being a Kindergarten teacher; what we teach, how we grade, am I just a better paid baby sitter (the answer is No. baby sitters even get to make free phone calls<<this statement should give a hint as to which generation I was born in)(this is because I’m not quite sure myself).

So here’s what happens. The academic year is up. It’s always an emosh process watching the tots grow and remembering where they came from. Also, there's reports and assessments; basically cramming an academic years-three terms- alphabets, shapes, colours and numbers in one week (I didn’t actually just write that. You’ve read your own things). Thankfully there are no exams or anything for this age group 'coz I don’t know what that would look like.

 Well done, definitely Harvard material!!

So in Kindergarten we assess(doesn’t that word look weird when you first scroll by it. Assess. 
Assess. 
Assess. 
Assess. 
I think I’m spelling it wrong. Now I’m confused. Assess.) the lil ones based on an acronym known as PILES-Physical, Intellectual, Language Development, Emotional development and Social skills. Rather, that’s what I was advised when I first joined Kindergarten (as a teacher. Not 20 something years ago) and so far so good.

Grading is as follows:

SUBJECT/CATEGORIES	GRADE
	Excellent (A*)	Good (A)	It’s never that serious (A-)	For God’s sake I’m only 3 years old (Slightly lower than A- A)	We’ll leave that to the next teacher (A still)
Physical
Can run for at least 20 seconds without falling	ü
Can throw a ball without it magically frisbeeing back to me				ü
Intellectual
Can count 1-20					ü
Ok 10					ü
5?					ü
No pressure,just say number one?					ü
Ok I'll take you creepily staring at me.	ü
Language
Can you speak language; any at all?				ü
Scratch that, can your teacher at least understand you, somewhat?		ü
Emotional
Still cry, a lot, at nothing really					(Teacher’s note: you two would get along just fine)
Still cry, a lot less, at nothing really	ü
Social
Would rather play Ben 10 outside than participate in circle time with the teacher	ü
General comments Your child has performed incredibly well this term. Emotionally, they’ve progressed from tantrums to mild tantrums at the mention of no sweets. They frequently hug and kiss their peers, yes on the lips, and for that we award them an A. It’s definitely better than the other option of biting and scratching. We suggest that you work on insert a lot of diplomatic speak to basically say you don’t whoop your child enough and that’s why you wonder why they get away with destroying an entire aisle in the super market yet you “reason” with them at any given chance.

But really, our report cards look a lot like these ones I found online, which I was too busy, too lazy, and/or secretly hoping you wouldn’t notice to give links. Just google ‘diplomatic, kind and truthful endterm report card comments that won’t hurt parents feelings.

Hey I still struggle with tying my laces. VELCRO PEOPLE, VELCRO!

Is there a grade for ‘my teacher is breathing down my neck as I tick these so I’ll just tick 5’?

For me, it’d be “I can do math...wait, typo. I can’t do math.”

Also, I saw this online when I was working on my reports (and no I did not google ‘diplomatic, kind and truthful endterm report card comments that won’t hurt parents feelings’) and found it..tru…sorry no, meant interesting..

Happy Saturday!!