Category Archives: teacher

Thanks, I Can Manage

Beauty in the day: so, our 5th graders are working to qualify for “Self Manager” status. Many already have, and I was working on special custom badges attached to lanyards for each of them.
One 5th grade boy was sent to the workroom by his teacher to sharpen a handful of pencils, which he did, quite handily. We chatted about the lanyards while he did his chore and I continued with mine as well. He was preparing to leave, and I suggested he wait, while I finished he last of the lanyards, so he could deliver them to his teacher.
I instantly saw that this presented him with a predicament. One the one hand, the beautiful lanyards (which included his OWN personalized edition, complete with picture) would surely please his teacher and fellow students, and would DEFINITELY please himself. On the other hand, he was sent on a pencil-sharpening mission, and his well-earned status of Self Manager was quite fresh, and he was loathe to taint it in any way.
He said nothing, but smiled nervously at me, and I saw that he was delicately walking a balance beam between respecting his teacher’s instruction, and respecting mine. He seemed to be swaying ever so slightly under the weight of this while he waited for me to finish. I thought I detected tiny beads of perspiration forming on his forehead, and he smiled at me with a pinched smile. His eyes darted back and forth, and then he would make eye contact with me and smile again, shyly.
After what surely seemed like an hour (but what was actually closer to 4 minutes), I was finished, and handed the lanyards to him, which he clutched like a trophy. As he left the workroom I called to remind him not to forget his pencils. I got an especially fun look from him for that.

His teacher reported that he came into the classroom and turned over the lanyards. Then he told her, “I have to be honest – I finished sharpening the pencils quite a bit earlier….”
😂
#thatiswhyhequalifiedwiththefirstgroup

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Toothfully

Beauty in the day: she lost a tooth yesterday, but tragically left it on her breakfast tray, and OOPS! Out it went into the trash. by the time I heard about it, there had been crocodile tears and comforting, and the little was back in class.

But that didn’t seem good enough to me. I grabbed a pink “tooth” necklace, and wrote a note on some colorful paper:

“Dear Tooth Fairy,
[So and so lost her tooth, but it was tragically left on her breakfast tray, and OOPS! Out in went with into the trash. You can find it here:

Ardmore Elementary School
16616 NE 32nd ST
Bellevue, WA 98008

Sincerely,
Kelly Nordstrom
Ardmore Elementary School Office Manager”

I brought the necklace and note to ]So and so’s] class, and took her aside. I read her the note, and then folded it up teeny-tiny, and popped it into the tooth necklace, and secured the lid with tape (just to make sure). I told her to take it home and show her mom, and to not worry, since the Tooth Fairy would have all the information she needed. She was happy, and stowed the necklace away in her backpack.

This morning she was back, and asked the sweet aide who had initially helped her if she had found her tooth. The aide was a little puzzled, and asked her if she had remembered to show her mommy the necklace with the note.

“Yes,” she informed her, “but my mommy just asked my why I took my tooth to school in the first place?!”

#ifyouloseyourtoothathomeitisnotasmuchfun

Making Sure

Beauty in the day: there were two of them, and they had a pass, which they handed over with an air of importance. “We need to get 10 copies of this.”
“Okay,” I responded dutifully, and held out my hand for the paper.
“We need 10 copies.”
“Okay.”
“10 copies of this math.”
“Okay.” I extended my hand a little further.
“Please make 10 copies of this math.”
“Okay.” I sort of waved my hand a little.
“10 copies for my teacher.”
I tried a different tack.
“I think you need to give me that copy, so I can use it to make the 10 copies.”
This brought me a suspicious gaze. But as I am generally trustworthy, she handed over the paper, albeit slowly.
“My teacher needs 10 of those.”
Yes. 10 was what I had stuck in my mind, so I was relieved that we were still on the same page.
I brought back the copies, giving the original to one girl, and the copies to the other. For a moment it appeared that we might have an equality issue, but Logic won out, and they headed back to class with their mission accomplished.

#10please

Zip it Good

Beauty in the day: he talks to us. We often don’t understand what he’s saying, but he’s also pretty animated, so us educated folk are generally able to decipher his antics. Today he had a few words for the Librarian. He seemed interested in her vest, and she leaned down to let him in’vest’igate. He motioned to her zipper, which he then grasped, and pulled up to her chin. She thanked him with a smile, and he left, exhibiting pride in a job well-done.

Sometimes love is letting someone zip you up.

How We Were Raised

Beauty in the day: he wanted an ice pack. “I need an ice pack for my arm,” he said, massaging his shoulder at the joint.
“What happened? Why is it hurting?”
“It hurts because I was raising my arm for so long.”

Really….🙄

“Oh – I don’t think an ice pack will really work for that, but….wow! You must be a really good student! Were you raising your hand and waiting to answer a question?”
He said no, but explained further. “I was raising my arm to signal zero noise level.”

I faked a double-take. “Seriously? Wow! You really ARE a good student!” I stood up and motioned to shake his hand, which he allowed, in a proud-yet-bewildered manner. I dismissed him then, calling after him, “Keep up the good work!”

Unlike some of the kids who leave with no memory of why they had arrived in the first place, this one left happy, but kept looking back at me on his way down the hall.

He may be onto me.

#iftheyfigureitoutitsallover

Don’t Blink

Beauty in the day: he came and stood at the tall end of the desk, his eyes peeking at me. I asked him why he was there.
“Well, I was in line, and [one classmate] got in line in front of me….” he trailed off for just a moment, and looked distant – then resumed. “And [other classmate] got in line behind me.”
I waited for the terrible tragedy that must have befallen him at this point.
He blinked. Three times, I think.
That was it. The tragedy.
At least, that was all I was getting.

#blinkthreetimesandsaythereisnoplacelikehome…