Name Game April 23, 2020

There is no way to suggest that any crisis in the world of Peachy really matters, in light of the broader global picture in which we find ourselves today. Therefore, we are not going to go into explanations for why a blogger might fall off the face of the World of WordPress.

Such details pale in comparison to the abrupt changes that have characterized the last, oh, thirty-eight days—but who’s counting? Quick, say the name! Because I can’t. Oh, I can come up with it when I have a minute, but I wonder if I am the only person who finds that the names of this thing just don’t have a groove at all?

Coronavirus-–I say, ” Carnivorous.

Covid19—I hear “Coville13” (after beloved children’s author, Bruce Coville.) who I’m sure would agree that 13 is way better than lame 19 On really bat shit crazy quarantine days, it’s a coven of 19 witches.

Maybe it’s some global pandemic phenomenon whereby it becomes “That which must not be named,” or “the artist formerly known as Chinese virus.”

Maybe it is quarantine cabin fever…

Image: New York Public Library

Survival Strategies For Special Occasions January 17, 2020

Now that we have finished making and breaking some resolutions, it’s time to prepare for the main event: the state exams! Every teacher knows exactly every detail of what is arguably our World Series (with reduced salaries).

It is a serious matter, and I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a first-year teacher in the “Test Security Staff Meeting.”

The enforcers in this game are hard to recognize. They call themselves “‘The Test Security Unit.” I visualize this as “Men In Black” character get-up. I have never seen anyone in our school that resembles the picture in my mind. Or perhaps I just don’t remember because they used the flashy thing to wipe my memory.

Here are a few of the moves one could make to put their certification and employment in grave danger:

1. Taking a picture of the test.
2. Texting is a federal offense.
3. Report anything that might be cheating.

That’s pretty self-explanatory. But today we think of all staff who must proctor testing, since teachers are not allowed to administer these exams by themselves. Makes sense, but some proctors are more helpful than others.

My most annoying proctor experience involved a proctor who did not get the idea that “No talking” meant that she should not be talking to me.

I tried to maneuver to the other side of the classroom, trying to mske sure that kids are not drawing or drooling on the test booklet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement on the other side of the room It was Miss Proctor, contorting her face. She was trying to over-enunciate so that I would be able to read her silent lips! I never could figure out what the hell she was saying. I’m just grateful that she didn’t break into a whisper yell…

PROCTORS BEWARE\

I can read two phrases in Lip:

F—CK YOU

I LOVE YOU

Report Card Comments: End of Year Survival Report April 2, 2019

Pretty much

peachyteachy

I wish that I could have included this video somehow in the final report cards of about eight of my students this year, because this pretty much captures their learning this year.  Eight kids who are making and shooting “paper hornets” on a daily basis has a pretty profound impact on the hygiene and learning of a classroom.  I believe that I have mentioned my students’ impressive ability to crease paper more effectively by spitting upon it.  They do not possess an overwhelming generosity of spirit, but they are really quite selfless when it comes to giving up and dispersing their saliva.

If you are new to Peachy’s report card comments, you may be picturing a pale suburban clientele, in which case you would be sadly misled.  Aren’t they adorable?

My class is a bit less enthusiastic. And if they all put their hands up like that, people would be…

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An Open Letter to Lands’ End or, The Case of the Sapphire Blue Jacket April 1, 2019

Dear Lands’ End, 

It is with the heaviest of hearts that I write to tell you today about the loss of My Precious. The tale begins in an ordinary way.  The day was brisk but sunny as I made my way to the salon for a cut and color.  As I walked through the door way my stylist and friend commented on the fact that she had the same jacket as mine, as she proceeded to take my jacket to hang in the back closet. What a coincidence! 

We went about the business of cutting and coloring— Me time of the highest order.  Little did I know that I would soon be plunged into the depths of an outerwear tragedy.  

I flipped through a magazine, checked my emails while I was “processed.” I don’t mind being processed l\like a can of Spam; and paying for it. In this way Spam and I are one.  

Of coursel all self-care must come to an end; I gathered my things while my stylist walked to the back to get my coat. Except my jacket was no longer there. The search party of haircare professionals failed to locate it. Someone resisted the suggestion that we alert the authorities.

Inner monologue: 

“Nooooooooooooooooooooo!”

Outer fake and casual me: 

“It will turn up!”  

Inner:

“What kind of sick, remorseless, sociopath would inflict such anguish”

Silver lining:  I got to borrow my stylist’s identical jacket, which was super nice but it wasn’t the same because it wasn’t my size. As you well know, this is a goddamned three season jacket! I even ordered a new Primaloft ( read: miraculously light insulation) jacket but it’s not blue and it’s just not as cute as Old Blue. I named the jacket after having lost it. 

She is gone, but not forgotten. Thank the powers there wasn’t a can of Spam in the pocket.

 

Yours Truly,

PeachyTeachy

 

 

 

 

 

 

Got another vacuum June 5, 2018

Yup.

Another one.

You have to love the stuff your kids give you.  Even if it is a bottle of overly smelly cologne from the dollar store.  This grace period can, I would argue, extend well into their adult years. In light of this, I chuckled good-naturedly when last year’s seemingly impressive gift was presented—behold—the cheapest of the cheap vacuums was mine!

What the universe neglected to note was that I had been dreaming about buying a new vacuum cleaner, one that cost more than what it costs to get two large pizzas. A vacuum cleaner that would not sneeze out its contents after  17 minutes of operation. No, the universe had been sleeping on the job, because the vacuum that I received was constructed of the same materials used to craft yogurt containers.

Now all of this would have been less painful if I had not followed that vacuum gifting experience with a repeat performance of receiving virtually the same incredibly cheap vacuum, one year later. Now it would seem I am not destined to ever own a higher and vacuum cleaner. I cannot make this vacuum cleaner suck, (Oh, wait! I don’t have to!). I cannot make this vacuum cleaner release its cup full of junk; the only way that it gives up the junk is if it vomits it out onto the carpet.

Did I mention that the second cheap and evil vacuum was gifted by the man of the house?

Gentlemen. Believe me. You don’t want to be that guy.

The closest it would seem that I will get anything like a robot vacuum cleaner is the way, when Mr. McSucky Face catches the corner of one eye, it  looks like a student raising their hand to speak. “Ms. Peachy! Ms. Peachy! Pick me! I suck the most!”

My sentient vacuum cleaners. You both suck . The most.

© Netris | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Imag

 

No Such Thing as a Free Lunch February 16, 2017

Part One: Breakfast

So they say, those naysayers who have never witnessed the veritable smorgasbord that is crafted for our youth at Peachytime Elementary on a daily–nay, semi-hourly–basis. Oh, look.  I have become a naysayer.

I am here to report that no one is going hungry during our school days; not the mice, not the kids, except for those who require ranch dressing for most every menu item here at Chez Peachytime Cafe.

Let me break it down for you:

Ms. Peachy circa 8:23 a.m.:

GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE! Get your breakfast, plasticware, and a pencil and start chomping! You have 7 minutes to eat your

Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Wonder Waffle in a Bag

Cream Cheese trapped in Bagel Dough

Muffin of Crumb

Rice Chex or Mouse Chex

Plus milk. Which reminds me,

PLEASE SPILL YOUR MILK EXACTLY ONE MINUTE BEFORE TIME TO LINE UP FOR THE HALL! SPILL IT WELL! SPILL IT UPON THE RUG! AND PLEASE SOAK IT UP WITH ONE LINEAR MILE OF THE LEAST ABSORBENT PAPER TOWELS AVAILABLE ON PLANET EARTH. GOOD JOB.

OH GOD I FORGOT TO COMPLETE THE SPREADSHEET DETAILING EXACTLY HOW MANY EATERS HAVE EATEN. IT’S A LEGAL DOCUMENT! I COULD SINGLE-HANDEDLY PUT OUR FEDERAL FOOD ELIGIBILITY IN PERIL! 8:40 AND I’M ALREADY SUCKING!

Spreadsheet and remaining food must go back to the cafeteria now, with data and in its breakfast cozy crate–pick the kids least likely to careen down the stairs with the straps around their necks. This, while five more kids arrive and need to take their breakfast from the crate carriers before we all joyfully walk to specials, hopefully not music. They hate music. Music is too happy. I tell them that it’s forty minutes of their lives and we can get through forty minutes of anything.

My inner monologue: “Forty minutes you’ll never get back…”

 

Mice, Lice, and Everything Nice October 22, 2016

 

Peachy, end of June:

School is still in session.

We’re hard core. We like our students pissed off and confused. The lunch menu is “Chef’s Choice.” Come on!

Peachy, mid/early/late October:

School is in session, again, and this year is clearly slated to consist of 472 days rather than the customary 180. Some things cannot be altered or resolved by upping one’s coconut oil consumption.

Have you ever wondered about the origins of the iconic image of the traditional teacher, hair pulled back and up in a severe bun, cloudy spectacles perched on face? It’s not rocket science.

The bun goes up right around mid-September, at the exact moment when teacher spots tiny and tenacious members of the animal kingdom creeping up her students hair.  It used to be that school nurses would advise parents that their kid would have to be cleared before returning to school, and the remainder of the class would be lined up for the “head check.” No more.  These days, I send a kid who is visibly crawling with critters, along with a note to the nurse: “Head check?”  Six minutes later, the kid comes back with the scrawled reply: “Yes,” and a letter to take home.  Most parents in my school do a less-than-thorough treatment, supporting record levels of lice at any time of the school year.

It’s even worse when one is ambushed at head level by several kids a day, sweetly bestowing hugs before a teacher can establish a safe distance from hairdos.  At this point, teacher scalps feel perpetual itch until the end of the school year.

Let us not overlook our furry friends, the mice of the urban school.  We are provided with sticky traps, which are gory gadgets that can trap a family of mice who are out for a stroll, at which point they usually tear themselves apart in the attempt to escape. Urgent calls to the custodian result in less-than-urgent responses.  In one classroom, a teacher confiscated a note being passed from one student to another, after the entire class had been whipped into a frenzy by the squeaks of trapped rodentia .  The note read, “I tuched the mouse.”

Oh—and the glasses? That teacher’s got pink-eye.

 

 

Messy Mother’s Day May 8, 2016

peachyteachy

Five years ago, on May 12, it was also Mother’s Day.  It had been a lovely day with my kids, and I had spoken that afternoon with my 80-something mom, who was on what she was determined would be a temporary stay at a nursing home.  Her voice had been so raspy that it was difficult to understand her.  We had talked about the upcoming commencement when I would celebrate the completion of my master’s degree.  She had spoken of sharing with the nurses the photo I had sent of my then four-year-old son.

That night, I was awakened by a phone call telling me that she had passed away.

Obviously, Mother’s Day is bittersweet for me.  It’s also complicated.

Thanks to my mom for all of the important things that she taught me to do and be.  Mom shared with me her passion and respect for the natural world…

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My Role in the Revolution May 5, 2016

Where’s Peachy and what’s she doing? She’s busy doing her best to single-handedly dismantle our educational system, that’s what.

Exhaustive data analysis reveals that, if I administer what we call a pre-test, run detailed genetic error analysis of the test, teach for a few weeks,  then have the cherubs take it again after this period of targeted, data-driven instruction, the scores generally support the following:

A. My instruction sucks all knowledge out of the brains of children.

B. My instruction  makes children believe that they are track stars and champions of English as a Second Language (their first language: profanity).

I live to serve.  You’re welcome.

You might not be working at Mensa headquarters if. . . February 4, 2016

 

 

*A student asks if biographies are “fake or real,” then notices the birth and death dates in a biography of MLK. “Is that his phone number?”

*A student tells that the solution to the community problem of mosquitoes in summer would be to construct a “honey city,” presumably to attract all mosquitoes away from their eons-old diet of blood from us, to an irresistible city of honey, far enough away that they set up camp and move there.

It’s been a rough week, and it’s not a full moon, so I blame the goddamned groundhog.

TWO fights in two days in my classroom—the kid involved in both NOT a heavy hitter. Particularly heart-breaking.

Today’s third grade responses to a question about a problem in our community:

1) PROBLEM: Mosquitoes

POSSIBLE SOLUTION: Honey City

 

2) PROBLEM: Shooting/Killing/Violence

POSSIBLE SOLUTION: Dangerous criminals go to super max prison.

 

3) PROBLEM: Illegally Parked Vehicles

POSSIBLE SOLUTION: Call police, tow cars, tickets

 

4) PROBLEM: Cockroaches

POSSIBLE SOLUTION: Kill them

When asked how many had been affected by Problem 2? A sea of hands.

Image:http://manasota.us.mensa.org/mbroch.jpg