Yard Duty

When you are a kid, recess is THE BEST. For 25 glorious minutes, you are free of the teacher's watchful eye. You want to roll giant snowballs until they are too big to move or serve any purpose? Go for it. You want to dig a hole to China using only your fingernails and a pointy stick? Be my guest.

When you are a teacher on yard duty, recess is THE WORST. 25 minutes might not seem like very long when you are watching The Mindy Project, but those same 25 minutes are an eternity when your job is to walk aimlessly around a school yard on a frosty January day, eyes squinted against the glaring sun. Have you ever thought about how exceedingly boring yard duty must be for a supply teacher? I have literally counted out the seconds and the minutes during a 30 minute recess stint. You don't know anyone, there are no kids to talk to or joke with, and “Hey, you! The one climbing the fence!” doesn't tend to be a very effective reprimand.

In fact, there is maybe nothing worse as a supply teacher than trying to discipline a child who's name is unknown. Last winter, I found myself filling in for yard duty in a city school on the “Intermediate Field”, which happened to have a newly formed and very off-limits ice slide within its perimeter. After several attempts in my “nice teacher voice” asking a group of 13-year-old boys to please stay off the icy death trap, I eventually had to employ my “not-so-nice teacher voice” with some serious aplomb. Unfortunately, this group of boys happened to be of that particular breed that responds to neither type of teacher voice, and proceeded to take out little children as they defiantly slid across the icy field. I had just started walking in their direction for the 5^th time when the bell conveniently rang, sending them running in laughter towards the intermediate doors where they knew they would be freed from my nagging.

On a normal day, I would let it go. But after 30 minutes of bitingly cold January air, I was about as fired up as you could be in -20 weather. Upon entering the primary hall, I asked the teacher next door to watch my class for the next few minutes. I then proceeded to hunt the hallways, eyes peeled for two red hats and a camouflage coat. After several minutes of searching.....SUCCESS! I have never seen three children look less happy to see me than those boys did when I finally spotted them. I waited until they had finished getting out of their snow stuff, and followed them into their classroom where I gave their rather intimidating teacher the recess low-down. I won't say it pleases me to get students into trouble, but I will admit I felt a little shiver of happiness (or lingering cold) when their teacher turned his full wrath upon these three boys in the glorious way that only a regular classroom teacher can.

My duty done, I returned to my Grade 1 classroom where I was greeted by shining red cheeks, still-watery eyes and toothless smiles, and I thanked the Lord for primary students.  

My Most Powerful Teaching Tool

First, I would like to dedicate this post to all the wee students who hold my hand throughout my teaching days, not only melting my heart, but also effectively infecting me with all of their germs.

I pride myself on being the kind of person who rarely gets sick. I've thrown up once in the past 10 years, winter sniffles are a novelty, and head-aches a foreign concept. It is no surprise, then, that when my body decided to finally let down its defenses last Sunday I was attacked by every illness symptom in a matter of 7 days. It began with a fevered flip-flop between sweats and chills, then a sore throat and head-ache, topped off by a nauseousness that lent food the same appeal as a bowl of play-dough.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were write-offs for teaching, but Thursday morning I woke up feeling well enough to take a job, choosing a Grade 1 class in hopes of an easy day. Upon entering the classroom and reading the plans for the day, I immediately questioned my decision. The top half of the page was filled with descriptions about which students to watch out for, with one boy's name being linked to the word volatile. (Volatile: tending or threatening to break out into open violence; explosive.) Two students were listed as “runners”, with instructions left on how to use the walkie-talkie in case of emergency.

On a normal day, this would be a daunting task. On a day when your voice decides to cease existence half-way through first period, this becomes an impossible task. While reading Howard B. Wigglebottom, one of my student's voiced his sincere concern and asked, “What is wrong with your voice, Mrs. A? It's so squeaky.” I smiled and continued on, my voice getting weaker with each moment. Finally, I had to admit defeat, putting the book away in surrender. In immediate response, the students' voices became a rising cacophony, as though they had been waiting all morning for my voice to give way.

What does a teacher do with no voice? Read-aloud? Nope. Present a math lesson? Forget it. Prevent an unruly child from escaping the classroom and running down the hallway? Ya right!

I will tell you what a teacher with no voice does. A teacher with no voice does 25 minutes of yoga with her students, inwardly praying that some of their energy will evaporate during downward dog. A teacher with no voice frantically searches YouTube for a Magic School Bus episode that will (vaguely) relate to what the students are currently learning. A teacher with no voice fiddles with the dead walkie-talkie while she pleads in whispers for her run-away student to return to the classroom.

Through trial by fire, I discovered that a teacher's most important tool is not her wealth of knowledge (ha!), or her classroom management skills, but her voice. So thank-you, God, for what my friends so (un)lovingly refer to as my “Teacher Voice”. It has saved me on many occasions and will never again be taken for granted.  

My First "I Love You"

Before my first day as an occasional teacher, I began my educational career as an emergency educational assistant. Did I have experience working as or with an EA? Nope. Did I feel overly prepared for the role? Not really. Was I ready to take on any job that would get my foot in the door at a school board? You bet. 

My first few days as an EA soon rolled into a 2-month commitment, as one of the school's regular EA's could no longer work afternoons. I was thrilled at the opportunity to make a better connection with the kids and teachers, but felt under-qualified for the task at hand. Fortunately, I thought, the two boys that I would be spending most of my afternoons with were in Grade 1 and JK, and how much trouble can a 6-year old really get into? (*present self rolling eyes) 

On one my first afternoons, the entire school was participating in an outdoor fun day (which was made slightly less fun by the fact that it was 13 degrees that day). All of the EA's were matched with a child to travel around with for the afternoon, and I was excited to be paired up with *Bobby, my adorable little JK. Seriously, he was stinking cute. Blonde hair, big blue eyes, and the chubbiest cheeks, he looked like the 5-year-old version of the Gerber baby. 

The afternoon started wonderfully. Besides some minor admonishes to "wait your turn" and "stay next to me, please", I had little to do to keep things running smoothly. Eventually, we made our way to the game where you run from bucket to bucket with a sponge, trying to squeeze as much water as possible into your team's empty bucket. You know, the game you've played at every "fun day" you have ever been to. Ever. However, Bobby decided he could not be limited within the confines of the game's rules. Rather than dipping his sponge, he proceeded to grab the edges of the full bucket (while I am deciphering his intentions and dramatically yelling, "Bobby, nooooooo!") and throw his entire body head-first into the frigid water. How he thought he would get out of the bucket on his own is beyond me, as now it was only his little spider-man shoes that could be seen wiggling out of the top. A Grade 8 student and myself teamed up to pull him from the water, to which his response was not, "Thank-you" but rather, "I'm cold." Shocker. 

Now that I was also covered in water from Bobby's under-water expedition, the two of us made our way shivering to the kindergarten classroom. We managed to find some extra clothes, but when I handed them to him to get changed in the kindergarten bathroom he said, "Oh, I'm not allowed to get changed in the class bathroom. I lock myself in by accident. We have to go to the boys' bathroom and you hold the door for me." So, there I was, standing in the boys' bathroom holding the stall door while pleading with Bobby to stop throwing his soaked clothes over the top of stall. 

You can imagine that by the time we headed back outside I was slightly frazzled, but there was only an hour left in the day. My mental pep-talk went as follows: "You can do this. The rest of the day went great. Look how cute he is! You just need to keep a closer eye on him." While I was beginning to reassure myself, Bobby was scouting out his next adventure. We spotted the puddle at the same time. And not just your average puddle! The kind of mini lake that forms after a week of rainy, wet weather, and can only be found in elementary school yards. I looked down at Bobby. Bobby looked up at me. Before I could tighten my grip on his hand, it was ripped from mine and he was sprinting towards the lake-puddle. "Bobby!! That's your last change of clothes!!"

But there he was, sprinting through the knee-deep water, mud splashing up to his arm-pits. He spun around with his arms raised high, 5-year-old Moses in the middle of his very own Red Sea, a huge smile plastered to his face. I'm not sure what my face looked like in that moment but I can guarantee there was not a huge smile plastered to it. 

He made his way towards me, and I took several quick steps back as I realized his objective. Too late. With his chubby arms wrapped around my knees, Bobby looked up at me and matter-of-factly said, "I love you, Mrs. A." My first "I love you" from a student. Instant forgiveness for all of Bobby's transgressions. 

*names changed for privacy

Teenage Teacher

There are advantages and disadvantages to being a young teacher. People often ask me whether I have issues with authority over older students because I am so young, but the truth is that most Grade 8 students are thrilled to have a teacher who looks the same age as them. As soon as they spot me, I hear whispers of, "She's so young!", "She looks like a teenager!", and "She looks really nice!" The truth is that I don't look any nicer than any other teacher, I simply look relatable. I am instantly viewed as hip and cool, and I don't correct their perceptions by sharing that I read the entire Harry Potter series this summer for the third time, and my favourite pass-time in high school was self-induced solitary confinement in the library.

While my youthful appearance makes me popular amongst the students, it often confuses my fellow teachers. I can't count the number of times I have heard:

"How old are you?"
"Are you sure you're a Missus?"
"You must have been a child bride!"
"You make me feel old."

Once, while on yard duty, I saw a principal hesitantly approaching me across the field. I walked to meet him, and when I was within a few metres he called out to ask me my name. I told him my name and who I was in for that day, and with a sigh of relief he said, "Oh, good! I thought you were a student and someone had forgotten their yard duty today." Let me remind you this was an elementary school. I was mistaken for a 13-year-old.

However, this slightly embarrassing occasion does not compare to one I experienced the prior year. Working both as a supply teacher and a restaurant waitress, I had the immense privilege (*note the sarcasm) of serving one of my Grade 8 students and his mother. Upon noticing that her son recognized me, the mother knowingly smiled, leaned over to him and not-so-quietly asked, "Is this pretty girl someone I should know about, Matt?" As her son attempted to simultaneously shake his head, slink under the table, and turn the approximate shade of a beet root, I explained that I was, in fact, her son's teacher. Rather than an apology for creating the most awkward situation of my teaching and waitressing career, the mother simply said, "But you look like a teenager!"

Well, I can't fault her for telling the truth. Most of my female Grade 8 students wear more make-up than me, are more stylish than me, and look 3-5 years older than me. I know one day I will be glad to be mistaken for a student, so for now I will not complain about being referred to as "the teenage teacher".

Pimples at Twenty-Four

At age twelve, my smooth, childhood skin began its descent into what was, in my mind, an adolescent nightmare. The rosy glow was swapped for red pimples, and I spent lengthy periods in front of the bathroom mirror trying to attain facial perfection, often ending up in tears of frustration when my efforts inevitably fell short.  I dreaded sleepovers and hockey games, knowing that everyone would see my "real" skin when I washed my face. Many mornings, I wished that I could stay home so no one would see my face.

Twelve years later, no longer a teenager and definitely past the point I thought I would be getting acne, my skin still makes me want to stay home from school some days. My husband can attest to the sad fact that every now and then the tears make an appearance as I lament that twelve years is more than long enough for one person to deal with pimples!

This summer, though, my perspective was transformed by one of my favourite students (who also happens to be one of my favourite campers). Sitting together during free time, my eleven-year-old camper turned to me and said, "I don't know if you noticed, but I started getting pimples this year." I told her honestly that I hadn't noticed, but she went on to explain, "I try to cover them up with my mom's make-up, but you can still see them sometimes." Instantly, I felt my heart break for her. This little girl is so lovely, both inside and out, and I couldn't allow her to think there was something wrong with her because of a few pimples.

I explained to her how I had always been embarrassed about my skin, too, to which she said, "Your skin is perfect!" I pointed out to her the many pimples that were, in fact, on my face that day, and she was quick to tell me, "Those aren't even noticeable! I like your face!"

While I will admit it felt wonderful to hear those words, I knew that I needed to say more. "See!" I said. "Sometimes the things we see as our biggest flaws aren't even noticed by others! Don't waste all the time that I wasted worrying what other people think about how you look. God made you beautiful, and He sees your heart."

Throughout our talk, I felt God nudging my own heart with these words of truth. For the first time in my life, I was thankful for the imperfect skin God gave me that allowed me to share this moment with another one of His daughters. I can't say I don't still have mornings where I wish I could hide my face under a bag (or five). I can say, though, that on those mornings I sometimes hear my own voice repeating what I told my student, and it makes it much easier to look at the face in the mirror and say, "God made you beautiful, and He sees your heart."

A Vampire Attack

Perhaps I am alone in this, but nothing is more intimidating to me as a young teacher than supplying in a classroom that has a full-time ECE, Educational Assistant, or other adult employee in the classroom. Certainly there are benefits to having a helping hand in the classroom! They know the routines, the students' are comforted by a familiar face, and they act as a second mischief-detector in the classroom. Still, as a brand-spanking new teacher (with the face of a 13-year-old), I feel a wave of uncertainty crash over me whenever I read a note on the day plans such as, "Mrs. M will be in the classroom the first half of the day with you." My ridiculous internal dialogue goes something like:

Who is this Mrs. M? Is she nice? The kids will probably like her better than me. Is she going to think I look too young to teach? Will she think I'm incompetent if something goes wrong? Will she like my teaching style? Will she tell the real teacher if I have to do something different?

I am sure that most EA's and ECE's would be astounded if they realized how much unnecessary pressure I feel at their presence. Fortunately, my first day in a kindergarten classroom I was saved this trepidation by the fact that the ECE in my classroom was not only another supply, but a supply on her very first job. I must admit that I breathed a sigh of relief upon her confession that she also had little experience in kindergarten, but I later had to wonder whether my lack of fear in her presence was a fair trade for the chaotic day that quickly ensued.

Throughout my placements I had heard many teachers say, "It takes a special teacher to be able to teach kindergarten", and I was not long in that classroom before I discovered why. A kindergarten teacher has to embody a magical blend of fun, creativity, and order, and with two OT's who had never been in a kindergarten classroom before, our "order" was severely lacking. Approximately a third of the students on the attendance had asterisks beside their names with notes of behavioural issues we should watch out for. How are four eyes supposed to "watch out for" 8 students? I could tell that the ECE (who had gone to school for grades 4-10) felt out of her element and overwhelmed at the task before us. Although I didn't have much more experience, the cuteness factor of the kids had me thinking that Kindie-Land couldn't be too bad and instilled in me a false sense of confidence. I pulled out my Mrs. A voice (which is about an octave higher than my normal voice) and got down to kindergarten business.

Despite the 24 kindies informing us throughout the day, "That's not how Mrs. B does it!", our morning flew by without a hitch, and it wasn't until lunch that "the incident" occurred. Throughout the morning we had discovered that one boy needed to be kept a particularly close eye on, so neither of us had left his side during play-time or crafts. Once settled down with his apple slices for lunch, we mistakenly felt bold enough to abandon our post and stroll around the classroom monitoring the other students. Well, this boy must have spent the last two hours itching for the right opportunity, because within moments of turning our backs on him we heard a scream and whipped our heads around to see him pinning down another student while biting her stomach!

Within a half-second, the ECE had lifted him off the other student and set him on his seat, and I checked in with his victim to soothe her and discover with relief that there were no bite marks. As the ECE had a serious chat with our little vampire, I had a brain-wave to check his communications book and see if another incident like this had happened this year. Sure enough, there were multiple notes home to mom about her son biting, kicking and hitting other students, all saying that the other student's parents had been informed and her son had spent recess in the office. While discovering this helpful information for how to handle the situation, I had little time to notice that the ECE was having a minor panic attack at the back of the classroom. Never being one to know how to handle a crying adult, I tentatively approached her and asked if she was okay.

"I don't know", she said. "Was that okay that I picked him up?"

"Uh, yep. He was biting another student."

"Yes, I just removed him from the situation." What she was saying was logical but her frantic tone suggested that she needed more reassurance.

"You did the right thing. It's okay to prevent a student from hurting another one and you did it very gently," I assured her.

"Yes, I just removed him from the situation."

"Yep."

"I just picked him up and removed him from the situation."

"Mhmm."

"We should go talk to the principal, she'll understand that he needed to be removed from the situation."

"Okay."

In our discussion with the principal (who of course knew that this was an ordinary occurrence for our little vampire), I listened to the other supply insist that she "simply removed him from the situation" approximately 7 more times. I could tell that the principal was getting impatient with the ECE's need to repeatedly verbalize her innocence, and I stepped in to suggest that we write a note home to both students' parents and keep the perpetrator in for recess. With these steps agreed upon, we headed back to our classroom to take on the rest of the day.

Though the afternoon passed by smoothly, the ECE remained distracted by the lunch-time events. She continually went through the scenario with me, seeking my approval of her actions (which she certainly had) and worrying that the student's parents might be upset. I really think she was afraid she might get fired for preventing a student from gnawing on the stomach of another 4-year-old.  I never thought I would spend more time looking after a fellow adult in the classroom than looking after my students! At the end of the day, I talked her down from the 5-page essay she wanted to leave the regular classroom teacher and left a simple summary which, of course, included the phrase, "She removed him from the situation."

-Mrs. A

My Worst First Day of School

With my second "first day" as an OT (occasional teacher) just around the corner, I've decided to reflect upon my FIRST first day as an official supply teacher. Until this point, only my husband and immediate family have known the full account of that infamous day. Fortunately, enough time has passed that I can now look upon that day with a sense of humour, and write this for the overall enjoyment of anyone who can get a chuckle out of my disastrous birth into my Life as Mrs. A.

When I think about my first day as an OT I can see now that it was not a single bad moment that kiboshed the day, but in true Lemony Snicket fashion, a series of unfortunate events. My sad tale begins with my drive to school, palms sweaty on the steering wheel, printed map quest directions on the passenger seat (these were my naive days before bumming a GPS from my dad). Of course, I had accounted for morning traffic and arrived at the school 25 minutes early with plenty of breathing room. All seemed rainbows and sunshine as I introduced myself to the secretary as the Grade 8 supply for the day, who kindly showed me to the classroom and the neatly laid-out lesson plans for the day. I took my time familiarizing myself with the classroom and day plans before heading to the office to collect the attendance folder. Upon entering the office, I hit stumbling block number one when I overheard an emergency supply teacher discussing with the secretary the fact that she was in for the Grade 8 teacher. The secretary asked her if she was sure the call was for *Eastwoods Elementary School, and while the emergency supply responded that she was certain, my mind exploded with the knowledge that I was in the wrong school with ten minutes until classes started! I hurriedly asked the supply teacher if there was another school on the street by a similar name, and sure enough *Eastbridge Elementary School was 5 minutes down the road. With no time to curse the genius who came up with the idea of putting two schools with those names on the same street, I ran to my car, raced down the street, apologized to the Eastbridge secretary for my last minute arrival, and entered the classroom (literally!) 5 seconds before my Grade 8 students.

While quickly scanning the shockingly sparse day plans, my new students bombarded me with comments and questions such as "How old are you?", "Are you a dancer? You look like one.", "You're pretty!", "I love your hair!" Though the compliments were welcome at the time, experience has since taught me that the students who are bold enough to call out compliments are often the students who are also bold enough to call out profanities. We made it through first period math with few hiccups, but the moment we entered the gym second period I knew I was in the trouble. The plans left by the teacher read, "Fun Friday! Students can choose any activity and play inside or outside - monitor from door. i.e. basketballs, scooter boards, frisbees, etc.". Within 5 minutes of Fun Friday chaos reigned, and I had just raised my whistle to bring all the students in when the vice principal entered the gym with a no-nonsense expression. From the look on her face as she approached me I could tell she thought I was foolish for allowing the students so much freedom, and I was faced with the two equally unappealing options of taking the blame and appearing inexperienced, or throwing their regular teacher under the bus for his instructions. I reluctantly decided to show the day plans to the VP, who took it in stride and suggested I move on to a game of dodgeball. I endured the complaints and criticism from students who claimed "Fun Friday is always like this" for the rest of the period, and looked forward to a change of pace when the Grade 7s would enter the gym third period.

Unfortunately, I was rudely awakened when it took less than fifteen minutes of Grade 7 dodgeball before two boys were engaged in a wrestling match on the floor. After having pushed another boy to the ground, one boy was violently kicking his fallen classmate. I will openly admit that I had NO IDEA what to do. Do I allow the kid to keep beating the other while I go for help? Do I trust another student (who I don't know) to get help while I verbally admonish the student? Do I physically restrain the student? Is it even okay to do that?! I settled for a middle ground of sending a seemingly trustful student for help while I simply placed my body between the two students as a human shield. I said a prayer of thanksgiving under my breath as the VP quickly entered the gym and aided in separating the two students, and continued a noticeably tense game of dodgeball once the boys were taken to the office.

I went back to the classroom for a period of planning time (praise the Lord!) before my last period of the day, believing the worst of the day was over. When the Grade 7 students entered the classroom I received some mumbled apologies for earlier behaviour, but instinctively felt that the atmosphere had only become more strained. The students opened their math books and began the day's lesson without complaint, but it wasn't long before a movement in the corner caught my attention. One boy had stood up with binder in hand, and before I could open my mouth to say a word he had whipped his binder at the head of the kid in front of him. I won't deny that a few choice words entered my head and had to be forced into submission before I calmly said, "Please pick up your binder and go down to the office." I was mentally patting myself on the back for my composure when the student sat himself down and simply replied, "No."

Well. Now what? I had always said that I would only send a student to the office as a last resort, but I had never thought about what I would do if the student wouldn't go. Fortunately, the students were quicker on the uptake than I was. "Mrs. A, if someone won't go to the office you push that red button and someone will come help." Who knew a classroom would have a big red button to hit when students downright disobey you? After pushing the button, I spent the rest of the day observing the VP attempt to remove binder boy from the classroom while the rest of the students unkindly called out suggestions on how to make him leave.

When the bell finally rang at the end of the day, I heaved a sigh of relief that I am sure must have echoed through the hallways and been powerful enough to blow my students out of the school. I felt a tautness in my shoulders that would soon creep into my neck and make my head pound for the duration of the car-ride home. I replayed every scenario over in my head and how I could have reacted better, and when I saw my husband that night, I admitted defeat and cried on his shoulder while he told me what a good teacher I was.

I am so glad to say that that first day of teaching was also, by far, my worst day of teaching. There would be many more wonderful days (and not-so-wonderful days) to come, but I will never forget the trial by fire that was My Worst First Day of School.

Until next time,

Mrs. A

*All places and students names have been changed

Back to School

It's that time of year again. Mothers pushing practical running shoes while daughters beg for sparkly ballet flats, soon-to-be grade nine girls carefully selecting their first-day outfit, full-time teachers pouring over lesson plans and school supplies, and occasional teachers (ahem…me) crossing our fingers that September showers us with supply calls and smiling students.

Throughout last year's school year, I made a habit of posting funny quotes from students on my Facebook account for the amusement of my Facebook family. There are so many times during a teaching day that I wish I had an adult there to enjoy the adorably funny things that students say to me that I often find myself making the following mental note: "Remember this! (Insert Name) will think this is hilarious!"

I've had a lot of positive feedback on these posts, and I love the idea that others can also take joy out of the little moments that make me adore my job so much. For this reason I've decided to TRY REALLY HARD to write a blog on my "Life as Mrs. A". This will be a collection of the greatest quotes, the "rough day" stories, and the heart-melting moments.

I hope you will enjoy a walk in the shoes of a Canadian supply teacher - I know I do!

-Mrs. A