I posted yesterday about my new blog, Math Makes Me Poop, but apparently I was still suffering from Almost-Christmas-Break Teacher Brain and the link I tried to post didn’t actually work. So let’s try this again: here’s a post from the new blog. I hope you like it.
Edit: Now with a real, live, working link to the new blog! Sorry about that.
Some of you might know that when I’m not writing, I’m teaching. This year, I’m working with a brilliant, hilarious, adorable kid I call Little G, and I’ve created a new blog to chronicle some of our adventures. We do a lot of out-of-the-box learning and I’ll be sharing posts about that, along with the things that don’t always go as planned-like you’ll see in the post linked here.
The blog is geared toward people who are teaching, parenting, or otherwise care for small kids, especially those with some learning, sensory, or social differences. It’s still my voice though, and even if you’re one of those people who turns the hose on kids that wander onto your lawn, you might like it.
I had the following conversation the other day, when baby girl was telling me about an upcoming fundraiser at the new school she recently started attending. It reads like one of those internet memes, but this wasn’t made up; it was an actual conversation between me and my 5th-grader, and I’m sharing simply to illustrate the point that children know what’s going on. Hopefully, she and her peers will be the ones who are able to make the necessary changes to their world.
Baby girl: Do you know why we have to do a fundraiser? My school doesn’t have any money. I mean really, it has no money. That’s why we had to bring in tissues and paper and stuff, too.
Me: That’s really sad.
Baby girl: Aren’t public schools supposed to get money from the government?
[A pause, while she ponders the situation] Baby girl: Are we still in a war?
Me: Yeah, we are.
Baby girl: Who pays for the war?
Take one already cranky cat.
Pull its tail until it tries to bite you.
Stuff it in a small crate.
Spray it with water.
Dangle a hot dog in front of its nose, just out of its reach.
Spray it again. A bunch, like, till it looks like it got caught in a rain storm.
Open the door and try to hug it.
The result is what it’s like trying to get my autistic kid to write about a hypothetical situation for school today.
More on this later, when I can hear my own thoughts.