The Bottle Diet for 19 Year Olds Only

BackgroundFirst off, I don't know if water-bottle is spelled like that, but I figure I have already started with it that way (yesterday) so I might as well continue.


Secondly, I was going to tell a story where I swore (sort of *gasp, horror*) in front of my grade nines, but I am in the theme of water-bottles so I thought I would continue with another bottle story.


Have I ever told you that I am an English as a Second Language teacher?  No? Well, I am.  I share a room with a teacher whose job is much more complicated than mine. And of course, by share, I mean that when I got my job they didn't really tell me where to go, and because I relied so heavily on T-buck, I have kind of just moved in--at least until they give me somewhere to go.


So, our jobs: I deal with about 20 fairly high functioning English Language learners who are residents of Canada; T-buck deals with about 60 learners of varying backgrounds and abilities who are staying in home-stays to go to our school.  His job keeps him VERY busy (and p.s. he also has four adorable kiddlets...B-U-S-Y).


Characters
Me


T-buck


Ester: a very odd Korean exchange student.  Yes, Ester is her name.  No, I am not spelling it wrong. Yes, I realize Ester is usually spelled Esther.  Yes, I realize an ester is a chemical compound.  I am using her real name, which I have never done before and will possibly never use again, because she is now safely back in Korea.  Can we move on now?  


Anyway, Ester was a very odd duck (picture a four foot tall anime character, glasses and all).  T-buck and I referred to the way she spoke as "Ester-speak".  Every fifth word or so would be in Korean.  Then, when we would tell her to speak English, the next word would inevitably be a swear (we think) in Korean.  I generally could understand her, and would often translate.


Here is one very odd conversation we had:

Ester: Uh, Mrs. B? (Now, for this to have the full effect, you have to put her accent in there, so it sounds more like Mishhus Bey.)


Ms. B: What's up, Ester?

Ester: Do you have any empty bottle?

Ms. B: What? (generally my first question when speaking with Ester)


Ester: Well, I have two empty bottle but home-stay recycle dem.

Ms. B: What kind of bottles?

Ester: Like wine bottle, beer bottle.

Ms. B: Uh, what for?

Ester: You know, for like diet.

Ms. B: What?

Ester: You know, like diet, loose weight.

Ms. B: What does that have to do with a bottle?

Ester: You know, you take and do this.

She makes a motion like she is rubbing a bottle up and down her thighs, kind of like kneading bread with a rolling pin.


Ms. B: Hun, I don't think that is going to work.

Ester: Yes, I do.  My mother say so.

Ms. B: Um...okay.  I will bring you a bottle tomorrow.

Ester: Two please?

Ms. B: Sure...

Ester: Tank you!  See you tomorrow!

The next day...


I give Ester two EMPTY beer bottles; hey, she is 19 and COULD have bought the bottles herself, but she doesn't drink, so I figure beer bottles are fine.


Ms. B: Here you go, Ester.

Ester: Ah, tank you!!!

One bottle in each hand, she starts walking out of the classroom.


T-buck: Um, you can't walk out into the hall with empty beer bottles in you hands.

Ester: Why?!? I nineteen.

Finally, after much convincing, she puts the bottles in her bags and leaves.  Needless to say, I did not notice any weight-loss.  




But still, I keep doing it every day.

My Finger is Stuck

Setting: Grade 11 English, wonderful students, beautiful sunny day


Characters: 

• Rouge: a lovely, kind, intelligent, well-dressed young woman who is likely to be the next Canadian Idol (well, maybe not next, but someday she will be)
• Crusher: the vice-principal, who, despite the name, is not nearly as scary as he sounds.  He is quite humorous and helpful
• Ms. B: moi; as always, the prologue, exposition, and denouement

Ms B: helping students, moving through the room, doing an excellent/extra-special version of my job

Rouge: Uh, Ms. B, can you come here?

Ms. B: Sure, Rouge.  You need help?

Rouge: Uh, no.  It's not the work at all.  I get it.

Ms. B: Okay, what's going on then?

Rouge: Can we talk in private?

Ms. B: red flags, panic, worry.  Is my girl okay?  Is everything okay?

Rouge: Um...

Ms. B: Let's step out into the hall...

Rouge: Okay...

In hallway.

Ms. B: What's wrong hun.

Rouge: holds up her hand. My finger is stuck.

Rouge has managed to stick her finger into a the circular hole in the middle of a water-bottle cap, the spot where people attach a clip to.  Her finger is wedged in, the entire digit, resting behind her bigger knuckle.  The water-bottle is dangling there, looking almost like it is resting in her palm.

Ms. B: mouth hangs open, mumbles unintelligibly.  Um, why don't I pull on it for you?

Rouge: Okay.

Rouge holds out hand while I pull.  Nothing happens.

Ms. B: Let's take the bottle off.

Rouge: Okay.

We take off the bottle and try to pull it off again.

Ms. B: Maybe we should call Mr. Crusher.

Rouge: Okay.

I have to call from inside the class, so we go back inside.  She sits down, but because she is a fair-skinned ginger, the blush radiating from her allows the class to guess that something wonderfully embarrassing is going on.

Ms. B: (on phone) Um, Mr. Crusher, could you come down to my room please?

Crusher: Is everything okay?

Ms. B: Um, more or less.

Crusher: What's wrong?

Ms. B: Can you just come down here please?

Crusher: Um, okay, I will be right there.

Rouge and I wait in the hall.  Crusher arrives, panting slightly from the trek.  You can see the look of worry on his face.

Crusher: What's wrong?

Ms. B: Um, Rouge has her finger stuck.

Crusher: Let me pull on it.  He tries, but, again, it doesn't work. Let's take a walk, Rouge, and we will see what we can do.

So, I stayed with the rest of the class.  Crusher first took Rouge to the foods room.  There, they butter her finger and try again to pull it off.  Still, the lid will not budge.

Next, they take Rouge to the mechanics shop.  There, they put grease on her finger.  They try and pull the lid off.  It still wont budge,  By now, with all the twisting and pulling, I am sure her poor finger is sore.  Also, I would assume it is also swelling more and more with every tug.

As a last ditch effort, Crusher takes Rouge to the woodwork shop to see if the shop teacher is willing to try any of the machine in the pursuit of getting the lid off.  No dice.  One: liability (if he cut her finger off).  Two: guilt (if he cut her finger off).

Crusher takes Rouge to his office and calls her dad.  She needs to go to the hospital and get this removed.  Her dad picks her up, but they do not go to the hospital. Instead, he takes her home and use a saw (skill, miter, round, square...I have no idea if those are even saws, but I assume it was blade-y, sharp, and moving) in the driveway to free her entrapped finger.

How do I know he did this? Rouge call me in class (still the same class the incident began in).

Ms. B: Hi, Rouge.  Are you okay?

Rouge: Yes, I am fine.  My finger is sore though.  Anyway, I am really embarrassed, so I wont be back today.

Ms. B: Okay, bye.  Hangs up.

Class: Did Rouge get her finger out of the water-bottle?

Ms. B: How did you guys know?

Anyway, the class knew what was going on the entire time.  And, since Rouge could not be anymore embarrassed, I am sure to make fun of her whenever I see her.  Does that make me a terrible person?

Smitty has the Face of an Angel

Did I ever tell you about the time I fainted?

No, fainted for realz, yo!  (Side note: did you like how I managed to properly punctuate that?)

I did.  Not one of those I-am-fainting-because-a-kid-just-blew-my-mind faints, but a real oh-good-lord-what-is-happening faints.

I had been at the school for about a month.  I was always busy since it was my first real contract and ALL the classes I was teaching (English 9, ESL, Comm 11/12) were new to me as I had just moved up from middle school.

It was a Tuesday, second week of October...

So, la-te-da, I am bustling about trying to get all my ESL responsibilities dealt with so I can start tracking properly.  One item I needed to cross off my list was to go over my Annual Education Plans with the Principal. 

However, on this particular day, I am very tired. (I probably didn't get a good night's sleep--which is common for me.)  I am also very stressed.  (Again, common.) I am feeling a little spaced out. (Some might tell me this is also common for me, and I would call these people butts.)

I am working on a computer in the teacher's prep room which is a floor below the office.  I am feeling so awful that I am thinking about going home (there is another block plus lunch before I teach, more than enough time to get a TOC in).  For some reason though, I try to stick it out.

I do the following:
1. Make a cup of lemon zinger tea.
2. Go to the washroom.
3. Breathe deeply.
4. Try to stay busy.

I figure it is a case of mind over matter: don't think about feeling sick = not feeling sick.

In the process of completing task #4, I run upstairs to make an appoitment with the Principal's administrative assistant to see the Principal regarding the AEPs.  Tea in hand, I am speaking with Ms. PAA (who is lovely by the way) trying to make said appointment. 

Out of no where, the room begins to spin.  Am I stuck inside a twister? Auntie Em? I wonder.  I say, "Oh, I feel really dizzy," to Ms. PAA as I lean one hand on her desk.

Before she gets around the desk to save me, however, I am travelling down a tunnel of un-love heading straight to the floor.  According to witnesses, I went staright back and landed with a thump--which was confirmed by the rump for days following--managing not to crack my head open because of an empty box.  Bless that box!

So, fainted as I was, I am having a marvelous time.  I am in an I-Pod commerical.  You know: the one with the bright colour outlines when the rest is black? Sadly, I can't remember the song.  I do remember having people calling my name and being really annoyed that I was going to have to wake up.

I opened my eyes.  There was Smitty, leaning over me.  He was my grade 11 Social Studies teacher and, now, my respected colleague.  He has the face of an angel.  He was looking down on me, so concerned.  All I could think of to say was, "Smitty...What the HELL happened?"

"You fainted," Smitty calmly replied.

"I did?!?!" I cried preplexedly.

Anyway, the story kind of becomes less interesting from there.  I cried because I was scared--however, I cry all the time so that wasn't new.  I had to leave the school in an ambulance, freaking out some students.  I was told there was nothing seriously wrong with me.

"It was a vasal-vagal faint.  Please do not come back next time it happens," the doctor told me.  He also added that if you don't faint before you turned 25, you probably never would.  I was 23; just my luck!

Anyway, if I learned anything from this experience, it would have to be that Smitty has the face of an angel.

Oh, and before I forget, the absolute worst part of this was not the I fainted in the middle of the office in my first MONTH of being here and will NEVER live it down; it was that the paramedics thought I peed myself because I spilled that lemon zinger all over myself as I fell, leaving me wet for the rest of the day.

WHAT!?! We have an Exam?

This week is the week that is officially referred to as "EXAM WEEK".  For the vast majority of our grade nine students, this January's exam period will be the first time they write official 20-40%-of-your-overall-grade exams.

I have spoke on the subject of these exams multiple times, especially in my social studies class. As many readers will remember, social studies exams are often very difficult because the test covers a plethora of information that was absorbed over a long period of time.  For my social studies class, they need to be able to remember important facts, vocabulary, people, dates, etc. that they learned between September and January.  They need to recall information about the Renaissance, English Civil War, French Revolution, Napoleonic Era, Industrial Revolution, and early settlement of North American (from First Peoples to the War of 1812).  That is a giant chuck of history.

So, because of this, I have been constantly reminding them that they need to stay up to date with their interactive notebooks (basically a system of left-brain/right-brain organization that is al glued in one notebook making it IMPOSSIBLE to not know you are missing something, as the class works page by page together).  They had a test every chapter excluding the last section, as it is large chunk of the exam, which they were told.

When we came back from Christmas break, the plan was to spend about two weeks on the last chapter, and then a week on exam prep.  We discussed this plan when we came back so the class was up on the speed we needed to work at.  At the time, a couple of kids were shocked and horrified that there were exams.

"What!?! We have an exam," at least two kids exclaimed.

"Yes, kids, it was on your syllabus.  Remember?  All the information about the course and your grade?  First page in the interactive notebook..." I responded calmly.

About a week and a half ago, the exam schedule cam out.  I told my class the room the exam would be in (316); I told the class the time the exam would be at (9-11AM); I told them which teachers would be invigilating (lovely, lovely teachers); I told them the day of the week (Thursday); I told them the date (Jan. 28th).  Then, I wrote all this on the section of the board where I have always written their homework. All the valid and necessary info is in there right?  Maybe more than they really needed? That's what I thought.

My class did a two day prep activity in the library (it was AWESOME), a practice exam, a full block brainstorm on "big ideas" from the course with evidence proving all the times we covered that, and discussed the essay topics, spending two blocks creating outlines.  This was AFTER we I gave them a breakdown of the exam including the essay topics.  This was also AFTER they were given a schedule of all their exams in homeroom the week before.

Today: January 25th.  Grade 9s and 10s go to their classes for a bit more exam prep.  We have one and a half hours.  I have an awesome summarizing activity.

"Morning guys! Are you ready to get finished with social studies?  Just an hour and a half plus the exam and you are all done with this class.  Most of you..." I am interrupted.

"Wait! WHAT?!?" a student gasps looking shocked.

"What's wrong, hun?" I ask.

"We have an exam?"

After that I blacked out.  Not sure if I fainted, went into a rage comma, or died and went to the place only teachers go, but I came back from whatever happened.  All I know is that when I came to, no one had moved (although my hair was grey) and I simply let my jaw hang open before murmuring a "yes" with a nod.

I Like Your Face

You are probably asking yourself, "Where did this hip and crazy new saying come from?"  Well, I will tell you.

First, let me preface this by saying that all great things have an origin story.  Clearly.  Look at Wolverine.  He gets an entire movie to tell his origin story.  Look at Buffy; she got a movie as her origin story before the TV series.  Point proven.

So, like everything great, my blog title has an origin story.

The Scene: My grade 9 English class has been working on literature circles for the last week or so.  Once in a while, a group member will pose a question that encourages quite a debate; once in a while, that debate will become heated, although rarely so heated that I need to step in.


Student 1: Blah, blah, blah, I am right about whatever I am saying about the book.

Student 2: Blah, blah, blah, I am right about whatever I am saying about the book.

Student 1: Well, your face!

Student 2: No, your face!

Student 1: But, I like your face.

Student 2: I like your face, too.

Students resume discussion in a more civilized manner.  The bell goes at the end of the block.


Student 2: Bye, S1.  I like your face.

Student 1: I like your face, too, S2.

Mrs. B: Bye class; I like your faces.

Class: Bye, Ms. B! We like your face.

Note: Student 1, who essentially started this completely denies this happening.  Whenever I say, "I like your face" at the end of the block, he says, "I never said that!" and the class responds, "Yes, you did!"

Is France in England or Montreal?

The scene: grade 9 Social Studies, 3rd block of the day


Topic: Napoleon


Students: A completely normal group of 13/14 year olds, funny, kind, trying to learn 


Background: The class has studied geography, the English Civil War, the French Revolution, and the Napoleonic Era.  As a summarizing activity, the class is watching a DVD on Napoleon.  This DVD includes reenactments of battles.

Mrs. B: thinking, thinking


Class: watching, watching, watching the Battle of the Nile


Mrs. B: Kiddlets, I know I probably don't need to say this, but I hope you all realize these are reenactments of battles.  There is no actual footage.

Student 1: Duh, Ms. B.  What?!? Do you think we think they had, like, helicopters?

Mrs. B: Okay, okay.  Just checking!

10 minutes later...

A clip from a 1936 movie plays.

Student 1: So, wait, is this real footage?

Mrs. B: No, hun.  Still no recording cameras in the early 1800s.

Educational Assistant (EA): Wow, I really didn't think you needed to tell them that.

10 minutes later...

DVD: Napoleon retreated from the English back to Paris.

Student 2: Wait, wait, wait.  Pause. Pause. Wait.  I'm really confused.

Mrs. B: What's going on, hun?

Student 2: I thought that Paris was in England.

Mrs. B: No, Paris is the capital of France.

Student 2: I thought France was in England.

Student 3: No, France is in Montreal.

Mrs. B: Vomits and passes out because she is apparently a terrible teacher.  Still not sure if Student 3 was joking...

Test Blog

I like your face is the new way of saying "goodbye" to people you enjoy seeing regularly and will seen again fairly soon.