I enjoy donating blood. While in college I went faithfully every two months to the clinic to hand over my sorely needed pint of B+, and in return I would get some cookies, a juice box, and the happy knowledge that I had done some small, positive act of service. I think part of it stemmed from being rejected based on my age when they were collecting blood after September 11th. I had a blood donor card from donating in high school, but I was still too young. I'm certain there was a small part of me that thought "Reject me now, but as soon as I'm of age I'm giving as often as I can and YOU CAN'T STOP ME, MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" A defiant attitude that was beneficial for all.
I have since only donated a couple of times since graduating, mostly because the clinic is no longer an easy five-minute drive away, and I got over my annoyance at being rejected. But this summer there was a blood drive at church, an easy five minute drive away, so my sisters and I decided to jump on the bandwagon and hand over our blood.
Anyone else ever just sit and laugh through all of the awkward background questions they ask you? I usually start giggling at the first question that asks "Have you ever had sex...?" and want to say "Actually, I'm a virgin in every sense of the word, so we could skip all of these". No? Everyone else is a mature and reasonable adult? Okay, then.
Anyway, as I was getting strapped in, the guy drawing my blood had serious difficulty finding a vein. He decided it was because I was dehydrated and made me drink two bottles of water while he took Becca's blood. Okay, no problem. Afterwards, he STILL couldn't find my vein until he called a supervisor (it was my drawer's first day ever), who slid the blood pressure cuff up half an inch on my arm, and my vein popped up like, "Oh he-ey party people!" Problem solved.
I was eligible to donate again by the end of August. On my commute to school, or church, or institute, or the library - basically, any time I go up north on the LRT - I pass the Canadian Blood Services donor clinic. They always have a sign out that says things like "Did you know a cancer patient can need up to 8 units of blood a week?" or "Make donating part of your back-to-school routine!" or "Please give us your blood, we really really need it, please ohplease ohplease ohplease give us some blood!" Okay, maybe not that last one. But that's what I mentally interpreted the signs to mean every time I passed, and I felt guilty every time I rode on by without stopping in to hand over some fresh red stuff.
So this past Tuesday, on the way home from the library, desperate to escape the ridiculously overcrowded LRT car I was riding in (really, clowns the world over were like "Day-um"), I hopped off at the station across the road from the clinic and walked in to do my small part to aid cancer patients and medical researchers.
Well, first off they made me wear a ridiculous "First time donor" sticker, because I had never donated in Canada before, even though I assured them I was fully conversant with the process and did not need everything spelled out to me. The lady at the desk insisted, swearing up and down that donating in Canada was probably different than donating in the States. No, it really isn't.
I still had to read through the donor information pamphlet, where the major changes between here and there are mostly the font and spacing (and the French instead of Spanish). They still confirmed my information at every stage in the process; they still pricked my finger to take a sample and check my rbc count; they still put one of those retarded circle bandages over the prick, rendering my finger useless for my iPod touch; they still had me answer all the health questions on my own, then the embarrassing questions with an interviewer. At every stage, someone would ask me if I had questions; I kept answering honestly "No, this is the same thing I've gone through every other time I've donated. It really is the EXACT SAME PROCESS."
But what really annoyed me was when the person drawing my blood (we'll call her S) started looking for a vein. It was just like hide and seek, with my veins being the master champions of the UNIVERSE. I related my experience from June, explained that I'd just popped in on a whim, so no, I HADN'T drunk extra fluids that day, and I'd be willing to return another time, but also maybe move the cuff up a bit. Oh, hey there veins! Then she took the cuff OFF to sterilize my arm, then slipped it back on, my veins went back into hiding, and after five minutes of squeezing the skooshy heart and having my arm squeezed and slapped in an attempt to coax my veins out of hiding, I was ready to pack it in and made my wishes known. Which, of course, is when she poked the needle in my arm, then started scooting it around to position it in a vein. Blood started coming out, and I'm thinking "Okay, that hurt, but I'll live", but I guess it wasn't coming out fast enough for Miss S, because after a couple of minutes she was like, "Yeah, no, this isn't gonna work today. And since I already got blood from one arm, I can't use the other and you can't donate until November 13th."
I was then made to sit with an icepack on my arm to counteract the bruising that was sure to form as a result of her smacking it and excavating for a vein with a needle. I still got cookies and juice, but it was kind of embarrassing to be sitting there and told repeatedly that I need to drink more fluids before coming in, especially since I had already told her several times that I didn't PLAN to come in - I took the signage outside at its word when it said "Walk-ins welcome".
The poking didn't really bother me. I'm a weirdy who watches when they put the needle in; I find it fascinating rather than disturbing. And I had time to kill that day, so the wasted time didn't bother me. No, what annoyed me about the whole thing was the way I was kind of treated like an idiot the entire way through, from being made to wear a "first time donor" sticker, to having to read all the information pamphlets again, to being asked if I understand everything and do I have any questions, to being ignored when I explained that the cuff has to be higher on my arm to make my veins pop up, and also if I'm too dehydrated to donate I'll leave and come back, no, really, it's cool, okay OW!
I tried to tell her, I really did, but short of ripping the cuff off of my arm and slapping her hand away, there wasn't a whole lot I could do. And since I am not a combative or confrontational person (mostly), I didn't say what was on the tip of my tongue when she told me I'd have to wait, to wit: "So, why couldn't you have just told me to come back another time, or given me something to drink? Why smack me and stick me and dig around in my arm if you weren't going to let me donate, huh?"
I have now learned that proper donation preparation requires consuming copious quantities of fluids before arrival. Fine, I can do that. Spontaneous donation is out. But I swear, next time, if my veins are hiding again, I'm leaving BEFORE they get a chance to stick me, even if it means slapping hands and ripping cuffs. Because dealing with a bruise and poke after donating is one thing - at least you have the gooey good feelings of donating. But having a poke and a bruise when they didn't want your blood? That's just an insult that keeps throbbing and bringing back feelings of annoyance.
And to add insult to injury, I didn't even get a colorful bandage afterwards, just some tape and a cotton ball. So I went home and put a Toy Story band-aid on my finger and a camouflage band-aid on my arm. So there.
Thursday 20 September 2012
Tuesday 18 September 2012
Playground Supervision
I got a job. Yay me! It's working as an assistant for an out-of-school care program at one of the local elementary schools, which means I am a well-educated, grossly overpaid, glorified babysitter. There were several things to recommend this job: it's close, it pays well (because I already have an ed degree, I get extra hourly pay - thanks, government!), it's more than I'd make working elsewhere, and for fewer hours. But there are some things that make me wonder how well I can do this job; things that, when I ponder them, make me think "I have a bad feeling about this..."
One of those things is playground supervision.
I am a horrible playground supervisor.
No, really. Horrible.
As a middle school teacher, "playground" supervision required little more than standing around and glowering at the students; for the most part they just walked around and talked; occasionally someone's mouth would write a check their fists couldn't cash, and I'd have to break up a fight. This was very rare, and honestly half the time I forgot it was my turn for supervision duties.
While working as a sub, I was sometimes assigned to take over the teacher's playground supervision duties, but there was usually a whole slew of adults around who knew the playground rules better than I did, and the kids were often so well trained that I didn't really need to do much.
Now, working at the out-of-school program, I am doing playground supervision at least once a day, often with only one other person, for 45 students. The playground at the school is one of the huge, new, colored plastic affairs that are so common down in CA, but a rarity up here (usually it's still the old wooden and metal deals). As far as "safe" structures go, this one is pretty cool: it has four slides, five sets of monkey bars with varying shapes, four or five different ladders/slidey poles, a tire swing, a wobbly bridge, and a zip line. You could play the most AWESOME game of lava monster on it. But the kids who are part of the program often find "unsafe" ways of playing on the structure, which I think is pretty common; the safer the structure is, the more boring it is, the higher the likelihood of kids finding "unsafe" ways to play.
Here's where I have a problem with playground supervision: half the time the kids are playing in "unsafe" ways, I don't even really register that it's "unsafe". Instead, I'm usually thinking "That looks like fun!"
Examples:
--When the kinders are on the tire swing and trying to make it swing as high as possible, I want to go over and show them how to sit so the weight is distributed for maximum momentum, as well as the proper form for "pumping" to get it going. What I should be doing is encouraging them to keep it at a reasonable height, one where if a kid falls out, he doesn't have far to go to hit the ground; after all, the higher you pump a tire swing, the more it tilts on its side. Which is what makes it FUN!
--When the older girls took their shoes off to make a line, then climbed up to the highest platform, then climbed over the railing to jump down and see if they could jump past their shoes, I wanted to tell them that they'd need to stand on the railing in order to make it that far. I didn't, never fear, but I had a momentary struggle with my inner child before the adult took over and told them to put their shoes back on and also stop jumping from the platform, even though I'm sure it was FUN!
--The kids are required to wear shoes at all times. This I understand - after all, many mornings I am in charge of conducting the sweep of the playground for suspicious objects and/or persons. There could be drug users' needles buried in the sand! That being said, I also understand why some of the kids prefer to run around shoeless. I loathe walking through the sand in shoes; it's a pain. The kids end up dumping out a ton of sand from their shoes every time they go inside; I'd want to skip that, too, were I them. I feel a little guilty every time I have to remind them to put their shoes on. Going barefoot is FUN!
--I am tempted to applaud the efforts of students who climb on top of the monkey bars, rather then tell them they are for climbing across only. I mean, heck, I had a first grader who got halfway across, then lifted himself through two bars on to the top of them. Kid's got major upper body strength, which I was impressed with; it pained me to have to chastise him for such a feat. Also, my siblings and I used to play on the tops of our monkey bars at home all the time (remember "cocoon"?), and it was great FUN!
--The zipline is held up by a large crossbar. Often the handle will end up in the center of the line, where it cannot be reached from either end, and I am too short to knock it from the middle. When this occurs, I allow the students to monkey across the support bar (technically a no-no) in order to retrieve the handle. I refuse to jump up and down to retrieve it. That's not FUN!
--Sliding down slides feet first gets boring. I sympathize with the kids who want to climb up the slides, or slide down headfirst, or upside down headfirst, etc. The first few days I supervised the playground, I let them play on the slides however they wanted, until I realized that all the other supervisors would yell at kids who weren't sliding in the appropriate fashion. Duds. Don't they know that climbing slides is FUN?!
I think part of the problem stems from the fact that, as a person with no children of my own, I have yet to acquire the parental "safety monitor" instinct. Instead I must rely on my common sense as an adult, common sense that is in a perpetual struggle with my childish side, which wants to have FUN! and safety be darned. I am slowly picking up cues from the other supervisors on what can be allowed and what should be stopped, but sometimes I wonder if they don't go a little overboard. I want to keep the kids safe, too, but telling them they can't play tag, or run around, or dig in the sand, or make up silly troll games under the bridge? There's a line between keeping kids safe and being an imagination-killing fun-sucker. I'm trying to find the balance, but it's hard when most of my co-workers are firmly on the fun-sucker side. I have a bad feeling about this...
One of those things is playground supervision.
I am a horrible playground supervisor.
No, really. Horrible.
As a middle school teacher, "playground" supervision required little more than standing around and glowering at the students; for the most part they just walked around and talked; occasionally someone's mouth would write a check their fists couldn't cash, and I'd have to break up a fight. This was very rare, and honestly half the time I forgot it was my turn for supervision duties.
While working as a sub, I was sometimes assigned to take over the teacher's playground supervision duties, but there was usually a whole slew of adults around who knew the playground rules better than I did, and the kids were often so well trained that I didn't really need to do much.
Now, working at the out-of-school program, I am doing playground supervision at least once a day, often with only one other person, for 45 students. The playground at the school is one of the huge, new, colored plastic affairs that are so common down in CA, but a rarity up here (usually it's still the old wooden and metal deals). As far as "safe" structures go, this one is pretty cool: it has four slides, five sets of monkey bars with varying shapes, four or five different ladders/slidey poles, a tire swing, a wobbly bridge, and a zip line. You could play the most AWESOME game of lava monster on it. But the kids who are part of the program often find "unsafe" ways of playing on the structure, which I think is pretty common; the safer the structure is, the more boring it is, the higher the likelihood of kids finding "unsafe" ways to play.
Here's where I have a problem with playground supervision: half the time the kids are playing in "unsafe" ways, I don't even really register that it's "unsafe". Instead, I'm usually thinking "That looks like fun!"
Examples:
--When the kinders are on the tire swing and trying to make it swing as high as possible, I want to go over and show them how to sit so the weight is distributed for maximum momentum, as well as the proper form for "pumping" to get it going. What I should be doing is encouraging them to keep it at a reasonable height, one where if a kid falls out, he doesn't have far to go to hit the ground; after all, the higher you pump a tire swing, the more it tilts on its side. Which is what makes it FUN!
--When the older girls took their shoes off to make a line, then climbed up to the highest platform, then climbed over the railing to jump down and see if they could jump past their shoes, I wanted to tell them that they'd need to stand on the railing in order to make it that far. I didn't, never fear, but I had a momentary struggle with my inner child before the adult took over and told them to put their shoes back on and also stop jumping from the platform, even though I'm sure it was FUN!
--The kids are required to wear shoes at all times. This I understand - after all, many mornings I am in charge of conducting the sweep of the playground for suspicious objects and/or persons. There could be drug users' needles buried in the sand! That being said, I also understand why some of the kids prefer to run around shoeless. I loathe walking through the sand in shoes; it's a pain. The kids end up dumping out a ton of sand from their shoes every time they go inside; I'd want to skip that, too, were I them. I feel a little guilty every time I have to remind them to put their shoes on. Going barefoot is FUN!
--I am tempted to applaud the efforts of students who climb on top of the monkey bars, rather then tell them they are for climbing across only. I mean, heck, I had a first grader who got halfway across, then lifted himself through two bars on to the top of them. Kid's got major upper body strength, which I was impressed with; it pained me to have to chastise him for such a feat. Also, my siblings and I used to play on the tops of our monkey bars at home all the time (remember "cocoon"?), and it was great FUN!
--The zipline is held up by a large crossbar. Often the handle will end up in the center of the line, where it cannot be reached from either end, and I am too short to knock it from the middle. When this occurs, I allow the students to monkey across the support bar (technically a no-no) in order to retrieve the handle. I refuse to jump up and down to retrieve it. That's not FUN!
--Sliding down slides feet first gets boring. I sympathize with the kids who want to climb up the slides, or slide down headfirst, or upside down headfirst, etc. The first few days I supervised the playground, I let them play on the slides however they wanted, until I realized that all the other supervisors would yell at kids who weren't sliding in the appropriate fashion. Duds. Don't they know that climbing slides is FUN?!
I think part of the problem stems from the fact that, as a person with no children of my own, I have yet to acquire the parental "safety monitor" instinct. Instead I must rely on my common sense as an adult, common sense that is in a perpetual struggle with my childish side, which wants to have FUN! and safety be darned. I am slowly picking up cues from the other supervisors on what can be allowed and what should be stopped, but sometimes I wonder if they don't go a little overboard. I want to keep the kids safe, too, but telling them they can't play tag, or run around, or dig in the sand, or make up silly troll games under the bridge? There's a line between keeping kids safe and being an imagination-killing fun-sucker. I'm trying to find the balance, but it's hard when most of my co-workers are firmly on the fun-sucker side. I have a bad feeling about this...
Tuesday 4 September 2012
Well This Is Different (Except the Part Where It's Not)
I have re-entered the ninth circle of bureaucratic hell. Actually, I may have descended to the tenth circle at this point; I can't even talk to a live person face-to-face about my issues because the people in charge are all hiding behind the anonymity of their position and communicating with me strictly through e-mail, despite my attempts engage them in face-to-face or telephonic communications.
Last year, my status in the country was the cause of my hellish ordeal through the U of A's bureaucracy; having been told I had to apply for citizenship instead of getting an international study permit led me through a circular maze of meetings and phone calls that eventually got settled. And I actually talked to the necessary people face-to-face, which was nice.
This year, it's my loan. More specifically, it's the change in my status that has caused extra problems with my loan. See, I'm still an American citizen. I got a loan from the US government last year to pay for school. All was hunky dory. This year, because I am also a Canadian citizen, it's a little more complicated. The university has a (ridiculous, IMO) policy requiring all students with Canadian citizenship who require loans or other financial aid to apply for them through the Canadian government before they can apply for loans from other governments. In other words, I have to apply for a Canadian loan before they will consider me for an American loan. I am not sure if this is strictly the University's policy or if it's part of the US loan program. Inquiries seeking clarification on that point have gone unanswered. Suffice it to say, I have jumped through the necessary hoops to get things going for my loan and if there's a problem further down the road because of all the extra crap I've had to fill out and send in, there will be blood. Not all of it mine.
On a completely different and happier note, I have a job! Yes, ladies and gents, I went out a got me a job working for an out of school care program at one of the local elementary schools. I almost had a job at Chapters, which is like Barnes and Noble, but wanting to take a week off to go home to Cali for Christmas was a deal-breaker there. I'm okay with it.
Today was my first "official" day of work, after going in last week for a couple of orientation days that were kind of silly because the summer program is totally different than the school-time program. Anyway, not only was today my first day of work, it was also the students' first day of school. (Side note: Hey, America? Specifically the districts like MV that start mid-August? Why don't we go to the end of June and start after Labor day like we used to? Hmm? What is the logic behind forcing kids into the classroom in the middle of the hottest month in CA? We could just go two more weeks in June, then start two weeks later AFTER Labor day. Whaddaya say? Think about it?)
I worked a split shift today, fours hours-ish total: 7-9 a.m. and 11:15-1 p.m. Morning and lunch. I have already observed some differences between the elementary schools here and back home; those differences and others stood out to me today as I worked.
The first thing I noticed about ALL the schools here in Edmonton is they are not fenced in. Think about the schools in MV. Every single one has a fence around it, and during the school day the only point of entry (usually) is through the front office once classes have started. The schools do not have fences around them. Perhaps a football field or a section of the parking lot may have a chain link section of fencing at some part of the perimeter, but it looks to be the kind of fencing that is designed to keep sports equipment from escaping.
Another difference that I found odd, but kind of neat, was the fact that the kids usually go home for lunch (which is at the same time for everyone). Yeah, they walk home (or parents walk them home) for lunch, then return for the rest of the school day before lunch is over. The kids who can't go home because they are in out of school care, or whose parents aren't home during the lunch hour, either stay in the very small cafeteria or come to our program. We have a kitchen and lunch area as part of our rooms. This makes it possible for the kids to bring food items that would not normally be found in your average school lunch (brought from home). We have cold storage in the fridge and microwaves for stuff that requires heating. Today I walked around and observed what the kids were eating for lunch. Some things that stood out to me as different:
-sushi
-heat up lasagna and fettuccine
-Campbell's sippin' soup
-pizza pockets
-some noodle/meat combo
-pizza Lunchable that the student assembled, then had us heat
-hamburger pockets
Not your mom's brown bag lunch.
I think the thing that stood out the most to me today was how small the school is. I'd never really paid attention to the dimensions of the school while driving around it to the parking lot. Today I had to follow the kindergartners to their room so I knew where it was to pick them up and walk them to the program room for lunch. Before the students went to their rooms, the whole school lined up outside our room. When I say the whole school, I mean every class was out there. It didn't take up that much space. From what I gathered today there is one class for each grade, and then two extra combo classes, a 3/4 split and a 5/6 split. So altogether there are only nine classes at the school. NINE.
It's not like Edmonton is a small city; it has about a million people, and the school I'm at is not in any way shape or form a rural school. It's right behind the mall, for crying out loud! I just wonder if Edmonton has way more elementary schools - I think I pass three or four on my way to work. I'm just used (having subbed all over MV at many different elementary schools) to there being three or four classes per grade, plus multiple A.M. and P.M Kindergartens.
Oh, and then there's the shoe switching. It has started to make sense, in a weird sort of way, but I still don't get why they're doing it NOW. Each student has to have two pairs of shoes for school: indoor shoes and outdoor shoes. They switch shoes each time they transition from class to recess and back again. I can understand this in the winter, what with the snow and all - I do the same thing for church with my boots and my cute strappy heels. I'm not sure why it's necessary now, but I'm not the teacher, just the assistant.
The last thing that weirded me out a little (okay, a lot) today was the parents. Granted, I have never been in an elementary school on the first day - no, wait, that's a lie. I did those horrific three days of fourth grade at Seneca a couple of years ago. But I seem to recall -oh! I just figured out what the fences are for! It's not to keep the kids in; it's to keep the parents out! Because in MV, parents don't hang out in their Kinder's or first grader's class all day. They kiss them goodbye at the gate and leave them to line up with their class. Today the parents of the kinders and grade ones were allowed, if they so desired, to stay for the day. Many of them did desire, and how the teachers put up with them with such equanimity, I will never know. I had a hard enough time keeping my temper in check when I walked with another program assistant to the kinders' room. The teachers were attempting to show the kids how to line up, come in, and change their shoes. As they were attempting to do this (which would have been difficult with only students present) they also had to compete with parents shoving their way in past students who weren't theirs and so did not merit attention or courtesy. This was usually accomplished with the aid of a behemoth stroller.
Imagine it: A scene of controlled chaos, with four different aged classes all lining up and coming in the same set of doors. The hallway is large enough to accommodate them walking or standing in line, but they are currently in the process of switching shoes which requires sitting on the floor or leaning against the wall. The teachers are trying to keep track of their students, make sure everyone knows where to put their shoes, and then get them lined up again to go in the classrooms. And in the middle of it all, parents. Parents with their cameras, parents with their strollers, parents who are focused solely on their child and do not seem to care about the fourth grader they just shoved aside to get the perfect picture angle. I was a touch annoyed by the end of it all.
There were some things that were more specific to working in the program vs. teaching, which I will probably post in a different entry. This one's a bit long.
Last year, my status in the country was the cause of my hellish ordeal through the U of A's bureaucracy; having been told I had to apply for citizenship instead of getting an international study permit led me through a circular maze of meetings and phone calls that eventually got settled. And I actually talked to the necessary people face-to-face, which was nice.
This year, it's my loan. More specifically, it's the change in my status that has caused extra problems with my loan. See, I'm still an American citizen. I got a loan from the US government last year to pay for school. All was hunky dory. This year, because I am also a Canadian citizen, it's a little more complicated. The university has a (ridiculous, IMO) policy requiring all students with Canadian citizenship who require loans or other financial aid to apply for them through the Canadian government before they can apply for loans from other governments. In other words, I have to apply for a Canadian loan before they will consider me for an American loan. I am not sure if this is strictly the University's policy or if it's part of the US loan program. Inquiries seeking clarification on that point have gone unanswered. Suffice it to say, I have jumped through the necessary hoops to get things going for my loan and if there's a problem further down the road because of all the extra crap I've had to fill out and send in, there will be blood. Not all of it mine.
On a completely different and happier note, I have a job! Yes, ladies and gents, I went out a got me a job working for an out of school care program at one of the local elementary schools. I almost had a job at Chapters, which is like Barnes and Noble, but wanting to take a week off to go home to Cali for Christmas was a deal-breaker there. I'm okay with it.
Today was my first "official" day of work, after going in last week for a couple of orientation days that were kind of silly because the summer program is totally different than the school-time program. Anyway, not only was today my first day of work, it was also the students' first day of school. (Side note: Hey, America? Specifically the districts like MV that start mid-August? Why don't we go to the end of June and start after Labor day like we used to? Hmm? What is the logic behind forcing kids into the classroom in the middle of the hottest month in CA? We could just go two more weeks in June, then start two weeks later AFTER Labor day. Whaddaya say? Think about it?)
I worked a split shift today, fours hours-ish total: 7-9 a.m. and 11:15-1 p.m. Morning and lunch. I have already observed some differences between the elementary schools here and back home; those differences and others stood out to me today as I worked.
The first thing I noticed about ALL the schools here in Edmonton is they are not fenced in. Think about the schools in MV. Every single one has a fence around it, and during the school day the only point of entry (usually) is through the front office once classes have started. The schools do not have fences around them. Perhaps a football field or a section of the parking lot may have a chain link section of fencing at some part of the perimeter, but it looks to be the kind of fencing that is designed to keep sports equipment from escaping.
Another difference that I found odd, but kind of neat, was the fact that the kids usually go home for lunch (which is at the same time for everyone). Yeah, they walk home (or parents walk them home) for lunch, then return for the rest of the school day before lunch is over. The kids who can't go home because they are in out of school care, or whose parents aren't home during the lunch hour, either stay in the very small cafeteria or come to our program. We have a kitchen and lunch area as part of our rooms. This makes it possible for the kids to bring food items that would not normally be found in your average school lunch (brought from home). We have cold storage in the fridge and microwaves for stuff that requires heating. Today I walked around and observed what the kids were eating for lunch. Some things that stood out to me as different:
-sushi
-heat up lasagna and fettuccine
-Campbell's sippin' soup
-pizza pockets
-some noodle/meat combo
-pizza Lunchable that the student assembled, then had us heat
-hamburger pockets
Not your mom's brown bag lunch.
I think the thing that stood out the most to me today was how small the school is. I'd never really paid attention to the dimensions of the school while driving around it to the parking lot. Today I had to follow the kindergartners to their room so I knew where it was to pick them up and walk them to the program room for lunch. Before the students went to their rooms, the whole school lined up outside our room. When I say the whole school, I mean every class was out there. It didn't take up that much space. From what I gathered today there is one class for each grade, and then two extra combo classes, a 3/4 split and a 5/6 split. So altogether there are only nine classes at the school. NINE.
It's not like Edmonton is a small city; it has about a million people, and the school I'm at is not in any way shape or form a rural school. It's right behind the mall, for crying out loud! I just wonder if Edmonton has way more elementary schools - I think I pass three or four on my way to work. I'm just used (having subbed all over MV at many different elementary schools) to there being three or four classes per grade, plus multiple A.M. and P.M Kindergartens.
Oh, and then there's the shoe switching. It has started to make sense, in a weird sort of way, but I still don't get why they're doing it NOW. Each student has to have two pairs of shoes for school: indoor shoes and outdoor shoes. They switch shoes each time they transition from class to recess and back again. I can understand this in the winter, what with the snow and all - I do the same thing for church with my boots and my cute strappy heels. I'm not sure why it's necessary now, but I'm not the teacher, just the assistant.
The last thing that weirded me out a little (okay, a lot) today was the parents. Granted, I have never been in an elementary school on the first day - no, wait, that's a lie. I did those horrific three days of fourth grade at Seneca a couple of years ago. But I seem to recall -oh! I just figured out what the fences are for! It's not to keep the kids in; it's to keep the parents out! Because in MV, parents don't hang out in their Kinder's or first grader's class all day. They kiss them goodbye at the gate and leave them to line up with their class. Today the parents of the kinders and grade ones were allowed, if they so desired, to stay for the day. Many of them did desire, and how the teachers put up with them with such equanimity, I will never know. I had a hard enough time keeping my temper in check when I walked with another program assistant to the kinders' room. The teachers were attempting to show the kids how to line up, come in, and change their shoes. As they were attempting to do this (which would have been difficult with only students present) they also had to compete with parents shoving their way in past students who weren't theirs and so did not merit attention or courtesy. This was usually accomplished with the aid of a behemoth stroller.
Imagine it: A scene of controlled chaos, with four different aged classes all lining up and coming in the same set of doors. The hallway is large enough to accommodate them walking or standing in line, but they are currently in the process of switching shoes which requires sitting on the floor or leaning against the wall. The teachers are trying to keep track of their students, make sure everyone knows where to put their shoes, and then get them lined up again to go in the classrooms. And in the middle of it all, parents. Parents with their cameras, parents with their strollers, parents who are focused solely on their child and do not seem to care about the fourth grader they just shoved aside to get the perfect picture angle. I was a touch annoyed by the end of it all.
There were some things that were more specific to working in the program vs. teaching, which I will probably post in a different entry. This one's a bit long.
Family Fun Tymes at Echo Lake
A.K.A. Why My Family Reunion Was Better Than Yours
(Note: I actually began this entry back in August, a day or so after returning from Echo Lake. I wanted to add in the pictures I knew were coming, so I didn't publish it right away. Then I forgot.)
This year my family (mum's side) held a kind of reunion at Echo Lake, outside Kalispell, Montana. I call it a kind of reunion because not everyone from my mum's side of the family could make it so it doesn't classify as a full-on reunion (in my mind). I'm sure someone in my family will take issue with my classification but family reunions on my dad's side have really skewed my reunion perspective. Anyway.
The last time we did a family reunion with Mum's side was four years ago at Lake of the Woods, Ontario. Before that, family vacations to Winnipeg with camping trips to Rushing River were the norm. Are we sensing a theme? Anyway, this year we scored a sweet cabin on Echo Lake courtesy of old high school friends of Mum (thanks, Northcott family!). For a week we had a prime spot on the lake with a private dock, a couple of boats, and a cabin with space for everyone (shocker, that). About Wednesday night, Becca made a comment in relation to our activity (bonfire and singing) that gave me the idea for this entry, to wit: "And that is why our family reunions are better than yours." I'm sure some things on this list will cause people to sputter and say, "Well, that's just your opinion." That's what people say when confronted by truths they just can't handle. It's okay, I understand. We can still be friends, though, right?
1. We have the best food. I have already written about how my Uncle Walt and Aunt Lilas are cooking ninjas. They were our dinner chefs for the week. I missed out on Monday and Tuesday (I didn't get there til after dinner Tuesday) but from all accounts it was excellent. I'd told my siblings they had to eat everything Walt and Li put in front of them, even if they didn't like the various ingredients, because it would all be delicious. I was right. I wrote this haiku in praise of dinner (I wanted to write a sonnet but I was too busy stuffing my face):
Cooking ninjas make
Food so good I want to cry.
Oops! I ate too much.
I've decided to become a reverse-polygamist, because I'm already married to Walt's biscuits, but I made room in my heart (and my stomach) for his chicken curry salad. Hot dogs and hamburgers just ain't gonna cut it no more.
2. Our kids are cuter. Of course Cameron was there, and I am partial to the little guy, but my cousins Andy and Jamie sent their girls Tamsen (7) and Rowan (4) with Walt and Lilas (the g-parents). There were a couple of times I cursed myself for not having a camera with me at all times because there were some shots that, had I gotten them, could have been used to sell kids' swimsuits, or life vests, or little plastic fishing poles that don't actually catch fish because they have no hooks so the fish just follow them futilely attempting to bite the lures and getting nothing. Anyway, my point is, we had the cutest kids, and since there were only three of them, their cuteness did not greatly diminish in proportion to the amount of noise they made. (Added: Thankfully, Auntie Darci had HER camera and caught some of the cuteness in stills.)
3. My Uncle Wally has the BEST beard. I bet you didn't have a beard like this at your family reunion.
Nice and long and, as JD poetically put it, "Tickled oh-so-gently on my chin as I gave him a hug."
Now, even if you're reading this and thinking, "Sure, sure, you had good food, and everyone thinks the kids in their family are the cutest, and my great-uncle Lorenzo's beard was way better" I KNOW your family reunion can't beat this next one. Really, the main reason my family reunion was better than yours hinges on this guy:
.jpg)
This is my cousin Joe. Joe and his brother Dave are professional musicians (sadly, Dave couldn't make to the reunion it because he was on tour). My Uncle Wally learned his boys to play music, so when we have a campfire and sing songs, we have a campfire and have professional musicians playing rock songs on their guitars and we all sing along. The following conversations were had many times that night:
"Okay, so what next?"
"Can you play ------------?"
"Sure"
or
"Nope, do you have the tabs?"
(All of us had our phones or iPods, which were hooked in to the cabin wireless - hey there 21st century campfires!)
"Yeah, here."
"Okay..." (plinking around for a minute) "Okay, ready?"
And then we'd sing. I bet you didn't have professional musicians for your campfire sing-a-longs. Which is why our family reunions are better than yours.
(Note: I actually began this entry back in August, a day or so after returning from Echo Lake. I wanted to add in the pictures I knew were coming, so I didn't publish it right away. Then I forgot.)
This year my family (mum's side) held a kind of reunion at Echo Lake, outside Kalispell, Montana. I call it a kind of reunion because not everyone from my mum's side of the family could make it so it doesn't classify as a full-on reunion (in my mind). I'm sure someone in my family will take issue with my classification but family reunions on my dad's side have really skewed my reunion perspective. Anyway.
The last time we did a family reunion with Mum's side was four years ago at Lake of the Woods, Ontario. Before that, family vacations to Winnipeg with camping trips to Rushing River were the norm. Are we sensing a theme? Anyway, this year we scored a sweet cabin on Echo Lake courtesy of old high school friends of Mum (thanks, Northcott family!). For a week we had a prime spot on the lake with a private dock, a couple of boats, and a cabin with space for everyone (shocker, that). About Wednesday night, Becca made a comment in relation to our activity (bonfire and singing) that gave me the idea for this entry, to wit: "And that is why our family reunions are better than yours." I'm sure some things on this list will cause people to sputter and say, "Well, that's just your opinion." That's what people say when confronted by truths they just can't handle. It's okay, I understand. We can still be friends, though, right?
1. We have the best food. I have already written about how my Uncle Walt and Aunt Lilas are cooking ninjas. They were our dinner chefs for the week. I missed out on Monday and Tuesday (I didn't get there til after dinner Tuesday) but from all accounts it was excellent. I'd told my siblings they had to eat everything Walt and Li put in front of them, even if they didn't like the various ingredients, because it would all be delicious. I was right. I wrote this haiku in praise of dinner (I wanted to write a sonnet but I was too busy stuffing my face):
Cooking ninjas make
Food so good I want to cry.
Oops! I ate too much.
I've decided to become a reverse-polygamist, because I'm already married to Walt's biscuits, but I made room in my heart (and my stomach) for his chicken curry salad. Hot dogs and hamburgers just ain't gonna cut it no more.
2. Our kids are cuter. Of course Cameron was there, and I am partial to the little guy, but my cousins Andy and Jamie sent their girls Tamsen (7) and Rowan (4) with Walt and Lilas (the g-parents). There were a couple of times I cursed myself for not having a camera with me at all times because there were some shots that, had I gotten them, could have been used to sell kids' swimsuits, or life vests, or little plastic fishing poles that don't actually catch fish because they have no hooks so the fish just follow them futilely attempting to bite the lures and getting nothing. Anyway, my point is, we had the cutest kids, and since there were only three of them, their cuteness did not greatly diminish in proportion to the amount of noise they made. (Added: Thankfully, Auntie Darci had HER camera and caught some of the cuteness in stills.)
Rowan is in the back, cousin Joe in the middle, and Tamsen up front. Wearing my awesome lifejacket from the 80s.
Cameron stoically contemplates the meaning of life while gazing at the water. Or not.
Nice and long and, as JD poetically put it, "Tickled oh-so-gently on my chin as I gave him a hug."
Now, even if you're reading this and thinking, "Sure, sure, you had good food, and everyone thinks the kids in their family are the cutest, and my great-uncle Lorenzo's beard was way better" I KNOW your family reunion can't beat this next one. Really, the main reason my family reunion was better than yours hinges on this guy:
.jpg)
This is my cousin Joe. Joe and his brother Dave are professional musicians (sadly, Dave couldn't make to the reunion it because he was on tour). My Uncle Wally learned his boys to play music, so when we have a campfire and sing songs, we have a campfire and have professional musicians playing rock songs on their guitars and we all sing along. The following conversations were had many times that night:
"Okay, so what next?"
"Can you play ------------?"
"Sure"
or
"Nope, do you have the tabs?"
(All of us had our phones or iPods, which were hooked in to the cabin wireless - hey there 21st century campfires!)
"Yeah, here."
"Okay..." (plinking around for a minute) "Okay, ready?"
And then we'd sing. I bet you didn't have professional musicians for your campfire sing-a-longs. Which is why our family reunions are better than yours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)