More sweet/sad than funny, I suppose. November 6, 2009
Posted by Ms. Art in Hopes and Dreams.add a comment
Markoreyon (MARK-or-ree-un, for those playing along at home) is a mostly-sweet kid who nonetheless has a stubborn streak and tends to clash hard when he clashes. Mostly he clashes with his classmates, not his teachers, though I’ve gotten in a few very regrettable, hard-to-avoid battles of will with him.
Today he seemed to have something on his mind.
He approached me as I was trying to start class – not a good time, but I was feeling lenient. As he started to speak I took a second to tease a reluctant high-five out of him, which appeared to make him rethink what he was going to say.
Markoreyon, even mumblier than usual: “I was just going to ask – uh – are you a…nice art teacher?”
Self: “Well, I like to think so, but I think you’d know better than me.”
He acknowledged that yeah, I’m totally nice. Score one for me.
So then the kiddos are painting away, and he comes over to me for another chat: “Ms. Art…I just wanted to say…that I’m sorry.”
Self, all *yikes what did you do* but trying not to jump to conclusions: “Oh? For what?”
Markoreyon: “For all the bad things I did. Not now, but, like, in my life. Before.”
There has scarcely been a better opportunity – ever – for a hug-it-out.
I’d rather you didn’t, really. November 6, 2009
Posted by Ms. Art in Bathroom Humor.add a comment
Johnny, approaching me with a pained expression on his face: “Ms. Art. I gotta pee.”
Self: “What’s that? ‘May I please…?’”
Johnny: “Oh – uh – can I please…um, may I please…er…pee?”
In which I decide I’d probably be an unfit parent, at least emotionally August 24, 2009
Posted by Ms. Art in Hopes and Dreams.3 comments
I’m on hallway duty this morning when Brandon, a 3rd grader, comes and stands beside me, looking out across the hall as I am, hands in his pockets, clearly ready for a chat.
“Ms. Art,” he begins, “I need to ask for your advice.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“What should I do if I had a girlfriend, but then I broke up with her, but now she likes my friend who’s on my baseball team?”
Now this is tricky, because I don’t want to discount his feelings or make him feel stupid or like I’m not taking him seriously, BUT OH COME ON. I have to NOT SAY, “Well, Brandon, you quit acting like having a girlfriend involves any kind of actual emotions at age 8, and also you quit asking people to be your girlfriend in the first place, and also you send this girlfriend to me so I can set her straight too, and send your friend from baseball while you’re at it,” and I have to not say all of this while trying really hard not to laugh, and instead I say, “Um – well, no matter what happens, it’s not that likely that someone you like when you’re eight is going to be your eventual wife, you know? So it doesn’t matter so much who likes whom, does it, really?”
“IT DOES TO ME.” Well, yeah. Of course it does.
“Well, I mean, you say you broke up with her, right? So I think that means she’s free to like anyone she wants. Even if it’s a friend of yours.” This is at least true before puberty, right?
Somehow the topic of conversation switches to roller coasters for awhile, not sure how that came about, but then…
“There she is, see, in the cafeteria line in the grey sweater?”
“Oh, Daijah?”
“Yeah. That’s my girlfriend. But I know she still likes me because she thinks I have another girlfriend now.”
Unclear on that, but, “Ah, yeah, she’s maybe a little jealous, huh?”
I think this is where I was suddenly going to manage to impart some kind of wisdom compatible with an eight-year-old’s concept of emotions and relationships and he was going to see the light and realize that he has such a limited time to just be a kid, and be free of all that, and why on earth would he want to grow up any faster than he’s already going to? But no. Here is instead where he took off down the hall, arms raised triumphantly.
“I win, then! She’s jealous, haHA! I win!”
I’ll get it next time.
Marine Biology For Poets August 14, 2009
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Morgan: “Ms. Art! Do dolphins swim in the deep and salty sea?”
Dang Whippersnappers, Don’t Know How Good They’ve Got It, Etc. August 14, 2009
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Khalen: “Ms. Art. Did you watch ‘America’s Got Talent’?”
Self: “Nope! Do you know I don’t even HAVE a TV?”
Khalen and every other kid within hearing range: *dead of shock*
Khalen: “But you have a TV in here! Why do you watch TV here?”
Self: “I don’t watch it here either. I use it to show you guys art on the computer, though, remember?”
Caleb: “Yeah! And do it got a DVD player?!”
Self: “Mmm, no. A VCR, I think.”
Caleb: “What’s a VCR?”
Self: *has old-lady-type thoughts, shakes cane*.
Maybe we invest in some playing cards or something. June 19, 2009
Posted by Ms. Art in Darndest Things.2 comments
Not from a student, because it’s mid-June and all, but I think it belongs here anyway.
The things James apparently thinks about when forced to turn the TV off and incapable of coming up with anything else interesting to do:
James: Ha. Aphrodite.
Self, not talking about or thinking about Greek mythology in any way: Uh, what?
James: Aphrodite, ha. It sounds like a hair disease. You know, like a wig…that’s sick…
Self: Ohhh. Yeah. It would be even grosser if it were Afroditis.
James: Ha! Yeah! Wait, why?
Self: *explain explain explain*
James: Ewww! Afroditis!
Um, no. Thanks for that, though. February 11, 2009
Posted by Ms. Art in Perplexing Miscellany.add a comment
Kelsy, a 5th grader who is REALLY old enough to know better: “Ms. Art, in a couple of years, I’m gonna come back and visit you. If you’re not retired yet.”
“In a couple of years? I won’t be retired, honey. I won’t even be thirty.”
“You’re not already thirty?!?! Wow!”
This story goes nicely (or cruelly, depending on how you look at it) with the five (at least) kindergarteners and first graders who have recently asked if my student teacher is my daughter.
“Do I look old enough to be her mother?!”
“Um, yes…?”
This could actually be a useful classroom management tool, right? February 7, 2009
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I was watching Adam put this incredibly meticulous row of glue dots along the edge of his paper. I was a little mesmerized by how absolutely precise he was being, but then when he reached the top and turned the corner his sleeve touched his glue, leaving a perfect row of dots down his arm. I stopped him and pushed his sleeve up and was set to move on when he lamented, “Not my SLEEVE! My sleeve is the MOST IMPORTANT PART because it lets me PUNCH!”
I shook my head and smiled, but he wasn’t done. “Sometimes I have to bite it! Because it’s not paying attention!”
“Your sleeve?!”
“Yes! My arm! I say, ‘Pay attention, you!’ and I bite it!”
“And then it pays attention?”
“And then I bite it again!”
Or, it’s a flesh-eating virus. Ew, don’t touch me. November 21, 2008
Posted by Ms. Art in Perplexing Miscellany.2 comments
Dakota approached me at the sink while I was trying to clean up fourth grade’s paintbrushes, looking deeply concerned.
In a hushed, grave voice: “Ms. Art. What is happening to my skin?”
Self, taking in the dusting of hot pink on the back of his hand: “It looks like you got a little chalk pastel on you.” Granted, they hadn’t used pastels, but in an art room, it’s not exactly unlikely that you’ll run across some kind of smudgeable material. I can’t wear any of my school pants in public. None.
Dakota: “Okay…”
Self: “It was probably under your table or something.”
He walks off and is back in under a minute. “Can I rinse my hand off?”
Self: “It’ll seriously probably brush right off. But, sure.”
Dakota, rinsing hand: *GIANT SIGH OF RELIEF* “All right! I’m good! Thanks, Ms. Art. Serious.:”
How to fail at teaching tolerance November 21, 2008
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Kareem [re: Robert, a fourth-grader, who was a touch wound-up and running around headbutting people outside]: “Uh, Ms. Art. Is he…special?”
Self, drily: “Evvverybody’s special, Kareem. I’m special, you’re special, (your teacher) is special, (the principal) is special…”
Kareem, oblivious to subtlety: “No, I mean like…special. Like, can’t talk, picking through the garbage cans…”
Self: “Wait, garbage cans?!”
Kareem: “Never mind.”
