kids | Mrs. Ram's Jams

Category: kids
- A Little Thing Tale: On Your Eighth Birthday
  
  Posted at 11:21 am by Jeddarae, on September 12, 2020
  On your eighth birthday . . .
  
  I shut your bedroom door, as quietly as I could, to keep the cat out, but you woke up anyway, a full hour earlier than normal. Sleep still in your eyes and with your over-sized pink nightgown, a shoulder peeping out playing peek-a-boo. I wished you a happy birthday and ensconced you in a too-tight hug before you plopped yourself on the sectional and watched YouTube Kids videos until it was time to get ready for school.
  
  When we walked out to my blue Buick, I told you to look in the front yard for a surprise. Granny had the yard Sign Gypsy-ed, and it shouted “Happy 8th Birthday Little Thing” to the entire neighborhood for the whole day. We requested a cat theme, but they gave you a purple, pink, gold, and gray girly display instead. It featured a present-laden birthday llama; I promise I didn’t request it. Your eyes widened in delight at the surprise, and your grin, oh that grin baby girl, it was so wide that you would have thought that we surprised you with a trip to Disney World.
  
  I jammed to Taylor Swift’s Red album while driving, and you, as always, continued to watch YouTube Kids, a video about fairy circles. You chimed in with “I knew you were trouble when you walked in” in all the right places like you were a tiny background singer on autopilot. Nana and Papa Blob called to sing you happy birthday. Papa Blob butchered “Happy Birthday” even worse than he did when you turned seven. When we stopped at the last, long red light before reaching our destination, you said your throat hurt a little. I told you to grab your water bottle, which I normally wouldn’t send with you but the school’s water fountains are turned off because of coronavirus, but you informed me that I didn’t pack it. Then I realized that I didn’t pack you a snack either. Momentarily, horrible mother guilt mindset kicked in, how dare I not pack my baby girl water and snack on her birthday, but then I remembered the glove department emergency snacks and figured I’d steal a coworker’s extra bottle of water for you. At least I managed to tuck some birthday Oreos into your lunchbox, I thought.
  
  You pulled on your favorite, pink kitty mask, adjusting it over your ears and moving its llama lanyard out of your face, after you climbed out of the backseat. I’m always afraid you’re going to tumble out and break your femur or your head wide open because the backseat isn’t roomy and your backpack is heavier than you are. Your gold headband with the beaded bow twinkled in the early morning light. The sky is pink you said. Half a moon hung in it too. You seemed droopy, but I chalked it up to your early morning wake up.
  
  In the library, your friends surprised you with a card. One of your friends, the librarian’s daughter, tried to gift you the library’s copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
  
  When you climbed into my car after school, you were wearing a different mask, the backup one covered in conversation candy hearts. I asked How was your day? Did you have a good birthday at school? You huffed, Yes, but I had TWO nosebleeds AND I’m getting da bad sneezes. I heard the congestion, phlegmy and liquid, in your normally chirpy voice. I made sure a tissue box was in arm’s reach of your seat and passed back the only pair of sunglasses, a cheap promotion from a college bar–fire engine red with Captain Morgan written on the side, in the car to help combat your sneezes. After you let down your wildly long hair from its daily ponytail, you sighed in relief. You looked too grown and cool, like a snuffly badass.
  
  I offered you birthday dinner from anywhere, but you just wanted noodles, edamame, strawberries, and chocolate milk. You worked on your homework while I was in the kitchen, but before I could finish dinner, you escaped into your room’s darkness, hiding from the sunlight like a vampire. Da bad sneezes lived up to their name.
  
  Granny came over for cake, ice cream, and “Happy Birthday.” We couldn’t find a candle. The week before, you declared you wanted a Harry Potter scavenger hunt, complete with a Hermione Granger Halloween costume to wear while scavenging. So even though I’d already spent the money I had set aside for your birthday, I made it happen because COVID-19 sucks and you couldn’t have a party. I spent an hour writing clues and wrapped your presents the night before. The scavenger hunt was so worth it. You looked exactly like a tiny Hermione Granger/Emma Watson when you donned your Gryffindor robes. The clues lead you to Hermione’s wand, some LOL Surprise Dolls, Floop, a glittery pink phone stand, the Knight Bus LEGO set, and a build your own robot set. You loved all the gifts. Your eyes sparkled and you twirled and magic-spelled your way through the clues, but I could tell that you were feeling puny.
  You played with your Floop and then tried to build the robot with Daddy, which was a silly idea because Daddy was broken. He was having surgery the next morning to repair a ruptured biceps tendon and had been sporting a sling for two weeks. I had been outside walking and would have argued against even opening its box. Luckily, your aunt, uncle, and cousin in Illinois Facetimed you, and I put the robot away. You talked with them for quite a while, showing off your completed LEGO sets and your rainbow artwork displayed on the refrigerator, and all of a sudden, you got that I-can’t-function-any-longer-look-in-your-eye, and asked your aunt, Is it okay if I go to bed now? And you abruptly ended the conversation–because you were done with the day, even though it was your birthday.
  
  You met Buckbeak before you went to bed because you insisted that I read to you despite your yawns and your sneezes. We listened to Lady Gaga’s and Ariana Grande’s Rain on Me, for the millionth time, while I braided your hair. I turned the lights off, put the cat away, brought you some water, and turned on your nightlight. You climbed out of bed, no longer able to form words, and tried to turn your night light off, too bright for your sneezy eyes. You accidentally looked directly into it, starting an uncontrollable sneezing fit. I turned it off. You climbed back in bed and closed your eyes.
  
  You were snuffly and ethereal.
  
  And I tucked you in, my little tuckered-out birthday girl.
  Posted in kids, parenting, Uncategorized, writing | 7 Comments | Tagged birthday girl, happy birthday, harry potter, kids, parenting
- A Little Thing Tale: How Can She Be So Big and So Impossibly Little?
  
  Posted at 1:06 pm by Jeddarae, on July 25, 2020
  
  She’s big enough now, on tippy-toes and on ever-lengthening legs, to swipe her allergy medicine off the lazy Susan from the upper cabinet that’s to the left of the stainless steel stove. She’s grown taller and stronger but no matter how hard she presses down on the liquid Xyzal’s child-proofed, plastic cap, she’s unable to master its removal. She sighs in frustration while I think . . . When will her dexterity match her determination? Did her hair grow long enough to reach the tops of her legs, or did her legs grow long enough to reach her hair? How can she be so big and so impossibly little?
  
  She interrupts my thoughts, asking, “Mom, is there going to be any fires?”
  
  She sniffs her medicine, crinkles her nose, and laps the Xyzal tentatively, wary of the medicine although she takes it nightly.
  
  “No sweet girl,” I reply before she careens down the dim, narrow hallway–arms outstretched to alternate touching both sides of the hallway as she goes, ricocheting like a bowling ball off bumpers–to brush her teeth. Her hair, tangled and bleached a light summer brown, drifts behind her, torturing the gray tabby kitty following her. She casts a mischievous smile, a plea that sifts twinkles into her brown sugar eyes, over her shoulder down at the cat.
  
  Before she disappears around the corner, the kitten capitalizes on the plea, bowling into her. He jumps, swiping at her hair.
  
  “Suny! Stop it!” she shrieks, affronted, sounding more like a teenage girl whose little brother has ruined her Instagram worthy ponytail by pulling it than a little thing admonishing a naughty kitten.
  
  And I think . . . How can she be so big and so impossibly little?
  
  She brushes her teeth, changes into her nightgown, climbs into her bed. While I read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets to her, the cat bats around a stray Lego, distracting us both.
  
  It’s her turn to play a song while I braid her hair. “Alexa, play ‘Rain On Me’ by Lady Gaga,” she instructs her Amazon Echo Dot. I start on her right side, combing back her locks with my fingers, dividing it into three sections. I waterfall it three times before grabbing a crunchy section, tacky and wafting hints of apples into the air.
  
  “Did you get applesauce in your hair today?” I ask, ditching the braid and starting over. A whole pouch of applesauce must be ensconced in half her hair.
  
  “No, I got it all over my dress.” She says, rolling her eyes.
  
  “Did you clean it up?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Did your hair touch the front of your dress today?”
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  “So where do you think the spilled applesauce went?”
  
  Realization dawns in her eyes. “My hair?”
  
  “Next time, clean up after yourself, and put your hair behind your shoulders while you’re eating,” I suggest, barely disguised laughter in my tone.
  
  She shakes her head yes in response and, in time with the poppy dance music playing in the background, croons, “Rain on me, tsunami.”
  
  I shake my head at her and leave her hair loose. It’ll be even more of a disaster in the morning, but I can’t waste any more energy dealing with it.
  
  “Would you rather have applesauce in your hair or open the Chamber of Secrets?” she asks.
  
  “Totally have applesauce in my hair.” A crooked smile steals across my face. “What about you?”
  
  “Samesies!” she giggles.
  
  She curls up into a ball on her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and stuffed animal-shaped pillows, and I pull her fluffy pink comforter up to her chin. She reaches for her favorite plushie, a small gray and white striped kitty with a turquoise glitter bow and waterfall-colored, glassy eyes.
  
  “You know what you forgot to do today?” I ask.
  
  “What?”
  
  “Feed the invisible chickens in the front yard.”
  
  “Mom,” she draws the word out, making it two syllables, “How many times do I have to tell you? Invisible chickens don’t exist.”
  
  “And how many times do I have to tell you that just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there? How can you keep letting out pets starve?” I feign distress.
  
  The incredulity dissipates from her face like a balloon slowly leaking air. How much longer can I keep this charade up? I want her to picture invisible chickens pecking around free-range, clucking, and happy with the palm trees and our house in the background forever.
  
  “I don’t believe you,” she whispers, more dubious than assertive.
  
  “I guess I’ll just have to feed them after I finish tucking you in.”
  
  I kiss her forehead. My lips accidentally brushing the spot where she dabbed it with holy water.
  
  “Good night, sweet girl,” I say while turning off the lights, checking to see that I’ve positioned her nightlight’s reflection properly on the wall so she can make shadow puppets until she falls asleep.
  
  “Mommy,” she calls, tacking on the M and the Y because she’s more little than big in the dark. “I know I already asked, but is there going to be any fires?”
  
  “No sweet girl. But you know what to do if there is one. Go to sleep. I need to go feed the invisible chickens.”
  
  I close her door halfway and pause. She has both hands raised above her, thumbs hooked and twisted, fingers splayed wide open and fluttering–creating a shadow butterfly on the wall. Her tongue sticks out her mouth’s left side, and she bites down on it in concentration, just like she did when she was a chubby toddler building towers out of blocks. My breath hitches because she’s still impossibly little, if only for a little while longer.
  
  Posted in kids, Uncategorized, writing | 8 Comments | Tagged harry potter, kids, parenting, writing
- A Little Thing Tale: Little Thing Meets Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
  
  Posted at 11:01 am by Jeddarae, on May 16, 2020
  Earlier this year, I decided it was time for Little Thing to finally get her Harry Potter on. I would have introduced her to Hogwarts sooner, but she’s only recently begun showing interest in books that don’t feature kitties. And lacking the motivation to read it herself, I knew I would have to tackle reading book one out loud to my Little Muggle.
  
  (Even though I am an English teacher, I abhor reading things aloud. I suck it up buttercup and do it for my students occasionally when I can’t find a better, free audio version, and I always read to Little Thing before bedtime, but acccckkkkkkkkkk.)
  
  And HP aloud poses all kinds of issues:
  1. Have you ever tried to read Hagrid’s brogue out loud? YEEESSSSSHHHHH. So hard. I’d rather wrangle baby Norbert the dragon IRL and have him singe off my-coronavirus-ignored-overly-bushy eyebrows (Holy shit. I have Hermione-Granger-book-one eyebrows right now.) than botch Hagrid’s dialect.
  2. I had to think to myself Quirrell rhymes with squirrel every damn time Quirrel’s name appeared in print.
  3. Was I pronouncing Wingardium Leviosa with enough conviction to make a feather lift off a table? Would it make Hermione Granger proud?
  4. Should I read all the dialogue in a British accent?
  5. HOW AM I GOING TO READ SNAPE WITHOUT GIVING EVERYTHING AWAY? HOW AM I GOING TO READ SNAPE WHEN EVERY TIME I THINK OF SNAPE, I THINK OF ALAN RICKMAN, AND I’M STILL NOT OVER THAT HE’S NO LONGER AMONG US.
  Anyway, Little Thing and I finished last week, and she’s now obsessed, even practicing enchantments with her American Girl dolls.
  
  I kept track of some of her observations while we read. I only wish I would have kept track from the beginning. Here are her best ones:
  
  Little Thing: You know Snape sounds a whole lot like snake.
  
  Little Thing: You know what’s fun to say–Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff.
  
  Me: What about Gryffindor? Or Slytherin? Aren’t those fun to say too?
  
  Little Thing: Nope. Not as fun as Hufflepuff. It satisfies me. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. HUFFLE-PUFFFFFFFFFFF.
  
  Me: [reading the part where Malfoy steals Neville’s Remembrall and the subsequent Malfoy and Harry broom scene; looks up, and sees Little Thing plugging her ears] What’s wrong? Why are you plugging your ears?
  
  Little Thing: Harry’s gonna be in so much trouble. I don’t want to hear it. He might get expelled. [pauses] What’s expelled mean again?
  
  Me: [when Harry tells Neville] “You’re worth twelve of Malfoy . . . The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it? And where’s Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.”
  
  Little Thing: Stinking Slytherin! Stinkin Slytherin!
  
  Little Thing: [ten minutes later] Stinking Slytherin! Stinkin Slytherin!
  
  Little Thing: Do you know what I think has been killing the unicorn? A four hundred head dog. He’s got the sharpest claws. And the biggest teeth. And 500 legs.
  
  Little Thing: I don’t think Fluffy is a bad dog. He might look like a bad dog on the outside, but on the inside he’s a good dog.
  
  Little Thing: [in a British accent] Why would anyone want to hurt Harry Potter? He’s famous.
  
  Me: [reading] “It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead.”
  
  Little Thing: NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
  
  Me: [tucks her in, and says with a British accent] Good night! Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow!
  
  Little Thing: Is that from Harry Potter? [in her own British accent]
  
  Me: No. It’s from Romeo and Juliet.
  
  Little Thing: Then WHY did you make it sound like it was from Harry Potter??????
  
  Me: [considers all of the possible explanations but my brain is about to explode because it’s the end of the day, coronavirus, distance learning, end of the school year, etc., and settles on] Nevermind.
  
  Me: [reading when Quirrel says] “All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular . . . and what a waste of time, when after all that I’m going to kill you tonight.”
  
  Little Thing: [gasps then pauses] I wish Harry had a never-die potion. [pauses] I wish my family had a never-die potion. I wish the whole world had a never-die potion.
  
  Me: [gets misty-eyed]
  Posted in books, kids, parenting, reading, Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged books, harry potter, reading
- PSA About Student Attendance
  
  Posted at 9:54 am by Jeddarae, on March 7, 2020
  Friendly (Albeit Possibly Unpopular Opinion) Parent Reminder PSA from Mrs. Ram Jam:
  
  Please send your kids to school.
  
  Your kids have one job–it’s called school. Please send them to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.
  
  For the most part, your kids are not professional athletes, actors, reality stars, or gamers. They should not miss multiple days a school year for travel soccer, baseball, cheer, badminton, Fortnite competitions, Scrabble tournaments, or auditions.
  
  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.
  
  There are multiple opportunities for extended holidays throughout the year–like summer vacation, Christmas vacation, Thanksgiving vacation, spring break, fall break, and various three day weekends. Check the school’s calendar before you schedule a vacation during the school year. A two-week European tour, ten-day Walt Disney World excursion, or seven-day Caribbean cruise while school is in session is detrimental to your child’s academic well-being.
  
  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.
  
  Furthermore, it’s unethical to get doctor’s excuses for athletic competitions, auditions, and vacations. Your children tell us where they were or their classmates do. Your Instagram story even tells us where they’ve been. Also your actions, if you’ve partaken in these instances and even gotten a doctor to write you excuses for them, scream privilege.
  
  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.
  
  Also, try to schedule doctor, dental, orthodontal, and therapy appointments for after the school day or during elective classes. When you schedule a biweekly appointment to get your child’s braces adjusted on Mondays at 8:00 A.M., your child is missing the same class or classes each time, which is detrimental to your child’s academic well-being.
  
  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.
  
  Please send your kids to school on time. If your child checks in late two or three days a week, they are missing the same class each time, which is detrimental to your child’s academic well-being.
  
  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.
  
  Why do I care so much?
  1. Absences add up. Kids get sick. Family members pass away. Kids break bones. Kids get lice. Say your kid gets the flu and misses five days of school, but then you turn around and take them to Disney two weeks later for four days during the school week. Then your kid misses five more days because of travel soccer. Then your kid gets food poisoning in March and misses three days. That’s 17 absences for the school year. 17. 17. 17. That’s more than three weeks of school.
  2. An excused absence is still an absence.
  3. It sends the wrong message to your kid and their classmates. Is your child more important than the other students? Why does your kid get to miss so much when the other students don’t? The students notice, and they talk about it.
  4. It hurts your child academically. They have a ton of work to make up, and they miss the benefit of actually being taught the material and classroom discussions. According to attendanceworks.org, “research shows that missing 10 percent of the school year, or about 18 days in most school districts, negatively affects a student’s academic performance. That’s just two days a month.”
  5. It hurts their teachers and their schools. There. I said it. I’m being selfish. For once. If you don’t send your kid to school, and your kid doesn’t grow the way the state expects him/her to grow by the end of the year, it affects my scores, my evaluation, and my paycheck. It affects the school’s scores and bottom line too. Your actions affect the community at large.
  I’m not trying to be all sanctimonious here. Have I pulled Little Thing out of school to go on vacation before? Yes. For one day. One day. Not five in a row. Are two days acceptable? Sure! Let your kids play travel ball and go on auditions and miss a Friday or two during deer season. But more than two days? Multiple times a year? That’s sketchy.
  
  Strive for no more than ten absences. The fewer the absences the better.
  
  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.
  Posted in kids, teaching, Uncategorized | 11 Comments | Tagged blogs, school, schools, student attendance, students, teaching
- A Poem: Timeworn
  
  Posted at 12:42 pm by Jeddarae, on July 13, 2019
  
  Don’t blink.
  Clichéd lip sync.
  The pitter-patter of little feet.
  Buckle them into their car seats.
  
  Time flies.
  Hackneyed reprise.
  They grow up too fast.
  Romanticize the past.
  
  Clichéd lip sync.
  Buckle them into their car seats.
  
  Let them be little.
  Trite transmittal.
  Time please slow down.
  Stave off nervous breakdowns.
  
  Clichéd lip sync.
  Buckle them into their car seats.
  
  Where has the time gone?
  Banal yawns.
  Can’t they stay little forever?
  Attempt to keep it together.
  
  Mama needs a drink.
  Clichéd lip sync
  because society pretends motherhood is always sweet.
  Buckle them into their car seats.
  
  Posted in kids, parenting, poems, Uncategorized, writing | 2 Comments | Tagged blogging, blogs, don't blink, kids, parenting, poems, poetry, time flies, writing
- A Poem: Her Mom Instead of Her Mommy
  
  Posted at 11:27 pm by Jeddarae, on March 15, 2019
  
  Have you seen My?
  She’s been lost for a while,
  and I’m in denial
  because I’ll never get to tell her bye.
  
  Once she’s gone, she’s gone forever,
  and I’m not just yet ready for never
  again to have my My.
  
  Oh my my!
  Oh how I cried
  and died
  a little inside
  when I realized My was a thing of the past
  because Mommy is gone and Mom is here at long last.
  
  And My is no longer the end but the beginning, my mom instead of Mommy.
  And oh my my!
  Oh how I cry
  and die a little inside
  because I have to learn to be her mom instead of her mommy.
  
  Posted in kids, parenting, poems, poetry, Uncategorized, writing | 1 Comment | Tagged blogging, kids, parenting, poems, poems about kids, poetry, writing
- A Poem: Stop What You’re Doing and Lock the Door
  
  Posted at 8:55 pm by Jeddarae, on March 8, 2019
  
  stand at the door
  
  make conversation
  
  Happy morning, students!
  
  check their uniforms
  
  Take off that necklace, please!
  
  No labels on socks; that’s a citation.
  
  the bell rings
  
  go inside
  
  lock the door behind you
  
  take attendance
  
  “Can I charge my ChromeBook?”
  
  You mean, may I charge my ChromeBook? Yes, you may.
  
  “Can I take my doctor’s excuse to the office?
  
  Ummmm, number one–you should have done that before the bell rang. Number two–did you not just hear me say it’s “may” not “can”? Sign out. And somebody go lock the door.
  
  submit attendance
  
  read announcements
  
  knock knock
  
  go answer the door and lock it behind you
  
  continue reading announcements
  
  knock knock
  
  stop what you’re doing and answer the door and lock it behind you
  
  go over the objective
  
  overhead intercom interrupts–“Can you send So-and-so to the office?”
  
  So-and-so, stop what you’re doing, sign out, and go to the office. And somebody please go lock the door behind her.
  
  model your thinking
  
  knock knock
  
  Somebody, stop what you’re doing and go answer the door. And don’t forget to lock it.
  
  students work on group work
  
  take a student’s ChromeBook because he’s playing games
  
  admonish another for for using hers as a mirror
  
  “Hey, my ChromeBook’s frozen!“
  
  And? That’s a statement. If you want help, please ask a question.
  
  “Can I go to the library to get my ChromeBook fixed?”
  
  Did you try to trouble shoot? Did you turn it off and back on?
  
  continue to monitor the students
  
  “It still won’t work.”
  
  Take it down to the library. Sign out.
  
  stop what you’re doing and lock the door
  
  they’re finally working
  
  sit down at your desk
  
  check your email
  
  check exit tickets
  
  check your coffee breath
  
  pop a mint
  
  field questions from your desk
  
  decide that’s useless
  
  they’re restless
  
  help them
  
  make them laugh
  
  get them back on task
  
  knock knock
  
  This is ridiculous. said under your breath
  
  stop what you’re doing and answer the door
  
  “You look mad. Can I tell you a joke?”
  
  ignore the remark
  
  forget what you’re doing and what day it is and your middle name
  
  take a deep breath to recenter yourself
  
  hold a discussion
  
  overhead intercom interrupts–“Lock down! Lock down! This is a lock down! Active shooter! Active shooter!”
  
  Students, get in the corner. Be quiet.
  
  check the blinds to make sure they’re drawn and swipe your phone and your laptop from your desk and turn off the lights and open the cabinet door to block the view from the classroom door and huddle on the floor next to your students and send an everyone’s-accounted-for email
  
  shush the children
  
  Moment of Clarity.
  
  The. Door. Isn’t. Locked.
  
  Crawl on the floor.
  
  Reach up.
  
  Cold lock in your sweaty fingers.
  
  Twist it as as someone pounds on the door.
  
  Students whimper.
  
  Look up. See a cop.
  
  His glare, a condescending reprimand.
  
  Because even though you stopped what you were doing, you forgot to lock the door.
  
  The overhead intercom interrupts–“All clear. All clear. It was only a drill.”
  
  but you know that the only thing that’s clear is the drill of your beating heart and your lesson is ruined and you’re close to tears because the only thing that’s important anymore is having your door locked
  
  Posted in fibromyalgia, kids, poetry, teaching, Uncategorized | 6 Comments | Tagged blogging, poems, poems about teaching, poetry, teaching, writing
- A Poem: Little Thing Gets the Flu Haiku
  
  Posted at 1:02 am by Jeddarae, on February 16, 2019
  
  On top of a poo-on-a-stick week, we won the flu lottery! And by we, I mean Little Thing. Poor sweet Little Thing is puny. I hate it. Here’s a synopsis (in haiku fashion nonetheless) of today’s events.
  
  The thermometer
  beeps at one hundred and two.
  No wonder she’s chilled.
  
  Climbing into bed
  with me, she proclaims, “I’m fine!”
  “Yeah right, tiny one.”
  
  A petite furnace
  ignites her forehead and limbs,
  aflame with fever.
  
  Tissues and TV
  flushed cheeks and pillow snuggles
  beneath her blanket.
  
  Her granny arrives
  to take care of her and bring
  her to the doctor.
  
  A text says: it’s flu.
  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
  Poor sick Little Thing.
  
  To Tamiflu or
  not to Tamiflu–that
  is the question now.
  
  Considering she
  gags on liquid Tylenol
  we will pass. No thanks.
  
  Time to stock up on
  Sprite, pain reliever tablets,
  and so much Lysol.
  
  Off topic: I did have a bright spot today. A student gifted me a temporary tattoo of a llama blowing a bubble. He might have pilfered it from his little sister’s Valentine’s Day gift box, but whatevs. It’s adorable, and it’s lifted my spirits every time I’ve looked at it today.
  
  Posted in kids, parenting, poems, Uncategorized, writing | 1 Comment | Tagged blogging, blogs, haiku, kids, parenting, poems, poetry, writing
- A Mrs. Ram’s Jams Tale: A Teaching Fail and Student Cheating
  
  Posted at 9:10 pm by Jeddarae, on December 8, 2018
  I’m not a perfect teacher.
  
  Earlier this week, I gave a two day test to my English I Honors students, giving them extra time for the assessment’s writing component. Instead of having them pause the test to continue the next day (to try to discourage cheating), I had them submit their test digitally at class’s end and reopened it the following morning. However, I forgot when they submit their answers through our online testing platform it automatically tells them which multiple choice questions they answered incorrectly. [insert Mrs. Ram Jam whacking her head repeatedly against a cinder block wall]
  
  So what happened in first block when I reopened the test? Remembering the question numbers marked incorrect, quite a few of them changed those wrong answers to correct ones.
  
  Instead of squashing cheating, I inadvertently allowed it to run rampant. I suspect at least 65 percent committed academic dishonesty–with no way to prove who did or didn’t change their answers.
  
  Repeat–I’m not a perfect teacher.
  
  I’m mad at myself for my screw-up and disappointed with my students.
  
  But if I hadn’t caught myself after first block, would the same thing have happened all day?
  
  Hopefully I’m wrong, and this is pure speculation, but yes. In subsequent blocks when I informed kids they couldn’t change their previously chosen answers, I saw open hostility, embarrassment, and shame on more than a few faces. (I also witnessed cluelessness. It hadn’t crossed some of their minds.)
  
  Newsflash!
  
  Students aren’t perfect, even the high-achieving ones.
  
  They turn things in late.
  
  They lie about having their homework done.
  
  They try to figure out how to do the least amount of work possible and still get high grades.
  
  They’re children.
  
  They attempt to manipulate adults to their own advantage and pander to their own desires in oft convincing self-righteousness.
  
  And also, most students at some point, again even high-achieving, good kids, cheat.
  
  Look at the numbers.
  
  In Andrew Simmons’s Edutopia article “Why Students Cheat—and What to Do About,” he uses a bar graph to illustrate “95 percent” of students in secondary schools “admitted to any form of cheating, 64 percent committed plagiarism, and 58 percent cheated on a test.”
  
  Now granted, I teach 8th grade, but I teach a high school credit honors course to middle schoolers. My class is HARD. Kids, used to getting easy A’s, struggle and make C’s and B’s on tests and writing assignments. They’re desperate for an A, even if comes down to achieving one through unethical methods.
  
  I am not excusing their behavior or my own teaching faux pas, but through self-reflection, I’ve garnered a few valuable insights.
  1. I don’t know if all students initially recognized that their behavior was unethical. They’re smart. They saw their incorrect answers and changed them before resubmitting and didn’t think twice about it. But some had to realize their actions were disreputable. Thursday, we had a serious conversation about what happened and what the term “ethics” means. Not one student could define it when I asked them what it meant, but they know its definition now. That entire class faces consequences, including a brand new replacement test. I made them feel guilty as hell about their actions. I pulled a Danny Tanner and flipped their transgressions into a teachable moment.
  2. I need to stop being so nice. I gave them too much time to complete the test, and if I give them an inch, they take a mile. The test should have taken them 60 minutes tops. They had to read three passages, answer 18 multiple choice questions, and write a paragraph. For benchmark, they’re expected to do the same thing but write an essay instead in 90 minutes. My reasoning behind giving them extra time was to allow them to focus in on the writing component so we could work through any constructed response issues they had before benchmark. I wanted them to do well on the test, thinking the extra time would help my struggling writers. But some students were not honest with actually being done when they fully were.
  3. My expectations were unclear. This one hurts. I should have told them that the twenty minute window on day two was only for the writing component and the multiple choice needed to be finalized on day one. Hindsight sucks.
  4. I admitted my own mistake to them, and I’m admitting it to you. Yes, I did. I told them I screwed up. I think it’s important for students to see their teachers admit when they are incorrect, acknowledge their own mess-ups, and examine their imperfections. Again, I’m not perfect. No teacher is. Sometimes my lessons bomb. Sometimes, God forbid, my self-made materials have editing errors. Sometimes, I don’t pronounce words correctly and accidentally say things like “more better.” I haven’t read everything under the sun, I don’t have all of the answers, and I am not always right–but I admit when I’m wrong, I’ve messed up openly, or I could have done something better. They’re under so much pressure to be perfect, and the adults in their lives need to show them that perfection doesn’t exist and is an unattainable ideal.
  Now I have to ask . . . if you were put in their situation as a middle schooler, would you have cheated?
  
  Because I sure of hell would have. [Loud gasp! How dare you, Mrs. Ram Jam!] In middle school and high school, I copied my peer’s homework or let them copy off me. Senior year, I plagiarized a Spanish IV paper the week before graduation, submitted it, and got caught, justifying my behavior because I felt wronged by my teacher. (If you’re reading this Señora Blakenship, I am sorry from the bottom of my heart.)
  
  If you’re judging me for my confession, look at the statistics above. Chances are, you cheated at least once in some capacity yourself, whether you’re willing to confess it publicly or not.
  
  And your child will probably, too.
  
  It’s an epidemic, and I have no idea how to battle it. (Besides not releasing answers BEFORE a test is over. I will FOREVER be kicking my own ass over this one.)
  
  Works Cited:
  
  Simmons, Andrew. “Why Students Cheat-and What to Do About It.” Edutopia, George Lucas Educational Foundation, http://www.edutopia.org/article/why-students-cheat-and-what-do-about-it.
  Posted in kids, teaching, Uncategorized, writing | 4 Comments | Tagged academic dishonesty, blogging, blogs, student cheating, students, teacher fail, teaching, teaching fail, writing
- A Poem: Little Thing at Six
  
  Posted at 1:30 am by Jeddarae, on September 8, 2018
  
  On Monday, I will have a six year old. I just. Sigh. No words.
  
  Except I wrote a poem, so I did “word” just a little for my Little Thing.
  
  the floor is lava in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1
  glittery nail polish on fingers and toes
  pink, poofy dresses that pass the twirl test when spun
  fluffy kitties, fuzzy blankets, and fabulous bows
  
  noodles and strawberries
  cartwheels and splits
  Friday night dance parties featuring Katy Perry
  a whole box of tissue because of evening sneezing fits
  
  proper nouns are too hard to capitalize
  flour measured to perfection to bake cookies from scratch
  unwrapping toys like LOL Surprise
  funky socks that are mix and match
  
  silky, soft nightgowns worn all day on the weekends
  slime experiments made with Borax and Elmer’s Glue
  play dates full of giggles with her best girlfriend
  the antithesis of the color blue
  
  Happy sixth birthday dear, precious Little Thing.
  May your sweet, joyous, and innocent soul forever continue to laugh, dance, and sing.
  
  (Here’s a picture of her birthday cake for her party, which is LOL Surprise doll themed. She decorated it herself with minimal guidance from her nana, who always comes to visit from Illinois for the occasion.)
  
  Posted in kids, parenting, poetry, Uncategorized | 7 Comments | Tagged blogging, kids, parenting, poems, poetry
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