Matt and I often tell each other how we hope and pray that Franny is a nerd. Cool kids get in all sorts of trouble, especially if they have too much money and time on their hands. My favorite students aren't the ones who are the most popular, but the ones who work hard and are sweet and respectful.
Last weekend, I found one of my favorite childhood books. I read it over and over to Barley/Franny.
Later that weekend, Matt said, out of nowhere, "I'm going to get Franny an abacus." I laughed and asked why in the world that would be necessary. He looked at me like I was crazy. "Uh, how else am I going to teach him binary?"
Perhaps we should direct our concerns away from Franny being too cool and toward protecting him from getting beat up under the bleachers.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Counting Down
As the days to maternity leave tick nearer and nearer, I find myself increasingly cranky about having to go to school. It doesn't help that my classes consist of either stoned pot-heads or mollycoddled mama's boys. There are good kids in there, too, but they seem to be lost in the shuffle this year.
This morning, as I was reminding myself not to make long-term career decisions at 5:15 on a Monday morning, I couldn't help but think of this poem by Shel Silverstein (and my students said there was no practical purpose to memorizing poetry):
"Sick"
By Shel Silverstein
"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen!
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
Good bye! I'm going out to play!"
This morning, as I was reminding myself not to make long-term career decisions at 5:15 on a Monday morning, I couldn't help but think of this poem by Shel Silverstein (and my students said there was no practical purpose to memorizing poetry):
"Sick"
By Shel Silverstein
"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen!
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
Good bye! I'm going out to play!"
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