What I Learned About God From SAGE Testing

This post, contrary to what you may think, is not about standardized testing.  It is not about the pros and cons of SAGE.  Nor is it about Common Core, public schools, charter schools, government conspiracies, or why you should home school your child.  It is about life, and how I am understanding it more deeply the longer I teach.

Last week, in addition to Valentine's Tea, the Teddy Bear Picnic, AND Parent Teacher Conferences, we had SAGE testing.  (And we did it all in four days, very fairly earning the four-day weekend that followed.)

For those who are unaware of what SAGE testing is, let me explain briefly.

Because education is a state right, states are given the ability to choose how they will assess their children.  Utah has adopted a test called the SAGE test.  Remember the old bubble sheet tests we used to take?  It's the computerized version of that.  It has several parts, and as part of the Language Arts portion of the test, 3rd graders are asked to write 2 essays on a computer and submit them.

That is what we were doing last week.  (Before the sugar and teddy bears hit.)

Without going into anything too nitty-gritty, the general idea of this writing test is that kids are given a scaled score based on what they write.  A proficient score is about a 406.  About. ;)

So, hoping everyone had eaten a good breakfast last Tuesday morning and hadn't played Minecraft until 2:00 am the night before, I got all of the students logged in a let them begin their tests.  They all had slightly different prompts, and began writing.

I walked around, glancing at the papers they were furiously writing on (or staring blankly at).  Some looked at the test before them and examined it carefully.  They made plans on paper and revised them before beginning to type.  Others plowed straight in, typing like mad chickens. (My old computer teacher, Mr. Asbury, called that "hunt-and-peck typing.")

Soon, hands began to go up as students whispered to me, "I'm done!"

One boy, who has honestly won every genetic lottery known to the human race from looks to money to athleticism, pointed a finger at his screen and said, "I'm finished."  I peeked at the screen.  There were three lines.  Three.  From the child who has been reading and writing since HE was three.  A child who reads about 500 pages a month.  A child who is writing an entire book in his little journal at school.  And he writes three fairly pathetic lines and says he's done?

I don't think so.  I stared at him hard.  "Is that your best?" I asked in my serious business voice.  And he and I both knew that he would not be submitting quite yet.

Why?  Because I know him.  And I know he is capable of so much more than that.  And deep down, he knows it too.

A few minutes later, another hand shoots up.  It is a student that keeps me awake at night.  He is a child I worry about every single day.  Does he have sufficient food?  Is someone putting him to bed at night?  Is there anyone to read him a story? Does he even own books?  I know in my heart that if life is a lottery, somehow this child--through no fault of his own--has already lost.

I glance down at his computer screen.  There, typed in the space for the answer, I see three lines.  Three cohesive, full sentences that actually have something to do with the prompt.  It feels like a miracle.

I ask, "Do you have anything else you want to add?"

Proudly, he shakes his head no.  "I put everything," tell tells me, and then goes ahead and submits his piece.

I imagine this test from the children's view.

I am a terrible teacher.

I am horribly unfair.

I have just high-fived one student for writing three lines while giving another a soul-searing stare for the exact same thing.

I admit, I do not treat children equally.  I never will.  Because equal does not help any of them become who they are capable of becoming.  But I do believe in being fair.  And part of fairness involves knowing and loving a person enough to do what I feel is best for him or her.

Children like the first student are--metaphorically speaking--born at a score of 220.  So when they hit my room, scoring something in the 500s, I may be tempted as a teacher to think I hit a home run.  I didn't. That kid was on third base when I got him, already stealing toward home.

Children like the second student, however, may still be at the plate, just trying to get a hit.  And if they barely make it to third, I may think that because they didn't score a run, I have clearly failed.

Both counts are entirely wrong.

Of course, we do care about the score.  Developmentally, 406--that magical SAGE number--is a benchmark for a 3rd grader.  But upon learning more about testing, I discovered there is much more to this test than the overall number.  A large majority or the test is simply about progress.

I know each of my students, and I know what they are capable of.  I also know that they cannot progress unless they reach to their own limits.

And so it is with each of us.

The test we go through are not simply to see where we are as people, but are also to recognize how much we've grown.  Whether we are trying to get to first base or are rounding our way to home plate, whether we are a 90 or a 560 on the rubric-ed scale, we are expected to progress, so grow, to somehow prove that everything we've been learning has stretched us into someone different than the person we used to be.  We have changed.

And yet, as an educator, I am compelled to recognize that education is not solely about progress.  Being a third grader with a score of 90 is not sufficient.  It is not passing. It is not proficient.

But a child will never get to 406 or 560 or 700 without first improving, and a 90 may be his or her first step on that journey.  Sometimes the realization of how far we have yet to go is overwhelming, to the point of being crushing and we feel that we will never arrive--we are already too far behind.  However,  "…a critical message of hope...is that each of us will receive the necessary time to work out our salvation." (Allan D. Rau, "Be Ye Therefore Perfect": Beyond the Perfectionist Paradigm," in Religious Educator 12, no. 3 (2011): 37-57.) 

It is simply not a race against time or against each other.

As I have contemplated this over the last several day, I think I understand a little more now than I did last week about how God must feel about us.

He knows us.
He knows what blessings and privileges and helps we have or haven't had.
He knows perfectly what we are capable of--what we have mastered, what we have previously achieved, what we have learned since then, and what we still need help with.
He doesn't expect us to be the kid in the chair next to us.
He doesn't expect us to get a 406 three months after we got a 105.
He doesn't shame us when we have given the best of whatever is in us, even if it is still nowhere near what is expected for where we "should" be or where everyone else is.

The beautiful thing about God is that he doesn't hold us up against everyone else.  He holds us up against ourselves and helps us in every way He can to make the progress necessary to be able to return to him.  And while we struggle and progress, one line or sentence at a time, He always loves us.

“He is not waiting to love you until you have overcome your weaknesses and bad habits. He loves you today with a full understanding of your struggles. He is aware that you reach up to Him in heartfelt and hopeful prayer. He knows of the times you have held onto the fading light and believed—even in the midst of growing darkness. He knows of your sufferings. He knows of your remorse for the times you have fallen short or failed. And still He loves you.”

“He knows everything about you. He sees you clearly—He knows you as you really are. 

“He loves you not only for who you are this very day, but also for the person of glory and light you have the potential and the desire to become.

“More than you could ever imagine, He wants you to achieve your destiny—to return to your heavenly home in honor.” (Dieter Uchtdorf: “Live the Gospel Joyful”)

As we muddle through this life, students stuck together, side-by-side through our individual journey, each facing our own exams and test, it is critical to remember that we are not the Master Teacher.  We do not know, truly, who our fellow test takers are, what they have been through, what they have experienced, what they have already brought to the table, and what they are capable of.

Rather than judge each other, let us help each other progress, recognizing that we are each in different spots on our journey.
Let us worry more about making our own progress--whatever that may be--than in pointing out how "unfair" our lives may seem.
Let us not become so pleased with how much "better" we are than others that we become complacent and stop progressing ourselves.

We all must take the tests of life. We can crawl under our desk and cry hysterically about it (yeah, that happened…), we can give a half-hearted, pathetic effort that we convince ourselves will be "good enough," or we can give everything we have (without being concerned by what everyone else around us is doing), thereby realizing that we have learned and grown and become better.

Thank you, SAGE testing, for so vividly reminding me of what this life is all about.

Life's Moral Dilemmas and Lemon Jawbreakers

This Monday, I gave each of my fourth grade science groups a brown paper bag, taped up with masking tape.  "You are scientists," I told them.  "One of your most important jobs is to observe--to gather as much data as possible, in order to try to figure things out.  I want you to observe everything you can about what is inside this brown bag.  The only rule is that you cannot look inside."

I turned them loose to touch, pry, smell, and explore.  Some students got caught up in the brown paper bag and started observing that, rather than what was inside the bag.  "It's crunchy, it makes a sound when I twist it..." one girl said.

"But that's the bag," I reminded her.  "We are trying to observe what's inside the bag."

"Ohhhh...." she said.  I could see the question in her eyes.  "But we can't see what's inside the bag."

However, within a few seconds of handing out the bags, one student decided to smell the bag--which was emitting a strong, lemony-citrus scent--and exclaimed, "It's a lemon!"
"I'm not asking what it is," I reminded him.  "I am asking you to observe.  That is what you smell.  But what does it feel like?  What shape is it?  Keep looking."

It was not long before all the groups were sniffing their bags, assenting that it certainly emitted a lemony smell--and if not lemon, it was at least something citrusy..."like a cutie."

I watched as they felt the bag.  Whatever was inside was firm.  It was roundish in shape.  It wasn't very big.

"What does it sound like?"  I asked them.

"Nothing," they replied.  "We squeezed it and it doesn't sound like anything."

"Drop it on your desk," I prodded.  They looked at me like I'd gone mad.  Finally, one girl at the far table confidently raised it high above her head and dropped it on the desk.  I could see a room full of expectant faces with their eyes glued on her, awaiting the lemon's dull "thump."

"Thud."  It landed loudly, startling most of the kids.

"What did that sound like?"  I asked.

"A rock!"  one boy replied, utterly bewildered.

"Hmm...." I said.  "Interesting."

I wandered around, listening to them revise their guesses from a "lemon" to an "un-ripe lemon."  I urged them to seek additional information.  "Move the bag around so you can see the shape," I urged.

"It's round!" came the reply.  More hurried whispers.  I heard bits of  "....jawbreaker..."  "They make big lemon heads..." and "It still could be a not-ripe lemon."

"Will you tell us what it is?" a concerned students asked.

"At the end I will let you look for yourself and find out what it is," I assured them.

"I hate this part, though," one sweet little blonde girl said.  "I just want to rip the bag open and find out. I hate this trying to figure it out."

"Keep observing...you'll get to see it in the end."

After a sufficient amount of observing our brown bags, we sat down to discuss our findings.  One particularly bright future scientist said, "Well, I smelled it and I decided that it smelled like a lemon.  I knew that if it really was a lemon, it would squish when I stepped on it, so I put it on the floor and stepped on it." (Bless our janitor, who would be rolling if he knew.)  "When I stepped on it, it didn't squish.  It hurt my foot.  So I knew I couldn't be a lemon."

Several students nodded, seriously.  Clearly, a lemon would not hurt your foot and stay firm under so much weight.

Others refused to be convinced.  "Even a lemon that isn't ripe can be hard," they insisted.

When it came time for the student to weigh in on what they thought was inside, the most common answer was either a lemon jawbreaker or a giant Lemonhead, with a few still insisting it was nothing more than a lemon that hadn't ripened yet.

At last, the moment arrived when the groups could finally open their bags.  Imagine six students all clamoring for a piece of brown bag, trying to rip it apart as quickly as possible and finally discover "The Truth."

I cannot even describe the shock that filled out room as--out of five lemony brown paper bags--five golf balls emerged.  Five ordinary, white golf balls that had been placed inside that morning (along with a Kleenex dipped in lemon extract).

And that's when we learned a few important lessons:
1)  Sometimes, we observe something and make a decision without looking for additional information.  When we do that, we aren't always correct in our decision. 
2) Sometimes, we listen to what others say without testing it out for ourselves.  Also not a good plan. 
3) Sometimes we have conflicting information, and we're not sure how it fits together ("It smells like a lemon, but it's hard like a rock.").  We may have to gather more information or wait until more is revealed. 

I asked the students if "The Truth" changes.  Does science change?

It was a tricky question.

The bottom line was the golf balls were golf balls that morning when I put them in the bag.  They stayed a golf balls all day long on my counter.  They didn't turn into lemons or jaw breakers or anything else during the students' observations.  They were still golf balls. 

The only thing that changed was the student's information.  They started with one sense (smell) and concluded their unidentified object was a lemon.  They added touch and sound ("hard like a rock") and decided it was a jaw breaker.  They were finally able to see with their eyes and then determine definitively that it was a golf ball.  While they constantly questioned and experimented and wondered, their conclusions shifted.  Nevertheless, what was in the bag stayed absolutely the same.

Indeed.  The world has always been round, no matter who mapped it otherwise.  Columbus daringly did not fall off its face as he moved into uncharted territory.  Atoms and molecules have always existed, even before microscopes could show us it was so.  And while our views are constantly shifting with additional information and technology, the truth will always remain.

Let's also remember that there was someone in control of this lesson, someone who had planned it out, someone who was watching and overseeing it, someone who knew perfectly well exactly what was in each bag.  And as difficult as it was for the students to wait to have an absolute knowledge and answer of what they so desperately were trying to figure out, they were reassured that in time, they would know without a doubt what it was.

I have pondered long and hard about many of the issues facing today's world.  I frequently read many views on both sides of the fence of feminism, gay marriage, women's ordination, abortion, God's role in the nation, and other social and moral topics.  I have considered arguments and counter arguments.  Without a doubt, I have formed opinions of my own on each of these topics.  And in the process of all of this "checking out the brown bag" to find the real Truth, I have also discovered some important things.

1.  We have to accept that we simply do not know everything (Bummer, I know).  As much as we want to rip the bag open and "just know," there are still so many things we can't see.  We are limited to the best we can do right now.  We are sometimes confused by conflicting ideas, messages, and opinions, and aren't sure how they fit together. We desperately want to make sense of the world, so sometimes we just make up our own explanations that seem to make sense to us, and then share them with others--and often they are simply wrong. 

2.  Because there are so many things we have yet to see, it is not our job to hate others, reject others, or even convince others to come to the same conclusions that we have. 
It is, however, our incredible opportunity to share what we have experimented with and experienced and allow others to try it out for themselves and see if they reach the same conclusion. 
That being said, we also have the right to revise what we know as we continually receive additional light and knowledge.  The more we seek truth, the more we discover and find it. 

3. Despite the fact that we don't always know everything, there is someone who does.  There is purpose to what He does and there are lessons He is trying to teach us.  Even when we get caught up in the brown paper bag or the lemon scent (that frankly in the end are unrelated to the golf ball), He helps us to see by gently prompting us, "But drop it, and listen to the sound."  As many times as the students consulted with each other, there was a much more reliable source to listen to.  And despite the thousands of blog posts, forums, podcasts, and articles, we also have more reliable sources to turn to that have the truth--without a brown bag blocking it.  We must be wise and prudent as we consider the sources that our beliefs come from. 

4.  Someday--despite limited information, the inability to see all things, deep frustration at not being able to "know," the time required to find out the truth, and the conflicting voices all around us in the meantime--we will all be able to open the bag and see for ourselves.  It will all become clear.  We will see what is real and what may not have been real (regardless of how convincingly it seemed so.)

And so, for now, this is where I stand:
I am assured that there are absolute truths.
I believe that there are sources I can go to that have that truth.
I have faith that for everything that remains unanswered (despite my best attempts at understanding), there will someday be answers and it will all be clear.

It may be a surprise when--after all this time--it turns out not to be related to lemons at all.

The Hall of Shame...One More Reason I Wasn't Teacher of the Year

We all have moments we would rather not relive.  Moments people continually reassure us will be really funny "someday."  (Exactly how long is "someday?" I always wonder.  Long enough that I forget it was me who actually did it and think it was someone else?)

I hate to admit it, but I have had more than my fair share of "moments."  It seems like anywhere from once a month to once a week to sometimes even once a day, someone shakes their head and mutters under their breath, "Only you, Melissa, only you.  I have never met anyone...."

I mean, there was the time--in a mad rush--I changed clothes at a stoplight and forgot to zip my skirt.  It fell down around my ankles when I got out of the car while I (as shocked as anyone) just kept standing there.  When I told my dad about it, he laughed so hard I think he cried.

There was also the time I said, "Who would WEAR something this hideous?" right as a lady stepped out holding the "hideous" item in her hand, clearly on her way to the dressing room (Maybe it helped her realize her fashion faux pas in time?).

Oooooor the time I freaked out after I hung up with my insurance representative...and then realized I hadn't actually hung up.

And as if those times weren't bad enough, most of the rest of the embarrassing moments I can think of (that haven't been repressed already) are so horrifically scarring that only those who were present at the scene of the incident are even allowed to know.  A few I didn't even tell Paul until we'd been married for six months, despite his reassurances that it really was too late for an annulment.  

You see, my embarrassing moments are a pretty serious thing.  One girl told me that one of my stories was the best ice breaker she's ever had.  She just told her group of campers she was in charge of that sumer about how horrible one of my dates was and everyone laughed and said, "Well, I've never had anything that bad happen!" and like magic, everyone seemed to be friends.

I'm worried and half convinced that my own self-inflicted stupidity mixed with bad luck is part of the reason people stay friends with me--just hoping to be present the next time I do something that could incriminate me for life.

I'm the person who, when I get asked, "What's your most embarrassing moment?" just smiles politely and says, "Uh....embarrassing?  Something I've had happen to me that was embarrassing?  Hmmm.....I can't really think of anything off the top of my head."

But as bad as many of these things have been, this past school year I had one of the best (or worst) moments yet.  A moment that got me an official invitation to the Teaching Hall of Shame.
(Don't look that up.  I made that up right now.  But if they did have one, there would be a plaque with my name on it.)

Let's go back to October.  I was a crazy, first-of-the-school-year teacher who was working to keep thirty-two kids and their parents happy, simultaneously plan the dream wedding I'd waited 27 years for, and still find time to see my fiancé (who worked until 9:30 almost every night)--ALL while still trying to squeeze in enough sleep to perform my daily song-and-dance routine of convincing ten-year-olds they really did want to write a report on brine shrimp and learn long division.

To sum it up, I was exhausted.  Totally exhausted.

Then, an adorable girl from my class had to get her appendix out, had complications, and ended up in the hospital for about a week.

Now, we as teachers are not perfect.  Sometimes we're probably not even good.  But, we do love your children.  So, thinking about how much I liked this sweet little student, I got the class to write get well notes, got her a plant for her hospital room, along with some things to do to pass the time while she was there, and headed over to the hospital.  I was sitting in the parking lot when I realized I didn't have a gift bag and there was WAY too much stuff to shove in my purse or haul in bare-handed.

However, to my relief, I spotted a gift bag in my backseat which was left from the bridal shower I'd had  the week before.  Thank goodness I never throw those things away!  I opened it, made sure no spatulas or cookbooks had been left inside, and then took the gift in.

My student and her dad were there, we all chatted for about a half hour, I gave her the gift, and then I went home after a thirteen hour day.   And that was the end of the story.  Go me.  Teacher of the Year.

Until May.

I know.  If you have any Sherlock Holmes in you at all, you have already figured out that this story is not supposed to have a happy ending and people who win Teacher of the Year don't simultaneously land themselves in the Hall of Shame.  So, that being said, your mind is already starting to wonder what could have gone so horribly wrong.

Well, nothing went wrong as far as I knew, until I received this envelope on the last day of school.

For those of you who can't see that, it says: "Mrs. Montoya (for your eyes only)"

Kids give me end-of-year gifts all the time--anything from sweet, handwritten cards to necklaces that say "MO" (I think "Montoya" was just too long....), to gift cards to flowers to candy.  But flowers or candy don't usually come with a note that says, "For your eyes only"........written by the mom......

Imagine my confusion and absolute horror when I opened the card and found this:

Yes, the person who gave me this gift is on my "not nice" list for a LONG time....

Come on…You can put the pieces together.

Luckily for me, this VERY forgiving mother (who also had been teaching fourth grade the year she got married) did.  She figured it all out very quickly.

That's right.  The gift bag I used was not, not, not, NOT, definitely NOT entirely cleaned out.  I know it's shocking to think I could have missed such an enormous and obvious article of clothing. But somehow, in my tired haze, I missed it.  Note and all.

I can only imagine the look on my student's face (and her dad's) as she pulled the items one-by-one from the bag.

"Look!  A plant!  And...a coloring book!  And cards from my friends!  And a puzzle!  And....an....an....???"

Apparently, her dad--who hadn't gotten a very good look--exclaimed, "An eyepatch!  I think it's an eyepatch."

Yes.  It had the same square yardage as an eyepatch.  That was very observant.

But no, her dad didn't figure out exactly what it was until the nurse walked in to find her nine-year-old patient holding up a pink and black polka dot thong....given to her by her fourth grade teacher.

I don't know how she ever came back to school.  I think I would have stayed home and died.  I don't know how her parents got through one or two more parent conferences with me, maintaining straight faces and looking me in the eye.

But, they did have a sense of humor enough to know that someday (there's that word again) this would be funny.  So, they returned my items and told me the whole story.

Once it was summer.

Once I would never have to face them again.

Once I would have months to recover from the shame.

So, there you have it.

And, let's face it.  It IS funny.  In a terrible, "Man, I'm glad that's her and not me," sort of way, it's hysterical.  In the, "I'm glad that was someone else's child but I swear I would have killed that woman," way, it's a riot.

So, with school right around the corner and a fresh set of cardigan-clad teachers who are ready to love your child, you will have something new to be grateful for when, in just a few short months, you and your child both make it through the year virtually unscathed, unscarred, and unembarrassed.  

Come May, when you are thanking your child's teachers with those heartfelt cards and crafts from Pinterest for all that those spectacular educators have done in the last nine months to enrich your child's life, you could always throw in a little, "Aaaaand, on top of everything else, thanks also for never giving her underwear with enough square footage to fit someone's big toe."

I mean, those things happen.  Oooooh, they do happen.

Right here in River City.

Don't worry.  I always have this year to become Teacher of the Year.  And with a streak like mine....I would say my chances are looking preeeeetty darn good.

But, you might want to stay friends with me to wait it out and see--just to be sure.

Dear Kid....A Little Advice About 4th Grade

Next week is the last week of school.  In some ways this year has flown by.  In others, it's been a million years since it started.  That was three roommates, one engagement, one marriage, and two root canals ago.  It's been a big year.

I asked my students this week to write some advice to the new incoming 4th graders--you know, sage wisdom, things they wished they'd known or been told.  Here are a few real gems....

Dear Kid,
I still don't know your name but I want to tell you what you will be doing with 4th grade.  You are in Mrs. Montoya's class.  You will like it.  Now let's get down to business.
(Yes, to defeat, the Huns...)
Math is not hard.  Science is fun.  Book reports are not hard.  Keep your class money.  Don't go to Think Time
(a punishment where they have to go visit another teacher and tell them what he or she did/should have done/will do in the future...).
Don't shout out.  Don't be late from recess.  Have fun.  But not too much.  And make sure you have these things: pencil 2 or 3, pen 1 or 2, markers, crayons, glue.
Love, __________
Friend me on Facebook if a girl.  jk

Dear New Kid,
This class is a very awesome class, but we do work a lot.  For instance, writing, we do a lot of it, like 8 total stories and report, plus, we have to write poetry.
Reading buddies are also fun.  Because now we're the big kids that read the the second graders, and usually, it's lots of fun.
Mrs. Montoya is nice and fun.  But when we get into trouble, she lets us know it.  That's when she's in military mode, as we call it.  When she's very nice, she's in Disneyland mode.
You will have a lot of fun and love the year.
From __________

This is from a few years ago.
 Clearly, it was after "Military Mode."
I am the devil with the pitchfork.
Bryan is the angel with the halo and wings.
I found this masterpiece drawn on his desk.
 I secretly took a picture when the kids weren't there
 and then made him wash all the desks, including this treasure.
Soooo military.  Man.  Life is so hard when you are ten.  

*If you ask what my class looks like, I would actually say, "Military meets Disneyland."  That just means I believe in rules, structure, consequences, order, and responsibility. But it's still the happiest place on Earth.  If you're being good, I guess......Haha

This snippet will tell you about how sad school can be:

"You do a lot of fun stuff during the year....Oh, the sad thing is there's Think Time.  It is not fun even though I have never been there.  So if I were you, be good!"

I can only imagine the horrors she has dreamed up--never having been there and all.  But really.  Trust her.  It is NOT fun.

This one made me laugh out loud.  Clearly, she has been around me way, WAY too much.  I only hope a full summer can turn her back into a ten year old.

Dear New 4th Grader,
I am so excited to talk to you today. But in order to talk, I need you to be so quiet.  We need to talk about a lot of stuff, like book clubs, reading buddies, and much more.  There is one thing I actually want to talk to you about, which is "Cowboy Up."  You're probably wondering what in the world that means.  Well, "Cowboy Up" means don't ever, ever say, "I don't get it," or you will be in trouble.  Also, if you don't like something, don't whine like a cowgirl.  Cowboy up.
Love ____________

Okay, so "Cowboy Up" may have been the theme this year and the room is all decorated in Western stuff with horseshoes on the wall (Thanks, Emily!), but I don't recall it meaning EXACTLY that....

Dear New Student,
I am writing this letter to you because you'll probably need some help in fourth grade.
One is don't be bad.
Two is have fun.
Three is keep your money and save at least $100 for the end of the year so you can buy things from the auction.
The End.
P.S.  Save til the end of the year.

*They have class money they earn and we buy stuff with it.

This next one makes me feel like Teacher of the Year.  I will write it just like I got it:

"And the math, since, and wrighting are all verry easy."

Verry easy indeed.  Especially the writing, is appears.  Although "since" is a close second.  

This was funny:

Mrs. Montoya gets cooler every year.  She will be a lot cooler for you than she was for me."


Dear Future 4th Grader,
You are probably really awesome because you're getting a letter from me.  Here are some things you might want to know.  This teacher you have right now can be nice and fun like Disneyland or mean and strict like military.  Let me warn you that you have to do book reports, in my opinion they are the worst possible thing you can do.  Then comes math.  You have to learn math.  It seems dumb to me because when I go to Smiths with friends, I just grab whatever.  If it costs too much, I put it back (that's happened before).  So beware, because you're in for a long year.

So much for telling them they need to know how to estimate so when they go to the grocery store they won't spend more than they have....Clearly, that is NOT an issue.  Just put it back.  Put it aaaaaall back.  And then take a deep breath, because it's going to be a long year, Cowboy.

At least this was the last one I read:

Dear New Kid,
My teacher last year (3rd grade) said 4th grade was scary.  
(Thank you, for that rousing vote of confidence, 3rd grade.  You scared them before I could even go military on them!)
It's really not.  Mrs. Montoya is awesome!

There you go!  To all prospective third graders--if you can "cowboy up," ignore the fact that the math is totally irrelevant, and save your money, it appears you will make it out fine, just fine.  Just don't whine like a cowgirl, because if you'll be really quiet, I'll tell something important: cowgirls aren't really allowed in such a military classroom.  After all, we won't say who, but it appears someone has a pitchfork.  Probably the one from Idaho.  So beware.  It could be a long year.  Third grade did after all, say it was scary.

Thank goodness it's almost summer!

Do You Have What It Takes?

We just got done talking about MOUNTAIN MEN and GOVERNMENT EXPLORERS at school.  You think you're tough?  Well, have you ever had a bear rip your ear and part of your scalp off and then let your dirty friend with no medical experience sort of sew it back on out in the wilderness?  Probably not, because you're not Jedediah Smith.  Wimp.

What can I say?  Kids love learning about tough people.  And I love teaching them about it.  

Me: "What?  You don't want to do your fractions test?  Jedediah had his ear ripped off and still probably didn't even complain.  Cowboy up."  


(Just kidding, I've never said that--except the "Cowboy Up" part, which they hear almost once a day, but I would sure love to say it.  No worries.  There's always tomorrow.)

After learning about the government explorers the U.S. sent out to map the "wild West," the kids wrote a wanted ad for a newspaper advertising the job.  Here are some of their "Help Wanted" ads:

MAY NOT HAVE THE BEST HOURS.....

Wanted: Explorer.  Tell us how to survive.  Notice: You have to work 24 hours a day 7 days a week.  What?!  

(The kid actually put "What?!" at the end.  Love it.)

Wanted: Government explorer.  Must know how to speak other languages.  Must work full-time, holidays, weekends, and nights.  You need to have a pen and paper.  Must have experience with a job for at least 12 years and need to know how to live alone.  If allergic to anything, not a good job.

Should I know who he is?  Because I don't....

MAY INVOLVE ANIMALS.....

Wanted: Government Explorers.  If you are allergic to bees, horses, or other animals, this may not be the job for you.  Must be willing to work very often.  This includes holidays, late nights, weekends, and more. Must know other languages and agree with Indians.  You will need mapping supplies.

Wanted: Government explorers.  Must be able to tell directions, survive in nature, and map out things.  Must be able to sleep outside and travel and find your way home.  You must be able to defend against bears and other dangerous animals. 

Wanted: Government explorers.  Need: bravery.  Be good with traveling and nature.  Bring supplies for survival.  Be ready for maybe bears, wolves, foxes, or poisonous snakes.  You may go through deserts.

Wanted: Government explorer.  To be a government explorer, you need to be brave, like skin animals without throwing up and kill big animals and shoot big guns. 

MAY REQUIRE KNOWLEDGE OF PLANTS.....

Looking for a job?  Stop by Tough Crowd Corners.  You need an application.  Be able to ride a horse.  Good experience with outdoors.  Your job will be at least four years long.  We will have all the equipment for you.  Be able to make trails.  Big boys who can tell the difference between poison plants and non-poison plants.   

Wanted: Good explorers.  Need to know how to ride a horse, have knowledge about plants, how to make trails, and how to survive in the wild.  Be willing to work for five years straight.  Be tough.  (Picture: “Is that poison ivy?”  “You can do better!!!”)

Yes, Mr. Hammond.  I did find out the hard way what poison ivy is.

I think the funniest part was the differences between the boys and girls.  

WHAT BOYS HAD TO SAY:

Wanted: Government explorers.  Have to be good with directions, know how to make camp fires, or go to the training camp.  If you can crush the odds, defy what your wife has to say and rise to the challenge.  Your name will forever be followed by the words: Mountain Man.

Wanted: Explorers.  Wanted for new government plan.  Two years of training.  Have to do well in wildlife.  Have to have a sense of directions.  Have to know what plants to eat.  Ten year contract.  Men with clingy wives…do not apply. 

Wanted: Someone that has five years of experience.  And please don’t take your wife.  Your job is to be an explorer for 20 years.  You also have to get your own gun.

Boys' Version of Family Exploration

WHAT THE GIRLS HAD TO SAY:

 Wanted: Explorer with three years wildlife experience.  Long 2-3 years, so bring family if needed.  Must know way around.  Know what food to eat that’s not poison.  Have wildlife skills and hunting skills.  Must have your own gun and knife.  Must have fist-aid techniques.  Must know how to build a fire. 

Wanted: Government Explorers.  Someone who is good with the outdoors and with guns, to be able to use a compass, and make trails.  It will take awhile so if you have a family, you will have to miss them or take them with you. 

Girls' version of Family Exploration.
Almost the same...

You got all that?  Your ear could get ripped right off.  Suck it up and sew it back on.  You might get into poison ivy or eat something poisonous, but come on.  You can do better!  You better skin animals without throwing up and be tough enough to leave that clingy wife behind.  If you think you have what it takes, there could be a job for you.

Please apply at Mrs. Montoya's 4th grade class.  A panel of ten-year-old toughness experts will determine if you really have what it takes.  

This is Jedediah Smith.  He thinks you're a wimp.

Kids are So Dang Funny

I promised that my next post would include our phenomenal marriage advice from my class.  Don't worry--they wrote us a whole book.  Here are a few of my favorites:

"Do not have too many kids.  It will be hard work.  Go to San Francisco, California and see the Golden Gate Bridge and take a picture for your honeymoon.  Name your first girl Lizzy and name your first boy John."

"You should go on a date and these are some places you should go...Low's Extreme Air Sports, JumpOnIt, Lagoon, Classic Fun Center Roller Skating, do silly string fights, and kiss each other every night and morning."

"Don't do eneything stoopid."

"My advice is to kiss for 10 minutes and name the child Thomas or Cho.
P.S.  Say I love you 100 times."
(It looks like that is a pretty serious kiss, if it leads to a kid named Thomas or Cho.  (Although a white kid named Cho Montoya will only confuse things more.....)

"1. Do not kiss too much or it will get a little wet.
2. Get a good job so you can move into your dream home.
3. Don't get more than 10 kids. It's hard work."

"I think you should get a pet and rock out to awesome music.  Go on a date at least one time a month.  Laugh together.  Have fun together."

"Good advice: Close your eyes when you kiss.  Go to Orange Leaf and Pizza Pie Cafe for dates.  Never drink coffee.  Go to BYU soccer games a lot.  When they say 'Will you marry her?' say yes.  Hug each other a lot."

"Okay, one thing is never name any of your children Julian or Maurice because my brother wanted my neighbor to name their baby boy one of those names because they're famous skiers.  Name your children after me.  And never leave Utah and don't obey the advice like closing your eyes when you kiss."

"Give Miss Waite a good anniversary present.  Get a little dog.  Kiss every day.  Play with your kids.  Don't break up."

"You should buy Paul's dream car and he might give you yours."

"Be alone as long as you can.  Always like BYU.  Have 32 kids and name them after us."

"I think you guys shouldn't fight.  You should share, be happy, get an Audi, and name your kid Jackson.  Go on vacation to Hawaii and Spain.  You should get horses and at least three kids."

"Buy a house with a big swimming pool so we can swim in it.  Get a kitten or cute dog (but not too furry).  P.S. Paul, take Miss Waite on a good date at Texas Road House."

"Have a happy life.  Get a good job.  Use your money for cars--Lamborghini and Bugatti sports cars.  Don't vote for Obama--vote for Mitt Romney.    We should go to a football game together.  Real Salt Lake rocks.  Do not give us homework, especially math."
(How not giving homework to the ten year old who wants to double date with us fits into my marriage I'm still not sure, but I think he may be onto something...)

"I think you should kiss on the lips to end a fight."

"If you have a girl with long, blonde hair, grow it long and braid it for the night and then take it out in the morning."

"You guys should buy a Ferrari and live at the school in Miss Waite's classroom with a dog named Ruffer and name your boy kid Nemo and the girl Nemoent."
(Uh...if we buy a ferrari right now, we WILL be living in the school, for a long, long time....Oh well.  At least we have Ruffer.)

"Be strong.  Share food and never make food together.  It could be bad.  But kiss A LOT.  Every night snuggle."

"Let your kids have a birthday party every year!  Go on a date every week.  Kiss every night."
(Well, looks like our years, weeks, and days are now planned out for us.  Although a party on my kids' birthdays may be a bit much...)

"Dear Paul,
Whenever you get married, promise me that you will never, I say NEVER go through the same thing my great-great-great-great grandpa did.  Because as soon as he started dating and marrying my G-ma, A GIANT SQUID CAME IN AND ATE HIM!  Just kidding!  But really, don't screw up."

"Explore the world.  Stay together.  Have fun."

See, these kids could be family therapists.  Just make sure not to have too many kids, kiss a lot (but not too wet), have a dog, and do fun things.  And of course, whatever you don't don't screw up or be stoopid.  ;)
____________________________________________________________
I went to a wedding one day and got a sub.  While she was there, the kids wrote letters to Santa.  Here are a few gems:

Dear Santy Claus,
I think I should get a big motor bike that says "Ladies Dig My Ride" and I want it to be orange slash blue so I can support BSU.  And I can help someone if they're dying...like I will hurry and ride over there and put them on my motor bike and bring them to the hospital.  The End.

Dear Santa,
These are the things I want to Christmas.  First, I want a gun, because then I can go hunting and I will have protection.  Secondly, I want a ka-bar because without a knife, how can I skin and gut a deer?

Dear Santa,
This is what I want for Christmas:
I like those mini lock things so I can hold my class notes in them because I have way too many scattered in my backpack.
This is what else: I would really like a sister because I have only brothers.
And last but not least, the new American Girl doll Caroline Abbet with more outfit of hers, in the letter I sent you.

Dear Santa,
Hi, what I want for Christmas is...
Well, I don't know what I want.  I doesn't matter.  I want other kids to have a fun Christmas in all other places kids who don't have moms or dads and a lot of other kids.  Christmas is about giving.  I don't care what toy or present.  I just got it in my mind--one of these side purses that me and my mom saw at Target but I want you to make it different--blue or purple but with silver chains to go around your side.

Dear Santa,
I loved the presents last year.  I would love to have a dog cause when I can't play with friends I can play with the dog.  So I won't bug my mom to play with my friends.  I can play with the dog instead.  I wouldn't have no other Christmas presents for this year.  P.S.  We might go duck hunting.  The dog would help so we would not have to swim.  The dog could go get it.

Dear Santa,
Thank you for everything you have done and given to me.  I just want to tell you a few things I want.  I don't need or want too much.  Can you please get me some CUTE clothes?  It is not that I need them, but it would be nice to have them!  The second thing is (I want, I don't need) some girl legos.  I really want the vet one and a few others.  The reason I want the girl Legos is because I can play with them with my friends and with my little sister.
That is about it.  I told you I don't want or need stuff.
Now, I want to ask you a few questions.  First, do you have any kids.  Second (this tags along with the first!) do your elves count as your kids?  Third, how is Mrs. Claus?  Fourth, how old is Rudolph?  Fifth, how are the elves?  Sixth, how old are you?  Seventh, how many hours does it take to do every house?  Eighth, how many toys do you have to make?  Ninth, how many years have you been doing this?  Tenth, what is your favorite cookie?  Okay, done with questions.  Please write back before Christmas.  Say Hi to Mrs. Claus for me and the elves and reindeer.  P.S.  I do want some dry erase markers too!

Santa,
You should get me a b.b. gun so I can hunt small game, so I can have the fur and the meat.  And it is fun to shoot for fun.  Shoot targets and it is fun to have a competition with your dad.  That is why I should get a b.b. gun for fun shooting and small game.

Dear Santa,
I want a picture of you, your reindeer, your workshop, and your elves.  Because I've been good this year and I don't know if you exist or not.  If you don't, I probably won't think you're real, cause you won't hear me out for what I wanted this year.  P.S.  Am I on the nice list?

Dear Santa,
What I want for Christmas is lots of duct tape.  Like: red, pink, black, white, camo...all of that times twenty.  Cuz I'll make you bracelets, rings, wallets ("my kind") and...if your boxes get dirty, I will fix them with my black duct tape.  And if you get me more green, I will make you a Christmas tree.

Dear Santa,
For Christmas, I want a salamander.  I think I should have it.  I would take care of it.  I would feed it and give it water.  I would keep it in my room so my mom wouldn't freak out.  I would clean the cage and pet it so it won't get mean.  I would close the lid, so my cats won't get it.  That is why I should get a salamander for Christmas.

So, if anyone has some extra guns, salamanders, or duct tape, send them my way.  Or just let Santa take care of it himself.  :)

Happy Holidays! 

Letters to a Brain Surgeon

I have a tendency, when I get really excited about something, to get a bit...caught up.  Obsessive.  Intense.  I go through phases where something will really interest me and I find every book I can and read up on it.  People who have to be around me get to endure my constant talking about it.  I get online and research it.

I remember this educational phenomenon starting in about fourth grade with horses (what girl doesn't go through a horse phase at some point?) and moving on to the Holocaust and WWII in junior high when I first really started learning about them, and then Abraham and Mary Todd Lincoln in high school.

This past year or two, I found a new person to research (i.e. become obsessed about): Dr. Ben Carson.  Who?  

Ben Carson, famous neurosurgeon.

No, I did not undergo brain surgery.  No, I am not reading up so I can begin the pursuit of a new career (I'm supposed to be putting things in their heads, not taking it out).  No, I am not suddenly interested in science or medicine.

It all started with the $5 movie bin at Wal-Mart.  My mom saw a DVD that looked "uplifting" or "family friendly" or "inspirational"called Gifted Hands.  It didn't appear to be some cheesy Hallmark movie, because it had Cuba Gooding Jr.  Already, what was not to love?!  So, she bought it, took it home, watched it, and then promptly insisted we all watched it so our lives could be changed.

I laughed a little, but one time when I was home, I finally sat down and watched it.  I was in shock as I watched a young, poor, underprivileged boy from a single-parent home go from being the dumbest kid in elementary school, to the world's best and most famous pediatric neurosurgeon.

The teacher in me couldn't resist being utterly moved as I thought of the potential each individual has, and who we each have the power to become.

So, I did what I normally do.  I set out to Google Ben Carson and find out as much as I possibly could. I bought his autobiography.  I bought his children's biography.   I watched online interviews.

Last year, I read the biography to my class.  As we were finishing, I discovered that Ben Carson was actually coming to BYU as the forum speaker.  My class begged to go on a field trip but--considering it was a college forum for BYU students--we compromised (as in--I told them what the plan was) and I took the day off so I could attend, promising I'd take notes for them (which I did).

Ben Carson was just a phenomenal in person as he was in the books.  I was blown away by this man!
And so, we read his book again this year and I let my class write him letters.  They were so fun!  Check out a little of what they had to say to the world's best pediatric neurosurgeon:

Dear Ben Carson,
I think you are a great doctor.  I watch your movie.  I think you are very brave.  You work very hard to save people's lives and I respect that.  If I ever get in a life threatening sichyouwashin (situation) I would want to go to you.

Dear Mr. Carson,
My fourth grade teacher, Miss Waite, read us the book Gifted Hands.  It was great!  I loved it.  You are so much braver than me!  You are so smart!
How many kids do you have?  I want to meet you so bad.  What is your favorite color?
We are learning so much in school.  Do you learn anything when you are doing Dr. stuff?
I bet you are a wonderful man.  And I bed you do wonderful things too.  And I think I will be much more smarter, once I read a lot more.
Want to be your friend,
_________________

Dear Ben Carson,
My teacher just read the book Gifted Hands!  It was cool!  How are you doing?  You are AWESOME!!!  It is very cool that you did surgery on people whose heads were stuck together!  I hope your family is doing very well.  
P.S.  You are amazing to do those things.  How is your wife?

Dear Ben Carson,
Your book has inspired me to work my hardest in school.  Also to do and choose the right--that if a friend turns me down that person is not a good friend, and just to live your dream, to not stay inside and not have fun.  Go outside and just have fun!  It is good to be active and be healthy.  If you don't use your brain, then start.  

Dear Ben Carson,
Hi, my name is ________.  I really look up to you and meeting you one day.  I am nine and in 4th grade.  We just finished Gifted Hands the day before fall break and I want to be like you, nice.  But I kinda get creeped out because of brains.  So when I grow up, I will be a mom.  I am a Mormon.  It impressed me about you and your thoughts.  I think you are very special.  I liked your biography.  

Dear Ben Carson,
Thanks for all you do.  That must be groce (gross) how you look inside people's brains.  Is it?  How is your family doing?  What are your kids' names?

Dear Ben Carson,
You are an amazing brain surchin (surgeon).  How are your kids?  How's your wife?  Your life has been amazing!  What is your favorite color?  I really look up to you.  I have to go!
From a kid who looks up to you.

Ben...dude, please tell me how dang disgusting it was separating those first two twins.  By the way, I think you SHOULD be a brain surgent (surgeon).  

Dear Ben Carson,
We read the book, Gifted Hands as a class and I loved it.  It was a really good book.  I also watched the movie Gifted Hands.  It's a really good movie.  I watched it with my older sister right after we finished the book in class.  I want to read more books about you.  I don't get how you do brain surgery.  It's so blah.


Dear Ben Carson,
I look up to you and admire you.  I like you "THINK BIG."  You are very smart.  You taught me lots and to follow my dreams.  You are good at being a doctor. 

And there you have it.  A sampling of the best of our letters, coming straight from America's future brain surgeons and rocket scientists and accountants and teachers and vets and moms.

Keep your eyes open.  You just never know when the $5 bin at Wal-Mart might shape the future.  :)