what this teacher hates about the common core

When I was in elementary school and middle school my siblings and I would sit down at the kitchen table, after the dinner dishes had been cleared, to work on our nightly homework.  Mom or dad would be in the kitchen with us cleaning up the dishes from dinner and were always able and ready to help us with our work, should we need it.  I don't have much of a brain for numbers.  I easily mix my numbers (similar to dyslexia), and my spacial and numerical reasoning is, I am sure, below standard levels.  I vividly remember on several occasions sitting down and working some math problems with my dad who has an engineering degree from a reputable state university.  No matter how many different ways he would try to explain how to do a problem to me, I wouldn't get it.  And, because I was being taught by my teachers the latest and greatest "method" of doing math, he didn't understand the way I was taught.  This resulted in, on more than one occasion, his yelling, my crying, and at least once a pencil being stabbed through a single subject notebook and making a lead mark on the wooden kitchen table.  It was ugly.

The frustration was born out of his knowledge of how he was taught how to do math, and my knowledge of how I was learning to do math.  And the fact that they were not the same.  Let me clarify, the methods were not the same, however, the mathematics were the same.

As an educator, and as a person with friends who have children of elementary school age, I frequently hear "I hate the Common Core" and "Common Core math is so confusing."  And really, what I think they're talking about in this moment isn't the Common Core State Standards, but rather the tool that their school district has adopted to best implement the Common Core.

I would venture to guess that most of the people who complain about the Common Core have never actually looked at the documents. Shocking, I know.  I'm sure that many of them have relied on getting their information from biased news articles, upset neighbors and family members, and my favorite of all, social media.  If only there was some way that the average American parent could access these documents, because certainly they're not widely available.  Oh wait, yes they are.

And this right here is what I hate about the Common Core.  The lack of understanding on the part of the public, and their seeming insistence on not educating themselves on the matter.

Because if the public did educate themselves on the Common Core, they would know that they are a set of standards.  The Common Core State Standards aren't redefining math or reading or writing.  They're redefining the standards our students need to reach to.  And yes, they are more challenging.

I can only speak about my knowledge of the English Language Arts standards, for these are the standards I know quite intimately, as I took some graduate level courses pertaining to the standards.  I am also being held accountable for helping my students reach these standards.

To me, the English Language Arts standards are smart, realistic, and relevant to today's kids.  I am sure that the Math standards are very similar.

So here's my suggestion: read.the.standards.  Read the standards for the grade your kid is in, plus the grade band up and below theirs.  These standards build on one another.  And here's another suggestion: understand what a standard is.  A standard is a goal, an end result, not the way of doing something.

When you're frustrated helping your kid do their math homework, instead of complaining to them that "Common core math is hard," (oh my goodness, I pray you are not saying this to any child within earshot) try learning the way they are learning to do math.  (That 10s system is WAY intuitive, and I wish I had been taught that method when I was in school).

When we tell our kids that the math their doing is too hard this is so terrifyingly damaging to them.  In the kid's brain, if their parent, who they idolize, can't do or understand the math, how in the heck are their little 3rd grade minds supposed to get it? And they shut down.

Another misconception is that Common Core = a test.  This is not the case.  A few tests have been developed to assess how well your student has learned these standards.  PARCC is the test that Ohio has adopted. It's certainly a different beast when it comes to the English portion.  They're asking questions in ways that kids aren't used to answering.  Each question has two parts, the first is along the lines of something like "what is the theme of this story." And the second is "which line shows this theme." You know, making a student "show their work" so to speak.  Not a bad thing.  In fact, it's a good thing.  But, if you get the first answer wrong you will automatically get the second answer wrong.  Tricky tricky!

Please don't be mad at your student's teacher.  They're only doing their job of implementing these standards, which are not, in my opinion, terrible, awful, and horrible. Instead, allow me to offer some places for you to direct your misdirected frustration.

Instead of being mad at the Common Core, be mad at:

1. Politicians.  People who have never been in a classroom before are making decisions about what your kids should know, and by when. Might I suggest, that instead of voting down a party line in November, research your candidates to see who supports education.  And by supports education I mean doesn't want to test the crap out of your kid.

2. Pearson.  Who the heck is Pearson, you ask? If you're outside of education you might not have heard of them, but you should be aware of this company.  Pearson is more or less taking over education.  The majority of my textbooks for graduate school have been published by Pearson. The materials I've read about the Common Core? Yep, published by Pearson. The online grade book my district uses? Pearson.  Oh, and that PARCC test I was talking about above? Pearson again.  I recently read an article about a student getting a basic math problem wrong on a unit test.  This unit and its test was prepared by Pearson.  The parent wrote to the teacher and asked why the daughter got the problem wrong.  And the reason? It was because Pearson marked down the wrong answer in the answer key.  And this is a test that teachers, students, and parents could look over.  The PARCC test your kid has to take at the end of the year? Pearson isn't letting anyone see that test before or after your kid takes it.  So there's no way of knowing if Pearson didn't get the answers right on its own test, you know, when it really counts.

3. The Implementation.  In an ideal world, if someone had been using their noggin, the Common Core would have rolled out gradually.  Something like, this year's kindergarteners would be the first group to be under the Common Core. And then the next year's kindergartners and first graders would work under them, and so on. So by the time they get to me in 10th grade they've built upon their knowledge and are good to go.  Not the case.  My 10th graders are being held responsible for standards that are, at this point, much more rigorous than what they are accustomed to, due to the fact that the Common Core is meant to be built upon.  If you look at the kindergarten standards and the 10th grade standards, each strand builds upon itself as the grades go by.  It is frustrating and unfair to hold kids accountable for something that they're seeing for the first time, when really the standard is meant to be enhanced over a period of time.

So there.  I hope that was helpful.  As a refresher:  Common Core are standards.  They are NOT a method of doing Math or English and they are NOT a test.  They're actually not that bad.  Google 'em.  Look at the actual document.  And go forth and freakout not!

nine lives

Toward the end of my student teaching, and nearing graduation, I interviewed with three school districts.  One was in the district where I currently teach, one was in Charleston, South Carolina, and one was in Phoenix, Arizona.  Surprisingly, I didn't take the job where I currently teach (that's a different story for a different day), but I ended up in Phoenix.

I was 2000 miles away from home and initially only knew one person.  I was lucky enough to have all of my immediate family members visit me at some point during my one year out there. My mom was kind enough to help me with the two and a half day drive out to Arizona, and to help me get settled into my temporary housing situation.  A few months later my brother and his then-girlfriend-now-wife made Phoenix (and my house and my washing machine and my pool) a stop on their cross country journey.  My sister flew out just before my Spring Break to hang out and then we flew back together to CLE so I could co-host her baby shower.

My dad came out in February with his then girlfriend.  They spent the majority of their time in Sedona, where dad cashed in on some timeshare condo points.  It was Presidents Day weekend, so I had a nice three days to drive up into the red rocks with them and enjoy a bit of less-sweltering Arizona.  While we were up there I fell in love with a simple pair of turquoise button earrings. I saw them in a gift shop on the main drag and I himmed and hawed about purchasing them and ultimately decided not to at that point (which, I can't be certain why.  They couldn't have been that expensive, but alas, I didn't buy them).  I left Sedona on Monday earringless and headed back to Phoenix.  Dad was still in Sedona for the remainder of the week and I couldn't get these earrings out of my mind.  I had to have them.  So I called him and kindly asked if he would return to the gift shop where I saw them and pick me up a pair, preferably with as little veining as possible. 

Later that week they drove back down to Phoenix from Sedona and dad gave me the most perfect pair of turquoise earrings right there in the Tempe In-n-Out Burger parking lot.  Since that day I have more or less exclusively worn those earrings.  

And since that day I have lost one of those earrings in very wacky places at various times; all places where one would never expect to recover a missing item, and yet, these earrings have nine lives and they find their way back to me each time.

The first time I lost on was the summer that my now 4 year old nephew was an infant.  My sister and I would pack the boys up and head out to the community pool at least once a week.  One day during the rest period I decided to try my hand at dive off of the diving board (as any self respecting 30 something woman would do).  Several hours later when my sister and I were in the grocery store parking lot debating what to get for dinner I realized an earring was missing.  I was devastated.  Katie called the pool the next morning and even went to search the pool deck for the missing earring.  She asked if they had run the pool vacuum that night, and they had, and the pool worker said that it was possible that it didn't get picked up, it might have been too big.  

We returned to the pool the next day, as we were wont to do, and again, we went over to the diving well during rest period.  Some teenaged boys were doing flips and dives off the board to the amusement of the little kids around.  One of these boys lost a gage from his ear and was swimming down to the bottom to try to retrieve it.  I asked him if, while he was down there, he might look for a small earring that is roughly the same color as the bottom of the pool, please and thank you.  Much to my delight he found it! And earring and I were reunited for the first time!

The second occurrence was this past winter.  I needed to attend a masters class down on campus on Thursday nights.  It was the bane of my existence. I dreaded going and hated every second of being there.  I digress.  My car was parked in a poorly kept city lot, which was much cheaper than a campus lot.  I walked myself back to my car after a long day at work, followed by a long night in class, and took my cross-body purse off of my shoulder and immediately knew my right earring was gone.  And the probability of it being in the poorly plowed city lot was good.  So I got on my hands and knees and looked in the driver side of my car and under my car and in the snowy parking lot. Not luck.  And then something told me to look in my back seat.  I reached my hand through the space between the driver door and the back seat and felt something roundish with my fingers.  With excitement in my heart I opened the back door to see the earring sitting there on the floor of my car.

The most recent time I lost an earring was just a few weeks ago.  It was a particularly busy Wednesday.  I was at work, briefly came home to change clothes and head to CrossFit, came home with just enough time to microwave something for dinner and then head out the door to a union meeting back in the town I teach in, which is about 25 minutes away.  It was during that meeting, at about 8pm that I realized my right earring was once again missing.  In my gut I knew I had not lost it at the meeting.  I searched around me but knew it was gone.  I wasn't hopeful in the slightest considering all of the places I had been that day, and the number of places where the earring could possibly be.  I sent a plea out to my CrossFit's Facebook group to see if anyone had stumbled upon it.  I searched the clothes I wore that day to school to see if it had fallen out when I was changing clothes.  Not there.  I went in to school the next day and prayed that a custodian had found it on the ground near my desk.  No luck.  I had resolved that I would never see it again.  

I had a brilliant idea to go to the local jeweler, whom I had worked with on a few other occasions, to see if they could order a stone to match and make me a new earring.  The owner more or less dismissed my request and said that it was hardly worth it to even attempt that route and that I should pretty much give up.  

Fast-forward to today.  I got a bee in my bonnet this morning to get some real Spring Autumn Cleaning done around my place.  My bedroom is severely inadequate in size and I've never really found a way for it to work for me, which is to all say that my room is routinely in a state of "roach coach."  It's not fit for company.  But today I was going to tackle my Mount Everest.  I through away 4 bags of trash, I donated 5 bags of clothing, I dusted the heck out of my baseboards, and I rearranged some of my furniture.  At one point during my cleaning I looked down and saw something sort of shiny.  I bent down to pick it up, and lo and behold, it was my earring.  The post was slightly bent and there was no back on it, but there it was!  

I need to find a better way to secure these suckers to my ears, but somehow they have magical powers.  We were always meant to be together, those earrings and me.  

closing curtain

This past Wednesday my dear friend Tali and I attended our final show together here in CLE.

While we met just after I moved back to Ohio, our friendship bloomed in the velvet seats of Cleveland's Playhouse Square.  I don't remember who had mentioned wanting to see Mary Poppins when the tour was coming through town (I adore Mary, so I would guess it was me, but I can't be sure), but we bought two tickets, met for dinner at PF Changs and headed downtown to take in the show.

At some point shortly after Tali said "wouldn't it be fun if we got season tickets?!" I agreed and we purchased our first of five seasons the the Broadway Series.  Five seasons, seven shows each season, and a sprinkling of other concerts, shows, and readings.

Almost all of these shows began with a 5:30 meeting at the Dewey's Pizza in Cleveland Heights. (I know we had Aladdin's at least once while I was doing a clean eating thing, but I really think it was Dewey's all the other times).  Very little changed in our order: I would always get the harvest salad when it was in season, and we would split the peppercorn ranch salad when it was out of season.  Toward the end of our run Tali finally came to the dark side for the harvest, and when she adopted a vegetarian lifestyle we nixed the bacon.  Our pie always had half Ryan's Inferno (again, until her vegetarianism, and then we went the Green Lantern route).  We sampled almost every seasonal pizza that sounded good to us.  Sometimes we got water, sometimes diet cokes with lime.

One of the waiters at the Cleveland Heights location became affectionally known to us as The Butt.  He gained his name because of, well, his juicy booty.  He faithfully refilled our DCs and limes, and always brought a lime back with the refill; which, in my book is a sure-fire way to get yourself a nice tip.  And then one day The Butt wasn't there.  And a few months passed and he still wasn't there.  Then like a beacon of light in the darkness I went to the Lakewood location with my family and there he was! He must have been promoted from waiter to manager and The Butt found his way to my side of town.

I would say of the 40 some shows we saw we enjoyed the majority of them.  Frankly, there was only one where we left at half time, which I think is a good sign of the quality of shows that pass through.  That show we left during, Priscilla, landed is at Sweet Moses for a root beer float, and that was just fine by me.

We saw plays, operas, ballets and musicals.  We travelled to Chicago, Osage County, South Pacific, Washington Heights, Oz, and Uganda.  We saw dancing and singing nuns, flying nannies, flying monkeys, Frankensteins, Addams Families, Cats, Beauties and Beasts, and Fiddlers.  We saw more than our fair share of drag queens, and productions about hair, be it "greasy" hair, Hairspray, or just plain Hair.  We saw green witches, green ogres, feuding families on the West Side, and plight of those in the French Revolution. We saw the stories of famous people unfold before us: Jersey Boys, Come Fly Away, Million Dollar Quartets, and Memphis.  We went to Ireland twice with Once and Billy Elliot.  We saw a dancer reach her dream in the steel down of Pittsburgh.  We saw the amazing puppetry of War Horse, and the dice rolling of Guys and Dolls.

I enjoyed reading the playbill synopsis beforehand and trying to count the number of actors and actresses who had been on any of the Law and Order shows.  Tali and I would catch up during these monthly dates. It was good for my soul, and I hope it was for hers too.

We had such a great run.  Tali is moving this week to the Big Apple to chase a dream.  I'm excited and jealous and sad all at the same time.  But I don't like to think of this as a goodbye.  I don't like goodbyes, I like "see you soons."  And I prefer to think of this not as the closing curtain to our friendship, but just the closing of the first Act.  Good luck, kid!

Act II: a street somewhere in New York City 

the song that needs to go away

You know what song needs to go away? Just die and never come back? (You wouldn't have kept reading if you didn't think I would tell you, right?)

The song that needs to go away is: Rusted Root's Send Me on My Way.

What are the reasons you ask? Probably not very good or very founded reasons, but sometimes you can not like things just because.

Send Me on My Way (SMoMW) came on to the scene in 1992 and is some how still popping up on TV commercials and radio spots.  How is this still happening? How can a song that was only mediocre when it came out twenty two years ago last this long?

I suppose people think it's fun and carefree and bright and lively and energetic.  And I guess it is those things.  But my ears can't take it any more.

I was 10 when the song first came out.  In my head I was older than that but sometimes time is strange.  My sister and her friends were in the midst of a sort of suburban hippie stage where they would burn incense and wear tie-died shirts and listen to things like The Grateful Dead, Phish, and, of course Rusted Root.  My ten year old self idolized these sophisticated 12 year olds, so I guess I liked the song then.

But now I can't deal with the incoherence.  I just don't understand what this man is saying.  Two years later Blues Traveller came out with their hit Hook, which also featured an incoherent portion.  Barenaked Ladies? Incoherence is also in their wheel house.  I guess nobody wanted to know the words to songs in the 90s? Or, artists thought it would be kind to make the words to their songs so indiscernible that nobody ever felt ashamed when they got the lyrics wrong.  You know, because everyone got the lyrics wrong.

But here's SMoMW rearing its head again.  With its words that make no sense and it's strange hooting and howling cries.  And I can nearly smell the patchouli wafting from the band members themselves.

It's just a song that never seems to end.  Much like another song we all know and wish would die.  Because it's the song that never ends ... yes, it goes on and on my friend ...

[Now it's your turn! Tell me in the comments below what song or songs you wish would just go the heck away!]

hell hath no fury like a woman trying to get a mayonnaise to come together

Every now and then I like to launch myself into a period of time wherein I "eat clean."  You know, whole foods (not the store).  Foods as they exist in nature, minimally touched and tampered with.  I try to do this for a few reasons, but most notably this time around was to sort of "reset" what I was putting into my body.  Sometimes I get freaked out if I think too long about what an egg was supposed to be, and then I can't eat eggs for a while.  But now I'm thinking about all of the non food items that are available and what THEY were meant to be, and now I can't eat packaged food for a while. Funny how that happens.

I've lost 85 pounds in just under two years and in the last few months I've really dived head first into exercising.  What I've noticed is this incredible connection between moving your body and then having this need, hunger if you will, to feed it good, nourishing, nutritious foods.  It's like your body begs for quality food after you sweat your brains out for an hour at your CrossFit gym.  So I decided to give the Whole30 a try.  I had some friends who had successfully completed it, and my aforementioned CrossFit gym was doing a clean eating challenge and thus the stars aligned.

I began the Whole30 almost two weeks ago and immediately felt the effects.  Literally the day before I started the program I lamented on Facebook about how dang tired I was.  I believe I even used the phrase "delusional tired."  Within days of starting Whole30 I had so much energy I actually felt manic.  I had the energy to get up on time, work a full day, put in a hard workout, and come home and grade papers or cook or other things I enjoy doing (like watching Jeopardy).

Because you're eating whole foods there's a lot of cooking involved.  I mean a lot.  I was accustomed to spending a chunk of time on Sunday afternoons prepping my lunches for the week.  On Whole30 I have to do the same for my breakfasts, since I can't grab a Greek yogurt and run out the door (no sugar, no dairy).  I've been pretty creative with my dinners and I've learned to eat eggs for breakfast all.the. time.  For my lunches I like to have some veggies and something to dip them in.  Prior to Whole30 it was hummus.  Hummus is out on Whole30 (no legumes), so I had to come up with a Plan B.  Last week that was baba ganoush.  Which was good.  But I got baba ganoushed out.  I hit a wall and I literally could not put one more bite of roasted eggplant puree into my mouth and swallow.  So I began dreaming about ranch dip.  Which is so strange because I haven't had bottled ranch in something like over a year.  And this began my Mount Everest climb to make my own mayonnaise.

When I tackle a project I like to research the possibilities endlessly.  I can spend days looking up various ways to do something probably because I like to understand it on an intellectual level.  So I spent the better part of an evening looking at recipes for mayo and watching YouTube videos of everyone from Alton Brown to Jaime Oliver to a little old British lady in a witch hat who calls herself the "Saucerous".  One of my favorite foodie blogs said "all you have to do is put the ingredients in a mason jar, stick in an immersion blender, and in seconds you have mayo!" That was my attempt number one.  And it failed miserably.  So I tried again, and failed again.  And then I got mad.  Like really offended that I couldn't get an egg and oil to play nice.  I tried an immersion blender, which I ended up killing (it sparked and smoked.  RIP Immersion Blender).  I tried a regular blender, no luck. I tried using a whisk, no luck.  My last resort was to go and use my sister's Vitamix.  And then I complained to Facebook and received a lot of encouragement and advice.  I watched a few more YouTube videos, I girded up my loins and I set out one last time to make mayonnaise (who am I kidding, I probably would have kept going until there were no more eggs or oil left to be found).

This is the part you have all been waiting for: my recipe and tips and tricks.  I will be the first to tell you that this was probably sheer luck.  I blended (puns?) a few recipes together to come up with this version, and I think it turned out super thick and really tasty.  So here we go:

Ingredients:
*3 egg yolks, room temp
*1 teaspoon-ish Dijon mustard (if you're doing Whole30 or eliminating sugar make sure you read labels carefully.  Our old stand-by Grey Poupon has both wine and sugar in it, which is non compliant.  I found an organic Dijon that was wine and sugar free)
*pinch-ish of salt (Alton Brown says not to use kosher salt, the granules are too big to act as an abrasive.  I don't understand it, but I trust him)
*1 cup-ish LIGHT olive oil (don't use extra virgin, it's way too strong.  If you're not worried about Whole30 feel free to use any light tasting oil like canola or vegetable)
*lemon juice to taste

I put the yolks, mustard and salt into a bowl and started beating it with my hand mixer.  Just my little cheap hand mixer from Target! Not even my fancy pants Kitchenaid!  I mixed this until it started to get a little thick and the yolks got a little lighter in color.  Maybe a minute or two.  Then I started adding the oil.  And when I tell you I added it a drop at a time I'm not exaggerating.  I love me a good hyperbole, but this is not a hyperbole. I think this is where I went wrong in the other 6 attempts -- I added the oil too quickly (they all say to add it in a thin stream but they lie.  It's all lies.  DROPS not STREAMS here).  I would add a drop and then mix mix mix.  Add a drop and mix mix mix.  I got a little downtrodden because I didn't think it was getting thicker and then magically it did! It started ribboning out of the mixer beaters and I began crying tears of joy.  I thought: this might actually happen!! At some point when I starts to get thicker, word on the street is you can add the oil in more of a thin stream.  I didn't trust myself, or my emulsion, so I stuck with the drops.  And it took me nearly 30 minutes to make the mayo.  Once your oil is all in/you like your consistency, add in the juice of a lemon and mix again.  And tah-daaaaaa! You have homemade Whole30 and paleo mayo!

This beautiful nectar of the gods was quickly turned into chicken salad and ranch dip.  Ranch dip was mayo, garlic, fresh chives, fresh dill, dried parsley, salt, pepper and unsweetened coconut milk to thin it out (you could use regular milk or even buttermilk to thin it out, but no dairy on Whole30.  And you can't taste coconut at all in the unsweetened coconut milk, I swear!).  So stinking good!

time

Time is such a funny thing.  Sometimes it seems to move by so fast.  Sometimes it seems to stand still.  Sometimes there's too much time.  Sometimes there's too little.  Most often it's never what you want or need it to be.

I sat down today after work (the first time all week I've had a chance to watch Food Network and zone out after work all week) with the itch to write.  Autumn showed up today in CLE in a big way.  All chilly and sort of gloomy.  Perfect weather for a warm Starbucks drink and writing.  And then I remembered again what day it is.

We had a moment of silence today at school.  One, frankly, that they forgot to tell us to sit down from so we were all sort of standing there twiddling our thumbs for a while.  And then a different principal than the one who ushered us in to the moment of silence told us to sit down. And then she didn't hang up the intercom so we hear her tell the whole office that they forgot about us and she saw the whole dining hall still standing.  And then you could hear the office phone ringing, and then more ringing and multiple teachers were calling down to say "hang up the intercom."

Today is a very introspective day for many.  But it isn't for my students.  Thirteen years ago these kids were preschoolers.  It doesn't mean anything to them.  Well, I should give them more credit: it means very little to them.  And I can't blame them.  I was 3 when the Challenger crashed.  I sure did squeak a lifetime of school projects out of that event, but it meant little else to me than that.

As time moves further and further on this day will become an other D-Day, or Pearl Harbor Day, or whatever day is important to that specific generation.  Time doesn't care if we take the time to honor these days and these people.   But we should.  It's our American duty.  So today, I honor them.

tales from room 102 (part one)

[I love my job.  Like, love love love my job.  There are very few days where I wake up dreading going to work.  Do I dread waking up? Yes.  Do I dread being a reasonably responsible adult? Yes. Do I dread other parts of the day? Yes.  But overall, dreading my job ain't my thang.  Occasionally, ok often, funny things happen in my classroom or during my day.  Here's the part where I document them for your pleasure. Hopefully they don't end up being "you had to be there" moments.]

I am a creature of habit.  While I like to think that not every behavior needs or requires a diagnosis, I think I have some OCD-like tendencies.  Or, I like to think of these tendencies as just ways to make my life super efficient.

Like breakfast.

I eat the same breakfast nearly every day.  During the school year it looks like this: greek yogurt during first period (last year it was my planning period, this year it's my duty, so I'm not eating in front of students).  An hour or so later during homeroom and/or third period, I eat a banana.

This first week I was Struggling Stanley with getting back into the groove.  The first day of school I forgot both my banana and my water bottle.  I was in a state.  I was more careful the next few days, but forgot my banana again on Thursday.

Always one for preparedness, I keep a small stash of emergency items in my closet, including both a skirt and some snacks.  I'll tell you about the skirt sometime, if you'd like.  During third period, which happens to be my honors class, I realized that I had yet again forgotten my banana. The students were working on something in small groups so I walked over to my closet and grabbed a quick handful of trail mix.

Side note: Did you know that Trader Joe's carries 18 varieties of trail mix?  Eighteen.  That's a lot of trail mix.  My favorite mix right now? Almonds, peanuts, dark chocolate chips and dried raspberries. You're welcome.

Kids are always super curious about what you're doing, so as I was munching heads popped up left and right asking what I was eating.

"Trail mix," I said, "because I forgot my banana today."

"No, actually, you have a banana," some of them chime in.

I looked at my desk trying to see if I had, in fact, remembered my banana and maybe just forgot that it was there.  No banana to be seen.  So I asked for clarification.

One chatty redheaded boy proclaimed, " it's on your shirt!"

Here's the part where I tell you I have a thing for clothing with a whimsical print.  If you know me and/or have seen me in person, this is not surprising in the slightest.  I have items of clothing with chickens, birds, pineapples, assorted fruit, bicycles, dogs, more birds, the alphabet, barn animals, and more I'm sure I have forgotten.

So I look down at my shirt.  Apples? Yes.  Strawberry? Accounted for.  Orange? Right there front and center.  But no banana to be seen.  Witnessing my confusion a few kids point and say, "see, it's right there!"

Sure enough.  There's a banana on my shirt.  Exactly in the spot right under my right boob where I cannot see it.  But where, evidently, they can.  

"Huh, I can't see that" I say.  

And they all laugh.

And because sometimes I'm a sophomore at heart, and honors kids are generally funny kids, and because I can't resist the opportunity I add: "And stop looking at my banana."