Amy Mosiman: Noted Classroom Disciplinarian

Beating the winter blahs is always a battle. But when a bout of winter blahs blasts a classroom...watch out! Last week was a series of students climbing the walls, me ripping out my hair and a LOT of screaming. I don't remember now if it was me screaming or the kids. Probably a combination of both. Fall and Spring are pretty manageable because I can threaten them with recess. But what can you do during the winter months with a teacher who refuses to venture out in any weather lower than 74 degrees?  Imposing mentally-applied corporal punishment upon wayward students is not effective (unless you buy my soon-to-be-best-selling e-book "Ten Techniques of Effectively Applying Mentally-Applied Corporal Punishment in the Classroom"). "What is she doing," one kid whispered, observing me staring intently at the ceiling, my lips silently moving in either supplication or voo doo curse. "She is mentally clobbering us," her friend wisely replied. My classroom lacked discipline. But suddenly it was as plain as the nose on a snowman's face. I needed a carrot. Or, if I worked in a wealthier school district, an Apple.

We immediately implemented fifteen minutes of "Tablet Time" daily for hard-working, respectful, responsible children. "Does Room 24 actually have any hard-working, respectful, responsible children," I asked, peering under a kidney table hopefully in search on one. "Who do you think you are, Mrs. Mosiman...Diogenes?" one smart-aleck-y scholar inquired. "Do you see this board," I yelled rhetorically, slapping the dry erase board. (Check out my soon-to-be-released, award-winnable e-book: "Why Do You Ask Rhetorical Questions?") "Tomorrow, there will be a Magic Box on it! And in that Magic Box will be TEN golden coins! And every time you are ridiculously off-task, emit sound decibels rivaling LaGuardia's runway on Thanksgiving Eve, slide across Room 24 on your knees like a professional air guitarist or just bug me in general--I will..." (GIANT PAUSE) (Also soon to be released in e-book form:  "Your Silence Can Speak Volumes:  Never Admit That You Don't Know The Difference Between Volume and Capacity.") (GIANT PAUSE continued as the students speculate a fate worse than mentally-applied corporal punishment)..."I will...remove a golden coin!" GASP!!!!!! "And if you lose all of your Magic Coins...you lose (da...da...da...dum)...Tablet Time!" Oh the humanity!!!

I never anticipated that my new discipline program would be so thrilling to the children. Naturally, by the following morning, I had forgotten all about it. But before the third kid had crossed the threshold of Room 24, a perspective artist had already drawn the magic box on the board. A trio of crafters requested a glue gun and some gold paper before happily constructing some coins. We started our first lesson of the day and the usual side-conversations were hushed with frantic concern: "Shhh...she'll take away a magic coin." Oh my goodness...this was working. It didn't take me long to get power-hungry. "You can't take away a coin for my not having a pencil," an insurrectionist insisted. "Are you being insubordinate?" I growled, reaching for another coin as the class cowered in fear. So you may be wondering...exactly how many times has Room 24 lost their Tablet Time? Well...never. But only because I forget to take away coins. Thank goodness the kids remind me. (See my soon-to-be-released e-book: "Addressing Classroom Discipline Plans:  Of the Children, By the Children and For the Children.")

Who needs Honduras? Syd turns twenty

Sydney has placed a minimum six month blog moratorium on sharing WHY she wasn't SCUBA diving in Honduras as planned on her 20th birthday so instead, you will have to be content on being regaled with fun stories of how, to make this birthday-busting blow easier to deal with, some well-meaning people made it even worse.

"I didn't know *Side-Street Pizza* was your favorite place to eat," Joan said, perusing the menu (Names of restaurants have been changed to prevent the blog-writer from being sued). "It's not," Sydney answered, "It's Mom's favorite place...she loves their raspberry wings." Joan glared at me so I ordered her a hard root beer ale to soften her mood. "This would be much better with ice cream," I said after taking a sip. I asked our waiter for a tall glass with vanilla ice cream. "We don't serve ice cream here," he answered. I was confused. "But," I stammered, pointing to the fifty flavors of milkshakes offered on the menu, "clearly you do." He carefully explained to the woman-in-the-booth-on-the-edge-with-her-face-coated-in-raspberry-wing-sauce that they only have ice cream for making shakes. I looked at Joan for help but she was still packing a grudge.

Our friend and school librarian (the two are so often interchangeable, aren't they?), Amy White arrived, offering Sydney a beautifully-wrapped present with, get this, a homemade bow. "My grandma had a bow maker," Amy explained as she ordered a water with lemon. "We don't have lemon," the waiter said. "How about some unsweetened iced tea," Mrs. White asked. "Sweetened?," our waiter replied. "Just water," Amy said. "Ice?" he asked. "Only if you have it," my librarian quipped. Later, he brought us our pizza and inadvertently took away Amy's water so she and Syd were champs and shared. I, of course, was still livid about my ice cream and Joan was still steamed that I took Syd to my favorite restaurant on her birthday. Mrs. White was just glad to have water.

From there, we trooped over to "The We're Going To Replace Star Wars With The Raunchiest Movie On The Planet" theater (Names of movie theaters have been changed to prevent the blog-writer from being sued). We decided to watch "Slightly-Disheveled Grandma" (Names of movies have been changed to prevent the blog-writer from being sued). "I would NEVER have imagined that I would be spending my twentieth birthday watching filth with my school librarian," Sydney reflected later. The opening scene of the film had me remarking to the six people in the theater, "I can feel my IQ lowering." We sat in stunned silence throughout the next two hours, searching for redeeming value. "There seems to be a noted lack of character development," I whispered to Joan at one point. It was, after all, suppose to be a movie about the grandparent/grandchild relationship--where the elder passes along some wisdom. "My grandmother gave me a bow-maker," Mrs. White remarked as the credits rolled and we darted out of the darkened theater hoping no one would recognize us.

We concluded our evening at "More-Bang-For-Your-Buck" Coffee (Names of coffee places have been changed to prevent the blog-writer from being sued) where Mrs. White flooded our table with her extra order of whipped cream. We struggled to clear our now filth-coated minds with enlightening conversation. Is a banana a berry? Since a strawberry is actually not classified as a berry, should we lobby to have the name changed to straw-fruit? Where were the Monkees going on that last train? Clarksdale? Clarkson? Clarksville? But in the end, one thought remained. The Monkees were headed to Clarksville but Sydney wasn't headed for Honduras. Instead, she was stuck with us...going to her mother's favorite restaurant, watching a naughty movie with old(er) people, and then having to pay for our coffee before going home. Happy Birthday, Syd!

The un-miracle: Your coffee stain is shaped like what!?!?

I apologize for the inappropriate nature of this blog right now.

First of all...face it. Life is just one big Rorschach Test...

(Off-task moment number 1:  Googling how to spell "Rorschach" I immediately stumbled upon an on-line quiz.  Results:  "Sickness Quotient" of 83%. Analysis:  Stop acting like such a tool. Although your work can upon occasion be very good, remember that even monkeys can be trained to do what you do. And they don't call in sick. If you would also like to be emotionally abused by this website, feel free to click the link.)

...but why is it that some people get to spot Jesus in their toast or the Virgin Mary in the ashes of their fireplace or even just a cool-looking cross in the clouds? Oh no...not me. "Sydney," I yelled, shifting the hulking Keuig over on the counter, "When did you plan on addressing the matter of this coffee stain?" A strained voice hollered back, "What stain?"  "The penis-shaped coffee stain on my kitchen counter!" I screamed while she giggled immaturely from the living room. Sigh. 

Now, to give myself a bit of lee-way here, the world is FULL of phallic-shaped objects...

(Off-task moment number 2:  Wow! I had no idea!)

...but apparently, my level of juvenile humor isn't limited to male members. "Savannah," I yelled (I'm noticing we yell a lot in my very small house), "Come take a picture of this cookie I just frosted!" It was just a sweet, innocent, heart-shaped cookie. Bored with frosting all the cookies with the same color, I decided to be creative. "Don't do THAT again," Savannah ordered. My red (Rorschach-resembling) frosting splotch transformed my beating heart into my heaving bosom.  "Isn't it titillating," I giggled, grabbing her camera as she stomped from the room. 

I'm so sorry. I know, that as loyal blog-followers, you have come to expect a higher level of intellect from me...blogs filled with sharp wit, keen observations, and curiosity-piquing platitudes. I've let you down. Maybe the on-line Rorschach test results were right...I need to stop acting like a tool. 

Photography lessons at Plimoth Plantation

We learned a lot, many years ago, during our visit to Plimoth Plantation.

• We learned that Mrs. Dobbin takes sensitivity training VERY seriously and will, in fact, send Savannah storming back to the van to change out of her Redskins t-shirt. 
• We learned...scratch that-we already knew this part...that Savannah can be rebelliously devious after she strolled back into the museum wearing her Letchworth Indians t-shirt. 
• We discovered, unlike Joan and Geri who delighted in the interactions with period-appropriate staff, that Savannah, Sydney and I would run screaming from anyone wearing breeches, loincloth, or funny hats as well as anyone who adopted the phrases "thee," "thou," or "mayhap" into their everyday vernacular. 
• And finally, we learned that Sydney takes the worst pictures EVER. "But what about the elephant picture at the zoo," Sydney protested (again and again and again), "You said that one would have won awards." "What does Daddy tell you all the time," I reminded her, "Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in awhile." So on this particularly rare occasion, we trusted Sydney to take a picture to include Savannah and I situated in front of the historical background landscape of Plimoth Plantation. Instead, she managed to chronicle my and Savannah's disgust that she was pointing the camera at us rather than to include the scene we wanted to record for posterity. Finally, Savannah wrestled the camera away from her sister to capture our intended shot. Sydney, obviously, forgot to say "cheese."

Jeanne's New Year's Haiku challenge

from "The Little Book of Haiku" which included
 a couple of racy poems as well!

Everyone seems intent on pushing New Year's Resolutions upon me. What's with that? I'll tell you...it's jealousy, that's what. My friend Cathy has scheduled me for Friday night walks around the track. Brad bought some sort of exercise torture device to add to our current clothes holder so that we can work out together. "Won't that be fun," he asked enthusiastically. Insert crickets chirping here. Last year, my friend Jeanne posted that she would endeavor to journal a haiku poem per day for 365 days. Wow! Now that was a challenge I was willing to accept! Those of you with extensive haiku backgrounds already know that this form of poetry celebrates nature in a minimalist style. Turns out, I am unable to shut down "snarky," "sarcastic," "mocking," or "whining" so my poems didn't really follow the prescribed conventions. Here's a sampling of my poetic endeavor.

The majority of my haiku poems celebrated Chlo.

Sermon commentary...more observation than acquiescence 

A guest-blog as Savannah took up the pen in my stead

Chronicling Brad's life-long pursuit of keeping
his family from parking on his beloved grass...even in the winter.

Date night on Cinco de Mayo with a rather chipper waiter
and then home to be shocked by one of the most
jaw-dropping, heart-stopping "Game of Thrones" episodes EVER!

See! Juno made it in once in awhile!

School slipped in quite a bit, as well. An incessant song
that followed me home for days.

Syd's traumatic ride home from work.

A rare poignant moment as I realized that I
was hearing the voice of the man he was to become.

A haiku that actually followed the tradition of a haiku. Rare.

Chlo made for great figurative language opportunities!

Spanakopita on a school night

I love spanakopita. More specifically...I love my friend Deb's spanakopita with her multiple layers of phyllo dough separating mounds of feta cheese and spinach topped with tons and tons (and tons) of butter. I am constantly on the hunt for it and recently became aware that Deb's might not be the authentic Greek version of the dish. "Look at this," I remarked to my husband with disgust," it only has the top and bottom layer...like a pie." Googling quickly, Brad showed me the translation of spanakopita:  "Greek pie." "No," I protested, with the righteous indignation of one surely in the right, "Deb's is more like a lasagna!"

Neverthematter, I love my friend Deb's spanakopita! Knowing this, my friend Geri was able to successfully coax me out (on a school night) for a professional development opportunity with the stipulation that we stop at the Greek restaurant that Geri had finally gotten sick of hearing me mention. So there I was, sitting in a cozy booth, sipping my root beer float (because I am an adult and can order a root beer float as my beverage for dinner if I want to), barely grumpy about being dragged to a professional development opportunity (on a school night) because I was getting spanakopita. "What are you getting," I asked Geri, not really caring because I was getting spanakopita. "Well, that sounds good," I replied to whatever she said because I wasn't really listening because I was getting spanakopita. And then she pounced. "Great...why don't we split our two orders then so we can enjoy both entrees?" Was she for real?!? So now I was stuck eating half of Geri's meal (whatever that was) and would only get to eat half of my spanakopita. Add that to the fact that I was heading to a professional development opportunity (on a school night) and my evening was fast becoming a real disappointment.

An eternal optimist, I bounced back quickly by deciding to look at my plate as half-full of spanakopita. Except my half-filled plate of spanakopita was taking a REALLY long time to arrive. My root beer float was (obviously) long gone and now I was stuck with, gasp, water. The clock was rapidly ticking away...Geri was now reporting the actions of the wait-staff with the urgent pace of a race commentator. "Our waitress just delivered two meals to the people who came in twenty minutes after us," Geri shared before continuing, "She is now re-filling coffee and offering dessert to the family of four who arrived right after us." Her voice was reaching finish-line pace panic, "The people who just got here already have their appetizer!" Still no meal, we dramatically began to pull on our coats. "I guess we'll take the bill," I said with uncertainty to our now-concerned waitress as we looked at our empty table. Five minutes later, we were heading to the car with to-go boxes, having paid only for our drinks. "How am I suppose to eat during our professional development opportunity," Geri howled miserably.

An eternal optimist, I preferred to think of our professional development opportunity as a way to catch up on email correspondence, review apps and snack on spanakopita once I realized that, for once in my life, I actually knew more that what the course offered. I was thrilled, though, to learn that the Google drive icon is known as a "waffle!" I have made sure to share that knowledge with practically everyone I know since then. So besides discovering that the pictured nine-squared number-pad thing-y that allows you to access your Google drive is named after one of my favorite breakfast meals, what else did I learn? I have learned that I should listen when Geri is ordering a meal. I have learned that I should not allow myself to be coaxed out on a school night for a professional development opportunity. And I have learned that I should just stick with Deb's spanakopita.

The price of string-cheese

I thought it was the children. I, on any ordinary day, am loving and kind and patient and adorable. Today, however, I was a howling banshee, mentally imagining slapping electric shock collars around the necks of certain individuals when they repetitively refused to respond to my reasonable requests. Suffice to say...I was having a bad day. And then it happened.

We were on our way out to the buses (more or less in a straight line...more or less not shouting at the top of our lungs) when I reached into my coat pocket--I may have been searching for a light narcotic-and discovered the string cheese that I'd placed there from this morning. Forget Powerball! I had just won the cheese lottery! I held it up victoriously...think Lady Liberty with her torch-style and showed everyone, smiling in utter (well, given the dairy content of my discovery...let's make that "udder") delight. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, a twenty dollar bill from my pocket had floated gently to the sidewalk. "Mrs. Mosiman, Mrs. Mosiman!" a small voice called out, retrieving and returning my lost loot. "Why, thank you," I said, hugging the honest cherub before showing her my treasure, "Look! Cheese!"

There is a bible verse (hard to believe that I'm quoting scripture in the same blog were I unceremoniously administer corporal punishment for classroom misdemeanors..."I said FREEZE, Robert! I just saw you move!") in Matthew that says: For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. My little parable demonstrates that my money (or treasure) is where my mouth is...I could have cared less about that twenty dollar bill. Oh my goodness! I've just gone Old Testament! I'm Esau! I would trade my birthright for string-cheese!

In hindsight...I'm wondering if I was suffering for that newly-coined condition of when you mistake hunger from anger:  Instead of the children being naughty...was I just hangry?