Search results matching tags 'preschool' and 'funny'

I’m in the right place

Anonymous — Sat, 19 May 2012 21:04:27 GMT

One morning, not long ago, one of my brightest little boys made my day. His bus arrives early, so every morning he peeks in through the window on our door, sometimes jumping up and down with excitement. If he sees one of us moving around the room, getting it ready, we can hear him crow, “I see Mrs. X!”

Finally, we opened the door. He flew in, pumped his arms, and said, “Whoo hoo!”

Because he was at school.

I really love this job.

Why being a preschool teacher is great

Anonymous — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 20:18:38 GMT

1. You get to wear silly hats.

2. You get to do things like wear purple every day for a week (it’s Purple Week!).

3. It’s never blood on your hands; it’s always marker.

4. Hugs. Lots of them.

5. You get to read awesome, funny books out loud every day.

6. You are famous, you are loved, you are TEACHER, you are their School Mommy, you loom large in their lives.

7. Valentine’s Day lasts for months. You will get a lot of homemade valentines. Maybe a hundred.

8. You are magic. You make puppets become REAL. You can wave your magic wand and they will believe.

9. You can make a huge difference. By the end of the year, you will see tons of growth, and feel a real sense of accomplishment.

10. Did I mention the silly hats?

Dear parents

Anonymous — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 19:19:30 GMT

Dear parents,

Thank you for sending me such a sweet bunch of kids. They are very smiley and seem to like coming to school. They giggle when we read silly stories, and they already have favorite books (“The Pigeon!” “The Chicken!”). They love recess and Gym class, and they are learning our school routines, day by day.

I do have a homework assignment for you, however. Could you please teach your children their names? And could you teach them that when someone says their name, they should look at that person and listen?

Thanks!

Mrs. X.

preschool humor continues to boggle my mind

Anonymous — Fri, 27 May 2011 20:48:55 GMT

Today in the blocks a little guy said to me, “I know lots of jokes now that I’m five.”

I said, “Oh? Can you tell me one?”

“How did the bowtie touch the apple?”

“Um, I don’t know,” I said, thinking, wait, wasn’t this Monkey’s unfathomable joke?

“So he could sit on his lap!!!”

Yep, that was Monkey’s joke. It’s spreading!

four year old humor is often inscrutable

Anonymous — Thu, 19 May 2011 22:18:43 GMT

At our pizza party today, Monkey said, “How did the bow-tie touch the apple?”

I said, “Wow, I don’t know.”

“So he could sit on his lap!” He crowed with laughter, and I smiled to myself. I have a great job.

winning at Go-Fish is just so exciting

Anonymous — Sat, 14 May 2011 18:14:55 GMT

Today it was my turn to sit at the game table to play Go Fish with my little friends. I’ve been making my college-student-volunteer do it on her days (she is endlessly patient), and my assistant and Americorps member have both recently had their turns. I couldn’t really avoid it any longer.

If you have not played cards with preschoolers before, you may not be able to picture just why it would be so exhausting that the grown-ups take turns being in charge, but trust me, it’s tiring. It’s also wonderful.

They never know whose turn it is, so it was my job to keep them on track. “Okay, Wren, now it’s your turn.”

Wren would say, “Monkey, do you have a…..this?” and show her green triangle card, and before Monkey could say “Go fish,” I’d jump in and model for Wren: “Do you have a green triangle?”

Wren would start over. “Monkey, do you have a green triangle?” Monkey would look at his cards, one by one, and maybe put some of them down on the table, face up (“He’s showing his cards!” Roo would chortle, and then fall out of his chair), and then say, “Nope, go fish!” with a look of pure delight.

“My turn!” Roo would shout, and then I’d have to remind him that it was someone else’s turn, and so on and so on. We were using shape and color cards today, so they needed lots of reminding about the rhombus and the octagon, and even sometimes with the triangle and the rectangle.

We also had a lot of “Do you got a blue circle?” I would repeat, every time, “Do you have a blue circle?” and if I was lucky, the child would say it again, correctly this time: “Do you have a blue circle?” But next time ’round, it would be “Do you got a pink heart?” and I’d have to model the correct way to say it again.

Monkey had no sense of strategy whatsoever. He kept showing his cards without any understanding that you’re giving other people an advantage when they get to see your cards. Roo took advantage, every time. He’d see something in Monkey’s hand that he had, and start bouncing in his seat, and when it was finally his turn he would say triumphantly, “Monkey, do you got a black square?!!!” and Monkey would look with amazement at his hand and say, “Oh my God” and hand it over, and Roo would start to fall out of his chair again, and Monkey would be grinning with delight that Roo had just managed to get another match.

Each time a child made a match and put the two cards on the table, they would bounce with joy. When they started counting (“I got four matches and you have only one!”) I had to remind them that the matches didn’t matter; you win the game by being the first one to get rid of all your cards.

First one to get rid of all his cards was Monkey.

“Monkey, you won!” I said, putting both fists in the air.

He looked at me in shock. Then he put both fists in the air, and said “I won! I won! Oh, my God, I won! Congratulations!” He jumped up and did a little march over to the art center, pumping his fists, dancing, and saying “I won! I won!” No one except me noticed, but he wasn’t doing it for attention. He was marching and dancing and pumping for the pure joy of the moment.

He sat back down. “I’m so proud of myself.” His face was lit up with happiness. “It’s so exciting. It’s so gratulations!”

It was. It was very gratulations for all of us. Forty-five minutes later, we had to stop for clean-up time, but they were still raring to go, and I was wiped out.

in which I callously try to murder two plants

Anonymous — Mon, 02 May 2011 11:43:31 GMT

It’s spring, so we have been studying plants and our whole windowsill is covered with little cups full of dirt and sprouts of various sorts. A lot of teachers use their plants for science — I wonder what would happen if? What would happen if we didn’t water a plant? What would happen if we keep a plant in the dark? I never got around to it in the past, but decided to do it this year.

Little did I know my class would react with horror.

“It’s going to die!!!!”

“She’s going to kill the plants!”

“I don’t want the plant to die!”

There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. At least one little boy went home and talked about it at dinner.

I forged ahead, but by Friday, it became clear that the plants cannot die. So we will rescue them once they start to look unhealthy, and bring them back from the brink.

Maybe then I will become the hero, rather than the evil villain.

You know you’re a preschool teacher when…

Anonymous — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 19:44:43 GMT

…you reach into the box to get a new tissue, and pull out one that is partly used.

…you come home with blue fingernails because the food coloring spilled.

…you find yourself using the ‘royal we’ when you talk to your class (“We will be quiet in the hall, we won’t touch our friends, we won’t jump down the stairs, etc…..”).

…you come home from work with smears on your shoulder from the child who cried on it that morning.

Go ahead — do you all have more to add?

how I manipulate my preschoolers’ impressionable young minds

Anonymous — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 19:53:28 GMT

Me: …..And after story time, it will be time to go home.

Various students: Yay!!!

Me: Oh, really? I think it’s kind of sad. I miss you guys when you aren’t here.

Various students: (silent, puzzling this over)

Me: I love it when we are all here together.

Student 1: Yeah, I love school.

Student 2: I love school, too!

Student 3: I miss you when I’m not at school.

Me: I love school, too. That’s why I decided to become a teacher. I get to come to school and be with you guys every day, and it’s great!

Students 4, 5, and 6: I love school, too!

Student 7: Yay, it’s time for school!

Student 8: I love you, Mrs. X.

*****************

See? Total triumph.

first week reflections

Anonymous — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 00:29:53 GMT

Me, to class in their ABC line: In one week we will start taking turns being the line leader and the caboose.

Boy 1: Can I be the platypus?

*****************

Me, to sad boy at dismissal: What’s wrong, honey?

Boy 2: I got in trouble when I wouldn’t come get in line.

Me: That’s right. I blew my whistle and said “get in line” but you kept on playing on the playground. I told you I wasn’t happy about that.

Boy 2, on verge of tears, to his mother: I don’t like my teacher!

Me: Would you like a hug?

Boy 2: Yes. (We hug, awkwardly, because of where he is standing.)

Me: How about if you sit on my lap instead?

Boy 2: Okay. (Pause, for some tears, while leaning on my shoulder.) I don’t want to be your teacher anymore!

******************

*It’s amazing having TWO other adults in the room every day. On the first day of school, Miss Dickens and my assistant teacher (I’ll call her Miss Watson, after Sherlock Holmes’ assistant) and I got to sit and chat for the last ten minutes before the kids arrived! Unheard of! But we were all ready to go, and ahead of time.

*The little girl who went to kindergarten under an assumed name is very interesting. Today the Princess brought her to the room at arrival, because she had found her standing outside the front door, not moving, staring into space, after all the other kids from her bus had gone inside.

*Several of my darlings are hard to understand. It’s probably all developmental stuff, but there is a great speech and language teacher who visits my room often, so I’ll ask her to keep tabs on them.

*Friendships are already starting up. Boy 1 and Boy 2, for one thing, are a pair. Today they were Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham (or, Robin Hood and The Bad Guy). Lots of little girls paired off at recess, too. It’s funny, however, because they don’t know each other’s names. I try to teach them their friends’ names, but they just call each other “friend.” ”Friend! I’m a monster! Let’s run!”

*The twins have wildly divergent drawing ability. One of them draws like a three year old, the other like a five year old. It will be interesting to see in what other ways they differ academically.

*Tomorrow Miss Mellow and I will meet at a coffee shop to plan out our themes for the whole year. So far we’ve only got September done.