Why Criminals Are At a Disadvantage in the Winter

A kindergartener came running up to me at recess on Tuesday. "Ms. Djerf, Ms. Djerf, guess what! I go to Manhandle Class!"

This was a new one. "You do, Cory? What's that?"

The question he was hoping for, of course. "It's where we learn how to handle...I mean, man-handle bad people, like robbers and killers!"

"Oh. Wow." That was all I could muster.

"And in the winter," he continued, "we can do something special. We grab their hoods and choke them!" This was accompanied by vivid gestures which assured me that man-handle class involved hands-on practice.

I'm hoping we can keep the manhandling down out at recess (I think we're OK; although we have mutant gerbils and invisible zombies, we don't have any robbers or killers that I know of), but this I know: if I ever need just one kindergartener to walk with me through dark alleys, this guy will be my pick.

My Invisible Zombie Can Beat Up Your Invisible Zombie

I love recess duty.

Today, I observed a small group as they ran screaming from snowbank to snowbank, being pursued by an invisible zombie.  A particularly imaginative kindergartener dictated the storyline of the game, demonstrating what zombies sound and act like, and then throwing the rest into a panic with sudden shouts: "There he is!!"

The rest of the group obediently took off in delighted terror each time. "AAAhhhhhhh!!!!!"

One smaller boy played along for a little while, and then boldly decided that HE could sense the approach of the zombie, too. Before this, they had punctuated their endless escape by throwing themselves, panting, onto snowbanks (safety tip for future reference: invisible zombies can't catch OR bite you when you're on a pile of snow). But now, these time-outs grew shorter and shorter as the two competed to be the first one to yell, "There he is!" and hurtle headlong in the opposite direction.

The next time they paused near me, I overheard this same student take his bid for power one step further, as he attempted to explain to his comrades that "some zombies are actually good, and this one IS good, because he's in a cage..."

That's all the further he got, however. (When your enemy is invisible, and you're not the only person controlling its appearance, stopping to hypothesize about it is fruitless.)  Because the next second, someone else screamed, "There he is!"

And they were off.

When We Grow Up

"It is easy to decide what to be when you grow up: agree or disagree."

Once we could successfully discern the difference between agreeing and disagreeing, we had a lively discussion in first and second grade today around this topic.  Students placed their names on one side or the other, and then gave reasons for their choice.

Most of the class agreed that there are SO MANY interesting jobs that you could have, that it's very difficult to decide. However, three were remarkably decisive:

"I used to think it was hard, but now I think it's easy. Because when I was two years old, I didn't know what I wanted to be, but then when I was three years old, I heard about planes and jets and that you could fly them in the Air Force, and then I knew that I'm going to be in the Air Force. So then it was easy."  -- This from an ancient eight year old.

"Well, I think it's easy because I have a brother who does all these things that I can't do yet because I'm not old enough, but I just watch him, and I like everything he does, and then I can see what I want to do when I'm older, like guns and soccer. And they happen on different nights, so I'm pretty sure that I'll be able to do all of them."  -- I wonder if that exemplary eighth grader knows how much influence he exerts over his second grade brother.  I'm tempted to tell him.

"I think that you just have to find something that you really like to do and you're good at it, and then you just think of jobs that are perfect for that. Like, I'm good at singing, so I'm going to be a rock star."  -- I have a feeling that this child gets her daily dose of the Disney Channel. 

This made me think of my all-time favorite story from my roommate's third-grade class. Another time, another post...

Bloggish Introspection

My blog is having an identity crisis.

 

[Argh. Something about late nights brings out the thoughtful in me. I can sit down in the middle of the afternoon to write, and barely struggle through a handful of ideas before I fall asleep, but here it is, nearing midnight after a LONG week, and now I want to dump my mental drawers and sort them out...]  

 

When I started this blog, I deliberately chose not to pigeonhole it. I knew how well I categorize my visible, public life and perform for each category as expected, and I felt that I needed one place where all the crazy pieces of who I am were united, at least to the same degree that they are united within my fractured mind. 

 

A nice idea in theory; a silly one in practice.  I'm not sure what made me think I would turn into a different (less self-edited) person on a blog. I don't dump all of my laundry here; only the parts I'm willing to hang on a public clothesline. The pieces that look the best.

 

I have some ideas of what I don't want it to be.  I don't want this to just be a school blog of cute kid stories. I try to steer clear of the rambling journal-entry posts I'm prone toward. (This post is riding that slippery slope, but hey, it's late. My judgment ebbs when I'm low on sleep.) I don't want it to be too heavy, or too light. I want it to be fun and thought-provoking.  I want it to turn my readers toward God, but I also harbor a nature which wants, desperately so, to look good. 

I'm not a huge fan of dirty laundry blogs -and don't anticipate this one joining the ranks- but I'm wondering about my honesty and my purpose in writing.  One of the themes God has placed before me for 2011 is that it is to be a year of turning from seeking my own glory to declaring His glory. 

 

I don't know what this will mean for my writing here, but I'm asking God for two things: first, for the changes within my heart to love His glory more than my own; and second, for opportunities to give Him glory in whatever ways He wants.  Next January, I hope to be able to write a testimonial of my faithful, loving, full-of-surprises Father and His actions all around me in 2011!

Catching On

"Miss Djerf, I know Mr. Popper is the main character in this story!!!" And then Jeffrey went on to explain why he knew this to be true.

 

That one comment (blurted in the middle of our read-aloud) was a bit of sunshine I'm poking away in my pocket, where I can stick my hand in from time to time and soak up the warmth.  Turns out Jeffrey, who appeared to be communing with distant galaxies during this week's reading lessons, knows what a character is AND how to find the "main-est" one!

 

It's not much, but it's a pretty happy something as far as I'm concerned.

Misplaced Creativity

My heart pounded, my mind raced, my fingers hovered above my keyboard. And my memory was...empty.  The cursor blinked impatiently in the "Password" box, taunting me. All I could remember was that I'd been pleased with the creativity of my password on the day I created it.

 

Which is the problem. My creativity, that is. It loves to show up when new passwords must be entered. I think it's the revenge it exacts after having sat mute while I filled in the requisite membership information on whatever new website I joined.  I'm enough of a rule-follower that I stick with true answers to things like name and address. Practicality demands simple usernames, too. But I get to the password box, and the world is my oyster -- or so my creativity thinks. 

 

Ah, it suggests. I have a perfect, obscure combination of movie lines or painting titles or animal words written backwards, all relating to this website in a bizarre way, that will be hack-proof and even a bit snarky. It will bring a secret smile to your face every time you type it in.

 

My mind agrees: of course!  Who doesn't want a password which pins an invisible badge of coolness on you at each use?

 

The only problem with an invisible badge is that once you drop it, it's difficult to recover...

 

Thus, my mental fumbling around once again tonight. That happy memory of feeling clever -- well, it turned out to have no relation to the memory of the actual password.  Guess I'll have to move on, abandoning the old one in favor of one I can actually remember.

 

Take that, creativity.